Popeye's Louisiana Kitchen

4103 First Missouri Credit Union Dr
St. Louis, MO

Web site


Angel saw a commercial, or something.
Adam said he'd join us since it was not far from his bunker , across the mighty Meramec river in South St. Louis County.
A couple of months ago, during the hunt for a decent fish sandwich, Angel would often bring up Popeye's 'squished fish patty on a bun' commercial comparing (wink, wink) a 'certain' fast food chain's square fish patty (McDonalds) as 'seafood' to Popeye's 'Butterfly Shrimp Tackle Box.'
"I like my squished fish patty on a bun!" she repeated, probably a hundred times.
She was not looking for seafood at Popeye's though, she wanted to try the chicken. I told her I'd take yet another one for the team and get something fishy.
The Place:

South County. I'm not sure that's an actual municipality or whether it refers to the general area that hugs the Mississippi between the Meramec and St. Louis City. The city itself is not in St. Louis  County, it is a county/city entity all its own. The county that surrounds the city is made up of over a hundred municipalities, some distinct, others merely a blur between stop signs.
This location is fairly new. It was clean and sparkly inside, in the way only polished plastic can sparkle. The motif, fast food modern. There was not any attempt to make it look like anything other than fast food.
Angel and I already studied the online menu and were pretty set in our order, Adam was starting from scratch. Finally we ordered, Angel first. My turn came, I was prepared. "Fish and shrimp combo with coleslaw and a small drink."
The young man repeated back. "Fish and shrimp combo?"
"Yes"
"What side with that sir?"
"Coleslaw."
"What size drink would you like with that?"
"Small."
We filled our drink cups, I found us a shiny plastic covered table.
The Food:
I sipped my tea. I quickly looked around for an alternative drink. The tea was old, metallic and bitter.
Nothing. I don't like sweet drinks, period, other than juices. You didn't know that about me?
We sat waiting, I looked around as I am wont to do during eatery reviews. Six tables occupied, three people waiting for take out / pick up.
After five or eight minutes of note taking and analysis, I looked around again. Six tables occupied, three people waiting for take out / pick up.
None of them had food.
More people came in and ordered and waited.
Something was wrong in the kitchen. Orders were backed up, all of them, no food going out at all, for nearly twenty minutes.
Probably out of cooked chicken, since that seems to be the flagship of the brand.
A twenty minute wait at a sit down, waited on at the table restaurant is no big deal. At a fast food joint, it's an eternity.
Finally we were served.
It was a really brown meal. At first we couldn't tell the orders apart. I figured out mine because of the popcorn shrimp.
Angel: Mild chicken and coleslaw.
Adam: Spicy chicken tenders and mashed potatoes.
We also ordered a couple of the apple pie for later.
All orders come with their 'signature' buttermilk biscuit.
We noticed something immediately. There was no coleslaw.
A lady from the counter stopped and asked about sauces. We mentioned the missing sides, she apologized and disappeared, only to return a moment later with the slaw.
She asked again about sauces. I looked around. "Tarter sauce please."
She asked Adam and Angel as well, they declined.
A couple of moments later, she came back with a couple of condiment packets in her hand. "Which sauce did you ask for again?"
"Tartar sauce please."
She looked at the packets, turned around and walked away.
She soon came back with the right stuff.

I then started sorting through my basket. One thin, scrawny piece of fish, two thin, scrawny pieces of fish. three, THREE thin, scrawny pieces of fish. . . 
That's it. If you look at the photo, you'll see three small, rectangular objects, that's the fish. The fillets were about a quarter inch thick, probably less. Broken apart it would all fit into one cube of an ice tray.
Easily half the portion, if that much, of that pathetic squished fish patty on a bun at that other fast food restaurant.
It was also tough, rubbery and dry. So thin that it overcooked browning the breading. The majority of the real estate in the basket was occupied by popcorn shrimp. Also overcooked and so heavily battered that the shrimp inside was little more than a condiment. I disassembled one to measure the breading vs. shrimp ratio.

Shrimp on the left, breading on the right.

