Taytro's

Taytro’s

343 North Creek Drive

Festus, Mo.

http://taytros.com/

It had rained earlier, April showers, but the evening opened up to sunshine and damp air. Angel, as is usually the case on Saturday’s, had rushed around all day, classes, dogs in the park, go, go, go. By dinnertime she’d announced she was in the mood for a po’ boy, this time I didn’t assume she meant me. Po’ boys meant Taytro’s .

The Place:

 One of our favorites. Up on the hill above the produce market, around the curve from Ryan’s (yuck) Steakhouse. There were only a few patrons ahead of us, they were at the bar.  The young lady showed us a table right by the door, Angel asked for another. There were plenty available so we got one by the window.

She took our drink orders, recommended the Sam Adams Spring Ale. Sounded good to me, especially since the tea at Taytro’s is not really any better than other places. Angel asked for a Diet Coke, Adam a regular Coke.

Small signs and chalk announced there would be live music later, Patrick Thomson. We were too early once again to check it out.The evening's specials were 'Bourbon Glazed Chicken', or a crab-stuffed portabella, tempting, but we were on a mission.

The Food:

Selection was quick. The only debate was over the appetizer. We, and by that I mean Angel and Adam, agreed on Chicken Tenders. They’re made like buffalo wings, just without the boney bits. I had no preference for appetizers, they all looked okay, nothing to telegraph home about though. We’d already tried the ‘gator bites’ (tastes just like gator) and of course they offered fried ravioli, since we’re near St. Louis. I sipped my beer slowly, it was cold and quite tasty.

For the main course, Angel indeed asked for the shrimp po’ boy and fries, as did I. She didn’t really necessarily want fries she’d said, but the only other choice was in-house chips. Adam asked for a po’ boy as well, chicken, with his fries.

Chicken Tender

I was nearly a third of the way through my beer, and starting to feel it, when the tenders finally arrived. The wait was a bit long considering there was only one other food-ordering table there. Yeah, a bit too long for a simple appetizer.During the wait I watched a local cop down the hill issuing a ticket to a middle aged man (assumed) in a shiny black late-model Camaro. Captivated by the flashing lights and getting impatient over the wait, it was the only thing worth looking at. The TV's were tuned to a sports channel, hockey maybe. After a few minutes the cop returned to his cruiser, the Camaro rabbited away, fancy after-market muffler growling as if the contemporary Camaro was anything like  it's late-sixties' ancestor.
The tenders finally arrived. Angel and Adam fussed over them. I pulled one skinny one into the little plate, tore off a piece and sampled it. After their comments of ‘fresh!’ and ‘just right!’ I declared them to be too spicy. But that’s just me, I’m not a hot wing fan, so if you are, you can just ignore my judgment, Angel and Adam really enjoyed them, even when dipped in (blech) ranch dressing. "The best in the area" was among their accolades.

The appetizers were gone, my delicious beer was half gone and warming. Finally the sandwiches arrived. No surprises, we've had them before.

Shrimp po' boy

Lots of the thick, lightly breaded critters sitting on a spread of citrus-chipotle-mayo under a bed of lettuce and tomato.
The mayo was spiced just about perfectly. I'm usually leary of 'chipotle' but Taytro's reins it in, getting the flavor, the smokiness in with just a tip of the hat to the heat.
Angel's plate was delivered with chips instead of fries. The server noticed this as she sat the plate down and immediately apologized and offered to bring out more fries. Angel tasted one of the chips, and told her not to bother, these would be just fine. They were thick, fresh and crispy, I tried one and thought it to be quite good. As you recall Angel wasn't that passionate about fries anyhow. The fries and the chips were seasoned, once again with a little, but not too much heat.
The sandwiches hit the spot, pretty much exactly what we wanted and expected.
Adam gobbled up his chicken, when I asked if it was good he simply replied 'Yeah'. He's a real Chatty Cathy.
Near the end Angel proclaimed, but only mildly, that the spiciness built up over the course of the meal, I agreed. It was not unpleasant, but it did build. My only other concern with the po' boy was the bread. It was not bad, in fact it was fresh and tasty. It was too thick. This is one of my complaints about a lot of trendy sandwich shops, like Subway. Too much bread. The bread was twice the thickness of the rest of the sandwich ingredients. My jaws popped on the first ravenous bite, and by the end I'd discarded large chunks of it to better enjoy the shrimp.
Summary:
Taytro's is better than most other places. It's not perfect, but the atmosphere, the food, the service is all pleasantly top-notch. I'd like less wait time, especially for the appetizers and the bread was thicker than I like it, but all told, I was not really disappointed at all.
The bill came in at around forty one dollars, this is not a cheap fast-food joint. Since this included an appetizer, the tab wasn't bad at all.
Angel's already looking forward to a return trip, by then she'll be craving the Etouffee.

