McAlister's Deli

703 N. McCroskey
Nixa, Mo
Web Site 

Our first time at the Nixa location. Not our first time at a McAlister's. Though the Nixa location is a mere 5 or 6 minutes from our house we usually visit the Springfield location as it is nearer to whatever Springfield things we are doing around lunchtime, HyVee, Relics (flea market) or Lowes.
    We had driven by the Nixa store, but usually on our way to Springfield. Nixa Is a mere 6 miles from the southern Springfield city limit, so either way it is not nearly as long as the treks to Desoto or Festus were from our home of 18 years outside Hillsboro. 
The first time we went, I ordered the spud, loaded. I was not extremely impressed. Nothing in particular was wrong with it, it was just a loaded baked potato after all, it was just at that time not very satisfying. I remembered the tea though, unsweet. Dark, fresh, very good. 
The next time we went I tried the BLTA. A BLT with avocado. Quite fancy for a country boy like me.  The next few times we dropped in I ordered the BLTA for myself or, on light-lunch days, Split one with Angel. 
On our way this crisp and clear Saturday evening I considered other, more substantial options. I had skipped lunch due to an 11 A.M. - 3 P.M. volunteer shift at the South Campbell PetSmart for the Humane Society of Southwest Missouri, and was HUNGRY!
We stepped in. Above the order counter was a menu. 

I struggled to read it. I couldn't make out most of it, it was mostly a blur. The Individual characters in the words ran together.  
I should explain myself. I have cataracts, so the eye doctor recently told me, not really a surprise. EVERYTHING in the entire universe is a bit blurry, but just a bit. Just enough to make life a little frustrating. Cataracts don't cause blind spots, I'm okay to drive, I just can't quite make out the words on a street sign until I'm at the intersection. Angel put it best; it's a lot like wearing a pair of glasses from a previous prescription. It is fixable though and I am scheduled for cataract surgery the middle of November.
    Fortunately McAlister's has laminated menus on the counter as well. I looked it over. Several kinds of sandwiches, as can be expected  at a place that calls itself a deli. Also various loaded potato offerings, nachos, salads, soups. . . .(follow the link above for a more thorough list.)

As it was though, nothing sounded better than the BLTA.  So that's what I ordered. They don't have a deep fryer, so instead of fries I asked for a bag of regular chips. The sandwich comes wit a dill pickle spear on the side.
This is not your mom's BLT. They use thick, apple wood, smoky bacon, not store-brand economy bacon. The lettuce is not iceberg, I don't recall what it is called but it is crinkly. and is menu described as a 'spring mix.' The tomato slice, well it's just a tomato slice. . . What makes this sandwich is definitely the A, The avocado. Creamy, fresh, very clean in taste. Avocados are notoriously tricky since they are only ripe and ready to eat for about ten minutes. The thick skin discloses nothing about the ripeness. I suppose there is a science or an art to choosing avocados, I just don't know what it is. McAlister's nails it though, EVERY time. Thick chunks, spread evenly. Heavenly.

Angel ordered the smoked pork nachos. She'd ordered that before at the Springfield branch
but was told that they were out of pork, so she ordered a sandwich instead. This night at the Nixa location they were NOT out of pork.

When the food arrived at the table, no time was lost, we were all pretty hungry. 
The pork nachos were not smothered in anything. Just enough pulled pork, tomato chunks, green onions, olives and cheeses, topped with a drizzle of cheesy sauce, just enough to taste.
The plates, even at presentation, were clean looking. There was definitely some patience and practice applied with each service, not just stuff slopped into a bowl.

The 'Famous' tea should be mentioned. Angel had said, about the sweet tea in previous McAlister meals, was maybe a bit TOO sweet, My southern ancestors spin in their graves whenever anyone complains that any sweet tea is TOO sweet. Blasphemy!
So Angel asked the delightful, elfish, young lady taking our order if she could have "half sweet-half unsweet."  The lady nodded and said "Sure". as if this were a common way to order tea.
If you are a long time reader or a new reader perusing the archives you might notice that I comment about tea frequently. That's because in a lot of eateries tea is treated as little more than a necessary hassle., a near-zero profit afterthought. It is quite difficult to find fresh, clear, dark tea in many places. If you find a place with really good tea, it tells you a lot about the personality of the place, the staff and the management. The way they treat the least of things gives you insight into the bigger things. 
Summary:
The place, like the Springfield location, was immaculate. The four big TVs on the wall near our table were muted, two showing some sort of college sportsball, and two showing an episode of 'Sponge Bob Square Pants' I couldn't quite make out the teams playing but since my college alma mater (Wayland Baptist University, Plainview TX) doesn't even have a football team, I couldn't really concern myself with the score of this one. Sponge Bob doesn't really do much for me either. 
  McAlister's is upscale compared to Subway, not quite fine French cuisine standards, but this is Nixa, not New York City.
       Angel didn't finish the nachos, but I didn't expect she would. She prefers to pick the toppings off and eat those one bite at a time. She'll eat SOME of the nacho chips, but never all of them. 
Adam devoured his sandwich before I could even tell what was on it. . . He'd worked that day and also had all but skipped lunch. I asked him later which sandwich he had ordered, he didn't remember either, but added "It didn't have a lot of meat."
In spite of that, I HIGHLY recommend this place, especially if you are looking for a light lunch while out doing other things. No heaping helpings here. 

McAlister's has 574 U.S. locations in 28 states. 35 in Missouri , 2 in Maryland and 21 in Kentucky.
The first store was opened in Oxford Mississippi in 1989

 

Flat Creek Restaurant - Republic

 772 US-60
 Republic, MO 
Web Site

A dark, drizzly October Sunday. I said to my wife: "It's looking like October outside." She replied: "Yeah, but it took all of October to get there."
We piled into the Beast (the 10 year old GM Acadia we own) rather the the 10year old Sonata we inherited, since the Sonata's headlights are a bit weaker. This time of year it would be dark before we headed home. 
Angel wanted to try this place ever since she first saw it, in passing, on her way to and from Aurora. . . (long story)
Highway 60 runs the entire breadth of Missouri all the way from Kansas to Kentucky, down near the bottom of the state, mostly alongside active railroad tracks.
Flat Creek Restaurant derives its name from. . . .wait for it, . . a nearby creek of that name. Angel said that when she was young her family would camp out on the banks of Flat Creek, Angel is quick to mention that she always hated those many camping trips. 
It is a regional chain, Republic was the third location opened in 2019, the first was in Cape Fair, the newest location is in Bolivar (2023).  It boasts "Large portions of fried chicken, catfish, steaks and barbecue."
More about the "Large portions" later.
I knew exactly what I would be ordering, the catfish basket. Adam doesn't care for catfish, Angel will eat it, I love it. So we don't have it at home very often. On the ten-fifteen minute drive to Republic, Angel and Adam were undecided. I told them: "From what I was able to glean online they are terribly proud of their fried chicken." 

