Romano’s Macaroni Grill

4125 Lemay Ferry Road Way

Mehlville, Mo.

http://www.macaronigrill.com

Adam’s choice. I remembered that we’d been there before, and that it had been quite a while. I checked, and sure enough the last time we were there was before we started reviewing places. I suppose this means that this counts as a new place. All of us remembered being there, but not much more.

Mehlville is one of the dozens of towns that make up St. Louis County. The county, which does not contain St. Louis, the city itself, is very heavily populated and these towns edge up against each other almost seamlessly. I suppose you have to actually  live in one of them to know where one stops and another one starts. For us outsiders, we just call the area South County.

There’s a lot of shopping, a mall, several big-box stores as well as large car dealerships in  the vicinity. Traffic is heavy most of the time.

The Place:
A free standing place, quite elaborate, a Mediterranean/adobe look. As big or bigger than a Chili’s or a TGI Friday’s. This one is within earshot of all that traffic I mentioned. Inside the place was pretty busy, dark, with subdued lighting. We were greeted at the door and Angel answered ‘three’ when asked.

“Would a table be okay?” The young host asked her.

“As opposed to what, a sandbox?” I whispered to Adam.

Angel had accepted the option and the young man showed us to a table near the back. There was too much sun glaring down on that one so she asked for one a little further back.

One of Macaroni Grill’s gimmicks is the large paper table covering they put over the tablecloth. Every table is furnished with a handful of crayons as well. It’s a sports bar/grill so it’s not like it’s Chuck E Cheese where it’s wall-to-wall snot-nosed children, so the crayons are for the adults.

Our server, Kellie, introduced herself and asked if we’d like wine. We thanked her, no, and explained that though we like a good boxed wine very well, that we had better not. She smiled and grabbed up the wine glasses from the table, making a little more room. I asked for tea, Adam Coke, and Angel asked about the different kinds of lemonade Kellie had said were available. I was still trying to absorb the notion of ‘different kinds of lemonade’ when Angel asked for ‘Raspberry’. Okay. . .

Kellie was an outgoing and pleasant woman, cheerful with great customer service skills. We were endeared immediately.

Adam started drawing on the paper, stick people. Angel scolded him. “Your stick people are never smiling!” She said. He grumbled and proceeded to draw an angry storm cloud over them. Angel grabbed up the orange crayon and drew a bright, cartoon-y sun to the side of the clouds. I suggested to Adam that he extend the sun's rays to represent a planet-killer solar flare. Angel barked at me as well.

I don’t draw very well, I prefer to describe my artistic skill as very, very primitive. The simpler the better, as nuances are never recognizable. So I drew a plate, life-sized, some silverware at the side, then I filled the plate as best as I could. Unbeknownst to me, Kellie had returned with our bread. “Hmm, looks like you want a chicken drumstick, some mashed potatoes, and what is that green peas?”

She had guessed correctly, that is what I’d drawn, but only because I lack the skills to draw a recognizable fish sandwich.

The Food:

Bread and EVOO-Pepper dip.

As Kellie was remarking on my art project, she was also preparing the dip for the bread. Olive oil poured into a saucer, followed by fresh, coarsely ground black pepper. The bread, a six inch square loaf sat in another saucer. It looked good. It was more than that, it was great. “Crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside.” Adam joked.

We rattled off our orders.

Me: Lobster Ravioli.

Angel: Veal Saltimbocca.

Adam: Fettuccini Alfredo with chicken.

Kellie offered salads, we declined. Salads cost extra at the Macaroni Grill, and are prepared in the kitchen. We prefer to roll our own and to not pay extra for them, besides, the bread was excellent and we’d have to be careful to not overdo that.

I relaxed and listened to the background music. If I were more of a fan of music, this was the stuff I’d be inclined to have in my own background. It was big band plus vocals. Billie Holliday, even a little Sinatra. Not remakes, the original stuff.
    The tea was fresh and bright. It could have been a little stronger, but that’s just me. Angel’s raspberry lemonade made her happy. They seemed to make it by pouring some syrupy raspberry stuff in the bottom, then covering it with lemonade, it was left un-stirred. Angel took a swig, a bit strong as the tip of the straw was in the raspberry puddle at the bottom. She swished it around lightly. We tore at the bread, Kellie brought us two more loaves. I had to replenish the dip, easily accomplished as each table in the place had been set up with a pint bottle of olive oil. Olive oil is my favorite edible oil, and I have some knowledge of that stuff, the company I work for makes edible oils, among other things.

The food was delivered between the second and third loaf of bread. Along with the food we were given a spring-lidded, frosty bottle of water. “Just plain ol’ St. Louis County tap water.” Kellie told us. Angel asked for another lemonade.

