Trattoria Giuseppe

5436 Hwy 21
Imperial, Mo.

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By now, we shouldn't need to explain why we decided to go to Trattoria Giuseppe. It is our favorite place to eat in Jefferson County, it has been since we first went there several years ago. It's a little more expensive than most places we go, but it is worth it.
On the way we struck up a conversation about a very unusual occurrence in our lives. The previous evening while watching 'Glee' (don't judge me) one of the new kids performed a song that I recognized.*
"Oh, I love this song!!" I said.
"I don't know this song." Angel replied.
That struck me as very odd. You know by now that I do not listen to contemporary music often, so it was strange that I would have ever had the opportunity to recognize a popular song that she'd not already known about. So I struggled to figure out where I could possibly have heard it. I figured it out eventually.
On the drive to the restaurant Angel asked Adam if he knew it, giving him the name of the song and mangling the artist's name.
"Doesn't ring a bell." He answered. This made me giddy.
So Angel handed me her smart cellular telephone and talked me through the icons to get to a browser.
I dialed up the Youtube and played it.
After a minute or so, Adam replied that no, he'd never heard it before either.
"How is it possible that you've heard a song before we did?" He added.
NPR
Well, actually because of St. Louis Public Radio, not on it. The previous week had been rattle-the-tin-cup week for the public station. At least half of every hour is devoted to begging, cajoling, and guilt-tripping. I can't stand it. I know they have to do this, but because I have options, I don't have to listen to it for the nearly three hours a day I spend in the car. So on button 2 on my VW's  radio, I have a local station that also is mostly talk and news, though with a decidedly and sometimes wildly, more conservative perspective. It's not so much that I disagree with many or most conservative positions, it's more the tone and tactics that usually repulse me from most conservative talk shows. In the afternoons on this station there's a local guy who is at least more realistic and less pompous than some of the nationally known pundits and often he talks about movies and other things.
After I pondered for quite a while, it dawned on me that the local show was  using this song as the bumper music after the news break. I'd never heard the whole song, but I definitely knew the chorus.
Angel has already ordered a CD, she really liked it too. Adam was less impressed.
The Place:
TG is oddly, out in the middle of nowhere. It's not in Imperial, just the post office designation for this
particular area is in Imperial's coverage zone. It's on old highway 21, off of M.
It's an old, single story building, an early strip mall configuration.
Inside the place is rustic, but clean.
Its low ceilings and three dining rooms make it feel cozy and homey. We were greeted by a mature lady and handed over to Ashley, the young, pony-tailed hostess. We had forgotten to make reservations so we were fortunate that it was early. She led us to a four top next to the window in the 'space available' section near the front. I called it this because it seemed that the three or four tables in this area were separate from the bigger dining areas and it felt like we were in 'coach' for this flight.
Which didn't concern us too much, even a less than desirable location inside TG's is better than most other places' places. The service has always been exceptional and the food always well above par.
Within a minute or two, Tony, a handsome young man stopped, introduced himself and set a basket of bread in front of us. He then recited the special, some kind of cheesed and sauced steak that sounded good, but very, very rich and heavy.
We asked for drinks, Tea, tea, Pepsi.
After only a moment, Angel set her menu aside. She poured olive oil into a saucer to dip her bread. I did as well, but I also dashed it with some black pepper. The bread was fresh, soft and tasty.
I finally narrowed it down to two dishes, one pasta, one steak and left it at that until I actually told Tony what I wanted.