We arrived, I was confused at first. In front of the entry there was a giant chicken and a bigger than life Shoney's 'Big Boy' character .  It made no sense. We entered anyhow. The interior very much reminded me of a place in rural Wisconsin we visited more than ten years ago, The House on the Rock. 
I wrote a thing about that trip and the surreal, sensory-overwhelming  nature of the roadside venue: Wisconsin 
In a nutshell, the man responsible for the House on the Rock was a 'collector' some would classify him as a hoarder who took great pride in his collections.
What did he collect? all kinds of things from the rather common to the rare, fake or real, it didn't seem to matter that much. Mannequins dressed as Angels, mechanical music machines and even mechanical full orchestras, knives, swords, jewelry and even a couple of kitschy 'every animal EXCEPT horses' carousels. 

Flat Creek was smaller, and had less stuff, but on every wall and even the ceiling there was stuff. An upside-
down kayak on the ceiling complete with a life-size kayaker, a wall of bicycle frames, front wheels attached, Many U.S. 60 road signs and several defunct restaurant and diner signs. The 'Big Boy' at the entry started to make more sense.
We were led to a booth in the busy place, under some mounted deer heads and an 80+ inch flatscreen showing a muted sportsball competition of some kind. The hostess handed us four page laminated menus, offered a cheery welcome and said someone would be by shortly to take our order.
As foretold, the young lady that would be our server stopped by in a few minutes.
"Can I get you folks something to drink?" 

I took the lead, I had done tens of seconds of advance research "I would like the house specialty, the Flat Creek Lager please."   I prefer ales, or IPAs and I only have beer of any kind when we dine out, but the fact that this place went to the bother of creating their own lager was intriguing. "Would you like a glass of water with that?" the server asked. "Why yes, yes indeed I would, with lemon please"
Angel asked for an unsweet tea with only a little ice, Adam asked for a diet Dr soda of some kind or the other, I wasn't really paying attention.
 Angel and Adam continued browsing the menu, I already knew what I would be ordering so I took the opportunity to scroll through the social media feed on my cellular telephone, to see how popular I was that day.
The drinks were delivered in a timely manner. I took my first sip, not bad, not bad at all. Unlike the puny lagers of a company I once worked for in St. Louis. (hint: they used croaking frogs in a TV ad a few years back)
It was time to place our entree order, we had skipped the appetizer round.
Angel spoke first. "Two piece fried chicken basket, mashed potatoes, green beans and

coleslaw." Then an amazing thing happened that I had never witnessed anywhere before. Without skipping a beat, the server asked her "Which pieces would you like?" 
I was dumbfounded, agog.
Angel responded with "a breast and a leg." The server casually jotted it down on her tricorder.
I have never been to a place that overtly asked for a chicken part preference. Given the choice and opportunity I would have gone for a thigh and a leg, or better, two thighs. What can I say, I'm a thigh guy, just ask anyone. Breasts do nothing for me.

Adam ordered the 'chicken fried chicken' which sounded somewhat redundant to me. His choice also came with sides, mashed potatoes and green beans or something. It turns out  that 'chicken fried chicken' only means standard fried chicken slathered in white gravy. Served in the style of chicken fried STEAK, but with chicken parts as the protein rather than violently hammered beef.
It was finally my turn, I was prepared, I had it memorized. "I shall have the catfish basket please!" I politely screamed.  Followed by, just for giggles, I added "And I'd like that cooked medium rare please."  I laughed, Angel elbowed me, Adam looked disappointed, the server lady threw up in her mouth a little. . .  good times!
They offer more than one catfish option. "All you can eat" which means what it says, for $2

more than the basket and the same sides (coleslaw, hushpuppies and fries) but with a couple of deal-killing caveats: No sharing, no to-go box. These rules were simply untenable to me
I order fish or fish and chips a lot when we dine out, mostly because we don't have it a lot at home. Catfish and fries is a LOT like 'fish and chips' only a midwestern USA style. Catfish is the thigh, or dark meat, of the fish world. Earthy, a bit stronger taste than your chicken breast-like tilapia or cod.
After a not-too-long wait, the plates arrived, still sizzling. It was apparent that presentation mattered to the owners/chef/staff. The plates were clean and proper. I broke one of my three filets into smaller pieces, knowing, by experience that the crusty breading would maintain the searing heat in for quite a while. I tried the coleslaw, sweet creamy not bad at all. Angel would later say it was "almost too sweet."
The fairly thick fries were crispy but a bit too salty for my preference. If you are a long time reader you will recognize that I say this a lot. I like salt, but just not too much. In fact I rarely salt ANYTHING at the table. I knew a guy once, at that beer company in St. Louis I mentioned earlier that, before he would eat ANYTHING he would smother it with more salt. It would make me physically ill just to watch the ritual. 
The hushpuppies were not bad, just not remarkable they could have added some diced onion maybe. . . .
Later, in the car, Angel offered her opinion of the chicken. "Quite good" she said, "just the right amount of seasoning in the breading, still moist on the inside." then she added a bonus comment. "Very good food for the price."
Sure enough the price of the meal was a bit less than an equivalent meal at a sports bar/restaurant like Applebee's, Outback, TGI Fridays, etc.
A consensus opinion: The portion sizes were unnecessarily large. We drove home with TWO to-go boxes. An entire filet of catfish and most of the fries in one box, the other box was shared with chicken from both Angel and Adam. Chef Robert from "Restaurant Impossible" would throw a fit seeing so much food go out the door in to-go boxes. I've seen him do it.
Look at my plate again. A pile of fries, two golf-ball sized hushpuppies and three full length filets, breaded and fried. That's a LOT of heavy, starchy food. 
     Even when I ordered it I knew form the menu photo that I would not be clearing that plate.
Chef Robert's suggestion was to cut back a bit on portion size, charge slightly less, but offer upgrades up front, kind of like the choices you get at fast food joints, regular or SUPER size it. A true win-win situation. 
Maybe there's a reason that enormous quantities of food are served up in southern, midwestern and country themed eateries. I just don't get it. 
Thoughts?
Bottom line, the food was excellent for the price. The variety of offerings was quite good, the atmosphere was just quirky enough to make it fun, the overhead music was decent, 70's -90's rock songs, mostly, but kept on relatively low volume. The staff was excellent, they made no obvious mistakes and they didn't yell across the room at each other. 
Will we go back? Probably. 