Taytro’s Bar and Bistro

343 North Creek Dr.

Festus, Mo

http://taytros.com/

Adam’s choice. Some suggestions you just don’t argue with. We’ve liked it every time we’ve been.

The Place:

Atop the hill near the intersection of Highways A and 61/67. In a shopping center next to a Verizon Wireless store. The place has only been open a year and still looked clean and crisp. It still had that new restaurant smell.

There were no other diners, it was early, the live music wasn’t going to start for three more hours. There were a few patrons at the bar. The hostess, the one that always reminds me of Kirstin Dunst, seated us in the very back, against the wall where the entertainment would be staged later. On the wall behind us were several guitars posing as art. Alongside them was a picture of a lobster, or a large shrimp, or maybe a crawdad, playing an upright bass. It was pretty dark in the back, there were decorative oil lamps on each table, though none of them were lit.

The menus were familiar and simple. I wanted a Po’ Boy, a sandwich, Angel was unsure. We ordered our drinks, tea, sweet tea and Coke. We discussed appetizers a bit. Angel wanted to try the Gator Bites, Adam refused to accept the notion that gator might actually be edible. The drinks were delivered quickly, we shooed away the waitress for a little more time. The tea was heavenly, perfect.

The Food:

Gator Bites

Angel finally decided and we ordered. For appetizers, the aforementioned gator bites, made from the tail meat from an alligator, breaded and fried in little strips. We also got the wings, which by default are fried, then glazed in a honey and butter sauce.  We considered getting an appetizer sampler that had both of these, but at $18 it cost more than two individual appetizers, at $8 and $7 each.

For entrees, I asked for a catfish po’ boy and fries, Angel returned to a favorite, crawfish etouffee, with a salad served with the house poppy seed dressing. Adam asked for more chicken, in po’ boy form, with fries.

As we waited I looked around and noticed the wall-mounted TV’s were showing college football, no one seemed to be paying the games much attention. The sound was muted. Delta blues played in the background, not too loudly though. We chatted about typical things, schedules, plans, each other’s deficiencies, and the latest funny thing we saw on Facebook.

The appetizers arrived, two shallow bowls holding the proteins and in the center, a ramekin of sauce. Ranch dressing for the wings, a remoulade* with the gator. The gator looked like breaded and fried clams, which made me reluctant. I let Angel try one, she nodded and didn’t drop dead or fall into a twitching seizure. I tried one, without the remoulade, to get the real deal. It was denser than chicken, and had a taste only a bit more earthy, maybe a slight seafood taste, but only very slight. If I had been told that this was indeed chicken, just prepared slightly differently, I would not have thought anything of it. The remoulade made it even better. A bit of heat, a bit sweet.

Catfish Po' Boy

Angel and Adam shared the wings, which were declared sweet and crunchy, not hot, though the glaze looked deceptively like other places’ hot wings. I tried a tiny portion and concurred that they were quite good. The gator bites disappeared, as did the grilled toast that accompanied them.

In short time the entrees arrived. The catfish filet on my po’ boy was enormous. I had assumed that they would make the sandwich from small strips, but no, they went for a big fat filet. Knowing I would likely not eat all of it, I cut it in half.

Adam had no such reservations, even though the large chicken filet, like my fish, exceeded the size of the hoagie on which it was served and was glazed the same as the wings.

Crawfish Etouffee

The fish was very moist and quite thick. The fries were lightly seasoned and crispy. Angel ‘yummed’ quite a bit as she dug around the rice and sauce to find every morsel of crawdad  and andouille sausage.

