Monday, February 25, 2013

Ruby Tuesday’s



1120 Shapiro Dr.
Festus, Mo

Last minute choice.

It was Sunday, I’d just awoken from a heavy, fitful nap. My mind was a bit fuzzy, it had been all day. I suffer from a common disease called "career IT system administrator". The side effects are occasional bouts of sleepless nights and long weekends. IT system admins can only work on big, important systems when the actual users are not using them. This weekend was a scheduled task, to move a  big, important server from one piece of hardware to another. Lots and lots of details, lots and lots of things that can go wrong, and of course we couldn’t start the six hour or more task until Saturday at five P.M. Knowing this ahead of time we lunched on Saturday at our newly-discovered favorite place, Cool Beans Java Cafe in Hillsboro. We had their barbecue steak sandwich on pretzel bread. Awesome good.
The server move went fairly well, I work with experienced pros, but it still took a long time. I drove in to the workplace to speed up the process, my home internet connection is not really ideal for real-time support for many things. Driving in actually saved time and frustration. We finished about eleven thirty, I got home after midnight.
Going straight to bed wasn’t really an option, so I had a snack, watched a little TV and popped the cork on a new box of wine to wind down.
I got to bed about two A.M. which, if I were still in my twenties, would not have been a problem, but surprisingly, aging has affected my tolerance to lack of sleep and even disturbances in sleep patterns.
Sunday started late and was, in my head, foggy. I managed to take care of some chores, mechanically, one of those days were I went to Walmart with a short list and returned with only those things on the list. This is rare. I mean, it’s Walmart.
I got home and took that nap. I woke up with a headache and still fuzzy. It was like I’d flown to Japan. Getting old sucks.
The Place:
Near the Lowes, overlooking I-55.
It was pretty busy, always is. A large group in front of us got seated before we did. We were led to the left of the salad bar. Several families were seated and in various stages of their meals. Directly across from us was a young mother and father with three small kids. One of the boys was jumping  up and down in his seat, something his mother scolded and begged him to stop, only to be rebuked with a nasty “No!” from the little snot-nosed brat. This went on for a while. I was able to tune it out. On this day tuning most things out was not my problem. Tuning them in was difficult.
We scanned the menus, I wasn’t looking for anything new or adventurous, so I pretty much stuck with the same thing I usually get.
The Food:
Angel was in a mood to try something different. We scanned the menus, me not really paying much attention, just checking to see if the petit sirloin was still available. It was, and for a couple of extra bucks they’d add a lobster tail.
“Have you decided what you want with your salad?” Angel asked the table.
The salad bar at RT’s was a forgone conclusion. It’s the reason I was after a ‘petit’ steak. RT has the best salad bar in the known universe. It’s always freshly stocked with dozens of options. My only complaint about it is that the plates are too small.
We ordered our drinks, tea, Diet Coke and Coke. They arrived with luscious cheesy biscuits, another reason to go there. The tea was fresh and clear, it actually had flavor. RT’s usually makes good tea, not always, but usually, this was a good night.
I ordered my petit steak and lobster tail, with the salad bar and a side of mashed potatoes. Angel surprised me by asking for the French Quarter Gumbo, a dish that is apparently related to New Orleans cuisine.
I’ve been to New Orleans, had some Gumbo, I don’t think I’ve ever asked for it again. It’s just not my thing.
Adam ordered the Asiago Sirloin Steak with green beans and mashed potatoes. No salad bar for him, though it was guaranteed that he would be caught filching  those dark croutons off his mother’s plate. She always gets extra croutons because she knows she’ll be sharing them.
So we dashed to the salad bar, once again it did not disappoint. I piled my little plate high and slopped on some dressing. Angel did the same.
We sat back down and dug in. The little boy next to us was acting up again. His mother was explaining to him that they would be going to bed early since they were up so late the night before and had not napped. “No kidding.” I thought. The little boy screamed ‘No!’ a few more times, so she kept debating him.
The salads and biscuits hit the spot, we had time to finish, or surrender, a few minutes ahead of the main courses. RT doesn’t always get this part right, the timing of the courses, but this night they were spot-on.
The small  plate with my steak and lobster tail and mashed potatoes was clean  and sparse. I didn’t mind, I don’t need a lot of garnish and flourish.
Angel’s gumbo came on a larger plate and looked just like gumbo. Adam’s steak was larger than mine, but size isn’t everything.
Angel snorted her plate in an attempt to clear her sinuses. I carved into the steak and thought it a little tough, or maybe they just gave me a dull knife.
No, it was tough.
The lobster was tough too. You just can’t get a properly fresh and cooked lobster in the heartland. I knew it would be overcooked when I ordered it, it always is and not just at Ruby’s. Red Lobsters in the area can’t even cook lobster right. The thing was though, I wanted the taste of lobster regardless, even a chewy one. An overcooked, chewy lobster is still a lot better than no lobster. Lobster is kind of like sex that way.
I only finished about two thirds of my small steak, it was just too tough. The lobster only had about four bites in it, so I finished that, and the mashed potatoes were really good.
Angel had to give up on her gumbo, too spicy after a while, also she claimed to have lost some of her appetite when the mom at the next table kept asking the rowdy little boy if he was pooping.
Summary:
We had a coupon so our meal was ten dollars cheaper than it could have been, coming in at forty seven bucks.
The service was all pleasant and efficient and timely. As a dining experience except for the family at the next table, it was exceptional. The food was pretty good, well the steak was too tough, but the first few bites were good.
The salad bar, of course, makes it all better. Why we don’t just order a salad bar and biscuits and be done with it, I’m not sure.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