Statistically, I had a basket full of fried flour. Had they been crispy rather than rubbery, I night have eaten more than three of the approximately half cup of fried flour balls.
The biscuit looked right, too right, as if it had been made by a robot. Too round, too flat surfaced on top and bottom. I looked around, all over the place and could find no butter being offered, I decided to go ahead, commando style.
Ah, they had buttered the top. . . not the middle, mind you, the top, then added salt to make it seem like there was more butter than there was. The effect was a dry, too salty biscuit. Even Adam picked up on that butter/salt trick.
About a tiny fillet and a half of fish, three bites of biscuit, and three fried flour nuggets, I tossed the rest away. I had about half the coleslaw, nothing special there, creamy, sweet, with an odd hint of some herb, dill, cilantro, something Angel couldn't quite describe it either, a little off putting, whatever it was.
Adam complained about the mashed potatoes. Apparently Popeye's claims a Louisiana spiced mashed potato. To Adam, this was sacrilege. Mashed potatoes aren't supposed to be spicy. "Mashed potatoes are already southern, why do they have to mess with that?" He screamed.
 Angel rather enjoyed her chicken, it had a touch of spiciness without getting silly.
Summary:

Here's a photo of what I didn't eat. I'm at an age and station in life that I will just not suffer lousy food. I'm hardly a gourmet or a food snob, but there are certainly standards, limits. My food was not good, none of it. I'd rather waste the six or seven bucks I paid for it than shove it into my face because it was in front of me. I figured I could go home and make a sandwich out of whatever was lying around and be much more satisfied than with this pile of abysmal fried flour coated, rubbery seafood scraps.
I'd rather eat Guy Fieri's lightly seasoned flip flop.
Like I said, Angel liked the chicken okay, the sides, not at all. Adam was at best, 'meh' about his. The consensus was that we could not think of any reason to ever go back. Better stuff is readily available, just about anywhere.

IKEA

1 Ikea Way
St. Louis, Mo.
On The Web

We were very excited about this, we'd been waiting for it for over a year, from the first
announcement that Ikea was opening up a St. Louis location.
It had been nine years, or more, since we'd been to an Ikea.
That one was in College Park, Maryland, about 30 miles north of our house in Calvert County. We went several times during the five years we lived there. It was always more than a mere shopping trip, it was an event. Angel and I are not 'shoppers'. Rare is the casual trip to one or more stores just to browse. Ikea has always been different though.
We'd always stop in the cafeteria and order Swedish meatballs, maybe a sweet dessert.
Then we'd take the tour. We sometimes bought flat pack furniture, but the real delight were the small things, clocks, lamps, office storage stuff, pillows, etc. We'd marvel at the tidiness, efficiency and pleasant forms in the small rooms in the big store.
A casual search around our house, even now, will reveal several Ikea-unique products.
The new location finally opened a few weeks back. We were patient, there was an absolute frenzy for the first few weekends, the crowds made the news.
Ikea was founded in Sweden in 1943, during that cold country's darkest unpleasantness. Most people consider it a Swedish company still, though it is now multinational, headquartered in the Netherlands.

The Place:
Just north of I-64 off of Vandeventer Ave. You can't miss it. The signage and lighting are big and bright.
It was well received when Ikea announced they would be building in downtown St. Louis. There's been a lot of flight and blight in the past several decades. Metropolitan St. Louis has been expanding though, mostly westward, toward and into St. Charles County. This location, just a hop and a skip from the Arch should be a real shot in the arm for the downtown economy.
Oddly enough, Adam had never been to an Ikea. All those trips we made in Maryland, he'd never gone. So we left our house early, around four thirty, so we'd have plenty of time to browse and still get him home in time to go to work. Trying to use Tina-Tina in Angel's SUV proved useless (Her Tom-Tom GPS device tuned to a naggy female voice) since the store's listed address is "1 Ikea Way" Tina-Tina hasn't had a map upgrade in over a year, it wouldn't have a less than one year old road in her database. . . Instead, Adam served as navigator, using his smart phone's GPS and maps. It knew where "1 Ikea Way" was.
The parking lot revealed hundreds of cars, but there were still a few good spots not far from the door.
We went in on the ground floor (1 of 3) and rode up an escalator to two. There was a lady handing out maps and answering questions there. We located the massive cafeteria and got in line. Yes, a line of dozens of people ahead of us. There were poles and ropes set up in an infuriating zig-zag to keep everyone in line in a relatively small area. In the very large dining area there were scores of people and families, from about a dozen or more discernible ethnicities. I remembered this from the College Park store as well, a big draw for a very diverse customer base. College Park is, as the name implies, a big college town. (enrollment 34,000+) "1 Ikea Way" is very close to St. Louis University (enrollment: 13,000+) This is relevant since Ikea's products are made for small, efficient apartments and rooms, which are common up near the arctic circle, not unlike college accomidations. It's a match made in heaven.
Adam's been looking into getting his own place, maybe an efficiency or studio apartment closer to his work. He values efficiency and convenience as well.

