Ferrell's

  
Ferrell’s
2021 Main St.

Cadiz Ky.
On Facebook

I’ve known about Ferrell’s since I was a kid. There was only one nearby at the time, in Hopkinsville, about 20 miles east of Cadiz. We ventured to Hoptown a few times per year, it had more and bigger stores, even a mall. It even had a McDonald's, which was pretty popular among the younger set. Cadiz had its own local greasy burger hut, it was okay, but it wasn’t a McDonald's.
Long before McDonald's came to Hoptown, there was Ferrell’s, (first open in Owensboro in 1929, Hopkinsville in 1936.)  I knew of it in my youth, but I don’t recall ever going there. We didn’t eat out much back then.
A few years back Ferrell’s expanded into Cadiz. I knew about it, but since most of my visits to that part of the world were to celebrate one thing or another with family, I never needed to eat out.
This time was different. I’d be alone, with an ample amount of time and no family fridge to graze out of. I posted my plan on a social media page and asked locals if it was still renowned as a great place for a burger. Even my first-born, who currently lives in Tempe ,chimed in that it was his favorite place to eat while in the area. As far as I know, I am the only Trigg Countian, current, or former, that had never had a Ferrell’s burger.
The Place:
Right along 68 (which is Main Street downtown) in an area once known as East Cadiz.
It’s small and tight. There are only stools and counters, one along the windowed wall, one in front of the griddle. It was about half occupied with locals. There seemed to be three crew members behind the counter. One obviously the chief flipper. He was yammering away with one of the customers while scraping the goo off the heavy steel cooking surface.
It was then that I had a Gestalt moment, that sudden awareness that sneaks up on you and awakens you to a different, larger perspective of time and place.
The accent. 

I probably once talked this way myself, nearly everyone in the area does, even a couple of my siblings that live nearby. It is, as one would expect, a bit southern, with a noticeably slower tempo. Not quite Larghissimo, but definitely not Vivacissimo.
It is not as sweet and song-like as say a refined Atlanta accent, but not as crude as one might find on a swampy, backwoods banjo-infested porch.
If I stay more than a week at a time, I can catch myself slipping towards it a little. For me it is soothing, comfy, invoking the feel of having yourself pulled into the ample bosom of an aunt or grandmother’s soft cotton dress.
I found a stool at the counter. No need to look at the overhead menu, it only boasted a few things anyhow, burgers and breakfast. One of the nice things about Ferrell’s, especially if you are on the long haul or frequently imbibe, is that it is open 24 hours. The only place I know of to do that in whole of Trigg County.
The Food:

Keep it simple. Double Cheeseburger, lettuce, tomato, ketchup and mustard. Add a side of fries and an unsweetened tea.
They offer a bacon cheeseburger too, but I wanted to taste the burger itself, I already know what bacon tastes like.
I fiddled with my cellular smart phone. There are many places in Trigg County where there just is no cell service, fortunately I was in the county seat. At the old house in Cerulean, on visits, we siblings would have to stand in the middle of the road and hold the phones up in the air to get a connection. If we wanted to look at an email or social media, we’d have to drive down that road about five miles, which we actually did a couple of times on one of the last visits.
It didn’t take too long, thin burgers cook fast, fries, not so much. The flat top wasn’t very large and it had only a 2 basket deep fryer on one end. This limited the output. I was in no hurry though, I had a couple of hours and only four miles to drive to get to the house I was going to visit later.
No plates, silverware, baskets or anything here. The burger and fries were handed to me wrapped in green and white checkered paper, the tea came in a Styrofoam cup. The burger looked perfect, made the way I like them best. A ball of beef, spatula flattened, wafer thin, on the flat top. Not a perfectly round uniformly pressed, robot patty. The un-smooth edges were just shy of crispy. I love burgers this way.
The fries were thick, but not too thick, the tea was forgettable. The burger was a little messy, but since it wasn’t huge, the mess was manageable. I came away with nary a condiment or grease stain on my shirt.
It didn't take long to eat either. I listened to the conversations around me, all in that comforting lilt. Good people, hard working, proud and wise people. I assume they were wise simply because they'd come in to the best burger joint in town.
Summary:

I was amused by a TV mounted on the wall above the counter. It was showing ads for local businesses and on one side, permanently displayed, it said “Now accepting cards”. Yeah, they just recently started taking credit/debit cards. Whenever I talk to my younger brother, who lives near mom’s ex-house, he’ll say something about Trigg County being a little behind the times or how entering the county is like stepping back in time itself. In many respects, from this city-kid’s perspective at least, it’s true. But that’s not a bad thing. Many’s the time I wish things would just slow down a little, a tad less immediacy maybe. It’s nice to be in a place where there are few, if any jammed roads, fewer cookie-cutter chain stores and eateries. But that’s just myopic nostalgia talking, I guess.
The burger was very good and just what I expected and wanted. The fries were not bad, but they did have that chalky starchiness on the inside indicating they had been frozen. . . but that’s the only thing that I think would I would improve for this experience. I left quite satisfied. I made plans to stop in for breakfast on Saturday morning.
Highly recommended!

 

The Sammich Shack

10910 Hwy 21
Hillsboro, Mo.

Leon's Prime Cuts/Sammich Shack Facebook page.