Ruby Tuesday’s



1120 Shapiro Dr.
Festus, Mo

Last minute choice.
It was Sunday, I’d just awoken from a heavy, fitful nap. My mind was a bit fuzzy, it had been all day. I suffer from a common disease called career IT system administrator. The side effects are occasional bouts of sleepless nights and long weekends. IT system admins can only work on big, important systems when the actual users are not using them. This weekend was a scheduled task, to move a  big, important server from one piece of hardware to another. Lots and lots of details, lots and lots of things than can go wrong, and of course we couldn’t start the six hour or more task until Saturday at five P.M.
It all went fairly well, I work with experienced pros, but it took a long time. I drove in to the workplace to speed up the process, my home internet connection is not really ideal for real-time support for many things. Driving in actually saved time and frustration. We finished about eleven thirty, I got home after midnight.
Going straight to bed wasn’t really an option, so I had a snack, watched a little TV and popped the cork on a new box of wine to wind down.
I got to be about two A.M. which if I were still in my twenties would not have been a problem, but surprisingly, aging has affected my tolerance to lack of sleep and even disturbances in sleep patterns.
Sunday started late and was in my head, foggy. I managed to take care of some chores, mechanically, one of those days were I went to Walmart with a short list and returned with only those things on the list. This is rare. I mean, it’s Walmart.
I got home and took that nap. I woke up with a headache and still fuzzy. It was like I’d flown to Japan. Getting old sucks.
The Place:
Near the Lowes overlooking I-55.
It was pretty busy, always is. A large group in front of us got seated before we did. We were led to the left of the salad bar. Several families were seated and in various stages of their meals. Directly across from us was a young mother and father with three small kids. One of the boys was jumping  up and down in his seat, something his mother scolded and begged him to stop, only to be rebuked with a nasty “No!” from the little snot-nosed brat. This went on for a while. I was able to tune it out. On this day tuning most things out was not my problem. Tuning them in was difficult.
We scanned the menus, I wasn’t looking for anything new or adventurous, so I pretty much stuck with the same thing I usually get.
The Food:
Angel was in a mood to try something different. We scanned the menus, me not really paying much attention, just checking to see if the petit sirloin was still available. It was, and for a couple of extra bucks they’d add a lobster tail.
“Have you decided what you want with your salad?” Angel asked the  table.
The salad bar at RT’s was a forgone conclusion. It’s the reason I was after a ‘petit’ steak. RT has the best salad bar in the known universe. It’s always freshly stocked with dozens of options. My only complaint about it is that the plates are too small.
We ordered our drinks, Tea, Diet Coke and Coke. They arrived with luscious cheesy biscuits, another reason to go there. The tea was fresh and clear.  It actually had flavor. RT’s usually makes good tea, not always, but usually, this was a good night.
I ordered my petit steak and lobster tail, with the salad bar and a side of mashed potatoes. Angel surprised me by asking for the French Quarter Gumbo, a dish that is apparently related to New Orleans cuisine.
