Texas Roadhouse

806 Arnold Commons Drive
Arnold, MO
On the Web
On Facebook


I used to be a Texan. Seriously, legally and residentially, a Texan. For my entire military career of nine years, for tax purposes especially. Texas has no state income tax you see, so it was just practical. I was seventeen when I enlisted and my first two bases were San Antonio for Basic Training, then Wichita Falls for technical training and three more years thereafter for my first tour of duty. I bought my first car there, got married, rented my first apartments and my oldest son and only daughter were born there. So I was indeed, a legitimate Texan.
Though I never fully assimilated into the stereotypical lifestyle. The rowdiness and line dancing, the big hats, the brawling, spitting, truck driving, man’s man. I didn’t even care for the Dallas Cowboys or beer.
So a place called ‘Texas Roadhouse’ hardly had automatic appeal. But then again, there is virtually nothing about the chain of steakhouses that hails from the Lone Star state. The chain got its beginnings, as did I, in Kentucky and is still headquartered in Louisville ( Lew-uh-vul ). There are currently over 450 locations, including several overseas.
We’ve been trying to go there for several years. Each and every time though, the lines wrapping around the place scared us off. We don’t like lines. Not so much because of the wait as for the people. Too many random, unoccupied people loitering around impatiently gives off a certain uncomfortable energy that repels us. Though the lines did seem to indicate that it was a very popular choice.
The stars aligned this past weekend though. We had no other ideas and it was Superb Owl weekend. Our thinking was that people who watch that silly game tend to do so around parties in someone’s home. Big food spread, lots of beer, etc.
Adam agreed to join us. In case we misjudged the crowd, Angel suggested making sure our personal communication devices were fully charged to better deal with the possible long wait. She even swapped shifts with her assistant to provide coverage for the client dogs for an extended period, should it be required. We were finally going to do this.
The Place:
As it turned out, we had predicted correctly. The parking lot seemed lightly used compared to other times we’d tried. There was no line out the door. Adam was already there so we parked beside him and went in. At the entry we were assaulted by a blast of country music from overhead. Some generic, male country singer whining about some drunken transgression or another, perhaps my least favorite form of the genre.
At the counter there were several of the crew milling about, it was hard to pick one person out of the crowd to assist us in navigation. The music was still loud, which caused the more than half packed building to try to talk over it and each other. The walls were wood paneled and adorned with lots of stuff, neon lights, the antlered heads of several large animals, etc. On one wall, near where we were seated, was a large mural of an indigenous American all spiffed up and painted for battle. Adam sat directly beneath a large antlered head, we sat across from him, facing a six thousand inch, muted television that was showing the pre-game shows for the silly sports spectacle. Near us there were a couple of larger groupings, extended families perhaps. One group, the larger of them, had a couple of uncooperative preschoolers that needed to be yelled at frequently. This caused the tikes to shriek back in their own defense.
I noticed the floor was pretty much painted concrete and littered throughout with crushed peanut shells. Which surprised me since I thought I recalled some restaurant or another suffering severe liability issues of letting customers spread the shells all over the floor. The Roadhouse offers up a bucket of shelled peanuts on every table. The things are messy, I know, since I’m quite fond of the roasted beans myself and have been known to leave a mess with the shells.

The Food:
We also received a basket of yeasty rolls to nibble on while we perused the menu. We wanted steak, after all it is a steakhouse and Angel had seen some ads for steak and lobster, which sounded lovely to me too.
But of course, that was simply not on the menu. Apparently it was a limited time thing. So when the time came Angel and I went with steak and shrimp instead. Six ounce sirloin, medium rare. Adam, who occasionally has steak, decided instead on the country style option, beaten, battered, pan-fried, covered in gravy. For sides, Angel opted for a baked potato and Caesar salad, I for the potato and corn. Adam asked, clearly, for mashed potatoes and corn. The gentleman scribbled down our orders and scurried away. The sticky kids at the nearby group table shrieked again, one started running around the table. My eyes could not avoid occasionally looking up at the giant screen, though with no sound, the antics of the sports guys were unclear and uninteresting. The rolls and my iced tea were quite good though, not so much the cinnamon-butter delivered with them, it just seemed odd.
The place seemed hectic, the crew was running around all over the place, I somewhat expected a long wait. It turned out to not be so bad after all. Pretty soon the two Caesar salads showed up. . .  .
Yeah, two of them. The lady insisted that there were two for our table, though Adam and I both recalled not ordering one. She left it on the table anyhow. Adam took it with a shrug of the shoulders. In a moment or two our first server stopped by. We told him about the salad, thinking that someone wasn’t going to get the side they’d really ordered. He said something about maybe it being a mix-up in the kitchen then darted off. When he returned he told us, in sort of a victorious fashion, that yes indeed the kitchen had made a mistake, as if we really cared much who had bungled the order. We told him we just wanted to make sure that we’d actually get the sides we’d asked for.
I tasted the salad, it was okay, not as subtle as some Caesar’s I’ve had, but not bad.
The nearby table erupted again, this time the adults shrieking at the kids.
The meals arrived in pretty good time after that, the steaks and shrimp still sizzling. Our server kept