Waffle House

 3135 N. Glenstone Ave.
Springfield, MO

Saturday morning. My adult-sized daughter was moving out of her apartment of several years to a less dark and less (hopefully) maintenance-needy apartment a couple of miles away in Springfield. Since I am not in peak physical condition, nor have I ever been, I offered to rent her a U-Haul truck and take her tween daughter out of the way for the day. I had an agenda, the Ozarks Model Railroad Association was having a convention/show at the fairgrounds that day.  I thought my granddaughter might actually appreciate the level of detail on some of the layouts and the mechanics of moving tiny machines around a fixed path. She's an artsy type, pretty good and at ease drawing things, and has a delightful fascination with nature. She's also really, really hard to impress or entertain.
So that morning I picked her up and took her to the fairgrounds. She was, almost immediately, less than impressed. Yawning, in fact. I had been looking forward to this event for at least a couple of months, so I took my dear sweet time, despite the audible sighing. 
After we left the show I noticed it was nearing lunchtime. I asked my young date what she wanted and she answered 'Subway?'. 
The last time she suggested this I complied. The Subway store we went to was all but empty, the line prep line worker was idle. I decided to let her order her own, to encourage confidence and stop "treating her like a baby."
To her credit, she boldly stepped up to the counter and ordered "a regular sandwich".
The young worker looked up at me, confused, bewildered. . . .so was I. 
So the patient young man walked her through the individual steps. "What type of bread" followed by a list of the bread types on hand. Plain white bread was the choice. Then came the proteins,  beef, chicken, ham, turkey meatball. . . ."Ham!" she exclaimed. The young man then listed off the 7 or 8 cheeses options. "American!" she whispered. "What else?" the young man  did a Vanna White style motion with his hands over the produce area. She shook her head. He reached for the squeeze bottles of dressings and sauces.  "Just mayonnaise" she uttered.
Ham, American cheese, Mayo on white bread, not even toasted. THAT's what constitutes a "regular sandwich".  I could have made her one of those at the house. . . .
Anyway, on THIS Saturday morning I was in no mood, nor did a mere sandwich appeal to me. So I did a very grandfatherly thing, I overruled her. When she mentioned Subway, I offered to take her to Waffle House instead.  A somewhat defiant "Fine" was her only response.
The Place:

Just down Norton Road at the intersection with Glenstone.  It looks, remarkably, like EVERY other Waffle House. With over 2000 locations, mostly in the midwest and south, the company tries to position its stores near interstate ramps. This one is no exception, just north of an I-44 exit. Waffle House is unique among fast-food retailers. The Wikipedia entry for the franchise states:
"According to the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), Waffle House is one of the top four corporations, along with Walmart, The Home Depot, and Lowe's, for disaster response. Waffle House has an extensive disaster management plan with on-site and portable generators, and positions food and ice ahead of severe weather events such as a hurricane."
(Factoid: During her junior or senior year at Springfield Central High school or after graduation from same, my own daughter worked at a Waffle House for a year or so, just west of this location at the Kansas Expressway I-44 exit. The Kansas Expressway location has been converted to a vape and vape accessory shop recently.) She took her wages and generous tips and bought her first car. I don't recall if this was before or after her most notable job of that era, one of the original, Springfield Hooters waitresses. Yeah, My daughter was a well qualified Hooters girl. I weep with pride to this day. 
The Food:
 I go to Waffle House fairly often, I know the menu well. Not that I ever need a menu. I

ALWAYS  order the same thing. 2 eggs, over medium (runny yolk), hash browns, smothered (with diced onions) Two sausage patties, 3 bacon strips and wheat toast. The drink may vary, coffee or orange juice. I usually tell the server "Surprise me." when they ask for my jelly preference. Most servers appreciate that bit of freedom to choose.
We sat at the lower counter, on stools, rather than the few booth seats that hug the outer walls. It was pretty busy, being lunch time and all. The grandkid studied the menu like she had never seen it before, turning over the colorful, laminated page several times. "Just order anything you want." I said lovingly. I had no fear, This was Waffle House, no lobster, no foie gras, no wine list, no caviar. 
To my surprise, she still managed to pick the most expensive plate of

food, The Delmonico, with a thin steak, hash browns, covered (with a cheese slice) and toast. "Delmonico", so the experts at the internet tell me, is a thin ribeye steak cooked in the fashion of 'sous vide' which is French for 'under vacuum'. That's right, it never sees a pan. (though it may be seared on a griddle for a few seconds for color. For a more detailed explanation of this, please refer to my tedious essay on Maillard reactions) 
The sous vide method involves dropping the slab of meat into a plastic bag, sucking all of the air out of it, then immersing the bag in really hot water. This 'secret' method of cooking thin cuts has  been around for a while.   Since the slab is so thin it is very hard to keep it from overcooking (past medium). this method allows even temperatures around the entire steak, while keeping it tender. There, you learned something. 
She asked for steak sauce. She then proceeded to pour roughly half the bottle directly on top of the steak. So much that it was more of an icing than a saucing. The A1 covered the entire top side and formed a pool on her plate. She ate her cheese topped hash browns very much like her cat, her face almost touching the shredded potatoes on the plate and sort of shoveling/lapping in one shred at a time. It was an utterly fascinating thing to watch. 
Summary:
It was very good. How could it NOT be, This is all that they do 24/7/365. My granddaughter finished well before I did, her plate was clean. I sopped up the thick yolk with my toast and finished off the other half of my toast as a strawberry jelly sandwich in place of a dessert.
I had a plan B in case my young date didn't get quite the thrill as I did at the train show. Hobby Town. There she lit up and got sing-songy as she squeezed all the squeezable toys, and eventually picked out twenty dollars worth of things I can only describe as 'assemble it yourself glitter putty." Her day was made. I dearly love my granddaughter, she makes me smile.

Galloway Grill - Litton Lunch Special Edition

4211 S Lone Pine Ave.
Springfield, MO

Website

"Litton Advanced Circuitry was a division of Litton Industries, which was a major conglomerate and defense contractor, specializing in printed circuit board (PCB) manufacturing and other high-technology electronic components and systems. Litton Advanced Circuitry was primarily located in Springfield, Missouri, but the site was acquired by Northrop Grumman Corporation in 2001. Operations at the Springfield facility ceased, and the site was eventually demolished in 2008"

