There are some rooms where we like seeing everyone dressed to the nines, restaurants where dignity and formality and pomp feel right. And then there's the Northwoods Inn. Here, the ragtime piano player wears arm garters and people throw their peanut shells on the floor and eat soup out of a communal pot. Here, the house can serve something on the order of 300 customers at a time, and does so three, sometimes four turns a night, every night. Here, families with kids, old folks, young couples on dates, businessmen, famous faces and absolute nobodies are treated the same -- like the walking cash dispensers that they are. But no one ever walked away hungry from the Northwoods Inn. No one ever had anything less than a decent feed at fair prices. And no one even seems to complain about the wait -- which can sometimes be upwards of two hours -- because here, as at Disneyland, once the fun is over, no one remembers the lines.