My plate looked great. Eight or so large ravioli with a creamy chardonnay sauce and big loose chunks of lobster meat. Adam’s oddly funnel-shaped bowl was laden with about a pound of pasta. Angel’s plate had a pile of pasta alongside the veal, which looked more like pork chops or chicken breasts.

Adam and I dived in and got exactly what we wanted. Neither of us at all disappointed. ”I like my cheesy noodles!” he announced.

Fettuccine Alfredo, with frowny face drawing.

My raviolis were large, so I cut them up. Inside were slivers of lobster and some white cheese. I had no trouble finishing it at all and was quite satisfied with the taste and the portion size. Adam’s bowl was quite large, he decided to ask for a box rather than risk suicide by pasta.

Okay, that’s out of the way, great stuff, really good.

Oh yeah, what about Angel’s?

In this week's episode, things turn unexpectedly ugly. Angel is rarely ever very critical of meals. Once in a while she’ll be less than pleased with a thing or two and just push it aside. On this night things were quite different. She explained. “There’s absolutely nothing on this plate that I can bear to take another bite of.” (paraphrased)

The whole place seemed to go silent.

She explained. “I don’t think I like veal. I’ve never had it before, but if this is what it’s supposed to be, I'll not order it ever again.”(also paraphrased*)

Eyes popped, jaws dropped.

“It may be this ham they put on it, it’s awful.” She peeled off a thin layer. Adam and I tasted it. “Blech!” was the unanimous verdict.

Veal Scaloppine; Blech.

The dish was billed as; “veal scaloppine; rosemary ham, garlic, roman artichoke pasta.”

The ‘rosemary ‘ was probably the problem, it was pungent. Rosemary is something that a hint, a whisper of is all that is ever needed. This was more like rosemary syrup, thick, too earthy, too flowery. What the ham itself was like we have no idea.

“The veal itself is bland, like tofu, with the same texture.”

I agreed upon tasting that it needed something, just not that awful ham.

But wait, there’s more!

“The pasta is wrong, it’s rubbery, doughy.” Adam and I tried this also, she was right.

“I bet it’s fresh pasta, something’s just not right about it, and it and whatever these green sprinkles are in it are completely tasteless. There’s some green peas as well, can’t taste them either.”

She added, almost apologetically: “I found a few bits of artichoke, that was okay.”

When Kellie swung by again, she noticed that Angel’s plate was largely untouched. Angel reluctantly told her about it. Kellie offered no debate. She handled it very well. When she returned with the bill a few minutes later, she told us she had deducted the cost of our drinks in acknowledgement of Angel’s displeasure. She also asked if we wanted desserts, we declined. Not that we were too full, but having tasted that disgusting ham, the taste in our mouths, especially Angel’s, would make turn subsequent sweet dish offering into an abomination.

Summary:
Angel enjoys trying new things and she knows there's an inherent risk to that sort of risky, edgy lifestyle.  Like I said, she's not one to complain much, or be passionate when something new just doesn't hit the mark. But this meal was exceptional, Angel’s meal was bad, so bad that we’ll never ask for anything like that again. HOWEVER! My meal was very good, and Adam’s satisfied him completely. We can’t suggest that Macaroni Grill is awful, just that some of their dishes are.

The tab, with drinks deducted, came to $53.46, I added a big tip for Kellie, she was simply awesome. In fact the wait staff all seemed eager and dutiful. 
Two out of three tasty plates is not terrible, so I can generally recommend the place, but only with an asterisk. *Caveat emptor! Avoid the veal!

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*paraphrasing:
As dutiful as I try to be, I don't always have exact quotes in my nearly-illegible notes. In this case when Angel was reviewing this critique prior to it being posted, something I benevolently allow, she made the remark "I didn't say that!"
So whenever you see quotes in these things, it is safe to assume that those exact words may not have been actually spoken. However, what is there is in this review is what Angel would have said if she were more articulate and had more time to organize/edit her thoughts. And perhaps a little coaching.
She didn't disagree with what I said she said other than the fact that she didn't actually use those exact words. Her sentiment toward her meal, however, is accurately represented.

Poppy’s Ristorante

2000 N. Truman Rd.

Crystal City, Mo

http://www.poppysparlor.com

We’re back!

Thanksgiving weekend we didn’t go out, no need to, we’re crazy for turkey leftovers. Last week Angel and Adam were in Springfield, Mo. to attend a baby shower for her son and daughter-in-law’s fairly soon to arrive daughter. I stayed at the compound and attended to the needs of the seven or nine dogs, subsisting on home-made Chinese, rice, sweet/sour chicken and turkey-scrap wontons. Angel and Adam would be having the real deal, as is tradition whenever any of us go to Springfield . She would be bringing some back, which is mandatory, and I wanted to compare my rice to the Queen City’s best effort.