Welcome to a special edition of this trivial, silly journal effort.  I felt the need for the above 'explainer' since my fan base has changed significantly over the last couple of decades.
I worked at ACD/IPE  (Advanced Circuitry Division/Interpak Electronics) for around 15 years. My wife, who I first met there worked there for 17 years. 
I started as  a test equipment technician, on the factory floor, then was promoted to Engineering Assistant and eventually to Network Engineer and Network Manager. I was laid off in August 2001 along with a few hundred other employees as the tech industry bubble burst.  We made circuit boards. We specialized in "BUTS" boards (Big, Ugly, Thick Suckers)  otherwise known as backpanels. Back in the mainframe days companies like IBM, DEC, Wang, Unisys etc. made big central computer systems. These computers had an enormous 'motherboard' with slots for several 'daughter' boards. These motherboards could be 1, 2  or 3 feet wide and just as tall. They were usually multi-layered circuit boards, laminated layers sandwiched together, 1/4 inch or more thick. These boards were usually ordered in relatively small quantities. Sometimes only one or two for prototype orders. 
It was a chemical process, copper clad sheets of fiberglass, which through multiple photochemical processes, the unneeded copper (most of it) was etched away, leaving the circuitry behind.  Lots of acids and caustic chemicals were used to accomplish this.  
Employing as many as one thousand souls during its peak, tapering down to the mid seven hundreds, on average, during my tenure, LOTS of friendships developed. Those of us that worked there spanning a decade or more were very much like a family.
Those of us still in the area, those of us still LIVING in the area, get together every three months for a casual lunch. Typically around a dozen to as many as twenty old timers, at various restaurants, very much a casual affair.
The first several minutes each time is spent re-introducing ourselves to each other, without
embarrassment, since we are all above or well above retirement age and may not have seen

the other person in 25 years or more. After that we tend to reminisce, catch up, talk about medical treatments and conditions, interspersed with discussions about who recently passed away and what ever happened to so and so?
Since returning to the Springfield area in late 2024, after NOT living in the area since 2001, I've been able to attend all three of these lunches that have popped up.
This was the second time at Galloway Grill, I already knew what I would order.

The Place:   

On the Southeast corner of the city, there was once a post office in Galloway, along with several main street type businesses. The town of Galloway never was very big, population-wise, there was the old rail line, now mostly a trail, and a river-feeding stream. 
Currently there is a little revitalization going on, hipster apartments, a roundabout, probably a few upscale condos nearby. 
The 'Grill' is in an old clapboard sided building, repurposed and added onto a few times over the past years. The current owners bought the place early this century, after standing vacant for a few years following a lease dispute. They renovated it but kept intact much of the old-school character. It's a bar and grill, pool tables, several TV screens playing muted sportsball events, friendly, short skirted, dutiful servers scurrying about. 
The Food: 
The double-sided, laminated menu offered soups and salads, burgers and sandwiches. I hear the burgers are quite good. Since this was the middle of the day and I was driving, I did NOT

order a beer, even thought this was one of their claims to fame. Instead I asked for unsweetened ice tea. The lady server delivered the tea, it was quite good, not weak or bitter. 
Nor did I order fish and chips, primarily since they don't seem to offer that. My backup, here
stateside, when I'm not in the mood for a burger is a BLT.  Galloway Grill makes a really, really good BLT. LOTS of lettuce and crispy bacon on this selection. Listed on the menu as a KC style BLT. I have to admit I have no idea what that actually means. It did list, specifically, that Hellman's brand mayonnaise was one of the ingredients . . . maybe that's it?
The bacon was the real star though, cooked perfectly crisp, some would even say 'brittle'. Very smoky as well.
The plate came with "Beer Fries"  which, as best I could tell, just crispy fries with some sort of seasoning sprinkled on. I tasted no beer, or even beer batter, at all. Just seasoned fries. Pretty darn good fries though.
Summary:
I may insist that my family let me take them here in the near future, or the distant future. I've only seen it at lunchtime though, dinnertime could very well be quite different. The lady sitting beside me said this was her favorite bar. 
The lunch as an event was super. People I once knew only casually became old friends. No fights broke out, but a lot of energetic conversations, and lots of laughter. Some of the conversations continued in the parking lot, a few hugs were exchanged. . . . plans for the December get-together were already being made.

Colton's Steak House

2020 E. Independence St.
Springfield, MO 65804
Web site

Adam suggested this place, we quickly agreed. We've been there before, once. Since our last visit, which as best as we remembered, a good experience, it was actually recommended as a place we should try by my lovely, hardworking daughter. She's been a resident of Springfield for a few years. 
So we piled in to our trusty, low mileage Sonata and headed out, aiming toward furniture row on the south side of the Queen City of the Ozarks. 
The parking lot was large, but crowded, a popular place to be sure. Entering, there were several people in line. The din of the customers was palpable. The place had an obvious, but not over the top western theme, saddles, boots, paintings of horses and cowboys.. . Mostly it was dimly lit. Not exactly a romantic atmosphere but not as bawdy or raucous as your typical

Texas Roadhouse. 
We were escorted to a booth right away, the front desk seemed to be in firm control of the Saturday evening rush.  April, our designated server, asked about drinks. Angel and Adam asked for their usual, I went out on a limb, again.
Confession: I'm not a beer guy. Even when I worked at Anheuser Busch and was receiving a free case of beer each month, several bottles of the stuff were never consumed. I know guys, mostly guys, that can drink beer all afternoon, every day, I'm just not that guy. I do enjoy a GOOD beer though, occasionally, with a good meal. "Blue Moon IPA on draft" I demanded. 

April disappeared for a few moments then reappeared with the drinks, except for my beer. She did set a mug of water in front of me, which I appreciated. I learned that this is typical in somewhat fancy places, maybe a union thing, the beer would be delivered separately, by a minion from the bar.
During the 15 minute drive I asked my dinner companions what they might like. "We'll see, maybe a steak of some kind." came the answer with "What about you?" added on. "I'm not sure."  I tried to convince them that I was open to a wide variety of options. "Probably fish and chips again." came a snide remark from the back seat.  True, as best as I could recall, that was what I had the last time, and pretty much my go-to for any new place we try. This is a thing that started during our 2022 trip to Iceland.  There's a wide variety of  oddball meal options in Iceland, there were things I wanted to try and several things I had no intention of ever trying. So when we ended up in a Ring Road near-or-attached-to our hotel restaurant, fish and chips was almost always a safe and available option. Iceland is closer to the UK than it is to the U.S. so the customs and cuisine are more British/Irish than American. I do love, love, love the Icelandic hotdogs though. . . .trust me on this.
When April took our orders, and it came to my turn, I hesitated. All eyes were on me.
"I'll have (mental drumroll for dramatic effect) the fish and chips please."
Snickers all around. April picked up on it. "I take it that this was not entirely unexpected."
She scurried off. I took a few moments to sip my Blue Moon, and scanned the place.. Lots of staff people, walking briskly, sometimes carrying food or drinks or empty handed . . .there seemed to be a lot of people on the front of the house staff, LOTS of them, all bustling about. 
I tried to calculate the staff to table ratio. it seemed very close to 1:1.  Plenty of staff, busy, quick, but unhurried, much like an airport, hustle and bustle that SEEMED chaotic, but was somehow well orchestrated. 