I’ve been to New Orleans, had some Gumbo, I don’t think I’ve ever asked for it again. It’s just not my thing.
Adam ordered the Asiago Sirloin Steak with green beans and mashed potatoes. No salad bar for him though he was guaranteed to be caught filching  those dark croutons off his mother’s plate. She always gets extra croutons because she knows she’ll be sharing them.
So we dashed to the salad bar, once again it did not disappoint. I piled my little plate high and slopped on some dressing. Angel did the same.
We sat back down and dug in. The little boy next to us was acting up again. His mother was explaining to him that they would be going to bed early since they were up so late the night before and had not napped. “No kidding.” I thought. The little boy screamed ‘No!’ a few more times, so she kept debating him.
The salads and biscuits hit the spot, we had time to finish, or surrender a few minutes ahead of the main courses. RT doesn’t always get this part right, the timing of the courses, but this night they were spot-on.
The small  plate with my steak and lobster tail and mashed potatoes was clean  and sparse. I didn’t mind, I don’t need a lot of garnish and flourish.
Angel’s gumbo came on a larger plate and looked just like gumbo. Adam’s steak was larger than mine, but size isn’t everything.
Angel snorted her plate in an attempt to clear her sinuses. I carved into the steak and thought it a little tough, or maybe they just gave me a dull knife.
No, it was tough.
The lobster was tough too. You just can’t get a properly fresh and cooked lobster in the heartland. I knew it would be overcooked when I ordered it, it always is and not just at Ruby’s. Red Lobsters in the area can’t even cook lobster right. The thing was though I wanted the taste of lobster regardless, even a chewy one. An overcooked, chewy lobster is still a lot better than no lobster. Lobster is kind of like sex that way.
I only finished about two thirds of my small steak, it was just too tough. The lobster only had about four bites in it, so I finished that, and the mashed potatoes were really good.
Angel had to give up on her gumbo, too spicy after a while, also she claimed to have lost some of her appetite when the mom at the next table kept asking the rowdy little boy if he was pooping.
Summary:
We had a coupon so our meal was ten dollars cheaper than it could have been, coming in at forty seven bucks.
The service was all pleasant and efficient and timely. As a dining experience except for the family at the next table, it was exceptional. The food was pretty good, well the steak was too tough, but the first few bites were good.
The salad bar, of course, makes it all better. Why we don’t just order a salad bar and biscuits and be done with it, I’m not sure.

Monday, February 18, 2013

Dining in.



So what do we do when we don’t eat out?

During the week Angel and Adam eat early in the evening. Sometimes she prepares something, sometimes she doesn’t. I’ve told her this was quite okay, I’m perfectly capable and willing to fend for myself. Usually I go quick and easy, a sandwich or heated up leftovers. I enjoy cooking but don’t get many opportunities. During the work week I’m usually too tired to make anything fancy, so my better efforts are typically on Sunday.

Also, we as a family do not sit together to dine except when we go out. Angel’s dog business is hectic and regimented, tight schedules, so she eats when she can, and that’s almost always an hour or so before I get home. Usually, about 98% of the time, I eat alone, which is when I get a lot of reading done.