trying to hand Angel the chicken fried steak, even after several voices of protest, which the server tended to talk over. Finally he got it right and I started disassembling my potato. Once cubed and smashed with the butter and sour cream, I cut into the steak. The done-ness was perfect. The aroma, intoxicating. The meat was very, very tender, almost buttery. The server had asked if I wanted steak sauce, I answered that question the way I always do: “Not if you did it right.” He smiled and agreed.
Here’s the thing about steak. You don’t need to be a master chef with intense knowledge of spices, herbs and other ingredients when it comes to steak. All you need for a perfect steak is the right amount of heat and to know when to stop cooking it. Add a pinch of salt and pepper and that’s it, perfection. The same can be said about grilled shrimp. A little butter and or lemon/garlic and once you get the heat and done-ness right, you’re done. There is simply no need to do anything else, at all.
Mostly because of the Malliard reaction.
Caution! Researched scientific information!
Louis-Camille Malliard was a French chemist who, in 1912, first released results of an exhaustive, yet delicious investigation into the browning of heated foods. When heat is applied to certain foods, a form of non-enzymatic browning takes place that occurs when the changes in amino acid structure reacts with a carbonyl group of sugars within that food item. Similar in many characteristics, though different at the chemical layer, from caramelization of sugar.
I don’t understand most of that either, but the bottom line is that applying heat to food actually changes not just the texture, but the taste of that food. Toast, for example, which is what I was researching when I came across this science stuff, does not taste like un-toasted bread. Not only a satisfying browning and crispy texture change, but a core taste change.

This applies to steak as well. Even though the inner part of a steak doesn’t change much, we are essentially wrapping it in a crunchy, well-tanned, maybe even scorched outer layer. That’s why it smells and tastes so good.
It is tempting to try to improve upon this, to put one’s personal stamp and flavor profile on steaks. We do this quite commonly with barbecued meats, sauces and rubs. However, steak just doesn’t need it. The same with shrimp/lobster. You don’t need to improve on its most basic and perfect taste.
But alas, Texas Roadhouse could not leave well enough alone. The shrimp didn’t really taste like shrimp, it was crowded out by whatever herbs and spices the joint dunked it in. The steak, cooked perfectly, tasted like it was savagely rubbed down with unnecessary flavor additives. It wasn’t awful, just completely unnecessary. Adam’s CFS had the exact same problem, too much superfluous seasoning.
Summary:
Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a terrible meal, just a little less than it should be, a little less than it very easily could have been. After exiting, Angel added that next time she wanted a steak, we should just go back to the tried and true Ruby Tuesday’s in Festus. Or a dozen other places where the meat is better respected. The price, just over fifty bucks was fine, but no better than other places.
Adam summed it up very well later. "Went to the ol' Texas Roadhouse for dinner with the folks. Although I was feeling unimpressed with most of it as a whole, it was the Gather 'Round the Wait Staff and Get Everyone to Cheer for a Birthday that really sold me on never wanting to go there again."
The music, the noise, the stack of small service errors, just didn’t add up to expectations. I understand that some people and families like busy, active, even loud meals together, but that just isn’t us.
The nail on the head was that noisy table with the small kids. It turned out that this was the little girl’s sixth birthday meal. The staff pulled in a saddle mounted to a short saw horse, shoved the little girl on it, then gathered together and started clapping and chanting and cheering like it was a pep rally before a high school sporting event. This really snapped our tightly coiled, introverted brain springs.
Like I said, a lot of people seem to enjoy this level of raucousness, but it is just not for us.
We will not be standing in line for this in the future, there’s just no need.

Off The Hook

12636 Highway 21
DeSoto, Mo.
On the Interwebs
On Facebook

My choice, last minute. 

We were planning to pick some stuff up from HoneyBaked Ham. Then we found out they close at six and we hadn't even figured out what we wanted late in the day. We'll try again in the near future. Why?

Earlier in the week I got an email via the 'Email Me' button on this page. It goes to a specific account so I can keep track of how someone finds me.

The email was from Erin Peacock. (I looked him up, he's a PR guy.) He invited me to try HoneyBaked and asked if I'd like a $50 gift card. I forwarded the email to Angel

and received a "Why yes, yes I would." reply.

There were no strings, he never mentioned why he wanted me to try it or what he wanted in return. Which is good,  since I won't write a positive review just for $50. My bribe minimum is closer to $100 since I'm a professional. But he asked for nothing, so sure, why not? I can't recall a HoneyBaked meal, though I'm sure I've had one or two somewhere along the line. The card(s) arrived Friday via UPS.

This was part of a Easter promotional thing, even though we don't do Easter stuff.

So, upon hearing the news that they closed at six, I scrambled for an alternative. I scanned through the blog archives to at least pick something we haven't had recently. It's hard to keep track of that sort of thing. I came across OTH. Mmmmm, catfish.