The Food:
Angel asked for spaghetti and meatballs, with the house salad.
Adam went next with a peppered sirloin steak, baked potato and house salad.
I opened my mouth and asked for New York strip, house salad and baked potato.
We'd not had S&M at TG's before. I should have thought of it, I've tried that dish at a few places just to see how the places hold up with a fairly simple, old standard.
    The wait for the salads was not long. Guiseppe makes a salad good enough to write to your mom about. That may seem a little over the top, but trust me, it's not. Iceberg lettuce, cherry tomatoes, red onion, artichoke heart, dark olives and a small pepper. He tosses this with a house made vinaigrette. That vinaigrette is what sets the salad as a standout. Not too sweet, oily or vinegary. The taste is difficult to pin down. It is not strongly one thing or another. Rather than a single note taste, like Ranch, French and most of the others, this is a perfectly harmonic blend of flavors and spices where there is no single dominant flavor, it's like a chord on a multi-stringed instrument. You hear all the individual notes, but yet didn't.
Adam plucked the tomatoes, olives and onions off of his. I took the tomatoes and scooted my olives and artichoke over to Angel.
As we ate, I noticed the overhead music, not too loud, big bands and Italian-ish crooners mostly. I can live with that. I've made a few CD's for Angel from my own big band collection. She says the dogs like it better than most other music.
I also noticed a framed movie poster over my right shoulder. Fellini's 'La Dolce Vita.' Translated, that means 'The Sweet Life'. Not that the translation matters, only 'Fellini' matters to movie snobs. It's supposed to be one of the ten best movies ever made. I don't know why, there are  no shootouts or gratuitous explosions. About the only interesting thing about the film is that one character, Paparazzo a news photographer, is the source of the word Paparazzi, the word used in many countries to label intrusive photographers.
The salads, finished off and set aside, we waited. Not too long of a wait, just a fancy restaurant wait. Tony kept an eye on us though, our drinks were never allowed to get more than halfway drained before the next refill showed up.

When the food finally arrived, we were more than ready for it. A foil wrapped potato and a thick, charred steak covered with about a quart of garlic butter. Three condiment packs of butter and one of sour cream lay beside the wrapped spud. I peeled away the foil and the tops off of the condiments and inverted them on top of the steamy potato. Once it had softened up I carved up the potato and folded in the creaminess. With almost religious reverence I carved my first chunk of the steak. Oh yeah, dreamy. Butter tender, perfectly pink, and meaty and juicy. As always, the potato was perfect.
Adam plowed through his smaller sirloin rather quickly. I could tell by the fact that he didn't say a word from start to finish that his was heavenly as well.

   He was able to finish his, I stopped about two thirds in. Not a problem, you're probably thinking the same thought. 'Sunday breakfast.' Oh yeah.
Every bite of the meat was divine. It's not that hard to cook a thick steak, but the quality of the cut is critical. This was not your dad's backyard grilled shoe leather.
Angel's spaghetti pile was, as is typical in many Italian places, enormous. More in her platter than I usually make at home for the whole family. However, unlike many other places, there was enough sauce to cover it so that there would be some for all the pasta. You know what this means. Sunday breakfast.

She shaved off a corner of one of the golf sized meat balls and laid it on my plate. Man oh man, that was a tender, tasty meatball. A beautiful blend of meats, not dry or gritty at all. Beautifully assembled and cooked. The sauce was amazing. If I didn't know better I'd say that the tomatoes for the sauce as well as the herbs had only been picked that day. The ingredients screamed 'fresh' and bright. But my God, there was a lot of it. Too much really. As I write this, even after Angel's Sunday breakfast, there's still quite a bit left. This is, of course a silly criticism, but it really was too much for any single human. Half this much would have been more than generous.
As my only criticism, I suppose that's not so bad.

Summary:
Yeah, it's a bit pricey. The steaks were over twenty bucks each, the S&M about thirteen. With just the three dishes and tea/Pepsi, the tab came in at just under seventy five dollars. That's pretty much more than we spend anywhere else, so we can't afford to go there as often as we like, but every time we do, it seems well worth the price.
Giuseppe has a great thing here. He not only knows his food, but he knows how to run a restaurant. The staff is always professional, sharp and competent. Rarely does something go wrong.
He's also a gentleman and a professional in his own right. We've never been there when he didn't come out and go table to table to personally thank the diners. You can see the pride on his face. He has every right and reason to be proud. He's brought and maintained a high level of dining to the rural Jefferson County hills.
Trattoria Giuseppe, still number one in  my book.







* "Take me to Church"
Hozier version.
Glee version.

Poppy's Ristorante

2000 N. Truman Blvd.
Festus, Mo.
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Somehow, it seems we end up at Poppy's in the winter. Not by any master plan, mind you. We here  at Eat and Critique World Headquarters have never had a master plan, or even a minor plan.
But Poppy's makes me think of the holiday season.
Maybe it's the heavy oak decor that frames garlands perfectly.
The Place:

It is a beautiful restaurant. Oak floors, thick, carved oak booths and bar, stained glass and Tiffany lamps, tasteful, soft framed artwork, modest chandeliers.
You really do forget that you are next door to a bowling alley.
It has a very upscale feel to it. The secret though is that price-wise it is very reasonable.
We entered and saw that it was busy. A group of tables had been lined up to accommodate a party of fourteen senior citizens. They were nicely dressed, most wore bright red sweaters which looked very jolly alongside the quaffed silver hair of the ladies.
We were led to a nearby booth at the front, near the bar. The scurrying staff were sharply dressed in all black.
Lindsay was to be our server. Yes, I am spelling that correctly, she insisted when she saw me writing it down.
She offered drinks, we responded with tea, tea and Pepsi. She handed us menus. I'd looked it over earlier in the day online, Angel and Adam had not. We had all agreed to try something other the the usual thing we got there. I usually get the cannelloni. I was really going to mix it up this visit.
Our tea and a basket of rolls arrived. I noticed the tea, it looked, perfect, so I sipped it. It was. One big point for Poppy's and we hadn't even ordered yet
Overhead a familiar tune played just over the din of the party of 14. "Pachelbel?" Angel asked. "Yes." I proudly answered. I didn't add that Pachelbel was merely the composer's name and that the name of the tune was, casually, Canon in D Major, formally, Canon and Gigue for 3 violins and basso continuo, and in original German, Kanon und Gigue für 3 Violinen mit Generalba. Knowing things like this are not license to actually mention them in casual conversation, some people think that sort of thing is snooty. I first heard it and fell in love with it back in the early 80's after Carl Sagan used it and several other lesser know classical pieces in his landmark series 'Cosmos'. That now used-to-death-at-weddings song was followed up by a series of classic Christmas songs. Normally when shrouded by a marathon of these songs I tense up and start swearing. Not that I have anything in particular against most of the songs individually, it's the month long deluge of them that raises my hackles. Fortunately it wasn't very loud, so I managed to tune it out for the most part by eavesdropping on the party of fourteen. I didn't learn much from them. It turns out they weren't really very interesting people.

The Food:
We had the usual appetizer, toasted ravioli. Poppy's version is pretty good, crispy, meaty, with a chunky marinara. They came with an overabundant amount of the sauce. This would be an ominous portent of things to come. . .
The rolls were simply excellent. Nothing fancy, just a basic dinner roll, but warm and tender. The basket they came in also had some condiment packets of both butter and 'spread'.
We ordered.
Me: Spaghetti and Meatballs, and a 'Combination Salad' with the house dressing. Yes, spaghetti. I rarely order spaghetti at Italian restaurants, but it is the standard that all Italian eateries should be able to master. I had a mediocre spaghetti plate at the recently opened and reviewed Pasta House, and I skewered them for only having a mediocre version. I can make spaghetti, it's my go to Sunday dinner at home. I make it better than mediocre and can expect no less from an Italian Restaurant.
Angel:Tortellini Alla Panna (Tortellini with Cream) and a shrimp salad. Lindsay replied by saying they didn't have a shrimp salad. "No, no I meant spinach, not shrimp." She laughed at herself. Angel laughs at herself fairly often. It's part of her charm, she never ceases to amuse herself. I sometimes wish I could pleasure myself so completely. I tend to self abuse a lot.
Adam: One of the 'Specialty' pastas, Lemon Basil Rigatoni and a Caesar side salad.

Lindsay trotted off. I started taking notes and when it came to their orders I asked Angel which salad  she had asked for. Predictably she again said 'shrimp'. We laughed and laughed.
Meanwhile I noticed that of the six occupied tables I could see, our server seemed to be responsible for two, ours and the party of fourteen. Not a great plan. Large parties like that, and even more so by parties of successful senior citizens, are rather high maintenance. I first noticed this a few months back at an Olive Garden in Paducah, Ky. Our server there was worn out and frequently out of sight taking care of a large table full. Though we sympathized, we also find it a weak excuse. Surely these places know how much work a large party is, surely they should free up the server(s) of those tables from also having to take care of an additional, less demanding couple or trio.
Lindsay handled it well though. More on that later.
The salads came on small plates. The greens on mine were fresh, though the little tomatoes looked a day or two past prime. When I tried to cut the rough torn lettuce, quite a bit fell off the saucer. There was not enough saucer for the pile of salad in front of me. I could barely move the stuff around

without losing some overboard. The salad was very good, especially the sweet house dressing. The portion was too large though, for the plate and the meal.
Angel's was prettier than mine. Piled high shrimp . . . just kidding, spinach, sliced mushrooms and egg, crumbled bacon and large croutons. Hers too was more than ample. Too big really, for a 'side' salad, and falling off the plate. Adam started his by picking the mushrooms off his Caesar. He hadn't noticed the ingredient when he ordered it. Who puts mushrooms on a Caesar salad? He didn't have much of it, he said the dressing tasted a bit different from what he was accustomed to.
None of us finished our salads, we started them cautiously since pasta is very, very filling and we'd all ordered pasta as a main course. When we go to Ruby Tuesday's which has the best salad bar in the world, we order small meals since we know we are going to mega-load at the salad bar. As I said, mine was quite good, just too much.
The main courses arrived in a timely manner. The plates were more like serving bowls than dinner