The food arrived after a few minutes. It was gorgeous. I asked April for malt vinegar, but aside from that all our needs were met. I tried the coleslaw first, because I KNEW the fish would be lava-hot. I did break open a couple of the three fillets though to let the trapped, searing steam out. The coleslaw was of the creamy style as opposed to vinegar. There was also a sweetness from the  apples that they had mixed in. 
The 'chips' or as normal people call them, fries, were thick, very think, and not quite crispy. I would prefer that they be thinner and crispier but that's pretty much an American burger and fry thing. Not a UK inspired fish and chip thing. I'll allow it.
The fish itself was very good. In lots of places the breading slides right off, leaving a pile of breading and several fistfuls of flaky, unmanageable meat. Not here though. It must be a technique thing The breading added a satisfying crunch and the innards, the cod, was thick and fresh. I was only able to finish about half of that which was served, which is fine, they make take-away boxes just for this sort of first-world problem. Four or five minutes in the trusty air fryer and voila! Lunch.
Angel ordered the steak (medium) and shrimp plate with a side salad and a baked potato. 

The seasoned grilled shrimp rested on a base of plain rice, for no particular reason other than presentation. It certainly wasn't necessary for the meal since it abutted a fair-sized baked potato. The shrimp was seasoned, lightly, with branded Colton's seasoning rub. A small jar of which was on the table. Similar to seasoned salt and just shy of Old Bay in flavor. There was also a bottle of Colton's Steak Sauce that was eerily similar to A1 Sauce. 
I have a standard response when I order a steak and the server asks if I want steak sauce: "Not if you cooked it right."
I mean, how hard can it be to make a good steak? Butter, salt and pepper, don't overcook it. Bing, done. Steak, cooked medium or medium rare, brings plenty of taste on its own. If i ever eat a steak in front of you and I ask for steak sauce, too late, I'm already disappointed.

Summary: All was very, very  good. April stopped by three or four times to check on our satisfaction and to top off Angel's tea and Adam's soda pop. Angel had finished most of her side salad, then had one of the complimentary rolls, even though she had earlier said that these warm, slightly yeasty carb-bombs would be too filling. She pretty much swallowed the steak whole and completely eviscerated the potato, leaving only the skin shell. There was no visible trace of the shrimp.  A thing you might want to know about my darling wife: Angel is, by every measure, a carnivore. She frequently snacks on 'meat cookies'. Leftover chicken steak or pork chops found in the chill chest. She doesn't even bother nuking them first. Frankly, it is kind of scary. Like a primitive mammal, gnawing away down to the bone.
I asked for opinions on the drive home. The answers ranged from "pretty good" to  "very good"  Would we be going back? Hell yeah!
If you are anywhere near any of their 35 locations and this restaurant is NOT recommended to you, then you need to find a wider circle of acquaintances. Top notch service, great dishes in a comfortable atmosphere. 

Amazin Buffet

 2501 S Campbell Ave.
 Springfield, MO 65807


Yeah, I spelled it correctly. 
I thought I'd start this blog re-launch with a place I already knew would not disappoint. I was reminded that one of the reasons I stopped writing these near-weekly reviews was that "we" were growing tired of lousy food. 
    Speaking of the relaunch, I decided to NOT fall back into some of my old habits, some of which included 'embellishing' remarks made by certain others in my exploration of eateries. Therefore I made a promise to my co-eaters, Angel, my beloved and quite tolerant wife, and Adam, our adult son, a young man of very few actual words.  He knows words, lots of them, he just doesn't use them very often.  The promise was to not cite quotes from them that were embellished or maybe to even not quote them at all. Whereas before, I involved them quite heavily.  I assured them that with this new and improved style they need not be concerned with the blog at all, just enjoy the meal and the time together. Personally, I think that was very generous of me. 
So I won't be including ANYTHING they actually said, at least this time, it was all "off the record."

I kept this entry rather short, I'm a bit rusty, I promise that future posts will be even more unnecessarily wordy. In the meantime, feel free to glide some of the older posts tell me what you think, if you dare.

Summary:

It's a buffet, all you can eat. Typical Americanized Chinese fare. Including a sushi line, for those of you that like that sort of thing, and a Hibachi line for those people that like to pick out raw ingredients and have some 'chef' prepare it for them while they watch.
The buffet lines, four or five of them, have all the beefs, porks, and many, many chicken options, rice, noodles and even seafood, that you might expect and even crave, fixed the way you  expect for them to be prepared. They even have one line for some traditional American foods, mac and cheese, tacos, etc. for those fickle and fussy kids' tastes.

The place is VERY clean, the offerings were FRESH, rotated out often,  and spiced just right. 
The consensus was nearly 100% positive. When polled, those with me at the table said:
Adam: "      "
Angel added: "   "
Then Adam replied to her: "     "
Then we laughed and laughed at what Adam said. 

WhatABurger

It's been a while, eight years, in fact, that I stopped writing these silly things on a regular basis. 
What started out as a writing exercise took on a life of its own, seven or so years before that. If you are a NEW viewer, please take note of the caveats and disclaimers that are part of the template for this puny effort. It's currently a bit dated, I'll update it as I get the chance.  What will not change is the bit about this being MY OPINIONS and observations based on a SINGLE meal/location unless otherwise indicated.  I claim NO expertise or training in cuisine critique. FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY!  These essays may/will include satire, sarcasm, exaggerations, hyperbole and sometimes rudimentary and/or deeply flawed attempts at comedy for comedy's sake. 
That being said, let's start by re-publishing, with some amendments, a recent, rather lengthy, social media  post:

WhataBurger
3880 W, Sunshine
Springfield MO  
Web Site

I wanted to see what all the hubbub was about. I was flying solo, all by myself, alone,  shopping for a table squeegee (explanation available upon request) and a new deck chair. 
This was near the Menards home store that was the first stop on my quest. 
So I parked and stepped in. It was only noon-ish but already 90+ degrees.

The place:   Unremarkable. Clean, new-ish but nothing fancy or clever.  As I stepped up to the counter, ready to place my order, a completed order was ready for another customer. The lady holding the bag called out "DENNIS, I have an order for DENNIS!"
I checked my time machine and rather quickly remembered that time machines don't exist yet. (or do they?) It took me a few seconds to realize that, oddly enough, another person existed in the universe with my given name.  
I rattled off my order to the guy behind the counter 30 seconds had elapsed since the name calling event. 
"What name shall I put on this order?"
This was weird, awkward.
"Let's just go with Dennis"
He too thought it was weird. I could tell. There was a short pause as he recalculated his next words.
"Hey, are you a MENACE?" He smiled at his own cleverness.
"Excuse me?"
His expression changed from delight to slight worry.
"Uh, you know, 'Dennis the Menace', the old comic strip?"
"No, I have never heard that reference in my entire life."
The 'worried' expression turned to one of confusion and perhaps, fear.
"Really?"  he sheepishly squeaked.
Time to let the guy off the hook.
"Yes, I've heard it before but it stopped being funny to me around second grade."
The young man was now sweating. 