It was pretty quiet as we ate, too busy enjoying to say much. The citrus-chipotle mayo on the sandwiches was a delight. We did talk about a new TV show we had watched. “Boss” Starring Kelsey Grammer on STARZ. Kelsey’s had a bit of a struggle finding a new show since his ‘Cheers’ and ‘Fraisier’ days, but this vehicle, a drama, sets him as a ruthless, corrupt, and quite beloved and feared Chicago mayor. We hadn’t had much hope for it, since his last few sitcom efforts were awful, but the new show was edgy, rough, in-your-face, and his character, though typically intellectual was not at all worried about getting his hands dirty, really, really dirty.

Chicken Po' Boy

Sure enough I was full after finishing only half my sandwich and fries. Angel leaned back and moaned, Adam, though pretty much finished, said little.

Summary:

I asked them for their opinions:

Angel: “Yummy!”

Adam: “My foot’s asleep.”  Then he added: “Don’t write that down, seriously, do not . . .  I can’t believe you wrote that down.”

“Anything to add to your assessment?” I asked.

“No complaints.”

“So even though your foot’s asleep you have no complaints?”

He glared at me.

“I just report the facts, you don’t want me to quote something silly, then simply don’t say anything silly.” I added.

Seriously though, the meal was great. The price was acceptable, but the appetizers were, in my mind, a bit steep. The total came in at $55 and change, around the same as a sports-bar chain, maybe a little less. The food is very good, it always is. The place is well staffed and friendly. I too have no real complaints. HIGHLY recommended.

___________________________

*Remoulade: A mayonnaise-based sauce or spread, originally French, often similar to tartar sauce.  Styles vary, I asked and was told that Taytro’s was made with red onions, peppers and maybe a dash of horseradish.

Bistro at the Square

48 Jefferson Square

DeSoto, Mo.

http://www.bistroatthesquare.com

We were looking for one place we’d found a listing for online, but couldn’t find it. Not knowing how old the listing was and considering the volatile nature of the retail food business, we assumed it was now defunct. We were in the general area though of a place we’d tried, liked, and had not revisited in quite a while. So it was settled, Bistro at the Square.

The Place:

Inside a shopping center/hotel ‘Jefferson Square’ just north of DeSoto on Highway 21. The serving area is split between a small dining area, a large banquet room and in between, in the enclosed courtyard, the ‘atrium’. White linen cloths covered the tables, green paper placemats in place, an unlit candle on each table. We were greeted and seated in the empty atrium, the standard dining area held a dozen or so patrons. Ahead of us a middle-age gentleman was setting up racks of amplifiers, mixers, effects boxes and speakers. All the cables ran to another stand, where sat an expensive and rather large electronic keyboard. Live music was certain to ensue this night. Behind the equipment and facing the tables was a banner board boasting ‘Dave Blum.’ I recognized the name from a visit to Taytro’s in Festus, he was to play there once as well. We dine too early for the shows, blame it on the dogs and their peculiar schedule. Someday I’d actually like to hear Dave perform, we seem to frequent the same places.

The menus were delivered, the drinks ordered, Tea, Diet Dr. Pepper, and Pepsi. Why Angel likes Dr. P, I’m not sure, in my mind the only thing worse in this class of soft drink than Dr. Pepper, is Diet Dr. Pepper. But perhaps I shouldn’t worry too much about Angel’s odd choices and likes.

There was a lot to choose from, not too much, nothing odd or fussy, just a simple menu with simple offerings. The appetizers were a little tempting, but also a little pricey.

The Food:

We didn’t take long to pick. I ordered the Catfish Filet and ‘Cowboy Potatoes’ Though I had to ask what they were. Angel went for a heavy breakfast, country fried steak, eggs and hash browns. Adam decided on the Buffalo Chicken sandwich and standard fries. Within moments the bread basket arrived with warm, soft bread along with a basket of condiment-cup butters. Or rather butter-ish condiments. Mostly Country Crock, but one or two actually contained actual butter. Packets of mostly grape and strawberry jelly were also provided.