Lemon Basil Rigatoni

plates. Mine had three or four large meatballs and was generously coated with a red meat sauce with noticeable tomato pulp. I like it like that. I cut open one of the meatballs and tried it first. Excellent, a blend of meats, definitely pork and probably some beef. The menu didn't describe it, so I'm going by what my highly skilled mouth tells me. The sauce tasted very good. Maybe not the best I've had, but certainly better than the generic, short-cut-laden stuff Pasta House served up.
Adam ate his with a puzzled look on his face. "For Lemon Basil pasta, I taste neither lemon nor basil." He reported. Mostly he tasted the white wine and olive oil.
Angel dived into hers. She didn't say anything about it for a while. We all noted that there was way more on our plates than we'd ever finish. When she did say something it was not especially positive. "Sort of dry in the middle, maybe it's the cheese."
I was full. I looked down at my plate and it looked like I hadn't even started. I felt embarrassed that I ate so relatively little of it. I just couldn't eat anymore though. I shoved it around to try to make it look like I'd had more than I did, like I did as a kid when given something I didn't like. The effort was futile though. I dug around into the vast depths of the bowl and realized I was served more spaghetti than I usually make for an entire family meal and even then there's some left over.
Summary:
Well, I guess you can see where this is going.
We in flyover country are often stereotyped, and not completely inaccurately, as being among other things, fat. Our meals typically consist of laboring family fare, meat, potatoes, bread, gravy. Big portions of everything, the starchier the better. The problem is that not very many of us get up in the morning and work the fields for fourteen hours per day any more. We were a little slow in adapting our meals to fit a far less active life style. But here's the news. We get it. We may have been a bit late to the party, but in droves we're noticing what we're putting into ourselves. More important than what, is how much of what.
Just ask the burger chains. Even the king of those beasts, McDonald's, is starting to struggle with

Finish point

declining numbers. They're rushing to adapt menus to a new paradigm. People are just no longer slavishly stuffing themselves with the calorie bombs that served them so well for decades. People are eating there less. Big Mc is actually considering offering fresher, healthier food. This time they may actually mean it.
My thoughts on this are not limited or unique to Poppy's, at all. As far as taste goes, they were better than most. But the serving size was simply staggering. I asked around, my sources close to the local industry tell me that Poppy's keeps a LOT of takeaway boxes on hand. That itself should tell them something.
When I opened up the box for my late lunch/early dinner on Sunday, I heated up my typical amount for a home spaghetti meal. There was still more than half of the original serving left in the box.
Isn't too much food a good thing?
No. I found it embarrassing, intimidating and more importantly, wasteful. Prepared pasta dishes don't keep or reheat well at home. Chances are very good that more than half of what we ordered will be thrown away.
There's just no need for that. Sure it's pretty cheap to make, but I would have been satisfied to pay the same amount for one third to one fourth the serving size.
Enough of that for now.
The tab was very, very reasonable, especially if you compare it to the tonnage of food. Even if appropriately sized, the price would have been decent, Sixty three bucks for three entrees, side salads, drinks and an appetizer. Also, we had a $5 coupon thanks to being on their mailing list.
Lindsay did an amazing job, especially considering she was being throttled by that party of 14 boring people.
The comments I made about the food we did get should be filtered against an earlier comment. We all deliberately ordered things we'd not had there before. My spag was fine, but I like my usual, the  cannelloni better, etc. So this was partially a matter of us being bold and experimental.
Poppy's is very nice and quite good. A little better floor management and some adjusting of portion sizes would do them well. Please, offer different sizes of the pasta dishes. Some of us are actually trying to tone it down some. Let those that want a full box of pasta for themselves pay a higher price for the privilege. Nine bucks for a standard sized plate of tasty pasta is about right. A serving platter that could feed four should cost more.  More is not better.
Other than that, Poppy's is a fine place to go, above average in quality. It makes Pasta House look like Fazolis. Well, maybe not that bad.