The Food.

Not BAD, just unremarkable. I ordered the #5, bacon cheese WaB. $11.94 with tax. It came with somewhat limp, mediocre fries and a 1/2 gallon styrofoam cup, which I filled with unsweet tea. The drink choice probably sounds blasphemous to my more southern friends and former classmates in Kentucky, where the standard measure for tea is one part tea, one part sugar. I can't do that anymore, Doctor's orders.

The burger itself had already assumed room temperature by the time I snapped and posted the photo. The patty was broad and thin and the standard toppings were plentiful, in fact those on the outer edge of the burger fell off. The lettuce was chopped, my favorite style for a burger or sandwich, since when chopped it can no longer act like one of those aircraft emergency exit slides for the other toppings.

Okay, this bit is a little petty, the cheese.

It had melted a little, which is fine. During the assembly phase though, and EVERY filet-o-fish I've ever had from McD's has had the same issue: ALIGNMENT.

The cheese melts appropriately, then it cools and sets. Basic physics. The patty and bun were not lined up before the melted cheese firmed up again. The bun and patty were welded together lopsided. A full half inch off center. An entire meatless bite on the right side. Arrrgh! Quality control folks, it's a simple thing, but a real thing!

The bun was thin and not too dense or heavy.

There was no ketchup on the tray, table or the self-service kiosk where the napkins and straws were. The counter guy walked around the dining area, checking on customers. As he approached my table he said, with a rising inflection, "Ketchup?"

My mind jumped directly to "Duh, yeah!"

He returned with a tray, where the three or four available ketchup options were sorted in their individual serving sized, peel-top sauce containers. I chose the one he described as 'regular'. That's just the kind of guy I am.

The dining room was about half full, mostly tradespersons from the perpetually, eternally, under-construction Target store down on West Sunshine Street.

So there was no crush of customers.

I heard, a while back, about some town's first WaB location grand opening, lines wrapped around for several blocks. . .

I was expecting to at least be mildly impressed, but alas, I should temper my expectations a little.
A social media 'friend', a delightful, interesting guy that was in high school at the same time as me, though not in the same class, John, commented of the post that: "Living here in Texas I have come to learn that eating at Whataburger for some Texans is a near religious experience."
A religious experience? What is WRONG with Texans?

Taytro's Noir

We rolled up to the shiny brick dive in the big brown cruiser, slammed its doors and marched ourselves right in to the joint. We stopped at the front, tried to look mean, dangerous, because that’s all this crazy world respects.

The young vixen eyed us, glanced over at the tables, then back at us. In that short span she’d weighed the odds, figured the chances and made up her mind, a real pro.

“Three?” She asked with a soft voice and a mild accent that pegged her as being brought up in some backwater village that only recently discovered the joys of indoor plumbing.  At least  she had a brain inside her, she could count.

“Three.” Angel answered; I’d dodged that chore once again. Angel’s prettier than me, more friendly than me and I use her as our mouthpiece whenever I can. Less hassle, less violence that way.

The girl tried to sit us right at the door. It was all I could do to keep myself from throttling her to a pulp right then and there. “That’s right cupcake, put us by the swinging door, grimy strangers bumping over us, everybody and their aunt squeezing around us! Sure, put us there ‘cause it’s three and a half feet closer to your station than the dozen or so empty tables by the window! Great thinking! Great customer skills there Lazy Nancy!”

Angel beat me to it though. “Could we have a table away from the door please?” She cooed. Angel coos a lot, it’s part of the reason this lousy lug fell over himself, ass over hat,  in love with her all those years ago. She’s got the girly charm, the velvet voice, the soft eyes that belie the tough, twisted nut she really is. I’m all up front, right there on main street. People run away just catching sight of me.

The girl got wise, probably sensed me seething and fuming. “Sure.” Was all she could manage to say. Then she pointed at a better spot. “Good girl!” I thought. “Thanks.” Angel cooed. Adam followed, we did the dance, them looking to see which chair I picked. They know I have to watch the joint, the comings and goings, so I get first pick of the seat. Like good little lackeys they plopped down in turn, with quiet respect and deserved awe.

Another girl, also a local, crept up to us with a fistful of menus. She didn’t waste any time, this gal. Good for her, I didn’t need any nonsense this foul night.

I needed a beer, the gal must have seen it in my eyes and she stood up to the challenge. Nothing sparkly and clear for me, I needed it dark and strong. “Sam Adams Spring Ale?" She played. I nodded, that would do swell. Angel and the boy wimped out and screamed for Cokes, regular for the lad, diet for the lady.

The girl slapped down the menus then took her leave.

We looked through them even though we didn’t really need to. We picked this joint because we wanted a Louisiana po’ boy and this is the only place standing in the county that can take a simple concept like that and make it halfway edible. Shrimp, catfish, didn’t matter, pick your meat and stuff your gut.

The boy asked his mama about an appetizer. Sounded too frilly for me, I didn’t need my appetite teased, I needed a sandwich. Angel’s a soft touch though, much softer than me. I was ready to kick his ass to the parking lot just for opening his yap, but she turned on that charm of hers and colluded with the boy. By the time the dust settled on that hairy debate they’d agreed to the chicken tenders. They’re made like the wings, just without the bones. I didn’t care, not my thing. I’d try one just to shut them up, but I wouldn’t like it much, I’d already decided.

The girl came slinking back with our drinks, the beer looked cold and drippy. She sat it on the paper coaster in front of me, snapping her hand away before I could slap it.

I spat out my food order, barely containing the raging harshness I held in me. Once again, Angel softened the air up and ordered like there was no screaming, no blood on the near horizon. She’s somehow immune to the furious storms I see, plays like she’s not even aware of the twitching, rusty edge all around us. She can play the crowd like she’s all ice cream and cake when I know they’re all just drooling and snapping for the chance to whip and stab us as soon as I let my guard down.

The beer was cold, damned cold, as cold as an ex-wife.  It hit my throat like a glacier on a camp fire, shaved off some of the rasp, and hit my belly soft as a pillow. My ragged brain took hold of the alcohol and pleasured itself for a second or two of calm. A dangerous thing, beer. Makes a man think everything is hunky-dory, especially when it ain’t. This is why booze causes so many marriages, even a big thug can go all weak and stupid with this stuff sloshing around in him.