Earlier in the week I received an email from Poppy’s, a free pasta dish coupon on account of my upcoming birthday. I’d filled out a card last time we were there. I even entered my actual birthday on it. Sometimes I am less than honest when filling out those things. Usually I also put a phone number that is less than completely accurate. The number is in my name, it’s just that it’s only connected to a fax machine that Angel uses for her business. It’s usually turned off anyhow. And the email address I give out goes to an account that I only check once per week or so. I don’t know why I go to such great strides to mask my true identity, just habit I guess. Oh yeah, and because I don’t like junk-mail and solicitor phone calls. The fake birthday thing I can’t really explain though.

So with the coupon, I figured this was a sign from above that we should go to Poppy’s. Actually it’s more a technical feature of Poppy’s marketing strategy than divine behavior, but still, it solved the problem of where to go. I’ll probably get more of these things over the next few months from other restaurants as my many fake birthdays approach.

The Place:

The place is gorgeous, charming, warm and welcoming. Hard to imagine from the inside that it’s next door to a bowling alley. Go to the place’s web site to see some pictures if you haven’t already. Wood, lots of wood. The centerpiece, a thick German-looking stag-adorned mirrored hutch is prominent. The artwork is classy and well thought out.

It was about half-full when we got there, which was a bit later than usual. Angel needed to make a quick stop on the way to pick up some medicine for one of the dogs. Poor Deedee was suffering from a bug and exploding from all ends earlier in the day and Angel’s friend and comrade from CARE had just the dope she needed.  Unfortunately, since CARE’s shelter is well south of DeSoto in Washington County, this meant it was not really ‘on the way’ at all, it was in fact about an hour and a half from the time we left the house till we got to Crystal City. For those of you in Kentucky, it would be like driving to Hopkinsville by way of Mayfield, or in southern Maryland, like going to Annapolis via D.C.

Poppy’s is beautiful though, and they make awesome food.

As could be expected, there was Christmas music playing softly throughout, not a bad mix altogether although when ‘Santa Baby’ came on I wanted to throw a chair at something.*

The Food:

I wanted something different, so I scanned back in my top-secret notebook to see what I’d had the last time. Cannelloni, loved it. Adam asked for what he’d ordered as well, and recalled it fondly.

Scanning the menu anew I was rather indecisive. We ordered our tea, tea and Coke and shortly they arrived along with a basket of rolls and faux-butter packets. The rolls were near baseball sized and not too fluffy. They were not heavy at all but they were more substantial than the flour clouds that some places serve. I finally decided on the Shrimp Fettuccine, the waitress returned to take our orders. I let Angel order first, since I’m a proper gentleman, and as she spoke I looked down at the menu once again. The description of the Fettuccine popped up at me: Shrimp, mushroom, garlic, broccoli in a light cream sauce with provel cheese. I panicked. It was my turn to order having just discovered that my chosen dish was contaminated with broccoli! 

“And for you sir?” The young lady asked.

“Uh, the uh, Cannelloni.”

That’s right, I once again crumpled under the enormous pressure.

Angel looked at me, baffled, after I finished my order.

“I thought you were going to get something different.” She scolded.

“I’m fine.” I replied confidently.

Greek Salad

Angel and I had ordered the Greek Salad as a side, Adam the cheese, potato and bacon soup. Angel and Adam’s meal allowed for two sides, they each chose the day’s vegetable, broccoli.

The salads and soup arrived in good time, while waiting Angel and Adam played with their phone apps again, leaving me to scan the room and quietly absorb the ambiance. My phone doesn’t have apps, or a data plan, it may as well have a rotary dial and hopelessly tangled cord.

The bread was awesome, the salad delightful, with just one problem. The crisp and attractive salad was served on a saucer and was piled too high. Cutting the red pepper ring could not be done without considerable spillage.  It was quite tasty, almost as good as Trattoria Giuseppe’s, but the presentation, though cute, was a fail due to the messy top-heaviness of it.

The main courses arrived shortly after the salad and soup dishes were pushed aside. I had asked Adam about his soup.

“It was potato, cheese and bacon, what could possibly be wrong?”  Was his snarky answer. He gets his snarkiness from his mother.

Cannelloni

The cannelloni is a tube pasta, filled with beef, veal and chicken, covered in a red sauce and melted provel cheese. Provel is a St. Louis area specialty, you won’t find it many other places. It is not made around here, it’s just a blend of cheddar, Swiss and provolone that is made for the region due to the local differently-sophisticated tastes. It’s a hallmark of St. Louis style pizza. I’m not a huge fan of it, though it isn’t disgusting. I just find it a bit rich and overpowering. I’m no cheese snob though, I grew up on the stuff labeled ‘Individually wrapped, processed American cheese product’ which also means ‘not really cheese’.