The Food:
A no-brainer. For myself and Angel, Swedish meatballs and mashed potatoes. She added a side of mac and cheese, I added a salad. We both grabbed a slice of garlic toast, she also pulled out a violently-sweet looking chocolate cake. Adam, predictably picked out the chicken tenders and fries. Also available were some veggie wraps and some salmon dishes. It's not a huge selection, but there's certainly something for just about anyone.
For drinks, I smartly chose the grind-and-brew-right-into-your-cup, coffee. Angel and Adam were stuck with Pepsi products.
We found a table near the big window.
The first bite of the small, gravy'd meatballs sent be back in time and place. . .
I have admired and respected the Scandinavian lands and cultures for many, many years. Even to this day. I'm one year into my 'translated Scandinavian crime novels' theme of reading material.  It all started when I was quite a bit younger and I discovered Sweden's finest export and pop mega-phenom, ABBA.
Yeah, ABBA. You have a problem with that? Well, do you? (pause for a self-empowering 'Fernando'

break)
Actually I discovered them about the time they were breaking up, in the early 80's. I did buy all their albums though. I have since collected everything they ever released, even solo works in Swedish. Also a few documentaries and video DVD's, including a questionably sourced copy of ' ABBA The Movie'. As recently as last Christmas, Angel gave me a coffee table book of photos from the group's heyday.
There is, of course, quite a bit more to Sweden than ABBA, or so I am told, but this was where my infatuation with all things Scandinavian began.
Hmmmm, we've drifted off course here. . . back to the food.
The salad was quite good, though I was disappointed to only be able to find two kinds of dressing, a raspberry and a balsamic. There may have been more. The salad was fresh and crisp though.
The little meatballs were smooth, creamy and delicately spiced. No heat or punch, just mild, comfortable and cozy. They contained beef and pork, but the mix is thorough, not a pairing of flavors or textures, more of a perfect, harmonic blend. The gravy was the same, nothing striking or pronounced, just smooth and mild. This dish makes me think of cold, dark days. . . a plate of comfort, like a cozy blanket for your shivering soul.
The mashed potatoes were not laced with garlic, or cheese, or anything else, just creamy, buttery and
mild.

The serving, at first glance, seemed rather small, especially compared to meat and potato offerings at American-style eateries. . . but the meal was indeed quite filling and satisfying.
I sampled Angel's mac and cheese, smooth and creamy as well, perfectly acceptable without being remarkable.
She shared the cake around, not as violent as it appeared, not overly sweet at all. Quite tasty, especially with the bold coffee. .
Oh yeah, that coffee. . . The dispenser had a touch screen that let me choose espresso or American. . . I picked the latter because I would need to get some sleep sometime during the next week. . .
Fabulous, fantastic, perfect. I even lingered over the cup after Adam and Angel finished and headed off on the tour.
Lingered, lingered. . .  Oh yeah, that reminds me. On the plate with the meatballs and mashed potatoes was a small dollop of lingonberry jam.
Lingonberries are quite common in Scandinavia, they thrive in those northern latitudes. Lingonberry jams are quite simple, just berries and sugar. They are somewhat raspberry-ish, though much less tart. It's not a strong taste. I think most Americans would enjoy it quite well on a biscuit or pancake if it were more common here. So go ahead, don't be afraid, it's not that strong of a taste.
Summary:
I knew what the meal would be going in. My only negative comment would be that the meatballs were not as warm as they could have been. Servings are plated from small steamer baskets, mine had apparently been there for a while. Not really cold, just not quite up to optimum serving temperature.
The place is huge, with multiple seating options, even rows of easy chairs. It's a bit noisy, like a cafeteria or food court, but tolerable being as it is so vast. Everything appeared to be clean and the cafeteria was very well staffed. There was a shortage of dessert options, the lady at the register had said that there were lines for the cafeteria since the store opened that morning. Desserts are time consuming to prepare and bake, so it's quite understandable that those will run out most often.
The prices are more than reasonable. The meatballs and potatoes were $4.99 and the sides just as reasonably priced between two and five dollars. (The cake was $3.29)
On the way out of the store, you can grab frozen/bagged versions of almost everything. We grabbed meatballs and a gravy packet, we also grabbed some of the coffee. Mmmm, it was good.
The whole Ikea experience is amazing. It's more like a tour than a shopping trip. There are interesting little things, kitchen and bathroom gadgets, stuffed toys, mugs, pans, glasses, lamps, clocks. . . We managed to half fill a blue bag. No flat pack furniture this time, but we did see a couple of things we're going to take measurements for.
Highly recommended, better at off-peak times.