I saw this place around the first of the year. A simple roadside sign, red painted on white. Another one, similar, was mounted to the roof of a small camping trailer in a parking lot, just south of the intersection of Highway 21 and Highway B.
I looked it up on the web later, didn't find it. I searched Facebook and found comments referring to it on Leon's Prime Cuts page. Yup, there it was, menu and everything.
So for the next couple of weeks, I tried to find a good time to stop

by. On this Saturday morning I was up and out well before noon, which for me is kind of unusual. I was heading to Desoto to try to grab some photos, for historical purposes, of the Ball Creek Bowling Alley. Or should I say the former bowling alley, it burned down earlier in the week. I'd never actually been to the pin den, but I do pass by it nearly every week.  I knew The Shack didn't open until 11, so I got the pictures, turned around and headed back to Hillsboro, getting there around five minutes past. Good enough. They had just turned on the 'OPEN' light, the window opened as I approached. A cheery young lady, Terra, greeted me. I scanned the white board menu.
The Food:
"Excuse me, what are Party Girl Potatoes?" I asked. I heard potatoes covered in cheese, she may have said something else, but she had me at potatoes covered in cheese.
The menu was pretty simple, I liked that. Pulled pork, brisket, ribs and burgers. Other sides were chips and 'Ho-Made Slaw'. I like slaw but I prefer it to be made by food service professionals, rather than. . . you know. . .
I asked for a burger with cheese, the prostitute potatoes, a bottle of water and a quarter slab of ribs to take home to Angel. She's a better judge of that sort of thing. I will eat ribs, but usually only if that's the only meat choice.
Terra told me that it would take a few minutes and that she'd bring it out to me when it was ready. No problem, I spend a lot of time in my car so I keep it pretty stocked with provisions. By that I mean books. So I sat there in the lot, reading and listening to the Tappet Brothers on St. Louis Public Radio. I also thought about where I would actually eat my lunch. There were no picnic tables, not that it mattered, it was twenty nine degrees outside. I'd eat in the car.
Before long Terra came out of the trailer hauling a plastic bag and came toward me. I lowered the window and thanked her, then drove to my favorite place in town to dine in my car, the Hillsboro Cemetery.
Long time fans will recall that I have hobbies other than griping about restaurant food. I visit cemeteries and photograph them, for the site 'findagrave' for the past six years and for the Jefferson County Historical Society for the past year, since they lowered their admission standards and let me join. I do other things for them as well, like  photographing every church in the county, but my heart always pulls me toward cemeteries.

Cemeteries are a great place for a quick lunch in the car. Quiet, peaceful, most often there is no one else there.  Well, living people anyhow and the dead ones don't seem to mind my frequent visits.
So I opened it all up, and it was good. It was what I call a diner style burger. Thin patty, standard bun, lettuce, pickle and onions off to the side. I also found a little tub of Baby Ray's Barbecue Sauce. I threw all that together and bit in. Yummy! A good, old fashioned, peppery griddle burger.
Most of the upscale burger and steak places feel the need to put a half pound of beef on a burger. I don't care for that. Give me a thin patty and I'm good. If I'm still hungry, I can get another one. I could eat this thing with one hand and get my mouth around it without popping my jaw.
I tested the Party Girl Potatoes. I was not disappointed. Exactly as advertised, cubed potatoes

slathered in melty cheddar cheese. This portion was not huge either. When I was finished, I was satisfied, not bloated. I finished up my meal and another chapter and left for my other errands.
When I got home later I presented the ribs to Angel.
"That's a good sign." she said pulling the meat of the bone. "It fell right off." This was referring to a place we didn't review a couple of weeks ago. The ribs there put up a fight. It took utensils to tear the meat off the bone. Angel likes it to basically fall apart at the touch.
"Quite nice." she said after a mouthful.
Summary:

All good. Seriously, all good. The food was first rate, not overthought or frilly. A good burger, nice side, all prepared simply and properly. Terra was a delight, funny, helpful and thoughtful. The bill, for the burger and side, the 1/4 slab of ribs and a bottle of water was pocket change over ten dollars. Nothing to complain about there either.
I don't know what the long term plans are for The Sammich Shop, but I sure hope it stays around for a long while. In my opinion, because they kept it simple and light, this is the best burger in Hillsboro.  Certainly better than any of the fast food outlets, but also better than a couple of other places in town that I will not name here. (Locals will figure it out, there's not that many places to get a burger in town.)
They've only been open since the first of the year, I really, really hope they do well. We need decent places to grab a quick meal, especially if we plan to dine in the car in a cemetery with a good book.

Main & Mill Brewing Company

240 E. Main
Festus, Mo.
On the Web
Social Media

We've been waiting, for over a year.
This place sounded ambitious. Take an old main street storefront and convert it to a brewery/brew house. . . in Festus.
The Place:
They stripped the interior of building and built it up again. Early on there was a significant delay when someone thought they were at a drive-thru and crashed into

Photo courtesy of
denny@mainandmillbrewco.com

the side of the building, knocking down a few yards of brick. This prompted the owners to go to the city fathers (and mothers) to install large, concrete planters between the building and the street. This has caused some 'discussion' around town, but in my opinion it doesn't appear to be all that inconvenient, excessive or tacky.
They finally opened up a few weeks ago, we thought we'd wait a little bit to work out the kinks.
The job they did was simply amazing. On the inside, mostly brick and heavy wood. The highly lacquered bar and wood tables were made from some of the 100 year old building's original lumber.