*Monday. Sure enough the three boxes, still weighing several pounds cumulatively, are now in the dumpster. Angel tried reheating some, but it stuck together, as things like that (flour+water=paste) are apt to do. I'd scraped all the meat sauce out of mine to coat the one reheat I did yesterday, Adam wasn't real happy with the recipe on his to begin with. Bigger just does not equal better, sometimes super sizing is compensation for lack of quality.

Pasta House

1806 Galemore St.
Festus, Mo.
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This one is complicated. Very complicated.
Pasta House is a regional chain, headquartered in St. Louis. Founded in 1974 it now has around twenty locations, most in the Metro St. Louis region. Some of the locations are owned by PH, others are independently owned franchises.
We were excited to find out they were building one in Festus. More excited that the location was on Highway A, before you actually get to Festus. During our frequent trips to the town, we watched the progress. It went pretty slow, about a year or more in construction.
Finally, Angel noticed the 'Now Open' sign flashing. So as far as deciding where to go, this was an easy week.
I'd looked at the online menu ahead of time, so I was properly prepared. We invited the boys, Adam and his friend that I call Larry.
I was a bit groggy after a very heavy nap. I'd been up at 2 A.M. for a couple of hours tending to a regular work thing, system checks. Angel and the boys made fun of me because when I'm in this state I tend to incomprehensibly mumble.
The Place:
It was dark, early for dinner service, around 5 P.M. The parking lot was nearly full. This was their first weekend being open, I supposed we weren't the only anxious ones.
We could have gone to any of the other locations, we just never had. Angel had looked at the online menu as well and was relieved to find out that it was not fast-foody. She was worried that it would be like Fazoli's, that place is simply awful.
The building was brand new, it still had that new Italian Restaurant smell to it. As we went in we saw the line. Angel asked, they said it would only be about a five minute wait. The front section is a well appointed bar with about a dozen high bistro tables and chairs. People were not only drinking at the tables but also having their meals.
Sure enough we only waited a little more than five minutes before we were called. I'd spent the time sizing up the crew. The manager was easy, better dressed than the floor crew, black shirts and jeans for them. Among the mostly young ladies a couple appeared to be go-to people that the others paid heed to. I like to know who's in charge.
We were led to a four-top barely inside the dining area. Sure enough the place was packed, the din was almost rowdy sports bar-like. Lots of families, lots of very young kids in high chairs. One of the tots was banging a spoon on the tray, something that got very old and annoying very fast.
Directly overhead was a stock ceiling speaker belting out big band music, Moonlight Serenade at the time and a very bad rendition of it. Either the recording or the sound system was murdering it with clicks and pops and squashed bars, those that know audio would call it overdrive distortion. It was  made worse by the fact that the volume was up too high for dining anyhow. Along with the loud diners, the music made me uncomfortable, I don't like loud places.
I was reminded that PH was to get certain breaks in the review. This was a new crew, a new restaurant and it was their first weekend open. So any griping I make about the service are only for comparison at a later date.
One thing we did notice to their credit was how quickly they turned tables. It explained the short wait. The last crumbs had barely hit the floor before the table was being bussed.
Another lady came by and handed us menus and asked about drinks. Tea, Sweet tea and two Cokes. A bit later she brought them and we ordered an appetizer, toasted ravioli because St. Louis.
It didn't take long to decide, I knew going in what I was getting.
The Food:
Me: Spaghetti Bolognese, small, no salad.
Angel: Tutto Mare
Adam: Volcano (Hot wing and ranch) Pizza
Larry: Bacon Cheddar Burger and fries.
For those not as smart about Italian dishes as we experts are, I'll translate. Bolognese is not baloney and mayonnaise, it is a meaty tomato sauce.  When I make spaghetti at home, which I do fairly often, this is what I make. At home, we just call it 'spaghetti'.
Tutto Mare is not horse meat, it is actually seafood over pasta. Tutto mare means roughly, 'all sea'. Clams, shrimp, scallops, that sort of thing. It's usually in a creamy sauce.
If I have to explain burgers and pizza to you then you should just leave my beloved country, right now.