KFC

12961 State Route 21
DeSoto, Mo.

I know, I know you're jealous, Why didn't I think of this? Jealous.
Valentine's day presents an eating out challenge. After Mother's Day, VD is about the biggest day to go out for dinner. We learned this a while back. Just about every decent place is packed with lovers, apologists and dog house denizens. So what does one do when one doesn't participate in Valentine's Day silliness?
Take home. It was Angel's idea, I kid you not.
We do this quite often on Christmas as well. No mess, no dishes, no fuss, enough food for a meal or two and maybe a late night snack.
The Food:
A bucket of 12 please.

Sides? Oh yeah.
Mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, slaw and what the heck, a dozen chocolate chip cookies.
Sometimes we try to get the roasted chicken. They don't always have much made. I prefer the roasted because it is not heavily breaded and they make it taste pretty darn good.
No such luck this trip. Oh well, it's a faux-holiday, celebrate.
Original recipe though, not extra crispy.
Angel made up the list, Adam made the drive. I made tea.
He was back in no time. Mmmm, biscuits.
The chicken was pretty fresh and moist, the sides were very, very good. Most of them anyhow.

KFC makes about the best mac and cheese, slaw and biscuits anywhere. The mashed potatoes, I'm less impressed with. I very much prefer a lumpy mashed potato. KFC overworks theirs. Too pasty, too thin in texture. The brown gravy, I can take or leave.
The biscuits are reheat-ready. Breakfast with a sausage patty and a slice of all-American cheese.
The Mac and cheese is drool-worthy. Thick, very thick and cheesy. They're not using that powdered cheese.
We've never been able to duplicate the slaw. We've tried, but it always comes up short. I've even driven to KFC just to get slaw to accompany something we're making at home.
A little bit vinegar, a little bit sweet, the cabbage and carrots are very fresh and crisp.
And then there's the cookies.
Angel loves these things, I rarely have them, being newly sweet-averse. KFC usually gives away a couple with a bucket, Angel ordered a dozen.
They're not huge and not complicated. After dinner I made some coffee, a weekend sin I allow myself, and grabbed a couple of them.
They were pretty good. I make better myself, but I rarely go to the bother, it's messy and requires us to have things in the pantry that we wouldn't have much other use for. Bagged CC cookies are usually dry and hard. KFC's, like my own, are soft and moist. Very good with an evening cup o' Joe.


A History Lesson:
It's impossible to talk much about KFC without bringing up the spork.
KFC did not invent the handy little utensil. Far from it. There are on file, similar designs of a combination spoon/fork also known as a 'foon', going

back as far as 1874. Various patents and trademark designs have been filed since then.
Of course the ubiquitous fork itself is a rather recent addition to dining. There were a few, two-pronged utensils before the 1600's, but they were used primarily to hold meat while carving or to pick up dainty orbs from high end dinner plates.  They did not appear as a regular part of a table setting until the mid seventeenth century.
Frankly, the spork is a more clever tool, a multi-tasker. It is by design, stronger than a fork and more precise than a spoon.
Most fast food places don't bother. Their stuff is hand-held. But KFC, which offers more realistic food, has mashed potatoes, beans, slaw, mac and cheese, hardly finger food. Rather than offer spoons and forks, they offer the cheaper, more utilitarian spork.
There are steel, bronze and silver sporks available. . . I'm thinking of getting some.
Summary:
I don't need to say much. We like KFC. They get almost everything right, quickly and with pretty good quality. They don't even offer French fries, so they are only 'fast' food in the sense that they prepare in bulk and serve up quickly. The price is higher than a McD's crapburger and fries meal, but you're certainly getting better quality and greater variety. It reheats nicely and makes everyone in the family happy. The perfect 'It's a holiday and I don't feel like spending the day cooking and cleaning up'  feast.

