Bistro at the Square

48 Jefferson Square Plaza
DeSoto, Mo.

Today's lesson kids, is about mistakes. Not big ones like invading a country based on bad intelligence, or leaving a loaded gun unsecured when the grandkids drop by, or forgetting an anniversary. No we're going to talk about the more costly ones, the compounded little ones, the completely avoidable ones. The kind of mistakes that are so small, that they are only really of concern if they are repeated or piled up among other small mistakes.
Like forgetting to take extra batteries for your camera. Rookie mistake. I've done it before, I did it this time, again. Thus we have one picture and only one picture and it is of the appetizer.
Sorry. I am a professional, I should really know better.
Then there are other professionals that with a little more attention to the simple things could easily turn a pretty bad review into one more deserving of the place being reviewed. Case in point:

The Place:
Inside the main building on Jefferson Square. It's not obvious, the signage is modest. Jefferson Square may have once been a mini mall, it now contains a couple of offices, the restaurant and the Jefferson Inn. The Bistro includes a bar area, an atrium that fills out a corner of the open main floor, and a large banquet room.
We always sit in the atrium, non-smoking. A summer squall was building over Hillsboro as we headed south. It rained on us in spurts, we went into the Bistro ahead of whatever was building. The bulk of the storm stayed north. DeSoto was sunny, but being on the edge of the squall, we watched the sunshine-backlit rain from our seats in the atrium for the entire meal.
There was only one other table filled in the atrium, a middle aged potato-shaped couple. The female seemed bitter about almost everything. We were seated by a well dressed and clean cut young man. He barely  mumbled and rarely in complete sentences. He handed us the menus and asked about drinks. Tea, tea and Pepsi/Coke.
Angel and Adam decided to get the requisite appetizer, the locally ubiquitous fried ravioli. I'd skip it and save room for the meal.
The tables were all nicely arranged, white linen tablecloths with hunter green place mats and paper tape around the silverware. Each table had a small vase with a tasteful arrangement of fake flowers. Music emanated from a boom box by the Bistro's entrance, I couldn't quite make it out, the lyrics seemed Italian, but the accompaniment was more mariachi. It could have been Mexican ballads, or bad Italian music. At one point it sounded Hawaiian, though Hawaian as being by four guys in sombreros playing giant guitars.
The Food:
Most things on the menu looked pretty good, pasta, steak, fish, salads and soups. Though called a bistro, the fare was not uniquely Italian, not even close. But it all looked pretty good. It also looked large. I think I've mentioned this before, my appetite ain't what it used to be.
Angel decided almost immediately, Adam shortly afterward. I sent the waiter away twice before deciding. Like I said, it all looked pretty good. I just wanted to get the most satisfying bang for the buck for my one weekly 'go-for-it' meal. It's like a kid with five bucks trying to decide which of the twenty things he wants that each cost five bucks, would be the most fulfilling.
I finally decided and  ordered the pork chops. The only reason I had hesitated had been because there were two chops in the order. I knew I wouldn't be able to eat both. So I thought ahead to scrambled eggs and chopped pork chop for Sunday breakfast. That sounded pretty good. I asked for the baked potato and corn on the side.
Angel had fallen for the catfish special, two big filets, along with fries, slaw and baked beans. Adam surprised no one on the planet by asking for the Buffalo chicken sandwich.
We ordered, the ravioli arrived shortly, I took the first and last picture of the evening.  The ravioli looked extra crispy to me, not the good kind of extra crispy like KFC serves, rather as in over-fried-crispy. Angel confirmed this suspicion after having a couple.
When I'd ordered my meal, 'Sparkles', as I internally named him with a huge measure of irony, asked me if I'd like butter and sour cream with the baked potato. My first inclination was to ask him if anyone ever said no to that, but I let it go. I know better than to mock the staff before the food arrives. This is important for later.
The ravioli disappeared except for the crispiest bits. I watched the rain outside as Angel and Adam played some form of shape arranging game on her cellular telephone.Another phone rang loudly, full volume, the annoying default tune.
The sour, potato shaped lady took the call on the third or fourth verse of the hideous tune. It was her mom. Yes they were at the restaurant out of the storm and she didn't know why they brought her a baked potatos and that tomato crap when she didn't order it. She'd clearly told them when they wouldn't allow substitutes to just skip that other crap. But no, they brought it to her anyhow. Oh the humanity!
