Welcome to Food/Drink Week at Milwaukee Record, brought to you by Third Space Brewing. From May 12 through May 19, belly up and enjoy adventurous, odd, and elaborate coverage of all things edible and drinkable in Milwaukee and beyond.

Mitch DeSantis is Milwaukee Record’s Rural/Northwoods Wisconsin Correspondent. Find his dispatches HERE.

There are two types of pasties: one is for eating and the other is an erotic nipple cover. One is not like the other, but both have deep histories rooted in the northernmost stretch of Wisconsin’s Northwoods and Michigan’s Upper Peninsula—a land of my forefathers, where much of my family still rests beneath earth once so rich with iron that shaped the entire region’s economy.

My history with the edible kind of pasty (TBD on the nipple kind) goes back to regular trips from central Wisconsin to visit family in Hurley and Ironwood, Michigan—two towns separated by the state line but tied together by culture and blood. My Italian great-grandfather immigrated from Rome to Ironwood to escape fascism. He’d heard about job opportunities in the iron ore mines, and that many Italians were heading there for work.

In those mines, Italians, along with Finnish, Swedish, and Irish immigrants, met their Cornish coworkers who introduced them to the pasty: a hearty, handheld meat pie with a folded crust that could fit neatly into a miner’s shirt pocket. At lunch, they could eat it easily—an Old-World innovation that feels like a precursor to the modern Hot Pocket.

Traditionally, pasties from this region were filled with ground beef and root vegetables, but each immigrant community added their own twist—most notably the Finnish, who discovered the only good use for a rutabaga that didn’t involve a trash can (fuck rutabagas) was incorporating them into what is now traditionally a Yooper pasty.

To this day, pasties remain a staple of the region, sold fresh in local shops. When visiting family, my father would stock up, packing coolers full of them to freeze and eat later. Fun fact: Anytime we flew somewhere as a family, my old man insisted we bring cold pasties on the plane (yes, they’re good cold). I’m sure our seat mates were thrilled.

So when I heard about a quirky little spot called Rocks For Fun Pasty Shop in Tigerton, Wisconsin—a good stretch south of the traditional pasty belt at N4410 US-45—I was intrigued. Not only does the shop serve pasties, but it doubles as a gallery for 558 different rock creations—a nod that feels oddly in line given the dish’s mining-town origins. These aren’t just boulders; they’re spontaneous, one-of-a-kind folk art pieces best appreciated in person, where the caption cards and oddball humor really shine.

The collection wasn’t made to be sold—just enjoyed. And enjoy it I did. What follows is my review of the pasties, and a glimpse into the wonderfully strange, rock-strewn world that surrounds them.

The Pasty Shop is strictly takeout-only and boasts a menu of more than 34 varieties, ranging from traditional options like beef with root vegetables and rutabaga, to slightly absurd like chili cheese hot dogs with cheddar. I went with a mix: the classic Yooper Rutabaga, Vegetable, and, just for fun, Spaghetti & Meatball.

Yooper Rutabaga

The pasty of my childhood memories. This one hit all the traditional notes: beef, potato, rutabaga (you’ve been saved from the trash can this time), carrots, and onion, bound together with a subtle blend of herbs and spices. As is my personal tradition, I waterboarded it in ketchup. The tangy-sweet flood elevated the savory richness of the filling.

Vegetable

Honestly, it’s the same friggin’ thing, just missing the beef. A great option for vegetarians, but for varieties sake I should have gotten the chili cheese hot dogs with cheddar.

Spaghetti & Meatball

Photo: Rocks For Fun

I saved this one for breakfast the next morning—because if you know me, it won’t surprise you to learn that I’m slightly obsessed with spaghetti (maybe I’ll write more about that someday). Cold spaghetti for breakfast is a regular thing in my world. So, while this pasty isn’t traditional by any stretch, I loved it. Stuffing literal spaghetti into a pasty crust kind of felt like a hat on a hat, but I was here for it. The meatballs didn’t strike me as homemade, but hey, I could be wrong. Either way, it was awesome.

Overall Consensus

Maybe it’s nostalgia talking, but I’ve had better pasties from deep in the UP. That said, all three were satisfying—and definitely better than anything I could make myself. The cooking instructions suggested microwaving, and while convenient, I slightly regret going that route. The crust turned out a bit spongy, and I suspect an oven or air fryer would’ve done a better job reviving that golden, flaky texture. Still, they hit the spot for both dinner and breakfast. And really, where else can you grab a pasty and wander through an elaborately weird collection of hand-painted rocks in the same stop?

In a world that moves fast and forgets easily, there’s something comforting about holding a hot, dough-wrapped memory in your hand—even if it’s filled with spaghetti. Whether it’s a tribute to the laborers of my past or just a damn good excuse to stop in Tigerton, pasties—edibles or otherwise—are here to stay.