Chicken Terazzini

Angel had ordered the Chicken Terazzini, Lightly breaded, fried , on a bed of spaghetti and a white cream sauce with fresh sea clams. Adam got the Chicken Alfredo, charbroiled  or lightly breaded, fried, topped with a blend of cheese and cream sauce on a bed of spaghetti. (He chose ‘fried’)

My portions were deceptively sized, they seemed small, but the sweetness and richness of the sauces filled me up in no time. It might have had something to do with the bowl of chili I’d had a few hours earlier. I couldn’t finish, and the heaviness was starting to make my cardio system ache, but there was it was actually very, very good.

Adam seemed to suffer a similar issue. “Heavy, a bit too cheesy, I should have gone for grilled.” He said as he pushed the not-quite-cleaned plate aside. Angel was still going gangbusters though, even dipping her disgusting broccoli into the creamy pasta sauce.

Summary:

Poppy’s is very, very good. It is also very, very rich. Do not go there if you’ve already had something heavy that day. Save it for the rich, creamy, heavy main course. The tastes are multi-dimensional and consistent. It’s a beautiful, classy yet casual place, staffed well. The price is not out of whack, especially if it’s your birthday. The original ticket said forty-seven dollars, but the final, discounted price was thirty-six. The food is top shelf, the menu is not cluttered. Highly recommended, we would happily take guests there.

BTW Last weekend Angel brought back some rice from Springfield, I compared, I liked mine better.

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*’Santa Baby’: I’ve always hated this song, I didn’t know why until a couple of years ago after I spent some time trying to figure out why this one, more so than even ‘Grandma got run over by a reindeer’ made me clench my fists. I think it has to do with the fake, cheap, lazy use of the word ‘tonight.’  It’s at the end of every verse. It doesn’t rhyme with anything else in the song. It’s used as a replacement, a fake rhyme in place of a rhyming word because the writers, J. Javits and P. Springer, just  weren’t very good at writing songs. I’ve noticed this sort of lazy fakery in other songs too, just not as prevalent. It’s as grating to me as listening to a teenager improperly use the word ‘like’ more than five times per sentence. “And I was like ‘whatever’, and he was like ‘sure thing’, and I was like ‘I know!’. . .”

Paul Mineo's Trattoria

Westport Plaza

St. Louis (Maryland Heights) Mo.

http://www.paulmineos.com/

One of the perks of being a contractor is that though I work at one company, I work for another. My contracting company, my pimps*, handle my actual paycheck, insurance, taxes, etc. The company I actually work at, the one that owns my schedule, my cubicle and the systems I administer, sends my contracting company a single check each month, based on the approved and actual worked hours I put in, no responsibility for deductions or benefits. For this reason I only get a percentage of the amount that I am actually valued at, but my contracting company manages all the paperwork and accounting.  So on my ‘employer’ block on tax forms, I enter my contracting company, even though I’ve only ever been to their offices once, and I don’t even talk with the nice people there very often.

Since the contracting company wants to make sure I’m happy, healthy and comfortable, they take me out to lunch once in a while, three or four times a year.  I work alongside a few other worker-bees from the company but only a very few of us make it to the lunches regularly. Tuesday was special; I was the only one of the small group that could make it.

The two ladies, who I will refer to cryptically as Cori and Haley, were waiting for me when I arrived.

The Place:

Located in Westport Plaza. If you are from the area, that’s all you need to know. It’s a Hotel/restaurant/comedy club/office complex, sleek and modern. It has an open courtyard surrounded by some very good restaurants. Baseball phenom, Albert Pujols’ eponymous eatery is there, as is ‘The Funny Bone’ comedy club.

Paul Mineo is regionally well known based on his father’s long-standing Sicilian restaurant. Paul opened up this large, reasonably upscale establishment in 2007.

The weather was cold, gray, windy and wet. Though the local thermometers said 44, it seemed colder. Not a good sign for the first game of the World Series, which I was told, was occurring downtown later in the day.

The place was tastefully decorated, not really themed, just nice, dark carpet and walls, ensconced dried flowers and tasteful, though forgettable artwork hung on the walls. The large windows on two sides looked out on the courtyard. The tables were kitted with cloth napkins, artfully folded, silverware and heavy stemmed glasses filled with ice water. The menu was a simple single page. This was a lunch menu, so the more upper-scaley dinner items and prices were not available for review.

Both Haley and Cori are quite garrulous, they have to be as they are essentially salespeople. I am comfortable around them though, able to relax and crawl out of my comfortable, quiet shell. Cori had her first child five months back, so all I had to do was inquire as to its well-being and that took care of 80% of the conversation. For some reason, lots of first time moms like to talk about their offspring. I don’t mind this really, as I was a parent of young ones myself as best I recall, and can hold up my half (or less) of the conversation. Unlike when I’m around sports people where, as I mentioned before, I tend to drift off into my own thoughts.