Fortunately it wasn't a long conversation, just an angry and loud one. I jotted down the parts I'd heard thinking how rude it was  to complain about a restaurant publicly like that. Then I noticed the irony of my indignation, as I wrote down more notes to build a public, on-line and potentially scathing review.
'Potentially scathing' because I was already getting frustrated with Sparkles. He'd stopped by a couple of times, first to ask if we wanted saucers for our appetizers instead of dripping marinara all over our laps, and again when he came by to clear the plates and ask about refills, he called me 'Bud', twice.
I was raised in the south and then immediately spent the next nine years in the military. Ma'am and sir rolls off my tongue as easily as saliva. I wasn't sure why 'Bud' bothered me, but it did. I expect to hear it in a locker room among long-time pals whilst snapping towels at each others glistening sweaty bodies. . . Sorry about that unfortunate imagery, but it seemed a little too familiar and casual for a nice place with white linen table cloths. Also the mumbled and exasperated questions, still not phrased in complete sentences. 'Take these plates away Bud?", "Refill on that tea Bud?".
When the meals did arrive, they looked pretty good. Two large, thick chops, a foil wrapped, medium sized potato and a wilting kale leaf. To the side a small bowl of fading, soggy looking corn, not near as bright and perky as what you see on a can of Nibblets.
I tried the corn as he placed Angel and Adam's meals. Yeah, as I'd suspected, this corn was long past prime. I scooted it aside. "Bring your roll in a sec, Bud, need anything?"
"Butter and sour cream?"
"Oh yeah, k."
He fetched the missing items quickly enough. I squeezed the roll, it was cold. Not just not warm, it felt refrigerated. The butter packets were about the same temperature. This is fine for butter, but it meant that the roll would not even begin to melt it. I passed on it. I'd spend my 'allowance' on the potato, which seemed perfectly hot and well cooked.
The chops were thick and thoroughly cooked. They were slathered with a brown sauce, which I tasted and decided was simple woostershire. . .worchestershire. . .westchestershore. . . you know what I mean. It wasn't bad, but hardly interesting. The Bistro's saucier must have had the day off.
I shredded the potato, folding in the butter (margarine) and sour cream. It was a decent size, which meant too big to finish so I ate mostly the tasty skin and a little of the meaty parts. I love baked potato skin.
Angel lopped off a  corner of her fish and slipped it onto my plate. It was nice and flaky, perfectly cooked but the breading seemed a bit salty. She liked it okay.
Adam wouldn't give an appraisal of his sandwich, only much later did he give it his two-thumbs-sideways: "It was okay."
Summary:
At forty three bucks the Bistro is appropriately priced for a nice restaurant in DeSoto. Add to that the incredibly small tip I tacked on, it was quite affordable. The food was pretty good for the most part, but not great. As with the service, a few little things could have made a big difference. Warm rolls, fresher veggies, a more interesting sauce, little things.
The service was bad. Not just my words, Angel agreed. Earlier we had been discussing Adam's upcoming job interview and I had made a point that he should put on his 'customer face'.  We are introverts and not just a little bit. It is actually a struggle, an aerobic exercise to look into another person's eyes and cheerfully engage them. Seriously, it's hard.
I told Adam that I had developed a 'customer face' when dealing with my customers, those for whom I provide service. I told him that it is not always easy to do, in fact sometimes it's very hard, but it is absolutely mandatory to be successful in any form of service industry. You have to set aside the lousy day, the foul mood, even completely justified ambivalence or apathy, just set them aside. Be polite and respectful always, even if it's just an act. Reign in the sarcasm and snarky comments. All that dour wit will not be appreciated by near strangers that just want you to do your job.
Sparkles can fix this. He needs to put on his customer face when serving the public. Even if it hurts. Cheer up, be respectful, speak up, articulate in complete sentences. Most of all he needs to keep his mind on the task at hand. This is vital. Serving diners is a skill, it's much more than just showing up and pushing plates on a table. A few minutes a day, just put on your customer face, buck up and do the job like there are a hundred people lined up to take it from you.
 We don't expect much, we don't need astute advice about wines or silver capped serving dishes, just the basics. Fast food places mostly get this part right. I can prove it, just step into a Waffle House sometime, anytime. You are greeted and seated with cheerful politeness and respect, it's almost as if they are happy that you picked their humble establishment to have a meal. Even McDonalds and Burger King usually emphasize respect and cordiality from their minimum-wage staff. That's all we ask, just simple courtesy.
This dining experience was not awful, but it was certainly below our expectations. But it was all simple, easily fixable stuff.