The Place:

An open ceiling, barn-type structure, cluttered with a kitschy but tidy fish/fishing/boat motif. In the middle of the floor, behind the counter is a huge aquarium with several large fish. The kids love this. Several of them planted their greasy, sticky, germ-laden mitts on the glass. The tables are ample and spaced pretty well. We were led to a four-top by a window. The tables are wood, laminated with ads for local businesses along with a list of common trivia questions. The answers are spread out around the ads. Clever. We'd already cracked this game though, they haven't changed out the tables in several years. It was about half full on a sunny, yet chilly Saturday evening. There was just enough crowd chatter to drown out the awful country music. The steel guitar, Satan and Hitler's favorite instrument, pierced the din occasionally. Had the music been any louder, I would have busted up the joint.

Menus were dropped off and drink order taken by . . .  I forgot to take down the young lady's name. Too bad, she turned out to be great and I'd love to tell her so.

Tea, sweet tea, Pepsi. 

I already knew what I was going to get, it's pretty much the reason I picked the place. In fact, when I'd told Angel earlier, "I feel like catfish." She replied "Oh, Off the Hook then." Her and Adam browsed though the menu and seemed to decide on things pretty quickly as well. 

The Food:

When the delightful young lady came back, we ordered. Angel started. Catfish, salad, green beans and mashed potatoes. The server asked if she wanted four fillets or two. "They're pretty good sized aren't they?" Angel asked rhetorically. "That's why we offer the choice." the server said, then added: "We call the two piece choice the Senior Meal." She immediately blushed. "I didn't mean to imply you're old. . . " Angel just laughed it off, she knows she's old. Then she asked for the four piece.

"I'll have the senior." I piped up. "I'm not ashamed of my slowing metabolism and declining appetite." 

I added the salad as well. Seniors only get one side. Of course I knew it would be plenty, the fish came with fries and hush puppies. It's pretty filling.
Adam asked for chicken and dumplings. I don't personally care for such a thing, but I knew he did. 

Since our last visit, when I complained a little about the salad they served, I'd noticed they had opened up a salad bar/boat. Kitschy, I told you so.

Yeah, they built a small salad bar into a Jon boat. Trailer, outboard motor and all. Cute. 

We also ordered, as I already knew we would, the corn poppers as an appetizer. Those tiny dough balls of delight arrived first.

We fell in love with these little taste bombs from the first time we tried

them, several years ago. The dough is not heavy or greasy and they use the sweetest whole kernel corn I've ever had.We have to be careful with these things, they will spoil your appetite if you don't stop eating them at some point. Also, they are always delivered fresh out of the deep fryer, piping hot on the inside. "Ow, ow, ow." Angel muttered as she ignored common sense and bit right into one as soon as they were delivered. Seriously, I'd take a mouth burn or two myself for these things.

We all maintained self control and did not finish off the generous supply.

Then the salad plates were delivered. "One trip only." We were warned politely. 

No problem. It wasn't that robust a salad bar. Don't get me wrong, it had the basics covered. Just not as wide a variety of items that you can find at Ruby Tuesday's. 

It was all very fresh looking though. Iceberg lettuce, spinach, red onions, green pepper, boiled eggs, chopped tomatoes, shredded cheese and about a dozen different salad dressings. I piled it on pretty high. I topped mine with a little 1000 Island and a 'Sweet Onion' dressing. I often mix two or more dressings, just a little of each, even at home. You ought to try it. It gives a simple salad a few extra flavor notes. The bar/boat was a little harder to work with than a traditional salad bar, the counter between the food and the edge of the boat was wider than at a normal bar.

Everything was clean, fresh and bright about the salad itself though.

After that, it wasn't very long before the main courses arrived.

Still sizzling, golden brown fish fillets.  The hush puppies were there too, I love those things. The fries? Meh. 

On our last visit, I'd asked to forgo the fries. I just forgot to do that this time. Not that I don't like fries, but look at that plate. Deep fried starches. That's a lot of high-carb bloating food. Angel had replaced hers with mashed potatoes and gravy, hardly an improvement, but her job requires a lot of getting out and moving around. I sit hunched over a computer all day and get safety briefings asking us to get up and move around occasionally. Then I'm in the car for nearly three hours a day. Hardly a high energy lifestyle. I have to watch my intake rather closely to maintain my adorably girlish figure. I had a few fries, but only a few. I gorged myself on the awesome, crunchy and yet moist and flaky fish and pups.

The server had delivered four condiment containers of tartar sauce in their own little green basket. It was pretty good as far as taste, but packaged for storage and server convenience more so than for than for the diner's ease of use.

The fish was indeed incredible, it too served fresh from the fryer. I broke it open first to allow some of the internal steam to escape. Crispy on the outside, moist, flaky, tasty on the inside. The hush puppies were good as well, just right. I've said it before, the crew that OTH has on the deep fryer are absolute masters of the method.