The ravioli arrived in a long white plate. alongside was a think, almost chunky marinara for dipping. Angel had ordered the twelve-piece so there was plenty for everyone. I pulled two off the plate, dipped them each twice at right angles, and dropped them onto the little appetizer plate we'd been given.
They were not as crispy as I thought they would be. I expected a crunch, but it never came. The taste was very good, the pasta seemed fresh, but for me it seemed a bit rubbery. No one else complained, in fact they sort of dismissed my assessment altogether. So maybe it was just me.
We finished them up fairly quickly, then the real wait began. A new place, new crew, new kitchen I would have been completely surprised if there had not been a longer than 'normal' wait. Fortunately we had devices and the PH guest WiFi was quick and strong.

As we browsed, I took time to look around at the decor. Mostly photos and a  lot of huge movie posters, mostly in Italian or for spaghetti westerns from the 60's and 70's. One photo confused me, it was of Marlon Brando. I was never a really big fan but I do know that Brando is not Italian. He was born in Nebraska and his ancestry was all German, Dutch, etc. Like I said, I was not a big fan of the big man, but the only thing I could think of is that he might have been in a movie in or about Italy. . .  I'll have to look it up sometime.
The floors were enormous earth-tone tiles, the walls were painted a glossy dark yellow, the tables and chairs were black. It was properly lit, not too bright, not too dim. More than anything though it was loud.
There seemed to be ample staff, all running around bouncing from table to table. Another man stepped out of the kitchen and stood watch, a definite authority figure as well. He and the other man I'd pegged as a manager held several discussions, but mostly they scanned the dining area like hawks on a post.
Several minutes passed, and by several, I mean about forty five, from the time we were handed menus until

the entrees arrived. Just before the entrees showed up the new manager guy spotted me looking around and rushed over, apologized for the wait and ordered someone to go grab us some rolls.
We were served a saucer full of assorted, condiment style butter containers. then a lady came along behind us with a basket full of rolls and tonged two apiece into our appetizer plates. They were warm, almost hot and smelled heavenly, like fresh baked bread should. I cracked open one of them, the crust was pleasantly crispy, and scraped the entire contents of a butter tub into each one. Mmmm, melty butter. They were tasty, but our enjoyment was short lived as a solo act as the main course finally came.
My spaghetti and Angel's seafood pasta looked correct. After just a moment though I saw it, very disappointed. When I scooped some of the pasta toward the middle of the dish, a watery puddle formed. This wasn't because the sauce itself was watery, it was because the pasta had not been thoroughly drained before plating. I was able to stir it all around and it mixed in a little better, but it weakened the sauce.

Not that it could stand much weakening. The pasta was cooked correctly, well maybe a little overdone, and the sauce tasted just fine. . . which for me is not a compliment. As I said earlier, I make spaghetti quite often. I know a good sauce and I know a really good sauce. This was cafeteria sauce. Perfectly adequate for a modest meal, but hardly up to the depth of flavor and texture you'll find at a hundred other local Italian places. It was  red sauce and ground meat. I could detect no peppers, celery, garlic, onions etc.
This was really disappointing compared to the quite-nice marinara dipping sauce we'd had earlier, that had been almost salsa-thick. This sauce was really not any better than some of the better canned sauces at a grocery store. Not that there's anything wrong with canned sauce, I use it myself, as a starter. I always add peppers, onions, garlic, celery, etc. But when you go out to eat, especially at a place called 'Pasta House' you expect something a little better, richer, deeper. . . is that asking too much?
Angel was quite happy with her tutto mare. She especially liked the fact that the clams were not in the shell. It makes a pettier plate with clams in-shell, but it is sort of a hassle to de-shell them. There was plenty of shrimp as well, and as she does with this dish she fished all the meaty bits out without eating more than half the pasta.
That's completely normal. Neither of us ever finish our pasta. Even though mine was a 'small' I knew I couldn't hold that much heavy, starchy stuff, especially after the excellent rolls. At home I serve twice as much sauce as I got at PH and half as much noodles. I had the same problem with ratio at an Olive Garden a few weeks back the taste was okay, but the pasta to sauce proportions were just not in-whack.