We waited for one more guy to arrive, but after about fifteen minutes decided he would be a no-show.

In the meantime, we’d pretty much made up our minds and treated ourselves to the warm French bread slices that had been served in a wicker basket wrapped in what could have been a cloth diaper. Delivered along with it were several condiment packets of butter/butter-like spreads. They were hard as a rock. The bread was warm, so I scraped the butter out of the little tub and let it warm up on the bread. It never did melt completely. (I hate that.)  The tea was fantastic, perfect. Clear, fresh and a bit on the strong side. In comparison, the tea at Mineo’s was a hardy stout vs. a domestic ‘lite’ beer served by nearly everyone else.

The young man that was charged with refills (and doubled as the fresh-ground-pepper guy)  did a fine job of keeping my glass topped off.

The Food:

I ordered from the non-menu’d specials. Tilapia**, lightly breaded and broiled served in a garlic and herb butter sauce, with a simple pasta on the side and the house salad. Haley ordered the same thing, Cori fancied a dish featuring eggplant along with the soup of the day. I lost interest in her choice at ‘eggplant’. I can no more be objective about dishes that contain eggplant than I can if asked about my favorite Kardashian. Both are so anathematic to me that I have nothing at all nice to say about them regardless of how they are presented.

The bread was excellent, a crispy crust and pillow-soft middle and was quite good in spite of the iceberg of butter that still had not melted completely.

Service was slow for worker-bee lunch. Executives and salespeople might be able to routinely get away with a ninety minute lunch, but those of us that are on a schedule, and only get paid for the actual time we are working, much less so. They serve lunch like they serve dinner, paced, with lag-time between courses.

The salads and soup arrived first. This was a Sicillian/Mediterranean style salad, greens, tomatoes, onions doused in a olive-ish vinaigrette. I had to compare it with Trattoria Giuseppe’s and Poppy’s Ristorante. It was very good, but not quite as good as those other places, the vinegar was a little too pronounced.

We finished those up, Cori oozed lavishly about her soup, something-tortellini and beef stock from what I could tell.

There was another extended wait before the main course arrived, long enough that each of us, while still engaged in conversations about babies and dogs and Haley's constant and complex home improvement projects, could be seen searching the floor for the wait staff.

It was worth waiting for though. The fish was lunch-sized, not too big, very thinly breaded and sitting in a small puddle of herb-y butteriness. To one side was a small serving of penne pasta, (medium length tubes with ridges, cut diagonally at both ends) topped with only a spoonful or so of red sauce and garnished with a thin sprig of some Mediterranean weed or herb. The fish flaked apart perfectly and when tasted with a single lightly-sauced penne, was exquisite. Smooth, tender, buttery with a slight tomato-y kick. Not too much or too little of anything. More tea was poured, more cute baby stories gushed, and before I was aware of it I was full. I’d managed to get through three quarters of the fish before my brain said ‘stop’.

Summary:

The meal was overall, excellent. The salad dressing was a bit strong, but not to the point of being bad. The service was slow, but I think that was how it was designed to be. The staff was attentive to detail and usually there when needed. The atmosphere was quite nice. As for the price, well, I can’t really speak to that. Haley picked up the tab and I forgot to peek. I do know that from reading the menu that each meal was going to be at least ten to fifteen dollars with drinks, which is not terrible, but it is a bit more than I care to pay for a typical lunch. Casa Gallardo, across the courtyard serves a sub-ten dollar lunch that will have you busting wide open at the gut, and next to it ‘The Trainwreck’ serves a cheddar cheeseburger that will literally explode your arteries for about that much as well. As for dinner prices, I can only imagine.

So if you want a pretty darn good meal, Italian/Sicilian-style, and your pimp is picking up the tab, I strongly recommend Paul Mineo’s.

 From Cori: "I really liked the décor and ambiance.  I think the food is good for the price. I like that it’s a family owned business too. The service is good, not great."

From Haley:

"I have dined at Mineo’s several times and the food is usually much better than it was this week. I thought the salad dressing was just red wine vinegar and they forgot the olive oil. The tilapia was okay and the service was a little slow. I was not impressed this week."

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*Pimp: In this context this is not an insult. It’s just a ground-level, contractor standard term. Contracting companies connect people in their employ with certain skills and talents to companies that are seeking out those very services. The contracting companies take a percentage of the income of those providing the service, you know, like a pimp. (I do not know if they will bail us out of jail.) I mean no disrespect. Of course, to extend the metaphor, if my contracting company is my pimp, then that makes me a . . .