If my plate looked hefty, Angel's looked positively deadly. Twice the fish, enough mashed potatoes and gravy to satisfy a work crew.

Angel loves her gravy.

There was no way she'd finish it all, that was part of her plan. Take-home is always an option. OTH catfish reheats nicely and makes a superb Sunday lunch sandwich.

"The fish was wonderful." She said. I agreed. It's not the best I've ever had, but it is more than adequate.  The best ever was at a buffet outside Eureka Springs Arkansas. that was twenty years ago, I'm not even sure of what it was called or if it is even open anymore. All you can eat, biscuits, catfish, hush puppies, etc.

From Adam's first bite of his chicken and dumplings, I could tell something was amiss. he made an odd face, then cocked his head like a curious spaniel.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"It's weird, I can't quite say what it is. It's not bad, just not what I was expecting."

He plopped some onto his mother's plate. She sampled it. "Sue Bees canned Chicken and Dumplings." She said. We looked up this memory later, she probably meant Sweet Sue. At any rate, she compared OTH's chicken and dumplings to a canned version. That's not really a ringing endorsement. Adam only ate about a third of it. He didn't mention the corn, but it looked a little pale and overdone to me.

True to prediction, Angel only managed two of the four fillets, we asked for a box.

Well, we eventually asked for a box. Once again the back end of the service at OTH was slow. Our server, who had done a splendid job all the way through the meal, was now working a table of ten or twelve adults on the other side of the floor. I don't blame her, she was obviously doing a fine job, answering questions pointing at things on the menu and scribbling down the orders. We waited and waited. We finally waved down a passing server. She brought the box quickly enough.

Summary:

We boxed up the fish and the remaining corn poppers and took our leave. At the counter, the bill came in at just under forty dollars. I padded the tab with a few bucks for a tip. 

All in all the meal and the service was pretty good. Sure, Adam didn't care for the dumplings, but he admitted that it wasn't bad, just not what he had expected. A taste thing. Our fish was superb, as were the hush puppies. The new salad bar was excellent if not especially large. Our server, I really wish I'd gotten her name, was very good. Polite, sharp, attentive and ready with the refills. 

OTH could probably work on some of their recipes, the corn, the dumplings, etc just didn't seem fresh. Otherwise, you can get a very good meal there, at reasonable prices. Still the best place in the area for catfish.

The Farmer's Kitchen

4660 Yeager Rd.
Hillsboro, Mo.
On Facebook

Angel was out of town, her and Deede went to Fort Wayne for a dog training seminar of some kind.
Adam and I struggled with a choice. By default we would go to Gordon's Stoplight Drive in in Festus, where we usually go when she's out of town. But neither of us was pumped for that. So we struggled, up to the  moment we walked out the door.
I'd had breakfast at Farmer's Kitchen, I've even remarked that this place made the best waffles, ever. But I'd never been there for a grownup meal.
It made sense for us since Adam and I couldn't even decide what kind of food we were in the mood for. At least FK had a variety of offerings. I wanted catfish, one of their reputed specialties. I also knew they pulled a smoker up to the front on weekends and cranked out some quality barbecue.
So we piled into Das Coche Negro, (my black VW Jetta, German engineered, but built in Mexico) and made the seven minute drive. The weather had been pretty mild for a July, except for this day, it was balmy, sticky, humid and hot.
We chatted on the way, his day at work was 'fine'. I gathered.
The Place:

It's been open for less than a year by the current owners, Karen and Rick Lindwedel. It's located on the road to the Post Office, Just north of Queens Market.  Those are legitimate Hillsboro directions, if you need more than that, then get your fancy self one of those highfalutin GPS machines.
They cleaned the place up and decorated it in the style of a farmer's man cave. Framed feed sacks, antique wood tools, hand carved cows, etc.
There was only one other couple there when we walked in, (it turned out they weren't a couple at all in the Biblical sense, just a man and a woman that happened to be there at the same time.) We were early since we didn't have to wait for Angel.
I led us to an empty table off to the side, near the door. A lady behind the counter saw us, but was talking on the phone. We waited.