I asked the boys about theirs. Larry was guarded, though he finally confessed that he wasn't very impressed with the burger. A bit bland. He didn't care very much for the fries either, though he stopped short of saying he didn't like them.
Adam had a few slices of his odd looking pizza, thin, paper thin crust,
chunks of hot wings and a pale beige sauce, Ranch Dressing, I believe. He really didn't care for the celery chunks on it. He said he got it, that hot wings are often served with a side of celery sticks and Ranch dipping sauce, but he said the celery taste overwhelmed his taste buds. He plucked the chunks off, said he wished they, like with wings, had been served on the side instead of cooked in with the pizza. other than that he said it was pretty good, but would not compare it to other places.
We argued a while about whether or not celery had a strong taste, when I cook I almost always cook with celery and have always thought of it as subtle. We finally decided that Adam just has weird taste buds.
Summary:
I said at the beginning that this was complicated. You see, I want places to succeed, I want a new place to be good. I'd heard good things about PH, but was not prepared for it being as lackluster as it turned out to be. It wasn't that anything was bad, there just wasn't anything there that I cannot get better versions of in other places. For Angel, it was the ambiance. I agree with that as a problem. It's too noisy, it lacks that cozy, candlelit, rough around the edges atmosphere you find at the many trattorias in the area. Sure, it cost a little less, more on par with Olive Garden, (around $16 per head plus the appetizer) maybe less, but was it worth it? I'll pay a premium for a good steak I'm not good at cooking them myself, so I don't mind. This spaghetti though was just no better than Angel and I make at home. It's not like spaghetti is hard to make.
As for all the waiting . . .  did I mention that I had to flag down the manager guy to get the check? I get that, it's a new place. I was a bit annoyed that I didn't catch our servers names primarily because no less than half a dozen different people served us, the bread lady, the tea lady and the two Coke ladies . . . I didn't tip very high, at all, because I didn't know who or what I was tipping. Yes, I completely ignored the 'suggested gratuity' list at the bottom of the check.
We will, of course, go back in a few weeks or months to see if the place runs a bit smoother. I don't know if I can count on the food being much better, I'll certainly have to try something else, probably the cannelloni, certainly not a burger. . .
The place is brand new, so it gets a pass for now. .  .

That’sa Nice’a Pizza

2000 Richardson Rd.

Arnold, Mo.

http://tnparnold.com/

It had been a busy day, mine started early as I had read about a cemetery cleanup in Hillsboro. Yeah, I was actually excited about this. The local paper had said they were looking for volunteers to show up between eight and noon. I had slept in a little and didn’t get there until after nine. By then it was all pretty much done. There was still one gentleman picking up fallen branches, so I grabbed a few and added them to his pile. Another gentleman was tossing bright yellow trash bags into the back of a large pickup truck. Down the hill there was a young lady with a notebook and pen stopping at the occasional grave and writing something down. I grabbed my camera and my official ‘Find-A-Grave’ cap and headed down to see her. She wasn’t a big talker, and my mere presence didn’t seem to impress her much. I did gather that she was identifying veterans’ graves.

The man tossing the trash bags came down and told the lady that he was going to take the trash away but would be back. I asked him if there was anything else I could do to help. No, even with the early showers and a small crew they’d pretty much got done what they needed to do. We chatted for a while, exchanged knowledge, I logged him as a useful resource. It also turned out that he was my insurance agent, Matt Woods. I’d never actually met him before, as Angel handles most of the administrative tasks.

I went on to Walmart to take care of personal items then went home to catch up on emails, Facebook, etc. The Classic movie channel had run an evening of cheesy Mike Hammer (Mickey Spillane) movies made in the 50’s and early 60’s. I had recorded them since coincidentally I had been reading Spillane for the past three or so weeks. Between one of those and an obligatory nap, it was soon time for dinner.

Adam had chosen this week, a place not too far from where he matriculates. (ITT Tech)

The Place:

A small strip mall on a hill above I-55. Adam had spent the day in Arnold with a friend and met us there. As we waited for him we grabbed the menu… Yeah THE menu, there only appeared to be one, and looked it over. I made several observations at this point.

Even though the words ‘Eat In’ appear on the window, they are kidding themselves. Inside the place there was a dining area of about twenty feet by eight feet, half of which was taken up by two video games, one an old fashioned table-style Ms. Pacman, the other had a flat screen and a steering wheel. That left room for only two tables, each with four chairs. There was a baby-toting couple at one table, the other was empty but would be a pain to sit at since two of the four chairs didn’t even have room to pull out all the way.

Also, something I noticed when we first drove up, the front door was propped open. When we stepped in to get the menu, we stepped out to read it over as the heat inside the place was near stifling. There was a ceiling fan churning away at medium speed, but it offered no actual comfort. The entire staff was dripping with sweat as was the baby-laden couple and the baby itself.