We had to wait for the tenders, this did not settle well with me. All I could do was sit and stare out the window at the local fuzz messing with a man for having too cool a ride to be allowed to be left alone. Cops gotta mess with the boys, they’ve just gotta. Makes up for their own puniness I suspect.

By the time, and it seemed like hours, the girl came back with the teaser, I’d already considered busting up the joint. I’m not a patient fella, and when I’m all ready for something and it ain’t coming around, then I’m liable to go Viking and tear a place down. I can sit and wait at home, or in a pretty park, or in a john boat with trout swarming beneath me. I go to eating places to eat, not stare out the window and listen to some brat at the next table spit and scream.

Angel and our boy tore into the little brown chunks, I took one and pretended to like it. It wasn’t awful, I was just too fired up and ready to leap to be cheated by something less than what I came here for.

More waiting. The beer was half gone, my noggin starting to seriously fog, and the big girl behind the bar was starting to look prettier by the minute. She wasn’t homely when I was sober but here I was with an early buzz and she got downright appealing. Her hair, raven black and the bangs cut short above her soft round face made me think of Betty Page, but then, lots of things make me think of Betty Page. A timeless classic, ahead of her time. Willing to put it all out there for people to point at and sweat about and still grin and giggle like a school girl when the fat checks poured in. No dummy, Betty Page, smart, real smart. Too bad she went nuts.

The big girl behind the bar was chuckling up the stoolies, talking a bit too loud for my liking after a while. I thought maybe she needed a big lug to step up, take hold of that silly apron and yell down at her face to shut up for a few lousy minutes. I woulda’ done it myself, but Angel doesn’t take kindly to me when I sometimes do what should be done. She likes us to sit and be quiet, which is tough for me with so much stupid noise coming from all angles.
A couple came in and pretended to be harmless. I was on to them from the get-go. They were up to something savage, I could tell by the way they didn’t slam the doors on their late model Taurus when they pulled up. The woman made a phone call on her portable, probably checking in with the lookouts I couldn’t see. They were a clever pair. Looking at them, an ignorant civilian would just think they were a grey-haired man and wife out for a good meal. I felt it in my gut though, as sure as I feel the festering boil on my butt, they were here to stir up some mayhem. I was torn between letting it happen and putting an end to it right then and there. They wouldn’t see me coming, I’d hit them like a spring storm and shred them to nubs before they had a chance to sip those fruity drinks in front of them. I’d leave a pile of mush on the floor and then go back to my table and order some sweet dessert. I decided to let them simmer in their own evil for a while, let them lead this early part of the dance, see what played out. I had enough moves in me, all planned out, to stop the impending madness before John Q. Public got much more than a bloody nose. They must have been on to me though, they played it cool the whole time. I’d shut this carnage down without lifting a finger. Wimps. I was ready to play, they just got scared.

I was about to put my fist through the window when the girl finally brought me my sandwich. I was tempted to pinch her on the tail to show my appreciation, but she slithered away too quick. Her loss. There was a pile of shrimp, some greens and some pale tomatoes. Then there was the sauce. I’d had it before, and liked it plenty, even though I’m pretty sure they hired someone special just to spit in mine, or rub it in the floor first. People treat me that way all the time, I’m pretty sure. It just makes me tougher, meaner, scarier though. That’s the secret. There’s plenty of bums out there that want to put you down, they want to make their mark. The only way to squash it is to soak up what they toss at you and wear it like a pretty bonnet. They’ve got no play after that craziness, the smart ones will leave you alone and live another day.

The first bite hit me like a brand new day. The flavors jumped out like the different color crayons in a new box. The bread was thick, maybe too thick, but it didn’t really mess up the meal. The fries were spicy, a little, hardly enough to knock over a real man though. It takes a big bit more than a limp-wristed dollop of citrus-chipotle-mayo to put me on my beefy keester.
I choked it all down in just a few bites, the beer was nearly at room temperature but it was strong enough still to wash it all down. It would have to do, any more than one beer makes me nuts, crazy, loony-tunes nuts. Ask anyone.

The deal came to over forty smackers, robbery. Back in the day a man could buy a house for forty bucks, not anymore. Now, with all those commies in congress, a man has to work two or three weeks just to come up with a c-note. But I paid, because that’s what a guy is supposed to do in these lilly-livered enlightened times.
We  took our leave, I gave the sneaky couple a glance just to let them know they'd been made.  The server girls cheered up and called out their thanks, still naively unaware how close we'd all come to bloody carnage. We'd be back, even as dangerous as this place was, we'd be back. The big brown cruiser found it's purchase in the asphalt and we jumped out onto the highway. One more stop before we headed back to the bunker. Blockbuster. Sometimes even a tough, grizzly guy like me just needs to chill out with a heartwarming chick-flick. Yeah, I'm sensitive like that.


http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/28/1556154/restaurant/St-Louis/Taytros-Bar-and-Bistro-Festus

Lion’s Choice Redux

Lion's Choice
6030 S Lindbergh Blvd
 St. Louis, MO 63123
https://lionschoice.com/

Back in the innocent, halcyon days of 2011, my wife, Angel, my youngest son and myself ventured out on a bold experiment. Who makes the better roast beef fast food sandwich? The powerhouse chain, Arby’s or the regional favorite, Lion’s Choice.

Original post here.

The results were disappointing.  Lion’s Choice failed to stand out in any measure.

I like the underdog, the little guy bucking the massive commercial chains, the artisans vs. the profiteers. So much so that I proudly admit that even though I always vote, I’ve never voted for the winner in a presidential election. I am all about the underdog.

This post was the most read and most reviled of all our 300+ reviews, ever. The comments were intense, many were blocked due to language and basic civility concerns. I allowed many to be posted, none, absolutely none, supported my reasonable conclusions. Several of those that I blocked violated many moral and perhaps even legal codes of reasonable taste, many describing anatomically impossible deeds.

However, I found out recently that management at LC had, at the top, changed since then by an aggressive CEO that wanted to march in and 'fix the problems'.

Bully for that! Time for a re-evaluation.

Confession, I have not been back to the Lion since that 2011 review.

The Place: I informed the family that we would give the Lion another chance. They were tepidly receptive as they usually are about my inspired suggestions.

So Friday evening, on my way home from work, instead of the 270 NB exit I usually take off of I-55, I took the next, Lindbergh exit. ‘Lindbergh’ is a St. Louis hallmark. The street is named for legendary alleged communist, Charles Lindbergh, as many things here are, communist or otherwise. He flew to France once, which at the time was apparently harder than it is now. (I really need a better research staff since I’m pretty sure there is a little more to this whole Lindbergh story)

I pulled in to the uninteresting parking lot and parked my new car, Red Rover, that Angel can do nothing but make fun of for its diminutive, yet perfectly practical profile.