She brought us menus pretty soon though and asked about drinks. Tea and Pepsi.
The menus were simple, colorful, laminated, single sheets. There were fewer offerings than I expected. I located catfish, and barbecue. I also made note of the chalkboard by the counter that touted the day's specials. Still plenty to choose from. When she returned with Adam's drink, she apologized, saying that  they were almost done brewing a fresh batch of tea, my drink would be a few minutes "If you don't mind waiting." She said. Mind? Me mind waiting for a fresh batch of tea? It was obvious at this point that she did not know me. Or maybe she did.
The Food:
I asked Adam if he was ready, he said sure. So I asked about the catfish. "Oh, sorry, we're out, we had an unexpected run on it last night and haven't restocked." She did offer a couple of fish alternatives, Tilapia, and another white fish I'd never heard of, but I told her they were a bit too un-fishy, I liked catfish precisely because it had actual taste. So I asked her about the barbecue.
"Oh, we didn't smoke today." came her apologetic answer. Oh well.
"I'll just have the sirloin and shrimp special then." I was a little disappointed, but how disappointed are you really if your fall-back option is a sirloin steak with shrimp? I had to choose two sides. I went for the baked potato and grudgingly, green beans.
Adam asked for the Chicken Fried steak, fries and corn, off the cob please.
I was concerned about the green beans. In 'country' restaurants, you usually end up with overcooked, flat, either tasteless or too salty, mush.
We waited. The non couple split up and went their separate ways. I learned later that the man was actually Rick, the co-owner. We were being served by Karen.
We waited long enough for me to get sick of the music. The cheap, plastic boom box by the door was tuned to J-98 (The Boot) out of Farmington, a town that makes Hillsboro seem like Gotham City. It was whiny, nasally country music. Lots of steel guitars, lots of drunk guys regaling about their lost loves and pickup trucks, arrrrgggghh...
But, it is 'Farmer's Kitchen', alas.

Then the food arrived. Alongside a juicy, thick looking sirloin and a split open and tender baked potato, were a couple of thick slices of grilled toast. Grilled, beautifully browned and buttered on one side only.
The shrimp basket held a lot of breaded and fried sea creatures, a lot of them. My carb alarm went off just looking at the meal. Bread, breaded shrimp, a fat baked potato. I'd have to eat strategically, no way would I be able to eat all that filler. Concentrate on the steak, nibble on the rest.

Adam's CF Steak looked traditional, just like it is supposed to look. They gave him a choice of gravy, white or brown, he went old school. The corn looked traditional as well, I do not know whether it was fresh off the cob or canned. The fries looked like they could use another minute in the deep fryer, but other than that it looked just fine.
I noticed that something was missing though. Karen was asking how it looked, if we needed anything else, steak sauce, etc.
"The green beans?" I asked. I almost didn't, country style green beans are at best a mediocre item, but I did pay for them.
Karen sighed in disgust with herself. ""I can't believe I forgot your green beans." She said, sincerely upset with her error. I wanted to tell her to never mind since it wasn't that big of a deal for me, but I let it go.
She trotted off and we set in. I buttered and creamed the tater, then sliced an edge off the steak. Perfectly cooked to order. Pink, tender and moist. The taste was exceptional. The char and pepper on the steak was exactly correct. The taste was euphoric, orgasmic, it melted on my tongue. Nothing else in the world mattered at that moment.
I had been worried. There was a big banner at the counter touting "Jefferson County Cattlemen, Best Beef in the state." That to me, looked like a challenge. If you're going to make a claim like that in big, bold letters, you better deliver.
And they did. This was as fine a cut of meat, precisely cooked, as I've had anywhere. The potato was also precise, tender, not burnt, excellent consistency.  The shrimp, well the shrimp was breaded and deep fried. that's the easiest way to overcook shrimp. It was fine, but I actually prefer grilled or steamed shrimp, the breading is too much of a distraction. As far as breaded shrimp goes though, no worse or much better than anywhere else.
Karen brought the beans. I was shocked, amazed, confused.
These were not the flat, dull, mushy beans I was expecting. these were sauteed. Bright green, shiny with oil and littered with bits of onion and garlic. Someone's not quite the quaint, country style cook I'd thought. These were fresh (I think) and still had tooth to them. The garlic, onion and oil gave them the look and taste like you find at more cosmopolitan restaurants. I actually wanted to eat them. Bravo Farmer's Kitchen!
Adam went through his plate pretty quickly, I was still dawdling, agog over the beans and the luscious steak. As planned, I only had one of the toast slices, it was quite excellent prepared that way, about half the shrimp, 90% of the steak, and 1/3, or less, of the potato. I liked it all, but starches bloat me up almost immediately. I got all I wanted, all I could hold, no complaints.
Adam couldn't work up a highly positive adjective to summarize his meal, but he did explain it. "It's chicken fried steak and corn." He said. I understood. It's a mild, almost bland plate at its best.
Summary:
Karen took very good care of us. Near the end of the meal the evening shift showed up and a delightful and friendly, beshorted young lady took care of busing our plates and bowls. Another couple, elderly, had wandered in, they were being taken care of quite well too.
Adam and I headed up to the counter, the young lady met us. This is when I confirmed that our earlier server had been Karen.
As if she knew we were talking about her, she stepped out from the kitchen. I told her the food was quite good. She mentioned that Rick, her husband, was a farmer. "I'm sorry." I told her, then added "That explains why you have to work." She laughed. Farmers in this area are not your ten-thousand acre industrial farms, they are mostly small, traditional, family farms, 120-500 acres. They require a lot of work, for little profit.
Jefferson County was never an agricultural powerhouse. People mostly settled the are because of the mining. Lots of metals, lots of mines.
I did not introduce myself as a food critic, no need making her worry unnecessarily about what I already decided was going to be a pretty good review.
The price was more than reasonable, twenty one bucks and pocket change. You read that right. A mighty good steak, heaps of shrimp, fresh tea, country fried steak, a big baked potato, a generous portion of fries, and some outstanding veggies, for twenty one dollars. Of course, there were only two meals rather than our usual three. I guess we could get by cheaper on this mission just by leaving out Angel. I'll suggest that to her when she gets back.
I was a little disappointed I didn't get catfish, or barbecue, but a small business just can't have everything on hand all the time, a lot would go to waste if they did. Besides, the steak was exceptional.
We've got a real jewel here. I knew they put out pretty good breakfast fare, but they've proven themselves equally competent on the more challenging meals. I will go back, mainly to try the catfish and probably for that occasional Saturday morning coffee and waffle.