Angel and I agreed that we’d take the order ‘to-go’ and find a park somewhere to eat.

The Food:

Adam showed up and looked over the menu. We made our choices, ordered and passed on the drinks. They only offered Coke, Diet Coke and Sprite as drinks, all in cans. Angel and Adam drove across the street to a Circle K (a convenience store chain) and grabbed fountain drinks for themselves and a bottle of water for me. As they were gone one of the young, female workers found me on the sidewalk.

Angel had ordered pizza, one called the ‘Pride of the House’; Salsiccia (Italian Sausage), Mushroom, Ham and Onion. She also shared an appetizer, teriyaki chicken wings. Adam had ordered the Buffalo Chicken Sandwich. I enjoy diversity and wanted to put this dive through its paces. I ordered spaghetti and meatballs, with a side of garlic bread.

When the young lady found me on the sidewalk, she looked distressed. A manger-type stepped out behind her.

“I’m sorry sir we seem to be out of spaghetti pasta.”

Really? I was stunned. Pasta is about the cheapest, most available and storable ingredients on the planet, and they had none. They said that they did have fettuccini, I said fine, just make it with that.

Angel and Adam got back and sat in the car until the food was ready. Angel suggested we head to Kimmswick, a little town down the road. I agreed since I know a bit about that little town and its history and current status is infinitely more interesting than Arnold’s. As it turned out, Kimmswick, which sits right on the edge of the Mississippi River was a little squishy, and the tourist area had not yet opened for the season. Nobody was there and there were no public picnic tables anywhere on dry ground.

By this time we knew the food was cooling, so we decided to just head home.

Sure enough, the spaghetti had congealed to a single red sauce, meatball, cheese and pasta mass. A couple of minutes in the microwave softened it back up, but as you know, nuked pasta is never as good as fresh. I tore a off a small piece of Angel’s pizza, pinched off some teriyaki flesh, and dumped the wad of pasta out of it’s Styrofoam box and on to a standard plate.

The meatballs were large, about golf ball size. They cost ninety nine cents each; I had splurged and ordered three. Like many large meatballs, they weren’t that good, kind of dry and bland, like a wad of unseasoned, slightly overcooked ground beef. The pasta was thick and heavy, the marinara was nothing to write home about. It wasn’t really bad, but it was no better than the stuff we keep a couple of jars of in the pantry. The bread, because of travel time, had gone a little stale. It was okay, but would have been much nicer fresh out of the oven.

The teriyaki chicken was pretty good, the pizza was above average. The pizza was served St. Louis style, thin crust, cut into squares. Angel had opted for mozzarella rather than the traditional St. Louis style provel cheese. She considers provel a little too sweet.

I struggled through my pasta, it was weighing me down fast. I managed to barely make a dent in it and two of the meatballs before I called it quits. I put the rest in the fridge, but had pretty much already decided that I wouldn’t be revisiting it. We had better, more satisfying leftovers already in the chill box. (I ended up dumping it the next evening) As far as pasta goes, this stuff was certainly better than Chef Boyardee and infinitely better than that swill at Fazoli’s, but that’s about it. It was not even close to that which I can make at home. It might have been better had it been fresh, but as I said, dining in is really not a realistic option at this place.

Summary:

That’sa Nice’a Pizza should be taken for what it is (or should be). It’s a pizza joint best suited only for delivery or pickup. The interior of the place is not suited for dining at all, hot, tiny, noisy, completely lacking in basic comfort and ambience (no restrooms). On the wall above the counter someone had written, in large-lettered pencil: “Join our Mail Club!” with a crude penciled arrow pointing to a stack of sign-up cards. Tacky, and not even chic or cool-tacky, just cheap and lazy.

The pizza, as I said was pretty darn good, better than Pizza Hut, Imo's, Cecil Whitakers, or just about every other St. Louis style pizza we’ve come across. Part of that may be in Angel’s choice of toppings, but they did seem to be good, fresh ingredients prepared well. The only problem is that Arnold is a long way from our compound outside of Hillsboro, and there’s no way to get a fresh pizza from them in a timely manner, so returning there is not really a viable option for us.

The whole diverse meal came in at just over forty two dollars, not too bad considering we ordered from all over the map. Adam’s sandwich, the teriyaki chicken and the pizza were quite good. I wouldn’t waste money on much else though.