The exposed rafters were very much the work of buildings of that time, oversize by today's flimsier standards. The trim was mostly black, window frames, chairs, etc. The brewing equipment was bright stainless steel sitting in the center of the first floor. We went in and escorted upstairs to a large area with a bar and several rows of high bistro tables and chairs. The place was abuzz, about half full at five in the afternoon. The stairs appeared to be original, heavy, old and steep.
We were seated against the wall behind a long, high table and nice chairs. You end up sitting next to strangers along the table, but just because you sit by them doesn't mean you have to socialize with them. . .or even acknowledge they exist. I was fine with that.

A young lady stopped by and handed out menus and asked about drinks. I broke from the traditional, after all it is a brewery, and ordered a 'Session IPA'. It seemed to fit the taste niche I had set my mind on. I don't drink much beer, but when I do, I want it to have a bold flavor. By bold, I mean something with  more actual taste than popular domestic beers. I really, really don't like weak beer.
I once worked at a very large beer company in St. Louis. . . you know the one. . .  so I know a thing or two about. . . business software.  Seriously, in those three years I learned little more than I already knew, which wasn't much,  about beer. I handled the accounting and financial data, not the recipes. I have tried several beers though, I know what I like and don't like. Angel and Adam settled for soda pop. Losers.
The Food:
I'd looked online ahead of time. . . I knew what I wanted. There's not a huge pile of food offerings, but they span a wide enough variety. Sandwiches, burgers, salads, steaks, salmon, etc.
The appetizers looked appealing. . . different. . . oh, no fried ravioli, how odd. But they did have another temptation, Beer Cheese Pretzels.  That's what we ordered. We also called in our entrees, Angel and I asked for the fish and chips, Adam, a House Pub Burger. Fries for Adam and me, Angel wanted the house made chips. No salads please.
I sipped my first beer in a year or so and was greatly pleased. I'd had a few other IPA's (India Pale Ale) in my lifetime, this was a very good one. Hoppy, tasty, not at all dull or bitter. If I had to drink beer more often, this is probably what I'd ask for. As far as the 'brewery' bit goes, it was a home run for the first brewery to open in Jefferson county in 120 years.
Then came the pretzels, long thick sticks alongside a beer cheese bisque dipping sauce. I love a good
soft pretzel and these were certainly good. As good as they were though, the real star of this appetizer plate was the beer cheese bisque. Angel agreed, this was not your standard nacho cheese machine sauce. It had a depth of tastes I can barely describe. Cheese, beer, and something else, I cannot figure out exactly what, veggies, I think, maybe celery and a dot of onion, but I'm pretty sure there was even more to it than that. At the end of the meal, the only thing we boxed up was the remaining half pretzel and the last of the bisque.
We could have stopped right there. It was that good. Pretty soon though, the entrees arrived.
I've been looking for a decent plate of fish and chips. It has been mostly a futile task. The 'chips' are easy, a basic French fry does nicely. It's the fish

that everyone fusses with and fails. Fish and chips are a take away food, like a sandwich or a deep fried Twinkie. They were invented for people on the go. In other words, eaten by hand. That means the fish has to be breaded and crispy. This is apparently, incredibly difficult to do right. Fish, unlike chicken fried steak and Twinkies, is high in moisture. Fish is also crumbly. To make it street-ready, the breading has to hold up to and hold together through all that internal steam.
Main and Mill's fish was absolutely delicious. They served the two large fillets with the obligatory tartar sauce as well as a bottle of malt vinegar. I like both.
However.
At first bite, the breading started slipping off the rest of the fish. As large and as heavy as the cut was, it could not support its own weight. Only a couple of crunchy corners stayed intact. This rendered the notion of dipping the fish into the tartar virtually moot. I tried, part of the fish stayed in the ramekin. This was sad since the taste and texture of the fish itself

was extremely good. I tried cutting it, tearing it, nothing worked, there were fish flakes everywhere, I had to re-wrap the flaccid breading onto the chunks to get a taste of both.
I try to be constructive, so I'd recommend this: Use a slightly thicker batter and definitely use smaller cuts of fish. The average fish and chip aficionado wants to break off a piece, dunk it in tartar without the rest of it falling apart.  It simply must support its own weight.
This is not to say we didn't enjoy the meal, far from it! Adam wolfed down his "good" burger in near record time, no problem there. Angel and I loved the taste and done-ness of the fish, but we were both just a little put off by the sheer clumsiness of it.
Summary:
Except for the fish batter issues, everything was absolutely great. The IPA and the pretzel were to die for. The decor, the ambiance, were awesome. The wait staff, in our case a capable and friendly young lady name Lexie (Short for Alexandra, or Alexandria, we learned) was exceptional. Why she wants to shorten her solid and proper name like that I'm not sure. I simply won't allow people to call me anything other than my full first name, even though I don't particularly like my full first name. It's almost criminal to chop up a classic name like Alexandria, or Alexandra, whichever it is. However, she did a first rate job waiting on us, chatting when we wanted to chat, she even capably answered a few questions about the bisque and other things, including what her name was derived from.  She definitely deserves a substantial raise.
We will go again, maybe not for the fish and chips, we'll probably try something else. They seem to really care about quality, it shows in their beer especially.  They've done an outstanding job of fixing the place up , no cutting corners, well, short of having an SUV plow into the place. It is classy, tidy and very well thought out.
The bill came in less than I expected, an appetizer, a fine IPA and three entrees for fifty two bucks and change. That's less than we pay at Ruby Tuesday's or other sports casual places.
Definitely going back, definitely recommended!