Bandana's (Arnold)

1220 Big Bill Rd.Arnold, Mo. (Map)
On the Wide World of Web.

My pen-pal, Suzi will probably huff at this choice. She knows I don't get up to Arnold much and there are lots of restaurants there that she would probably rather me try. But this wasn't my choice, it was Angel's. The dear wife wanted Bandana's, regardless of where it was. The one in Festus burned down a year or so ago.
The reason I don't go to Arnold much is because it is more like a busy suburb than the smaller towns further south in Jefferson County. It is always bustling and busy, lots of stoplights, lots of traffic, and places we've headed to there in the past have typically had lines at the door. We don't do 'wait' well.
We like the food at Bandana's though, a lot. They smoke meat.
The Place:
Just off one of the many very busy streets, next to one of the many shopping centers, within sight of an Applebees. The parking lot wasn't completely full, but only because it was quite a large lot.
When we went in there were some people waiting, but fortunately for us they were waiting for a large table. Our needs weren't quite so demanding. The young, petite, yet capable hostess sent us to a booth, one of very few empty ones, that was still moist from being wiped down.
Bandana's is fairly large, I didn't get get a square footage estimate, but certainly bigger than a Waffle House. More like a Cracker Barrel.
Speaking of Cracker Barrel, that's what Bandana's smells like. Cracker Barrels usually have a big fireplace and in certain weather keep a fire roaring. Bandana's keeps their smokers burning 24 hours a day. It's a very nice, cozy, comfy, mouth watering aroma.
Bandana's has locations in Missouri, Illinois and Iowa.They also have one in Indiana, in Evansville. Mostly though this is a Missouri chain, the first one, built in 1986, was in Arnold.
We sat at our booth, the din of the filled place drowned out any overhead music, if there was any.
Missy brought our menus and asked about drinks. Tea for me, sweet tea, no ice, for Angel, Adam opted for Pepsi.
The Food:
The menus are simple. They don't have  a ton of different food, If you want seafood, pasta, burgers, you're in the wrong place. Pork, beef, chicken, turkey, ribs and smoked sausage is what they serve, platters or sandwiches. They also have a fair, but uncomplicated list of sides and starters, including some sleepers, things you might not have guessed. Boiled peanuts, fried corn on the cob, breaded and fried green beans and what Angel says is pretty good, Bar-B-Q chicken nachos.
So the decision is which meat would you like, and yes, you can mix and match. It's all pretty good. Some will find smoked meat tasty, but a little dry, don't worry though, each table has the full compliment of Bandana's own sauces, six of them.
For those of you pretending to be watching your weight, I noticed that under each menu item listed was the calorie count for that dish. They are not ashamed of their food, at all, this place is for carnivores.
I finally decided, as did Angel and Adam. Missy brought our drinks and started writing.
Me: Pulled pork sandwich with baked beans.
Angel: Chicken platter plus one rib ($2.00 option) fried corn on the cob and, wanting to try something new, fried green beans.
Adam: 'Pick 2', chicken and beef with fries and corn.
Missy scribbled it all down without comment, then turned away and left us alone. Out came the electronic devices. Adam played a game, Angel looked up something or another, I played with my tablet's two cameras.
The wait grew, people came and went. The evening went south. A family was seated in the both behind us, their small boy spotted them and ran towards them squealing loudly all the way. Like in that old classic movie, '39 Steps' where a cleaning lady discovers a body, opens her mouth to scream, then an immediate cutaway to a high speed steam locomotive tearing down the track with a heavy hand on the shrill, angry whistle. He roared past us, the hair on my neck spiked up like the fur on the arched back of a hissing cat.
He jumped into the bench seat behind us and started rocking, bucking us from behind with every bounce. Angel didn't say anything at the time, but she had to know that this would be a certain mood changer for me. It was, I soured. He finally settled, but the problem with that group did not go away. The patriarch of the family had a deep, booming voice, like a seasoned Baptist minister and from it came knowledge of all things. He never asked a question, he already knew everything about everything and was sure to confirm this on every subject. The man talked loudly and confidently for the full course of their stay.
This was not Bandana's fault, it won't affect my review other than to point out that this is a problem in larger populated, really busy places. There's bound to be a bloviating ass and/or a shrill, undisciplined child in the mix at any given time.
The food took a while which I  thought odd. The main course, the meats, are prepared constantly and well ahead of time in big batches and there weren't that many sides offered. Why it took so long, I'm not sure.
But the food did arrive. It was gorgeous. My sandwich was served in a plastic basket on paper, the beans were separated in a shallow ramekin. The sandwich was topped with fresh coleslaw. I grabbed a bottle of Chicago sauce, my favorite, flipped the sandwich over and slathered on a generous portion.
The beans were sweet, sweeter than you might be accustomed to, but very good. This was no one's canned baked beans.
Angel's plate looked massive. A spice rubbed thigh, breast and leg. A handsome rib also looked pretty good as well. The fried green beans were breaded and deep fried. The corn, still on the cob, had scorch marks. The garlic bread looked beautiful. Golden, bright, like the pigtails of a country girl on a sunny day. Adam's corn was more conventional, the fries looked like fries. On his plate you could see the 'stick to the basics' style of Bandana's. Just lovely, simple smoked meat. No fancy garnishes or toppings. If you want sauce, it's on the table.
Also on the table, every table, is a roll of paper towels. They are not just there for the ribs.
Pulled meat usually means shredded. Not necessarily so here. There were sizable chunks on my bun that when bitten, came out fully intact. A couple of these were big enough that the next couple of bites came out with only slaw and bun. Of course, this also meant splatter and spillage. The flimsy napkin that was wrapped around the bargain basement silverware didn't last halfway through the meal.
I strongly advise not wearing your best Sunday-go-to-meetings to Bandana's. The chances of splatter and drip is quite high. So mechanically my sandwich was a bit messy, but that's not a criticism. The taste, oh the wonderful taste, more than made up for that.
My meal was smaller than my family's so I finished first. I picked at a couple of Angel's green beans. They were pretty good, though very heavy for a bean.
Angel tore through her corn like an industrial shredding machine. She left the chicken skin on the plate but the meat had disappeared, the bones appeared acid soaked so devoid of meat they had been rendered.
Missy came by and checked on us, a single takeout box please. Angel was saving the bread. We've always loved the bread, even though Angel said "I think it's probably my changing tastes, but the bread seemed a little oily." This did not stop her from putting it into the box for later though.
Summary:
"Good, as usual." Adam said. That about says it. The food is good. it is of much better quality than many places, simply, but expertly prepared. Bandana's has been around for nearly thirty years, the recipes and techniques have not changed. They don't need to. This is not reprocessed, cookie cutter, industrial food. It's the real thing.
Busy as it was, except for the longer than expected wait time, the service was professional and solid. Missy didn't chat us up unnecessarily, but she was attentive, patient and thorough.
The price was good, but not dirt cheap, $49.01
The tea? Sorry, but not very good. It was fresh, not cloudy and bitter, but it was pretty weak. I'll give it a minus two and a half. It worked okay to wash the meat down, but tasted only mildly stronger than water.
Will we be back? Not for a while. Location, location, location. Should they build anew in Festus/Crystal City though, you bet. But I simply hate navigating the traffic and crowds in Arnold.