The bread was soft. In my mind maybe a bit too rubbery, but Adam and Angel didn’t think so. The butter-ish stuff wasn’t hard-frozen, but almost. It took friction and effort to get it to melt.

The man setting up the equipment, perhaps Dave himself, tested the sound with a CD, or IPod, or some other form of music device. Kenny G. swooned through with a saucy, oozing sound. “Bring on the porn music!” Adam called out. How he knows about porn music I have no idea, I mean I’ve only read about it myself. I wouldn’t know porn music if a giggly, blond, cleavage-intense and flirtatious French maid sat in my lap and sang it to me. It may be time for Adam and I to have that little talk.

         The food arrived soon enough. It was everything it was advertised to be. My filet was large, crispy on the outside and tender and moist on the inside. The potatoes were, on first test and taste, delightful. Cowboy fries are nothing more than quarter-inch thick potato slices, pan fried with onions and pepper. Some of the diced onion and/or pepper was burnt, I didn’t mind that though. A few charred ashes among tender chunks gives depth to the flavor.

I reported to the family that I was quite pleased. They applauded that as my personal satisfaction is uppermost on their list of priorities in life. They even offered up opinions on their own choices. “The steak is really good, crispy on the outside, moist and tender on the inside.” Barked Angel, in her soft, soothing voice.

“The chicken is good.” Adam added. “Crispy on the outside and . . .”  In unison we finished the sentence for him:  “. . . tender on the inside!” He also boastingly showed us the inside of the toasted and buttered bun which in itself was crispy on the outside, etc.

Okay, so we like a certain type of food preparation. I never claimed that we were complicated.

All would have been well had it not been for my sensitivity to that earthen mineral, the only rock fit for human consumption, salt. The potatoes had just a smidgen too much. It was not immediately noticeable but it built up  over time. Once I realized it I stopped eating them, about halfway through.

Summary:

Except for the saltiness of my potatoes, the meal was exceptional. Simple, well prepared, crispy on the outside. . .

The bill only came to thirty two dollars and change, much better than the sports bars and suburban chains. The atmosphere was quiet, cool and relaxing, the wait staff dressed in crisp white shirts and black pants and aprons were polite, dutiful and timely. The young blonde that waited on us got flustered at first when I accused her if rushing me, but like any good young blond, she soon figured me out for the sorry old fart that I am and started joking back.

On the way home, after a short trip through Orscheln’s, the attached farm and home supply store, we chatted up the Bistro and decided it was now one of our favorite places. So we will go back, and we can highly recommend it. Casual, neat, affordable, simple, yet a little classy. It’s great place for a serious date or business lunch, or just for a nice meal for the whole family, even with the alleged porn music.

Bon Appetit! 

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.

TAYTRO’S Bistro and Bar

343 North Creek Drive

Festus, MO

Menu: http://www.cityoffestus.org/LinkClick.aspx?fileticket=VnjWssgY2Lk%3d&tabid=881

The local paper arrived on Thursday, I was browsing through it and came across an article about this place. It just opened in November, replacing a Pizza joint that I never visited.

The Place:

On a hill above Walmart, near Ryan’s and in a shopping center next door to the ATT store. Not very large, its maximum occupancy was posted as 65. Clean, neat, painted in muted shades of red and olive green. The floor was large, dark ceramic tiles, the tables and other furnishings black and wood-trim. The art on the walls was all about New Orleans. Along one wall were taller bistro tables, and the large bar was lined with bistro chairs. On the bar was a large potted bromeliad (a thick tropical flowering plant, related to the pineapple). There were several French/Spanish style clocks and a few other items lying around to evoke the style of the French Quarter. The ceiling fans were on, which Angel didn’t care for since the air outside was about twenty degrees and the breeze inside just prolonged the chill.

The music was eclectic, not booming or fast paced, but consistently too loud. Bar-loud. The only song I recognized was a ukulele version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” I think it was the original Israel Kamakawiwo`ole* version, but it could have been a really good cover.

The wait staff seemed entirely female, the hostess/bartender, mostly female. We were seated immediately by our waitress, whom Adam insisted looked like the actress Kirstin Dunst. I agreed that she did, though I’ll admit that I had to look it up after I got home. He was right, there was a resemblance, the smile especially.