_____________________

As noted above, the photo of the SUV inside the building was taken by Denny, one of the owners. I've been following this place on FB since I first heard about it. They updated the progress frequently, including after the accident.  I asked him via FB Messenger if I could use this photo in a future blog post. . . well Denny, here you go. 
Hold it. . . 'Denny'. . . isn't that a shortened version of 'Dennis'?  Grrr....

Smashburger

1671 Clarkson Rd.
Chesterfield, MO
On the  Web

First, to answer the big question. Why go all the way to Chesterfield for a franchise burger?
I'm glad you asked. I was on assignment.
Earlier in the week I received an email, via the 'Email Me' pushbutton on this page, from a gentleman by the name of Brad Garoon, from New York City:
I found your blog while searching for food lovers in St. Louis. On Burger Weekly I periodically run a series of Smashburger reviews from all over the country, as each state has at least one unique burger on the menu. I typically pull reviews by other burger (or general food) bloggers, and have them plug their blogs and twitter feeds, etc in the review. Would you be interested in doing a review of the St. Louis Burger at Smashburger in Chesterfield or St. Charles, Missouri? You'd be able to plug your blog in the review, and I'd shout you out on all of BW's social medias.
It's all about the networking.
New York City!?!?
Yeah, Brad's blog, Burger Weekly is kind of a big deal in the eatery review world. Apparently there are a lot of burger joints in the Big Apple, and Brad is determined to try them all. Sure, he's probably nuts, but his reviews are succinct, informative and his reach is comprehensive.
Why he has expanded to reaching out to others for assistance for a place I'd never even heard of, I'm not sure.
This weekend was fortuitous for such an effort though.
Chesterfield is well outside of our preferred range for these reviews as it takes, in light traffic, forty five minutes to get there from the house. This weekend though I would be going alone. Angel was completely booked with dogs, Adam had been off work all week and this was his first day back, so I decided that I'd just get up on Saturday morning, dope myself up with bad coffee and trek on up to Chesterfield, the closer of the two St. Louis options. So that's what I did.

The Place:
I'd never been to Chesterfield. Simply no reason to go there. It's west of the city and is mostly fairly new

development. Since St. Louis was settled in the the early 1800's it was known as the starting point for westward expansion. That also describes the history of St. Louis itself. The hub of the city, on the banks of the mighty Mississippi, is not quite what it once was. For nearly two centuries, the population center of St. Louis has been drifting west. Most of the newer, more affluent and growing areas are now well west of the famed Gateway Arch. Chesterfield and St. Charles are both out there. Most of the people I work with settled in towns like this. Newer, less history, less crime.
When you meet someone that says they are from St. Louis, ask them to be more specific. Chances are they aren't from the city itself, but twenty to forty miles outside of it. Like me.
I didn't see a building older than twenty five years old there. Upscale, handsome, skinny people on bicycles, doing smart, ecologically friendly and healthy things. I felt a bit out of my element.
Smashburger was a little hard for me, an outsider, to find. All the shopping centers looked alike, signage was, by ordinance, minimal. I finally found the right place, next to a Trader Joe's.
It was about 10:30 not many people there at all, everyone was still golfing, with the kids at the lacrosse field, or doing whatever busy, socially conscious, upscale people do on Saturday mornings.
I'd read ahead a little. The lady at the counter, whose name I did not get, greeted me and asked if I'd like to see a menu. I said yes, even though I knew what I'd be ordering. I ordered, paid and was told it would be five to seven minutes. In the meantime I found out from the lady that she'd been there since the store opened, three years, and that she'd come from the St. Charles location where she had worked since it opened. A Smashburger lifer, impressive.

As I waited I looked around. Clean, modern, not plastic feeling. Tall ceilings, exposed and painted flat black metal rafters and ducts. the primary color theme was black, red, and off-white. On each table were plenty of napkins and condiments, the basics, mustard and ketchup, name brand, not generic.
Overhead, music played, contemporary pop, Katy Perry, et al. Not exactly my favorite form of music, but infinitely better than Country or Nordic Opera.
Sure enough, in about five minutes the lady brought out my food, on paper, in a metal rack-tray. I'd already poured myself some un-sweet ice tea.
The Food:
Had I just stumbled into the place I would have probably ordered one of the many other burgers offered. But since I was on assignment, I ordered the St. Louis Burger, and Smash Fries.
Smashburger does this, as Brad pointed out. Everywhere they put a restaurant, they develop a regional burger that is only sold in that area. A nice gimmick. Kansas City has one, you guessed it, slathered in barbecue sauce.
In Ohio you'll find the Buckeye Burger, laced, I suppose, with crushed buckeyes. I could look it up, but I'm too lazy. You get the idea.
So what makes a burger a St Louis Burger?