So our weekly outings may seem to some extravagant, even though the places we go are usually far from that, Saturdays out are about the only time the three of us sit together and share a meal. It’s okay, we’re all adults.

We didn’t go out this weekend. Too many dogs and Angel was still a bit under the weather. Saturday evening we sent the boy to KFC and lived out of that bucket for a couple of days.

Adam picked the sides, coleslaw, of course, mashed potatoes and gravy, naturally, and something new for us, mac and cheese. And the biscuits, America’s very best carry-out biscuits.

I don’t like the Colonel’s mashed potatoes, too pasty. I like a bit of texture to my smashed taters, lumps and maybe even a little skin. So I tried the mac and cheese and decided it was my new favorite hot and starchy side dish from KFC.

The only problem I have with our occasional KFC home buffets is that after three or so meals, I get a mad craving for pretty much anything else. Fortunately we also had leftover meatloaf. So on Sunday night I declared that I would be roasting potatoes, because I wanted to try roasting potatoes. I do this sometimes, try a new recipe or food, just to see if I can, and to see if it’s as good as the descriptions and pictures on the web.

It turns out that all we had were russets, which are fine general purpose potatoes, and they did roast up as advertised. The family seemed to like them and they went well with my leftover meatloaf. But I knew they would have been better if they were little red potatoes.

I’d thought about this earlier while I was at the supermarket, (Walmart) but I simply could not justify buying more potatoes when we already had nearly five pounds of russets in the pantry. I can be cheap that way.

Next time I’ll buy some red ones, I’m pretty sure that would have made all the difference.

BTW, to make roasted potatoes just wash them thoroughly, skin on, chop them evenly into sections around  ¾ inch, toss them in a bowl with 2 Tbsp of olive oil and about a tsp of garlic and or onion powder and put them skin up in a rimmed (pizza) pan. Make sure the oven is preheated to around 425-450 degrees then set your timer for fifteen minutes. When the damn thing beeps incessantly right in the middle of nearing a three-star round of Angry Birds, reset the timer, take a spatula and scrape the taters lose, flipping them so that another side is up, then put them back in the oven, checking and flipping them again after about ten minutes. Do this until they are brown and crispy on all sides.

If you happen to have leftover mashed potatoes, try this. Scoop up ¾ inch balls and put them on the pan as well. This makes cute, crispy mashed tater bites.

In other news I received an email from a lady named Ashley. She’s the previous owner of Cool Beans Java Café in Hillsboro, the place I swooned over last week.

In that review I wrote this:

“On the soffit  overhead was a quote, hand painted in script. “Dreams are necessary to life” ARL (unless I wrote that down wrong) I’m not sure about the ARL, but it’s an Anais Nin quote.”

Well, Ashley is the person that put that quote up there and she was kind enough to share the story behind it:

“The quote "Dreams are necessary to life." is one that is dear to my heart. I always want people to know why. A great friend of mine lived by that quote and he died a few years ago in a helicopter accident. The ARL stands for Adam Ronald Long. He is a huge reason I had to courage to open the coffee shop.”

Wow. Thanks Ashley, and good luck, great dreams and happiness to you!

On a personal note, I don’t hold dreams in such high regard. Most of my dreams involve giant chickens and crippled frogs. It’s a long, pathetic story; suffice it to say that these dreams tend to haunt rather than inspire me.

So tonight (Monday, President’s Day) I am planning breakfast for dinner.* Pancakes, a new (to me) recipe that my younger brother recently served up for my parents. He made some and said dad, who hasn't been eating much lately, wolfed them down as fast as the griddle could be unloaded.



Jeff's pancakes, with strawberries, scrambled eggs,
hash browns and a reasonable portion of bacon.
Jeff's Pancakes



2 cups flour

1/4 cup sugar

2 1/4 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

2 eggs

2 cups buttermilk

1/4 cup melted butter



Mix the dry stuff, add the wet stuff. Don’t over-mix, leave a few lumps, then let it set for a few minutes. This is important, just let it set for a while to let all the chemical magic get going.