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?

Taytro’s Bar and Bistro

343 N Creek Dr.

 Festus, Mo.

http://taytros.com/

My turn to choose. My original thought, Bob Evans’ was universally frowned upon. I gave it some more skull-time and realized that we’d not been to Taytro’s in quite a while. It was pretty new when we first went, enough time had passed to see if they’d managed to keep up the good work or if they’d spiraled into decline.

The Place:

On a hill next to an ATT store and a couple of other ubiquitous strip mall shops, Taytro’s parking lot allocation was less than half full, this wasn’t an indicator of anything other than that we dine earlier than most people. We were seated immediately at a table next to the door. The place hadn’t changed much at all. Bright, festive red walls, lots of Mardi Gras gewgaws and artwork. The overhead chalkboard exclaimed something I already knew, that Ed Null would be performing live later that evening. I don’t know Mr. Null personally, but I am familiar with some of his likely ancestors, there’s quite a few Nulls populating the local cemeteries.

 When I’ was checking my Facebook earlier in the day (Taytro’s has a page there) it had announced that the evening’s special would be Tilapia and rice, and that Mr. Null would be performing at seven. It was only a little past five when we arrived, we wouldn’t last that long, we’re not lingerers.

There were only a dozen or so people in the joint, a couple of mid-sized, mid-aged women sat at the bar. Both hosted tattoos, one on her lower back (you know the kind), the other with one on either shoulder. I made out one of the two fading tattoos peeking out from her tank top as a panther, the other was either a crying clown, the scarecrow from ‘The Wizard of Oz’, or maybe Kurt Cobain. It was hard to be sure as the black ink was thick and a little smeary, or maybe the ‘canvas’ had shifted a bit since the art was first put there. I asked Adam to turn around discretely and verify, but he couldn’t quite tell either. Angel just told me to stop staring at the women at the bar. This didn’t faze me much since she simply refuses to get a tattoo herself and therefore apparently doesn’t want me to stare at her instead. Her loss.

We were handed menus, laminated this time (plain paper copies on our previous visits). They were not complicated, Taytro’s limits itself to a small selection.

I asked the waitress if they served beer, she looked at me a little funny, I guess because I was sitting facing the bar, but instead of calling me an idiot, she just launched into a recital of those they carried on tap. I almost stopped her at Sam Adams Amber Ale, but waited until finished the list with ‘Blue Moon’. I’d had that brand before, though I couldn’t recall when and where, but the wispy memory did hint that I’d liked it.

She added: “Good choice, I like mine with lemon!”

“That’s really peculiar” I answered, thinking that was the exact response she would like. It wasn’t. Apparently in some circles it is perfectly kosher to squeeze lemon into beer, who knew?

All for naught though, she returned in just a couple of minutes to tell me they were out of Blue Moon. I settled for the Sam Adams. Angel and Adam got tea and Coke respectively, no lemon.

The Food:

There were several great sounding options. I really, really wanted another Po’ Boy, but I’d already critiqued those and felt an obligation to you, my loyal fans, to try something else.

‘Smothered Catfish’ with rice and crawfish sauce. Oh baby, sauced crawdads!!

Angel Asked for the ‘Shrimpalaya’ A shrimp laden jambalaya dish.

Adam went for the house burger, no tomato, of course, with fries, no cheese.

We also asked for an appetizer, the fried (toasted) Ravioli, it’s a St. Louis thing.

As we waited we tuned into the provided music, at first it was Cajun style, but progressed (or regressed) to other fare including a tune by Led Zeppelin that caused Angel to hark back to her teen years. She talks little of those times, though I recall sparse stories of candles, dark poetry, Goth-like loner behavior, if not actual ritual sacrifice and blood letting. I don’t know the all the details.

As we reminisced the small, young hostess with no observable tattoos stood on one of the barstools and updated the ‘Specials’ with a steady hand and a discerning eye for pastel chalks. I recalled that she was the same girl I once compared to Kirsten Dunst, but in a good way. Dunst is cute (it’s the eyes), but her choice of movies to star in is simply awful.