To answer, you'll need to know some local history and about St. Louis style pizza.
The popular regional pizza is thin crust with a sweet tomato sauce, topped with Provel cheese. The trademark 'Provel' is currently held by a subsidiary of Kraft Foods. The recipe was developed more than fifty years ago specifically to top what was to become St. Louis style pizza. You can hardly find the stuff at all outside the region. It is a combination of Swiss, Cheddar and Provelone. It was designed primarily for texture more than distinct taste. When you bite into  it it does not string out like mozzarella and at room temperature it remains soft, not crusty. It has a mild, salty taste.
What Smashburger did was to take that regional cheese product, added green peppers, onions and mushrooms, just like you'd find on a typical local pizza. They put this on top of their standard 'smashed' burger and all that goes on a pretzel bun.
If it was really trying to scream "St. Louis!", it would be on a Gus' soft pretzel, lined with toasted ravioli and with a side of gooey butter cake, personally served by Yadier Molina himself, asking you where you went to high school. Chuck Berry would, of course, be rocking the joint.  (St. Louis folks will get all of those references.)
On the side was the real prize of this franchise, the Smash Fries. Hand tossed with garlic, rosemary and olive oil. Shoestring style, crispy, crunchy and delicious. Darned near addictive little things.
A Smashburger is 100% Angus beef, never frozen, balled up then put on a grill and smashed with a spatula. This makes the burger thin, with rough, crispy edges, my absolute favorite style of burger.
I like a thin burger and this one was pretty tasty. The mushrooms were not overwhelming, the cheese, as specified, was creamy and melty.  On second look though, it appeared to have started breaking down a little. I liked the burger just fine, it was exactly as advertised. And yes, the cheese made it taste like St. Louis. But as I said earlier, I'd probably have ordered something else if it was left up to me. I like a sharp cheddar myself. And bacon.
Summary:
This was a fine burger. I like Smashburger's style. Thin, smashed burgers, fresh toppings, a choice of cheeses and sauces. The smash fries were the real star of this show though. The tea was surprisingly fresh and tasty, not bitter or weak.
On the way out I ordered two standard Smashburger bacon cheeseburgers for Angel and Adam to have later, it was part of the deal. The fries did not stay crispy, of course, but they both agreed that these were pretty good burgers.
Smashburger is similar to and every bit as good as Five Guy's which is one of my favorite franchise burger places. The unique fries might give Smashburger a slight edge in that two-way race.
Across the parking lot I could see a McDonalds. I could not believe that people were lining up to go to that vile place when this, much, much better burger place was right next to it. Sure it cost a little more, my own feast put me back just over ten bucks, but the quality was far superior than that awful McDonald's place. I will never, ever understand the attraction for that hideous chain.
Was Smashburger the best hamburger in the area then?
No, not at all. By far, my favorite burgers are at Concord Grill. They understand burgers, they understand St. Louis. Then there's Gordon's Stoplight Grill in Festus. No frills, no fancy cheeses, just a good old fashioned diner style burger served perfectly every time.
The staff was friendly, polite, efficient and professional They kept an eye on the customers and made sure to check up on them and ask what they thought.
Oh yeah, bonus, Smashburger serves beer. Take that, Micky D!

Gordon's Stop Light Drive In

 500 Bailey Rd  
Crystal City, MO

 We've been to Gordon's before, but by 'we' I mean Adam and I. We usually go there when Angel is out of town. We're not sure why, it's just that the first time we went she was out of town so we repeated that behavior.
Angel had never been, ever. So this week, Adam's turn to choose, he asked me what I was in the mood for, I answered "a hamburger."
That may seem like an odd choice, but there's something about me that you may not be aware of. I don't eat hamburgers very often. The last time I had a real hamburger, by that I mean bun, ketchup, mustard, hamburger patty,etc., was in August. The last one before that was in May. So I was kind of craving a good burger. He chose the place, based on his mother's contribution to the conversation: "It has to be a good one." So Adam, almost immediately said: "Got it." and then announced his choice.
Gordon's has been making the same diner fare, burgers and breakfasts, since 1948. It's still an old style diner, not just some place trying to look like one. It's at a busy intersection, thus the 'Stop Light' in the name.
 We had to stop and get cash first, they don't process debit/charge cars. They have a third-party automatic ATM machine, (see what I did there?) and they might take a check, if there's anyone around still writing checks. I'll bet my loyal fan Suzy still writes checks, she seems the type. BTW Suzy got in touch with me last week after I mentioned that I thought she liked Nordic food.
She replied: " While I do enjoy the occasional Swedish meatball, and have even looked for a recipe recently, I do not enjoy anything else typically Nordic.  I hate the cold, the snow and most especially the trak……as in NordicTrak………evil on a pulley.  I cannot fathom smoked and/or pickled fish.  I watched The Vikings series last winter, so I’m up on their cuisine…..looked miserable!!!!"
Well, Suzy's usually a nice person and she may be speaking honestly here, but is it just me, or do we all think she 'doth protest too much'? It's quite okay to be Nordic, or a Nordic-things lover, we don't judge here. As for the 'Vikings' show she mentioned, I loved that show. Yes the food (roots, tree bark, fish, and the occasional captured priest) was kind of gross, as was the climate, the social rules and certainly the general hygiene, but the show itself was awesome. Good enough that I'm currently on the prowl for a fine personal shield maiden. Angel doesn't want the role because she might have to get on a boat.
But I'm pretty sure Suzy still carries a checkbook.
The Food:

Triple

We went for burgers, we got burgers. I opted for the Triple cheeseburger with onions, tomatoes and lettuce, along with fries. For Angel, the double cheeseburger with chili fries and Adam picked the Double Jumbo, with cheese and cheese fries. The Jumbo is topped with slaw and barbecue sauce and is usually served with onions, but Adam instructed them to leave those off.
If you are going to Gordon's for a burger, and you certainly should, remember that a 'burger' doesn't come with anything. If you want cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, etc. you need to tell them that or else you get meat and a bun.