** Tilapia: A freshwater Cichlid, originally found in African lakes. They require warm water (78-82 degrees F.) and thus are only commercially farmed in the U.S. in southern climates. They are omnivores and unlike other fresh water food fish will eat floating vegetation, such as algae, and thus are used as non-competitive pond and lake cleaners. They breed fast and grow fast so they are to edible fish what pine is to lumber.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tilapia

Fazoli's

Festus MO

http://fazolis.com/

We weren’t planning to eat out on Saturday. Demolition derby returned to Hillsboro and this we would not miss, gates open at 5:00 PM, normal dining time. So all day Saturday we assumed that we would be eating out on Sunday instead.

I had a sausage/egg/cheese sandwich for breakfast and made Angel one as well. I went out and made a cemetery run, got my oil changed and stopped by Wally-World to pick up my weekly HBA’s (health and beauty aids, we do not ask each other to do this for us.)

I got home around noon and fixed up some of the leftover chili Angel had made the night before. I added flavor and texture in the form of garlic and peppers. Not a large helping, but it would see me through till a late burger after the derby.

After walking a few dogs, checking my Facebook and updating the findagrave site with my day’s discoveries, I took a short nap, I woke up around 4:00. Something guided my hand and I looked up the Demo Derby’s website and discovered that though the gates would open at 5:00, the derby didn’t actually start until 7:00.

I broke the news to Angel and Adam, our schedule was shot. The dogs were already fed and bedded, prepared for us to be out for a while.

So we decided to go ahead and go to Fazoli’s.

The Place:

We had been avoiding Fazoli’s for nearly a year. We had always assumed that it was of low quality, fast and cheap. I pronounced that being as we had such low expectations, based on no actual information, that surely we could or would be proven wrong. We drove to Festus, there it was waiting for us as it has since we moved to Jefferson County. Up on the hill above the interstate, alongside Steak and Shake and McDonalds.

The parking lot was ample and uncluttered, the outside of the restaurant looked very much like the outside of a billion other fast food joints. Inside all was shiny and clean, a few families sat at tables and booths.

There was only one menu, posted above the head of an eager clerk. It took a few minutes as I had not pre-checked online.

Music droned from overhead speakers, faux-Italian, mixed with standards performed by people perhaps with Italian names, but not necessarily Italian songs. If someone named Betty Risotto sang “Xanadu” I think it would qualify as Italian music here.

I chose and we placed our orders one at a time.

The Food:

For myself, combo #8, the pasta sampler with a salad and red wine vinaigrette dressing. Angel picked #3, the twice baked lasagna also with a salad and Caesar salad dressing. Adam went for #2, fettuccine Alfredo with a side slice of pizza. The clerk tallied it up, took our money and handed us three cups and a number (23) on a stick so they could find us.

I led us to a table, that’s right a table not a booth, and positioned myself so I could see the place at work.

Angel and Adam poured themselves some pop, I tinkered with the tea machine, it defaulted to ‘sweet tea’ but with some poking and swearing I got it to change to ‘unsweet’, as God intended iced tea to be.

The tea was cloudy, and unremarkable. I yanked half a dozen napkins from the single bulk napkin dispenser and grabbed three each of the thin, cheap, metal silverware. The table was adequately wiped down, though not completely crumb-free.

The food came pretty quick, all at one time. The salads were better than expected, crisp lettuce, tomatoes, red cabbage carrots delivered with a chilled condiment packet of the aforementioned salad dressing.

My main course was three piles, lasagna, fettuccine Alfredo and spaghetti with meat sauce. Also included on our plates was a light, warm breadstick.

Adam’s pizza slice looked almost like a photograph of a pizza slice. The pepperoni was perfectly arranged and whole as if this slice was prepared and cooked as an individual entity, not part of a larger pie.

The lasagna was a gamble for me, I’m not a huge fan anyhow. The cheese they used was not to my liking, I gave it a couple of bites and let it go. The spaghetti was okay, predictable, nothing wild or crazy. I would have liked a bit more sauce as most of my noodles were naked after just a few bites. The fettuccine was also okay and predictable; it could have been anyone’s Alfredo. The fettuccine noodles themselves were a bit undercooked, nearly raw in the center.

Adam seemed to enjoy it but spent most of his interest on the pizza slice. Angel enjoyed the salad and the lasagna until she ran aground. The bottom layer and up through the next pasta layer in one large corner were rock-hard. She peeled up that corner to reveal that the bottom was burnt as black as overdone toast. Twice baked, once burnt.

No one made it more than halfway through, not entirely because of the quality of the food. Recall that we had not planned to be eating out.

“I shouldn’t have had that chili at one thirty” Angel said. “I shouldn’t have had that chili at 2:30” Adam added. “I had the chili at noon, I regret nothing” I concluded.

So we left. There was a sign that read “No need to tip”, I remarked “Not a problem.”

Summary;

The food was not awful, even considering the burnt lasagna. But then again, it wasn’t really very good.