The ravioli arrived with a small bowl of red dipping sauce. We dug in, each of us quietly screaming as the fried pasta released its scorching meaty innards into our mouths. It was quite good though, once it cooled down to a mere three or four hundred degrees, crispy and thick.

The salads came, simple greens topped with their delightful, sweet poppy seed dressing. Just a small bowl, not enough to fill anyone.

The main courses arrived just as were ready to nod off. The only thing on the large TV above the bar was a golf match of some kind. The only thing in this hemisphere duller than the game of golf itself is watching golf on TV.

The entrées arrived, steamy and appetizing. Taytro’s pays attention to plating, feeding the eye before the palate. My large filet rested alongside a mound of rice, it was all slathered in thick, chunks of crawfish in a creamy, light-brown sauce. Angel’s meal looked enormous, big blackened shrimp alongside more traditional sausage, chicken, celery, onion, bell pepper, etc. all Cajun-spiced and coupled with rice. She dug in, as did I. Hers came with three slices of grilled toast, mine with only one. I was jealous.

The spiciness of Taytro’s offerings is about as perfect as I can recall ever having. The taste is indeed spicy, but in a good way. The heat was not overpowering but it did build up. A full course will send you into a mild sweat and clear your sinuses, but not immediately. The heat does not at all steal the show from the food itself. “Loving it!” Angel remarked, adding: “Need more tea!”

Neither of us were able to finish our ample portions. We tried, but it just wouldn’t all fit.

Summary:

The bill came in at just over fifty bucks. Fifty bucks at ‘TGI Friday’s’ is a rip-off, at Taytro’s it’s a bargain.

 We were completely full but actually wanting more. The food at Taytro’s is absolutely first rate. The fact that they don’t try to cook/offer everything under the sun probably helps. They concentrate, quite successfully, on making a few things and making them very, very well. The staff was dutiful, attentive and responsive. There were no fights, spillage or disgusting incidents. The place was clean, well tended and family friendly. We simply love this place. I highly recommend it, even if you don’t have exposed tattoos that I can stare at.