Double, with chili cheese fries.

One of the two young ladies, the one with the dark hair, not the redhead, took our orders and brought us our drinks. Tea, Diet Pepsi and Pepsi.
The tea was fresh-ish, but very weak. (-1 on the PJTea scale) That's okay though, the burgers and fries more than made up for it.
The burger patties are not large or thick, they start out as balls of fresh ground beef that the cook smashes into flatness right on the grill. They are thin around the edges and that chars up nicely. Unlike a fast food burger, which always seem a bit manufactured, these burgers actually tasted fresh and toasty. The lettuce, tomatoes, etc. were all fresh as well. The fries were crunchy and tasted a little sweet, like a freshly cut potato. Angel had chili on hers, an in-house blend. I like chili, I like cheese, but I do not like them on fries. I like my taters crisp, the cheese and chili makes them soggy. Adam and Angel enjoyed theirs though, quite a bit.

Double Jumbo, cheese fries.

My 'Triple' was almost too much. This is the first time I'd gone with three patties, I  thought I was hungrier than usual. I would have been fine with a double. I was really glad I didn't try the Quadzilla, a four patty mega-burger advertised in the big sign on the wall.
Once we were all finished, I polled the family. All I got was "very good" and "good as always" so I dug deeper.
"Better than . . ." I asked. The result was that we all agreed, Gordon's burgers are better than any fast food burger.
Summary:
Maybe it's the simplicity, the lack of anything but meat in the burgers, no flavorings or additives, other than maybe a little salt and pepper. A real, true burger, like our parents used to get before America's burger joints were all but swept away by the fast food franchises.
The price was right, twenty seven dollars, cash, for three large and fantastic burger meals.
We highly recommend this little place, so if you happen to be in the area, make this a destination. If you're not real hungry, get a single, they are not large at all. If you are famished or have a death wish, order the Quadzilla. Just don't forget to bring cash.


Epilogue:

After we ate, Angel was driving and turned the wrong direction onto the street. Or so I thought. Actually there was an evil plan afoot, a conspiracy, no less. I assumed she was going to turn around, but no. She turned into the parking lot of (cue creepy 'Psycho' shower-stabby music) a shoe store!!! 

I don't mind shoe stores, if I am  looking for shoes. I wasn't, they were, both of them. There's nothing duller for an average guy than waiting while someone else shops for shoes. I walked to two other stores in the vicinity, Peebles, where I could at least see if they had a sale on shirts, they didn't, that ate up about five minutes, and Dollar General because it was nearby and they've at least got a wide variety of useless cheap crap I don't really need. They still weren't done looking at shoes. Dante sort of predicted waiting for someone to shop for shoes in his "Divine Comedy", somewhere between the first and second realm.

I have shoes. My work shoes, which I got mail-order, (my feet/shoe size have been the same since high school) my sneakers, $12  at Walmart, and a pair of twenty+ year old, steel-toed Doc Martins (six eyelet)  that I bought at a surplus/overstock store. I wear the Doc Martins when I'm doing manly stuff outside. They have a hard, heavy treaded sole, are hefty, yet comfy. That they've lasted over twenty years probably speaks to how well they were made, or maybe how seldom I actually do manly stuff outside. I also have a pair of simple black dress shoes, for interviews, funerals, etc. They are cheap, but shiny, I only wear them every other year or so.

Finally Angel and Adam finished and met me in DG. I had selected a two-pack of bubble wrap-lined shipping envelopes ($1.50)  and was eyeing a small nutcracker. 'Tis the season, right?  I got the nutcracker, paid full price ($4) which I hardly ever do. Unique ones are getting harder and harder to find at post-season sales though. I'll set up the entire collection after Thanksgiving and post a 'find the new one' photo, which has become a minor tradition.

That shoe store thing though, please, please ladies, don't behave like my wife!  If you need shoes, go get shoes, take all the time you want, just leave me out of it!

Cerulean Springs Market and Restaurant

21 Main Street

Cerulean Ky.

Cerulean Springs is the old name for this small, very small village in west Kentucky. It is the second largest town in Trigg County, which is still quite small.

Cerulean, by definition a soft shade of blue, had a mineral spring once, back at the earliest years of the twentieth century. Above the smelly, heavy pool of mineral rich ground water a hotel of regional notoriety was constructed. During the decade or so long heyday, which roughly coincided with the bigger, better known spas in Battle Creek Michigan, among others, people flocked to such healing springs for relief from every ailment imaginable.

Mom and Dad's house.

Though such pools and streams were not uncommon geologically, Cerulean Springs boasted an asset that even the county seat of Cadiz itself could not. Cerulean was on a major rail line.

This put it in reach, long before automobiles, buses and airlines, for thousands of people per year. They could spend relaxing and refreshing days alongside the pool, beneath large shady trees, in a quiet, remote part of a quiet and remote state.

My parents bought a house in Cerulean in the seventies. I lived there with them for my last two years of high school. The old Victorian giant was originally built by the town's doctor, by all measure the finest house in town. It was built just a few hundred yards away from the hotel, in the same era.