Above the bar was a chalkboard, artfully listing specialty wines and drinks. I cringed, I nearly panicked.

Pointless Digression:

I have survived several Hurricanes in New Orleans, though I only barely survived them.

I’m not talking about the hurricane that George W. Bush used to wipe out New Orleans in 2005 (just kidding). I’m talking about the hurricanes that originated there back in the 1940’s and can still be found in frightening abundance. These things are the cause of more sorrow, domestic destruction and moral and financial ruin than could possibly be wreaked by mere high winds and flooding.

The Hurricane is a drink, very sweet, very fruity, usually very large, and polluted with bad alcohol. It was invented as a way to get rid of a stockpile of lousy, cheap rum that was plentiful in post-prohibition New Orleans. The fruit punch had to be very, very sweet to mask the taste of the rum, and they did it well, lime juice, star fruit, whatever sickeningly sweet juice could be found.

Hurricanes are so sweet that there is no sense that there is any alcohol at all. A small, middle aged, out-of-towner can actually drink two or three of these things before he realizes that the devil has yanked out his entire soul by the tender parts.

Hurricanes were invented at Pat O’Briens in the Crescent City, this was the very establishment where I was first corrupted by the drink. I’m not the biggest drinker in nearly any room and never have been. I didn’t even casually drink much at all until my first marriage fell apart. The first few weeks of that breakup were painful, frightening, and unfortunately mentored by a so-called friend that was a true believer in the alchemistic, medicinal properties of mixed drinks. My first swirling, spinning, churning night with three-too-many rum drinks ended up with me waking up in the floor of my bathroom, pressing my swollen brain into the cool tiles, an acrid, vile taste in my mouth and the stench of rum-fueled upchuck still in the air. I didn’t drink much at all after that long, terrible dark month.

I occasionally, and only occasionally, would have some beer, but not even to the level of modest regularity.

In 1992 I discovered Chardonnay while on a business trip to New York City. I was at a loss as to what to order on IBM’s generous tab in the fancy French restaurant so I just ordered what the lady next to me did. I remain in that camp still. A glass or so of a fine boxed chardonnay late in the evening and my life-long struggle with insomnia remains a thing of the distant past.

In the late 90’s the company started sending us (those of us in the seats of power in the IT organization) to yearly ‘seminars’ in various cities; D.C., Boston, L.A., and once, for a full week, to New Orleans. They put us up in the hotel that abutted the Superdome, a mere fifteen minute walk from the French Quarter. I never went alone, but I went every night. I rarely had to pay for anything as there were always expensed managers there to treat their gifted wizards in style. I tried every local food imaginable, even po’ boys, jambalaya and gumbo. Immediately after the meals the debauchery began. We would start up one street and head down another, making sure to sip a glass or two everywhere. I tried a few other drinks, but the only one I could stomach was the Hurricane, everything else tasted like cheap aftershave. I’d always have too many, one was actually too many, three would kill off just enough brain cells for me to become less inhibited, so much so that I actually talked to other people, treated them as equals, and accepted their generous offers of ‘just one more round’. I only recall actually returning to the hotel once. Most mornings I’d awaken in my room, but not quite in bed. I remember that one night because of someone else’s even more outrageous behavior. A quiet, serious IT guy from the D.C. area, a small squirrel-like man that I knew little about other than he seemed shy. Apparently he had found a drink that agreed with him as well and he, like most of the other tourists to that awful place, had overdone it, a couple of times over. He staggered, stumbled, even fell down once, singing loudly and incoherently all the while. Then he abruptly stopped at a light post, unzipped and relieved himself in a very powerful and impressive way on the pole, onto his pants and the pants of his female boss who was reluctantly propping him up. He stopped for a moment, pointed upward at the security camera mounted on that very pole, waved furiously and shouted “Hi Mom!!!”.

The next morning, as we checked out early to head for the airport, another mind-addled Hurricane victim tried futilely to negotiate an escalator. It was going down, but he wanted to go up. He tried and tried to convince the thing to reverse course, finally he just laid down on it and let it chew his shirt right off his back.