Off the Hook

12636 Highway 21
DeSoto, Mo.
On the Interwebs
On Facebook

For the second weekend in a row, my mind was elsewhere. I had scheduled work planned for the middle of the night. A lot of IT system maintenance goes on in the overnight hours. This time it was the time change. Every autumn we shut down some of our systems to let the time change smoothly, else the system will think it is seeing into the future and become confident that it has super-human powers. Should that ever be allowed to happen, well, you've seen what happened with SkyNet (Terminator).
Earlier in the day I'd gone out with a friend, Dan, to solicit door to door. We're gathering petition signatures to get a Hillsboro Library on the ballot again. To say that I don't enjoy door to door canvassing, is like saying I don't enjoy massive trauma or jumping out of airplanes.  There are people that handle that sort of thing well, like Dan, he actually won a seat on the local school board doing this sort of thing. Me? I don't like walking up to perfect strangers and asking them for favors, especially when the rejection rate is exacerbated by intense political passions. I went along though, even rang a few doorbells. I was never comfortable doing it, but it was for a good cause and I'd promised to help out.
So by the time dinner time came around, I was way off my rhythm. I had a headache,  felt drained, and just wanted to crawl into bed. But it was my week to choose a place.
I had nothing in mind, not even a food type preference. Somehow though I eventually decided I wanted fish, preferably catfish. That meant one thing. Off The Hook.
I reviewed my last review of the place and made mental note of my concerns. I occasionally do this to see if there have been improvements.
We piled into the family truckster and took off. I mentioned my symptoms, saying that I thought I was coming down with something. Angel dismissed it as allergies. She dismisses everything I suffer as allergies. If I hopped into the house carrying my severed left leg in my hands she'd say it was allergies.
Luckily, this time, she was not completely wrong. I feel much better now that that weather front has moved through. Still though, just because she's been right every time up until this point, doesn't mean she will be next time.
The Food:
OTH means a couple of things. First, to me, catfish. More importantly, to Angel, it means corn poppers. We love these things. It's almost embarrassing that we love them so much, it's so stereotypically midwestern. Flour batter, whole kernel corn, balled up and deep fried. Absolutely no nutritional value, yet terribly addictive.
OTH offers these as an appetizer, we always order them. For me it's a test of brute willpower. They represent everything I've been trying to eliminate from my habitual diet, yet they are so darned tasty. I look at them and wonder; Gee, maybe just one hit of heroin today?
We ordered our drinks, tea, sweet tea and Pepsi. Angel also ordered the appetizer, plus another platter of sweet poison, crab rangoons. Oddly enough this quaint, homey, fishing themed place, in its remote and rural setting, makes better rangoons than most of the Chinese restaurants in the area.
Two deep fried, heavily breaded treats in front of me. I imagined myself crawling around on the floor of a bus station restroom sniffing out just one more hit of these magical, marvelous treasures. I was finally able to limit myself of one of each though, through sheer, super-human determination.