Since the time of the fires that burned down the various iterations of the resort hotel, Cerulean has long settled into a shadow of it's vaunted past. In my lifetime the town was mainly known for burning down, several old buildings at a time. I recall being at a basketball game in Cadiz once and hearing an announcement over the PA system. "Attention everyone, can I have your attention please. Cerulean is on fire. . ."

The railroad is gone now as well; the tracks were pulled up sometime in the 80's.

No major or even minor road goes through town, Cerulean is a spur of a place, no need to go through it at all unless it is your actual destination. There are several better ways to get to and from anywhere else.

There is a post office and a store, though the store is only erratically open and only ever carried very little of anything a person actually might need. It doesn't even sell gas. In fact, there are no gas stations for probably ten miles in any direction.

There's a couple of churches, attended mostly by an aging membership of long-time locals.

Down the road about a mile or two an Amish community has taken over and rejuvenated several family farms.

On a Saturday night, you can, as I did this past weekend, sit on the front porch for an hour or two and count on one hand the cars going by. By eight o'clock or so the whole community is settled in for the night. Since there is no nearby city, there are plenty of stars to see, and the only noises are the occasional barking and baying of dogs and the squawking of wildlife in the distance.

Most of the population of the area are one of two demographics, middle to lower middle income families and then the less financially successful families whose houses tend to be in one state of decline or another.This is not a wealthy area. There are many retirees, mostly from farm and farm-related endeavors.

Serious crime is all but non-existent, though throughout its history it has not completely escaped trouble.

Mostly the population is older, more or less at peace with the world, just wanting to live  quietly and distantly.
Adam and I were in Cerulean to celebrate my father's eighty sixth birthday. My sister was also there and from time to time my younger, but bigger brother, Jeff would drop in. He lives in Cerulean, about a block away from the folks. 

The Place:

A while back, a year or so, a new restaurant opened just three houses down from my parents' house.

Hardly a fancy place, it is a simple, rectangular metal building, which makes it stand out against the nearly ancient homes around it.

Adam and I walked the distance while my spoiled and pretentious sister Kathy drove dad and mom. Dad's not able to get around much anymore, though he has good intentions to do better.

We arrived well before they did, dad doesn't move very quickly.

We went in together and found a couple of tables abutted in a configuration that fit us all,

Cerulean Springs Market and Restaurant

The building's interior was dimly lit and completely open. The poured concrete floor was textured and unpainted; the walls were rough pine panels, not even stained or painted. Every thing else was shiny, corrugated steel on fresh, unfinished yellow pine, the ceiling, the counter fronts and the partition between the 'market' and the dining area.

The market consisted of little more than a couple of glass fronted coolers full of pop, and a few shelves along one wall with candy, cigarettes and prepackaged pastries.

Though the county finally went wet a couple of years back, the availability of beer, wine and whiskey has not arrived in Cerulean yet. As with gasoline, if you want booze you have to drive a dozen miles to get your fix.

There were a few people there leisurely sipping coffee and enjoying some pie. The openness and the raw material construction created echoes for every sound. One doesn't have to shout in this place, like the small town itself everyone around is aware of you.

The Food:

We were presented menus and asked about drinks. Mom, dad and Kathy asked for water, Adam for sweet tea, and myself, unsweetened tea. Mom helped dad figure out what to order, it was steak night and the waitress had rattled off a litany of available steaks, and ended the spiel with what also fits in the steak family in this hog-rich area, pork chops.

Mom, Kathy and dad finally settled for the chops, a plate that came with Texas toast, a baked potato, and a salad.

Kathy refused all dressing choices, as did mom. For dad she asked for some dressing on the side. I assumed mom declined dressing because of some dietary requirement, she had serious surgery recently, I wasn’t sure about Kathy’s decision though.

I decided to go a little lighter, a BLT and the onion rings which Kathy told me were quite good. Adam picked the chicken strip plate with fries.

Pretty soon the three salads were delivered in bowls. Nothing fancy, iceberg lettuce, cucumber slices and a wedge of tomato. The waitress said that since the bowls were a bit crowded that they could bring out plates for anyone that wanted one. Mom and dad accepted the offer. I asked if I could have my BLT in a bowl instead of a plate to test the limits of their willingness to accommodate. Unfortunately the waitress had already left the table.

Kathy pulled the lemon wedge off the edge of her large tumbler of water and squeezed it over her salad.

"That's it?" Adam asked her. "No dressing, just a squeeze of lemon?"

She looked at us like we were annoying inferiors that had just entered the room.

"I don't like dressing, any dressing, the very sight and smell of it sickens me."

This was among the first of many peculiar culinary declarations, delivered with the surety and confidence of superiority that could only be described as pontificating.

"I don't put sour cream on my baked potato or anything else!" She later decreed, as if sour cream was offal or innards, fit only for meager peasants.

Kathy is considered by many people as a sweet, pleasant person. I know better. I lived under her tyrannical reign when I was a small child. She can be cold, cruel and vicious. She has a very high sense of self importance and issues orders and edicts to those around her as though they were mere livestock who should consider themselves fortunate that she has allowed them to escape the cruel industrial slaughter for one more day.

I was polite though, no need to make a scene in front of the parents, they’d just take her side anyhow, that’s partially how she got that way in the first place.

I insisted timidly that she at least pass the pepper shaker over her salad so it wouldn't look so much like raw lawn rakings.

She plucked the cucumbers out and passed them around to mom and Adam.