Since then I occasionally have had one too many, but to that level, the violent spinning, gag-inducing level, not. Hurricanes are delicious, they are tempting, they are deadly, they should be avoided altogether except in the case of horrific natural disaster.

The Food:

The menus were simple printed sheets of green paper. The offerings were limited but not severely. This was lunch (once again due to work schedules) and our needs were not great. I hadn’t read the entire newspaper article to find out what all they offered, all I really needed to see was “Po’ Boy.” So I already knew what I was going to order. I ordered the catfish, Angel the shrimp, and Adam the grilled chicken. All came with fries. Our drinks were delivered in real glasses, tea, tea and coke. (unremarkable)

A po’ boy is a sandwich, usually seafood, served on toasted French bread. Shredded lettuce, tomato slices, and some form of appropriate mayo are traditional. Taytro’s boasted a ‘citrus chipotle mayo’ which I was a little afraid of. Chipotle is a pepper that, like an attractive woman, is tempting, but also potentially dangerous. It can be overdone, very, very easily.

The wait for the food was a little longer than expected, exacerbated by the arctic gust coming from the ceiling fan. In the meantime we asked for and were given a dinner menu to look over, It was on orange paper and covered both sides. It had additional entrees, steak, etc.

Both menus listed Gumbo and Jambalaya, but none of us had the nerve or desire to try them. I’ve had those dishes before, in New Orleans, and had to pick at them. I’m not a fan of some of the traditional ingredients like okra, andouille and snotfish (clams/oysters) so I was unable to appreciate the dish fully and properly. I didn’t just want to pick at something this lunch, I was hungry, I wanted a po’ boy.

The meals arrived finally and we wasted no time. The fries were medium thick, and cooked perfectly, the sandwiches were half-baguettes, about six or seven inches long. The bread was crunchy on the outside, soft inside. The catfish, shrimp and chicken portions were very generous. Adam showed off a cross-section of his chicken, nearly an inch thick. The catfish, breaded and fried, was perfect, tender, moist, flaky. Angel had some lightly-breaded shrimp in every bite, to the last. Along with the sandwich and fries was a delightful dill pickle spear. The mayo at first added a smoky taste with only a hint of heat. Near the end of the sandwiches though, the additive properties of the capsaicin was more noticeable. At no point was it the main event however and though it was pronounced in the last few bites, its lasting effects were rather short lived. This was chipotle properly, perfectly managed. Enough heat to start a thin sweat, but not near enough to send you retching.

Adam finished his first, a testament to his liking it. Angel was very pleased, stating repeatedly that there was never a bite that did not include at least one whole shrimp.

As we finished, Kirstin Dunst returned with a small plate containing three complimentary pralines. Adam asked what they were, Angel immediately answered, loudly enough to be heard by all the other people in the joint: “Well your father won’t eat them because they contain nuts, but they’re like pecan pie candy.” He ate one, her another. The third, mine, was left on the plate. I don’t like nuts as an ingredient, everybody knows this. The meal was late enough, and substantial enough that we cancelled plans (as if there ever were any) to make anything for dinner later. I simply settled for a small bowl of cream of tomato/ onion soup** and a grilled cheese sandwich.

Summary:

The service was friendly and very attentive, the price, thirty dollars and change, was very reasonable. The food was simply wonderful. We are already looking forward to going back for dinner sometime, to sample some of the expanded offerings. We highly recommend it and extend kudos and applause to the proprietors. Quality New Orleans styled food in a convenient location, at a very reasonable price. Very high marks for originality and quality!

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* Israel Kamakawiwo`ole: A very large, native-Hawaiian guy, he died in 1997 at the age of 38, supposedly of complications from morbid obesity (at one time topping the scales at 760 lbs.). He was considered by people whose job it is to consider such things as the Bob Marley of Hawaii. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Israel_Kamakawiwo%CA%BBole

** Cream of tomato/onion soup : Chop and sweat or sauté in a teaspoon of olive oil, some onion, a small amount, maybe ¼ cup or less. Let them just soften or caramelize, your choice. Open a can of tomato soup and pour over the top of the onions. Fill the empty can halfway with milk and half the remaining space with water. Stir and heat until piping hot. Mmmm.