After the appetizers arrived we ordered our meals. It was then that something amazing happened.
In the previous review I'd complained about the portion sizes and meal makeup. I'd ordered the catfish plate, which ended up being four big filets, two hushpuppies and a pile of thick fries. It was simply waaaay too much deep fried starchy stuff for one plate.

The last time I ordered the Catfish

The young lady taking our order stopped both Angel and I after we asked for the catfish and asked: "The two piece or the four piece?" I was impressed, we both asked for the two. It got really amazing then. "Do you want the fries with that or not?"
In that last review I'd mentioned that I didn't eat any of the fries because it was simply too much fried breaded/starchy stuff.
Both of us declined the fries.
For sides, I asked for baked beans and a salad with sweet onion dressing. Angel sided white beans and Ranch for her salad.

The reduced portion version.

Adam asked for the Chipotle Ranch Baked Chicken with corn and mashed potatoes and gravy.
The salads came pretty quick, I plucked out the croutons and slipped them onto the rangoon platter. The salads were simple, yet fresh and crispy. Iceberg lettuce, julienned carrots and shredded cheese.
The entrees arrived soon enough, I was giddy. Though the plates looked nearly empty and lacked garnishments, knowing how heavy and delicious the food was told me that I would actually not be wasting much at this meal.

Angel's 

There are people out there that can eat four filets, a pile of fries, hush puppies two sides and a couple of appetizers, I am not one of them. Seeing this simple plate indicated to me that either OTH had read my review, or they'd been monitoring the trash.
The fish was excellent, as Angel put it, "perfectly crisp and flaky." Catfish has a stronger, earthier fish taste than cod, salmon or tilapia, but for some reason I prefer it. It may be because of my southern, river roots. Though I don't recall ever eating catfish when I was a kid. In fact, the only fish I recall from my charmed youth were frozen fish sticks. I liked them, especially with ketchup. I've mentioned before, my childhood was not a gastronomic  festival, we had simple food that was easy to prepare. My mother is a poet, a musician, a minister and a teacher. She just never got passionate about the more domestic pursuits. We always had food, it was just never upscale, fancy, or delicious. I don't blame her, not at all. We all, except with the possible exception of my sister, turned out just fine. We can all cook too, we learned early.

Baked Chipotle Ranch Chicken

The hush puppies were good as well. The chef at OTH is a master deep fryer, nothing tasted greasy.
The portions turned out to be perfect. I applaud OTH for overtly offering the option to pare down.
Adam liked the little roll that came with his meal, he asked  me if there was a name for that kind. I told him I didn't know, but this indicated to me that it was a hit with him. He liked everything else as well.
I couldn't quite finish my meal, I was still feeling a bit queasy. Angel again blamed it on my allergies, again, she was apparently correct, this time.
Summary:
It was all good, in fact, it was very good. I didn't feel intimidated or weighed down by the portions. The only non-positive comments I could dig out were about the salad, Angel said she didn't like having to cut up lettuce, it was a bit large. Adam said the gravy didn't seem real. Maybe a pre-fab mix or something, it didn't taste like it had actually been made with natural, in-house meat au jous. (gesundheit!) Also, my baked beans were a little too sweet, not a big deal, but noticeable.

The price came in at a reasonable forty two bucks, that for three meals and two appetizers. the service was great, refills timely, the only exception being at the meal's end, it took a bit long to get the check.
I can't say enough how pleased I was that we'd been offered smaller portion options. This is huge in my book. I wish more places did this. I'm especially thinking of Italian places at this moment, where dishes are served with nearly a box of pasta per plate. I hope more places start offering this simple option. It will drive down costs and better serve a 'struggling to slim down' public much better. Also, the price was pared down as well. Offered on the menu at $9.99, we were only charged $6.49 for our catfish dinners. Bonus!
Oh yeah, a couple of more things.
1. The tea. Fresh but week, on par with Pizza Junction.
2. Suzy does indeed carry a checkbook. I told you so.