"I like the smell of cucumbers, but not the taste." She said, as if that were a perfectly normal and natural position.

The plates arrived at roughly the same time. Their pork chops looked quite good. Juicy, char marks, still sizzling. The baked potatoes were foil wrapped. The Texas toast was only slightly thicker than store bought sliced white bread. I am accustomed to much thicker bread when it comes under the moniker ‘Texas toast’. This qualified more as Oklahoma toast maybe, same, exact same makeup, just not as big.

They busied themselves carving the large slabs of pork. I forked a chunk off Kathy's plate and tasted it. I was quite impressed, it was smoky and juicy. It's very easy to overcook a chop, they're thin and they dry out very quickly. This place had figured it out though, it was beautifully cooked, tender and juicy.

My little sandwich was dwarfed by the thick onion rings. The BlT (notice the lower case 'L', there wasn't very much lettuce.) was constructed on plain white bread with a few, maybe four slices of bacon. It was excellent quality bacon though, cooked crisp but not burnt.

A BLT can be easily over-thought. Many places around St. Louis brag about how much bacon they can put between two slices of bread. In my mind that's like bragging about how many gallons of paint you have on your fancy sports car. It's not really about the quantity at all, it's about the quality. Ten extra gallons of red paint on a Camaro doesn't make it redder or sportier than a much thinner, quality driven amount. A little bacon goes a long way, you simply don't need a lot.

It wasn't a very big sandwich but it was quite a good sandwich. The onion rings were indeed good and searing hot. The first bite burned my lips and sprayed lava-hot juices. I let the rest cool down a bit.

Mom, Kathy and dad struggled with their chops, not with the eating of them but with the carving. Mom and dad are in their eighties and are not as physically strong as they once were, Kathy is just a delicate, fragile weakling since she’s never had to actually do anything. Dad was determined though, he finished his chop completely.

 In the distance I saw a hand drawn sign. Much of it was illegible from that far away, but one thing stood out: Chess Pie. (It’s a southern thing.) I wanted it.

Mom and Kathy told about how they always shared a slice of coconut cream pie, I was thrilled with that, since that meant I could safely ask for the Chess.  Chess pie, for those not familiar with it, is a custard pie, not very much unlike what is known in the St. Louis area as Gooey Butter Cake . Eggs, sugar, eggs, eggs, sugar and eggs. It’s dense and very rich.

I asked for coffee with mine. Dad did not get any pie since he has to tightly monitor his sugary input.

The coffee was dark and fresh, the pie insanely sweet and custard-y. Adam tried a little piece and didn’t seem to care for it and went back to his chocolate cream pie. He’s never really been in close touch with his southern ancestral heritage.

We sat back for a few minutes, glowing in the satisfaction and comfort of a good meal.

Summary:

Cerulean Springs Market and Restaurant is the most expensive eatery in town. It is at the same time, the cheapest, it's the only game in town.  Mom showed me the ticket, but it hadn’t been summed up yet and though I can normally do simple math in my head I was at the time quite jittery from the pie and coffee double-jolt. Looking at the menu though, the entrees were all under ten bucks, the sandwiches five or less, even the ‘Larry Dale Special’ (a hamburger with a fried hotdog on top) was not unreasonable. Mom grumbled a bit about it being expensive but she doesn’t get out into the real world very often.

The food we had was all pretty good and in my opinion reasonably priced. The wait staff was dutiful, attentive and accommodating. Mom said that occasionally she and dad will call in their order ahead of time and it will be ready to set on the table by the time they get there.

Since mom and dad don’t get around very well, and cooking has always been a ‘chore’ for mom, this is quite a bonus. It’s about three hundred feet short of a food delivery service.
The place is primarily for the locals.The menu is fairly sparse and they appear to serve certain things only on certain days,  Friday fish, etc. That's pretty  smart if you ask me. A restaurant's perishable inventory must be managed carefully. A small place like this in a small town like Cerulean is a very risky endeavor, anything that can be done to mitigate waste is a must.
On most days though you'll find burgers, hot sandwiches, cold cut sandwiches even a fried bologna sandwich (only $2.00!) that will live up to your appetite and tastes and fill you up just fine. I doubt that CSM&R will ever be featured in a fancy food magazine, or on TV, or be the gastronomic destination of choice for Western Kentucky, but it is fine at what it is, a small, inexpensive local eatery that lives up to and in some cases exceeds the needs and expectations of the local population.
If you do happen to dine there,  please try the Larry Dale Special and let me know how it is. I'm dying to know.


* My brother Jeff made breakfast and lunch on Sunday. Ridiculously fluffy and tasty pancakes in the morning and ham, potato casserole, green beans and the best homemade rolls I've ever had for the midday meal.
This was followed up with a 'Dina Cake', named for his lovely, tall and powerful wife. Basically a made-from-scratch chocolate cake baked in a bundt cake pan, then topped with a rich and thick cream cheese frosting. When served there is no hole in the middle of the cake. Dina fills the entire bundt-hole with even more frosting, a lot of frosting. Don't give me that look, you know you want some.
As we headed back to 'civilization', we stopped at a convenience store to fill up the gas tank. I went inside for drinks and a small snack for the tedious four hour drive.
Back in the car I twisted the cap off of my RC Cola and poured in a handful of the salted peanuts.
"What are you doing?" Adam asked.
"You wouldn't understand." Is all I said.