Inside the moderately tidy restaurant, I was greeted by Greg, a young man certainly younger than half of my sock wardrobe. Professional and efficient though, he repeated my order back to me without error. Kudos Greg!

3 Standard roast beef sandwiches with cheddar cheese, one each French dip, ham and pulled pork sandwiches and a cup of chili plus three orders of fries.  $34.75.

The Food: I waited, per Greg’s explicit instructions. No more than 5-7 minutes though.

I curled up the bag tops to keep in the warm and drove home the final 35- 40 minutes of my miserable daily commute.

I decided to say nothing to the family about my half roast beef sandwich and thirteen fries dinner (all I can handle in a single sitting, long story.)

Angel picked out another flagship roast beef, full order, because she burns a lot more calories 24/7 than I do. All good so far.

For the many years that this modest blog was most active, Angel was the constant voice of reason and forgiveness. Rarely critical, never harsh or acidic. However, with this meal she was anything but kind.  She tried the au jus (Gesundheit!!)  “It’s just bouillon.” She proclaimed. “There is no actual taste to the meat.” She violently screamed later. “The fries are limp, under-cooked and did not travel at all well.”

Then she tasted the chili. You don’t want to know.

There were 4 ½ sandwiches, bought and paid for, remaining. “I’ll just have some soup tomorrow.” was the final, cutting, fatal, verdict from my charming, sweet wife.

My son, Adam, got home from work a bit later. He reheated the pulled pork and some fries.

I said nothing, waited.

When wiping the last crumbs from his face, I asked “Well?”

“Meh, it was fine.” Which is millennial speak for “ I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but as a meal it was barely adequate.”

Damning, to say the least.

Yes, I had my own opinion, but I did not want to drive or even influence the opinions of my beloved family. They spoke candidly and spontaneously. Unlike me, they had not revisited the 8+year old post.

Yet what they said now was not at all different than what they said back then.

Unremarkable at best, forgettable, and uninteresting.

“If I was hungry, even for roast beef, I think I’d drive right past Lion’s Choice.” Adam said. “Not awful, just not very good.”
That’s it. I stand by my ancient criticisms. Nothing has really changed. In 8 years and a complete change in top management. The fries are still limp and under-cooked, the beef/cheese is simply too salty to tasteless.  The tidiness in the storefront was less tidy, the service was pretty good though.

Saturday.

Angel picks lunch. She’s not one to waste food or opinion. The rest of the French dip sandwich, added a lot of horseradish and pulls her homemade beef/veggie soup from the fridge. Dips and soaks the  sandwich accordingly. “Well, that at least made it edible.”

I’m not making this up. Angel is NOT a food snob. She likes the nicer places as well as the bastard food obscenities known as McDonald's and Taco Bell, two places I will never, without extreme duress and coercion, even consider a place I want to eat. But the strength of her disdain for the Lion’s Choice menu is at the same time, shocking, telling and bewildering. She is very open to referring to Taco Bell fare as actual tacos, but these sandwiches from LC being even okay?  No.

My opinion?

I had a homemade sausage biscuit for breakfast. Even with all that meat in the fridge. . . . Unimpressed, unsatisfied, un-tempted.

Sorry folks, Arby’s* may indeed be fake, processed beef*, but the hometown rival, Lion’s Choice, even with its ‘fresh’ claims, is not very good where it counts most, taste. They boast, curiously, about not salting the fries, but overwhelm the otherwise lackluster beef/cheese with saltiness. To me, not worth the time or effort  to pull into their driveway.

I’d seriously rather have a fish sandwich from McD’s.
Adam has a flagship roast beef sandwich for lunch. “Too salty. At first not bad, but near halfway, I’m overwhelmed by the saltiness.”

I’m paraphrasing, but not exaggerating. 8 years, no change.

Arby’s may be a processed food chain but perhaps there’s a reason they have thousands of locations and LC has fewer than 30 after 40 years.

I had the chili.

I’m always looking for a good chili source. . . . I’m still  looking. . . Not awful, just not much better than that canned crap I keep on hand for emergencies. I already had a little left of a batch of home made, so I just dumped the rest of the Lion's chili into that. Better than wasting it.

Summary: Why do I hate this place? I honestly don’t. I wholeheartedly support local ownership and the entrepreneurial spirit. I want them to shine, I want them to be exceptional. They just aren’t. LC was set up to be a fast-food competitor, not a fine dining establishment. Some locally owned businesses, for example, Gordon’s Stoplight, an old-style burger diner in Festus,  makes a far better burger than the big chains and excels at local success. I’ll have a burger there long before I’ll consider going to McDs or the King or any of the other franchise burger places. It’s just that much better. Cheaper?  I honestly never checked on that. If I want a burger, Gordon’s is the first place that pops to mind.
Roast beef sandwiches? I admit that this craving doesn’t come along often, but it does happen. When I worked downtown, LC was nearby. That’s where my teammates wanted to go, so I went. It’s not awful, at all. For a once every other month lunch, sure, fine.

LC set itself up to directly compete with the fast food joints. In the roast beef category, it is going head to head with Arby’s. I didn’t make that as a rule, this is the obvious business model. Everything about LC screams fast food joint. It looks like a fast food joint, from the buildings to the ordering counter to the drink fountains and condiment dispensers to the price points. Indisputably,  LC wants to go head to head with Arby’s.
But unfortunately, the Lion brings nothing tangibly superior to the fight.  Sure, we can talk about ‘processed beef’ rather than ‘sliced to order beef’ but all of that is invisible to the hungry customer.
I want a roast beef sandwich and some fries. I am obviously not concerned at this moment with caloric purity or artisan technique. “Is yours more satisfying than theirs?” Is what I am asking.
I’m sorry St. Louis, as much as I’d love to extol the superiority of Lion’s Choice over its obvious corporate competitor, it just doesn’t deliver anything approaching a knockout blow.

If you want to be an Americanized Chinese restaurant, you only have to be a little better than Panda Express . Not exactly a high bar.

If you want to be a successful breakfast joint, Waffle House and Denny’s are your competition, bring me something better.

Burger joint? McDonalds / Burger King. Still a pretty low bar. Pizza? Pizza Hut or Dominos. Seriously low bar. If you want to champion the fast food style roast beef sandwich market?

Come on Lion’s Choice, you can easily do better.

Sunday night.
We finally tossed out the remaining sandwich.

* "processed beef." By spicing, cooking and slicing the beef, Food Lion sandwiches are also 'processed'.
* "Arby's"  I do not work for Arby's as was accused by some of the comments to the original post. In fact, I rarely, if ever, go there. I can't recall going there in at least a few years. . .