We tried comparisons, Trattoria Giuseppe’s? Not even the same planet. Pizza Hut? Not quite as good. Chef Boyardee? Getting closer. Bertolli, Lean Cuisine? Yeah that’s it. The food at Fazoli’s including the pizza was at least as good/bad as a frozen dinner, but not by much. It was uninteresting, predictable, manufactured, industrialized. Fazoli’s is to Italian what Mrs. Pauls is to seafood.

Discussing it afterward, we tried to imagine a scenario where we would want to go to Fazoli’s. We came up blank. We’ve all from time to time craved KFC, Burger King, Pizza Hut, Taco Bell, Subway and even White Castle (though not for very long) and could not, now having tasted the food imagine a time in the past or future where Fazoli’s would be the answer to a craving. I can make better spaghetti or fettuccine at home with basic ingredients, even canned that is far and above better than this place with a minimum of effort and time.

There was no service to speak of, the price was not terrible coming in at twenty eight bucks, but for the quality of food, not appealing. We can feast on fresh Mexican fare at Las Portales for that price or take home a family bucket from KFC.

I doubt we will ever go back, I just can’t imagine when it would be what I wanted.

Sure it’s Italian, but it’s certainly no Olive Garden (which I also don’t care for).

Trattoria Giuseppe

5442 Old Hwy 21
Imperial MO
http://www.trattoria-giuseppe.com/
Jan16 2009 5:00 PM
The Place:
We made our reservation a day ahead. We printed out a Google map with directions; Angel’s Tom-Tom couldn’t locate it. According to its proper mailing address this place is in Imperial, though actually it’s in or very near Otto, five miles west of downtown Imperial. Most easily it can be described as near the intersection of Highway M and old Route 21 in Jefferson County.
We almost passed it as it is not a free-standing establishment. It shares strip-mall walls, parking and signage with a tavern, a pizza shop and a body shop supply store.

I was at first baffled. Being as we needed reservations I assumed a bit of high-falutin airs and snootiness, I’d even put on a button down shirt and tucked it into my jeans. Now here we were in a parking lot across the street from a towing service, miles form anything resembling a town.
We entered and found ourselves in a brightly painted green and red entryway. We were greeted and taken directly to our table in the less flashy dining area. There, subdued vertical striped wallpaper, stained wood chair rails and subtle prints of Italian themes adorned the walls. One the prints I didn’t care for and I have never liked. It’s a small poster/ad for the opera ‘Pagliacci’ I believe, depicting a really sad, singing circus clown. I’ve seen the print before and it always depresses me since: A. I don’t like opera, B. I don’t really like clowns, and C. The idea of a sad clown singing opera reminds me of abject depression and possibly insanity and that’s just a little too close to home.
Along one wall was a large mural of a mountainous coastline. I assume it is Italy or Sicily though since I’ve never been there I can’t be sure. It was a nice mural though.
The tables were quaint and covered with a deep green vinyl cloth. The carpet was well worn and a mix of colors that made it virtually unnoticeable. The dining area could hold around fifty people at the most.
Our server, Heather, introduced herself. She, like the ten or fifteen other visible employees was smartly dressed in black slacks, white shirt and black necktie. She took our drink orders, tea, tea, Coke and returned promptly. The tea was crisp and fresh. We were off to a good start.