Taytro’s Bar and Bistro II

343 North Creek Drive

Festus MO.
Taytro's on Facebook

I’d taken it easy all day trying to rest this persistent disease away. Angel, once again, was running around doing dog things since early morning. She conducted a class in the morning and after that loaded up Jade, a beautiful and lively American bulldog to the PetSmart in Manchester for their weekly adoption event. Jade’s a great dog, which we are fostering for C.A.R.E. She’s been learning some basic manners while at the house. She’s very good at ‘HOWDY!!’ meaning she really, really loves new people. Angel’s working on making her enthusiastic initial greetings a little more lady-like.
I got up from my medicinal nap just after Angel and Jade got back. No luck finding a home this day, but there was a family that seemed interested, they’ll call. (Sometimes they actually do)
Adam announced that his choice for the meal was Taytro’s, a new place that we lunched at a while back and was on our list for an evening meal.
The Place:
On top of a hill above the intersection of highway A and 61/67. It shares a small strip mall with the ATT store, and a couple of other things, maybe a tanning salon. The lot was crowded for the few businesses that were open. We stepped in and found the people. There were only a couple of tables still empty. It’s not a large place to begin with, it was formerly a small pizza parlor.
The large bar had seats available and the tabled patrons were mostly having Po’ Boys and beer. We’d had their sandwiches last time and were looking forward to something a little more dinner-like. A few extra decorations had been added perhaps in anticipation of the coming Mardis Gras celebration they were advertising.*
If you recall, Taytro’s is New Orleans-themed, the food is of that style, gumbo, jambalaya, etc. The décor is also of that style, save the few paintings on display and for sale. They were of colorful animated individual fish from the movie ‘Finding Nemo’ A pretty good job if I may say so.
We were handed our menus by our perky and pretty waitress. The menus were laminated single sheets. No frills, just a list of offerings.
We were soon served our drinks, tea, tea and Coke.
The Food:
My food decision was based simply on a dish that did not list okra as an ingredient. Then the decision came down to shrimp vs. crawfish as the featured meat. Angel announced she was getting the Crawfish Etoufee, I then opted for the shrimp version of the same. ‘Gator’ was also available, maybe next time. (I’ve heard alligator tastes a lot like crocodile.) Adam asked for the pulled pork sandwich with house-made chips. The etoufee came with bread and a house salad featuring their own famous (should be) sweet poppy seed dressing.
Etoufee (pronounced EH-too-FAY) is similar to, though thicker than gumbo. It is usually a browned roux including celery, onions and peppers, (the holy trinity) spiced with cayenne pepper, white pepper and garlic. It is most commonly served with white rice.
The salads were very good, simple, three forms of leafy greens, a tomato chunk, and some shredded white cheese along with some crispy and fresh croutons. The tea was very good. I suppose they got the hint after my last review. It was clear, almost sparkly, dark and had actual flavor. Fresh-brewed.
For an appetizer we ordered the fried ravioli. This is not a New Orleans thing, it’s a St. Louis creation. If you’re going to open a restaurant in the area this appetizer is simply a requirement. It is ravioli, breaded, deep fried and served with a marinara dipping sauce.
The place was filling up and starting to overflow, the wait between courses increased. Not too bad, but there was time to sit with nothing to eat. By the time our dinners arrived our drinks had been refilled twice.
While waiting, a small group came in and waited at the bar, two ladies, two small boys. The apparent mother of the boys was rail thin, very tall, well groomed, scarf, ironed jeans, fashionable shoes. Her hair was long and deliberately styled to not look styled at all, country club chic. Her small boys ran amok while she looked around in every direction but theirs. I formed a personal opinion about her that was not entirely favorable. Angel had glanced at her as well. “The word ‘princess’ pops to mind.” I said. Angel looked back at her and shrugged her shoulders. “That reminds me” she said “your daughter called.” I didn’t get the connection. This lady was arrogant, narcissistic and obviously spoiled. My daughter is beautiful, sweet and deserving of all the good things life can offer her. No comparison.
The main courses finally arrived, not too intimidating. A shallow bowl/plate filled with a thick brown creamy base with small chunks and whole blackened shrimps. Rising out of the stew in tall, white, rounded mounds was the rice. Sprinkled over the entire plate was finely chopped parsley, little dark spots of the herb had landed at the tip of my two rice piles which gave the mounds a distinct resemblance to a fine, pale, small but perky set of breasts rising out of the bowl. I showed it to Adam, he snickered. I showed it to Angel, she didn’t. I said “Boobies” and she rolled her eyes, which is what she does when I say something incredibly funny.
Angel’s plate included two small, whole crawdads** on one edge. Each plate came with grilled bread which Angel said tasted like the steak that had used the same grill, a very nice touch. There was plenty of shrimp/crawfish, enough to last the entire meal. The roux was a little spicy, just enough to make my nose start running, not enough to blow me out of my chair. The overall taste was excellent, thick, rich and savory. The rice was a little too sticky for my liking, but once broken apart and integrated with the stew it was just fine. There was just enough food that I couldn’t quite finish. Adam made short time of his sandwich; he even shared his home chips (actually we stole some from his plate), they were as good as any potato chip I’ve ever had.
Summary:
This is a great place. The food is delightful, the staff was attentive, though busy. The dedicated bartender who looked just like Blaine (Kurt’s current love interest and leader of ‘The Warblers’) on the TV Show ‘GLEE’ stayed busy and friendly but remained confident. Taytro’s owner strolled through and chatted with some of those waiting to be seated. He seemed content, as well he should, this new place is very, very good. The overall atmosphere was pleasant, nothing too loud or too bright. It is popular though and can crowd up pretty quickly. The bill was reasonable, coming in at forty eight dollars and change, around what we’ve paid at other bar/grills recently, less than similar fare at a chain restaurant. The overall selection is rather small, which is as much a plus as a minus, it’s a very manageable menu.
We highly recommend this place, we will frequent it.

*Taytro’s Mardis Gras celebration! Saturday March 5th starting at 2 P.M. Live music, face painting and ‘games’. PLUS more hurricanes (see previous review) than should be legal.

**Crawdad and crawfish are used interchangeably herein. If you haven’t tried them, you are really missing out. Though related to lobsters the tail meat actually tastes more like crab. It’s a lot of work making a meal out of them with only about a tablespoon of meat per medium sized critter. Louisiana was, as of a few years ago, responsible for 90% of the world’s supply of harvested crawdads, and Louisianans eat about 70% of those themselves. They know a thing or two.