Makes a bunch



I won’t be cutting corners like I did with the potatoes, for the first time in my life I bought some buttermilk.

* The breakfast for dinner went very well. The pancakes were light, fluffy and tasted great!



Monday, February 11, 2013

Cool Beans Java Cafe

316 Locust Street
Hillsboro, Mo.
Mon-Fri 6AM-8PM
Sat 7AM-4PM
Sun 8AM-2PM
On Facebook




We found this place a few weeks ago, driving through Hillsboro. They’d put out portable signs with fingers pointing down the hill from BB, across from the courthouse. I drove by one afternoon and checked the hours.
A week later I stopped in for a cup of coffee, and noticed a wall-sized chalkboard filled with sandwiches, soups and the like. I struck up a conversation with the owner, there wasn’t anyone else there at the time. He said that he’d bought the place a few months back and was working to improve the place, out with the preprocessed offerings, in with quality meats and fresh produce. I bought a small coffee and he offered to let me taste the chili. I like it, I liked it a lot.
So for a couple of weeks now we’d made plans to try a meal there. Last week I picked up a debilitating head cold and Angel had some dog duties, so we didn’t go out at all. It was going to take a special effort to get a meal there because of their hours. We’d have to do lunch.
We don’t normally get together for lunch, if we lunch at all. Angel has the dogs, and for me, I often have Write Club meetings or errands or cemeteries or something, so lunch at the household is pretty much a thing left up to the individuals to fend for themselves as they get time.
The Place:
On the hill that drops down from BB right behind Los Portales. So Cool Beans now wins the status of the place closest to our house, by about sixty feet. Parking is adequate, at least on weekends, but it is slanted. Getting in and out of a big SUV is either a climb or a steep drop.
You step down into the café and immediately realize that this is not a sports bar, it’s not a fine restaurant, it’s not fast food, and it’s not a converted auto parts store, this was a coffee shop, a little urban, a little Bohemian.
There were several small tables, several tall Bistro tables, as well as a few easy-chairs with side tables for sitting and relaxing. They offer free wi-fi, of course, it’s a coffee shop. One could easily just drop in, grab a coffee and perhaps a muffin and just sit and surf or read, as I did on Saturday morning. No rush, no pressure. I used to go to Hardee’s a couple of Saturdays a month to just sit and chill. But Hardee’s, as good as their coffee and sausage biscuits are, just isn’t homey and cozy. It’s plastic and industrial.
As a coffee shop Cool Beans is exactly the kind of place that Starbucks, et al, tries to be, pretends to be. But how would it be as a place to eat?
The Food:
French dip and minestrone soup
We headed inside, we’d managed to arrive Sunday around noon. We’d tried on Saturday around two but the place, believe it or not, was packed to the rafters, standing room only.
On Sunday there a few people there, but it wasn’t crowded.
We glanced over the chalkboard, asked a few questions about sizes of things and about the bread, the owner was patient, friendly and helpful.
I ordered the Philly cheese steak with chips. Angel asked for the French dip, half-sandwich and the day’s minestrone soup. For a side she asked for the veggie cup, a cup containing fresh, snack-sized carrots, celery and broccoli. I would have asked for that instead of chips except for the fact that it had broccoli. (blech). The veggie cup comes with  ranch dip if you want.
Adam chose the chicken bacon ranch sandwich and cheddar chips.  Each meal came with a pickle.
For drinks, it was tea, sweet tea and for Adam, a French Silk Mocha.
I know! Who would have guessed that? He doesn’t even like coffee!
I made a big deal out of his choice, I even questioned his parentage and patriotism. He just smirked like I was from another planet.
Philly Cheese Steak
We sat at a small table near the door and watched the place, people coming and going. A blonde lady with her small, thick-spectacled son, a couple of young Goth types, a couple of ladies that seemed to be related, and another middle aged couple that took their order to go.