The Food:
I ordered the Cannelloni, Angel the ‘Tutto Mare’ and Adam the ‘Chicken Muddiga’.
Each came with a house salad. I didn’t think much about it at the time because I’ve become accustomed to house salads and had limited expectations.
The salads were delivered, lettuce topped with a vinaigrette with a nice sweetness unlike I’d ever had. Also included were a couple of rich olives, not the kind you get in a can, these were dark and full of flavor. There was also a pepper of some sort, a grape tomato and a chunk of artichoke.
I’ve never liked artichoke, so I’ve never actually tried it. I find it pointless to try something I know I won’t like and artichoke is just too strange. It’s been showing up on the Food Network a lot though and I recalled how much work it actually takes to dig out and prepare the sparse edible bits. It reminded me of a crab shack experience in Maryland where they gave us a big bucket of blue crabs, a hammer, some pliers and a ream of napkins and bibs. An eight ounce crab actually only yields about .001 ounces of edible meat. It, like artichoke is a whole lot of work for a tiny morsel. I decided (with Angel glaring at me) to try it. The vinaigrette was so spectacular I figured whatever it touched would have at least that going for it. I have to say I was surprised, it wasn’t disgusting. It wasn’t all that great either. It had the consistency and texture of well prepared calamari, which I don’t care for either. It had no strong distinct taste of its own that I could discern. I seriously can’t figure out what the fuss is about.
The olives were outstanding; Angel and I took Adam’s.
The bread was perfect; crunchy crust and light, moist innards. I dipped mine in light olive oil and pepper and later on the marinara sauce. We cleaned out one basket full and asked for more. By the end of the meal we had a few slices left over which we boxed and took with us. The next morning I turned it into some of the best French toast I’ve ever made.
There was a wait for the main course. If this had been a fast-food place or a chain restaurant I would have been annoyed, but here, where I could tell the food was made to order rather than in batches, it was not bad at all. (See ‘Ambiance’ below).
All the tables were filled with casual couples and families and the ample wait staff scurried around with orders, baskets of bread and drink refills. My tea glass never dropped below half full the entire evening. We watched orders being delivered and realized that we were in a real live, fine dining establishment. Everything looked good, smelled good and felt good.
The main courses arrived. My cannelloni came, two inch-round tubes of pasta injected with a seasoned Italian beef puree covered in cheese and a unique and bright marinara. There was nothing about it to dislike. The pasta was done to perfection. (I appreciate how hard it is to get large pasta consistently done from one end to the other.) The beef filling was subtle, yet savory, the sauce and cheese so delightful I wanted to strip to my knickers and go swimming in it.
Angel’s Tutto Mare contained no horse meat as I had assumed it would. It turns out that ‘Tutto Mare’ translates to ‘All Sea’. It was a bed of linguini covered with shrimp, mussels, clams, mushrooms, tomatoes and covered with a cream sauce. The smell was luscious though I didn’t actually try it because it contained mussels and clams. Angel picked all the sea-bits out occasionally sucking down a heavy noodle or two. There were no sea creatures left by the end of the meal, but there was a fair pile of pasta left, we took that home as well.
Adam’s Chicken Muddiga was more than he had imagined. The chicken was prepared well enough, Mudigga style (breaded) and covered with the promised prosciutto bits (a sort of thin ham resembling bacon) and melted cheese. What he did not expect were the mushrooms. That pretty much took away his appetite for it. He did some scrapping and examined every subsequent morsel for errant mushroom debris. I tasted it and can say with some authority that there were a few too many mushrooms for my taste as well. Other than that it was pretty and otherwise quite tasty.
We were more than quite satisfied with the meal, that is until Heather brought the dessert tray around. We looked at each other and succumbed to temptation. Cheesecake is terribly hard to resist.

The Ambiance:
Then an odd thing happened; a young man in a nice suit walked in with a music stand. He sat it on the floor at the entrance to the dining room and unveiled a violin and bow. He then tucked the instrument under his chin and made music with it. He played softly and pleasantly, the tune we barely made out was not a classical piece, nor was it Italian as we expected it would be when he started. We finally figured out what it was and we had to laugh. He was playing Phil Collins’ “Against All Odds”. Okay, interesting choice, but still quite pleasing.
By this time we had become accustomed to the pleasantly unexpected.
Somewhere between the salad and the main course a man stepped out of the kitchen and went from table to table. When he came to ours he introduced himself as Giuseppe, the owner and chef. A very pleasant, modest, yet confident man, he smiled easily and seemed to enjoy the conversations as much as the patrons did. When I asked him about the sweetness in the salad dressing he simply smiled broadly and answered, in a distinct accent, “That is my recipe. I get it from my mother.” I didn’t drill him on it any further. He seemed genuinely delighted that I liked it and that was enough for me.
As we finished desert, our bellies full to the point of aching, we did not want to leave. This has rarely if ever happened in a restaurant. Usually we’re not lingerers at all. Eat, get the check and go, that’s us. But we were really, really enjoying this place unlike any other we have ever, ever, and I mean this, ever been. The warmth, the friendliness, the hum of a house full of satisfied diners, magnificent food, a personal greeting by the proprietor / chef, and his wife, and did I mention a guy playing soft pop on a freaking violin!

Summary:
Simply unbelievable. This is the full package. In an unexpected place, in a light industrial area five miles from the closest town or interstate on-ramp, nowhere near a Walmart, bank, or big box store. Not even a convenience store or gas station in sight. There stands in an inconspicuous strip mall on a road used pretty much only by the locals, the single best all around dining experience I can imagine. The price? Sixty five dollars plus tip.
That is sixty five dollars including dessert. Frequent readers and fans of this site will recall that we spent that much at Ruby Tuesday’s last week, without dessert, without meeting the chef, without having such exceptional food and service and without a guy playing 80’s hits on a real live violin. There’s a long list of places that you can spend sixty five dollars for three adults, but no place I know where you get this much pleasure for anywhere near that amount.
We will go back, definitely, we are already recommending it to everyone that will listen.


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About Imperial, MO.
“Imperial, MO, contains one of the most important archaeological sites in Missouri - the site where archaeologists first discovered a stone weapon with the bones of American mastodons. This was the first solid evidence of the coexistence of humans and mastodons in eastern North America.”
( www.slfp.com/Mastodon.htm )