I looked around the joint, it was perfect for its function. Dark carpet, a couple of green walls and a couple of textured yellow  ones, a few miscellaneous photos and tasteful prints. The side tables next to the easy chairs held ceramic tea pots for decoration. The tables were pale wood, the curtains and easy chairs black. Someone with a good, but easy-going eye outfitted the place. They didn’t go cheap nor regimental. It was like someone’s house, functional, good quality furniture that didn’t necessarily match, but it went together. On the soffit  overhead was a quote hand painted in script. “Dreams are necessary to life” ARL (unless I wrote that down wrong) I’m not sure about the ARL, but it’s an Anais Nin quote. Nin was a Bohemian writer and early activist in the feminist movement. I found this a little ironic, since before the feminist movement, women made sandwiches for their men like good wives should, now we mostly have to make them ourselves or buy them at cafes like this one.*
The sandwiches were made to order, unlike the sausage biscuits at Hardee’s. I’ve sent back a few of those after they sat around too long and turned into indestructible chew-toys.
The wait wasn’t bad at all. It wasn’t fast-food franchise fast, but it wasn’t snooty restaurant slow either.
They called our order and Adam and I jumped up and fetched.
The sandwiches were served up in plastic baskets lined with paper. The chips were upper-quality branded bags. The pickles were nothing fancy, but then, why would one need a fancy pickle?
The bread was the first thing we noticed. It was pretzel bread. Essentially the recipe for soft-serve pretzels, without the big chunks of salt, in the shape and size of hamburger buns. Pretzel bread is denser than white bread and holds up very well even with a sloppy sandwich.
We popped open our chips, Angel snapped the fresh veggies and we dug in.
Her French dip was served with a small ramekin of au jus (Gesundheit!)**. Which with her recovering arm still in a brace, she tipped over and spilled into her basket. When she went to try her pickle she was disappointed because it tasted like beef.
Chicken Bacon Ranch sandwich
The soup looked great, and Angel said it was. This was not canned soup, you just don’t see chunks of veggies and meat and pasta like this in canned soups. Angel sopped up every drop of it.
The size of the sandwiches was perfect for a lunch. It wasn’t piled thick or too bready. The meat was thicker sliced than typical deli meat and cooked juicy and perfect. The peppers and onions in mine still had texture and taste, the cheese was melty and smooth. The pretzel bread added just enough yeasty flavor to make it unique and tasty, not overpowering. 
Not as big as a Subway sandwich, or even a six inch Subway sandwich, and not as crowded with superfluous toppings. It was a simple, yet classy and tasty, and thoroughly filling Philly cheese steak.
Adam thoroughly enjoyed his as well, even while washing it down with a fru-fru girly drink.
Summary:
Comparing Cool Beans to Starbucks isn’t fair. If anything this place is more like Panera, or St. Louis Bread Company, except better. Once again Panera only pretends to be Bohemian and urban cool. This place really is. It has original sandwiches and soups, which the owner says he’s working to add to and improve all the time. The location is superb, except for the fact that it’s in Hillsboro which means it’s out of reach of a lot of you poor saps out there. For me, the location is great.
We spent just under thirty bucks, more than fast food, but the quality and freshness were worth every penny.
My tea was great, Angel’s said hers seemed to taste old after a while, but that could be the illness  talking, she inherited my head cold.
Sometimes places open that you hope are as good as you want them to be. This place is. In fact, it’s better. I really want this place to be successful, it’s a good idea. I only hope that the small population of this little town can maintain it. Sure, it's out of the way for many of you, my dear, devoted fans, but if you're looking for something cozy, comfortable, affordable, relaxed and delicious, you should make the effort.
____________________________


* Making sandwiches: Yes I will pay for this, count on it.



** Gesundheit does not mean ‘Bless you’, it’s German for ‘good health’.  Why we say something like that at all when someone sneezes is a mystery to me, we don’t offer blessings or good health when people belch, cough or fart, why does a sneeze get special attention?





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