Ruby Tuesday

 Well, just look at that calendar, the pages whip by so fast!
Believe it or not, this silly exercise called Eat and Critique began five years ago this month. Nearly 250 reviews written! Whew, that's a lot of mindless, pointless drivel.
For those of you not familiar with the story and too lazy to go back into the archives to check, I'll summarize.
We had settled into a familiar rut. We'd go out to eat once per week, but only to the same four or five places. One of those places was Ruby Tuesday. The food was pretty good, but more expensive than the other joints we settled for.

Not only did we go to the same places, we pretty much ordered the same thing every time.
At RT I would get a steak, mashed potatoes and green beans. Almost always it was good. Then one Saturday in September 2009, it went foul. Almost everything was cold, cooked wrong, and courses served too quickly. Even the tea was bad, old and stale.
I was furious. I had come to count on consistency there, I was certainly paying for it. I swore to never go there again. We decided to try some other places.
Apparently I couldn't shut up about it. I wanted to let somebody know, but whom?
Thus the birth of this site.
A quest to find other places, experience other tastes and locations. To try to objectively articulate what made the experience great, mediocre or terrible.
We've learned a lot in the last five years, learned to expect certain things and manage those expectations for real world situations. We've seen some great places come and go, it's a brutal business. We've also been astounded when genuine, certified crap can outsell and outlast places serving decent, fresh food at the same price.
We don't have all the answers, not at all. We've learned a lot of things though and are looking forward to learning more, experiencing more.
This site has had over 125,000 views. Not bad for a site that doesn't advertise  itself, it's pretty much word of mouth and social networking.
We wish to thank all of our regular readers and even the visitors. We enjoy your feedback, in whatever form.
On behalf of the entire staff and family here at Eat and Critique headquarters, Thank you.

The Place:
Like I said this all started because of one lousy experience at Ruby Tuesday, this very location, off Highway A, overlooking I-55.
It's changed a bit inside since back then, they've gotten rid of all the kitschy sports artifacts that were once popular in places like that. There's still sports on TV at the bar, but not in the dining areas. It is now decorated more modestly, more fashionably, modern art, muted colors.
The hostess met us at the door, there was no wait.
She led us to a booth, very near every booth we get every time we go there.
We were met shortly by a cheerful young lady that did not have a name tag.
"What's your name" I asked as she passed out the menus.
"I was just about to tell you." She laughed. I'd interfered with her process.
"Hi, My name is Angela and I'll be your server. Could I get you something to drink?" She spoke as if it were rehearsed, or the fiftieth time she's said the exact same thing that day.
She was still cheery though.
"Un-sweet tea, no sugar." I responded, her brow furrowed, but she wrote it down.
Angel asked for sweet tea, Adam, some pop.
She looked at me. "You said no  lemon for your tea?"
"I said no such thing."

"Oh, uh, would you like lemon then?"
"Of course!" I smiled
She took it in stride, like a pro. She left us alone to look over the menus. When she brought the drinks, and those marvelous cheesy biscuits, I was happy to see that the tea was bright and clear.
The menu hadn't changed much since our last visit. Not that it mattered, I knew what I wanted.
The Food:
But I blew it. Let me be clear about that, I ordered the wrong thing. I wanted steak, specifically the Petite Sirloin, but I thought it would be even better with a little surf on it. They offered coconut shrimp or lobster tail. I thought about the lobster, but saw how much more it cost, and settled on the shrimp. I added the mashed potatoes and traded in the second side for the salad bar.
Angel was up next, Low Country Shrimp and Grits, pus the salad bar.
Adam asked for the Asiago Peppercorn Sirloin, No salad bar, but I was sure he'd be plucking some of his mom's croutons.
For an appetizer, Adam and his mom asked for the mild hot wings.

We dived toward the most bestest salad bar in the world.
I was methodical, just a little of this, a little of that. Two kinds of lettuce, spinach, peppers, cucumber, onions, mushrooms, cheese, fava beans (makes slurping noise), bacon bits, a little apple salad, a little potato salad. Top that with a dollop of blue cheese and a couple of smears of thousand Island dressing. No croutons.
By 'no croutons' I mean two different things, first, I didn't want any, second there were no croutons.
"They're fixing some now." I heard from a staff member talking to the family in front of us. Angel and Adam would be disappointed. They love RT's dark croutons. Personally I think they taste like tires.

The appetizer showed up soon, I wasn't impressed, not my thing. Angel and Adam like them though. They were certainly orange, fluorescent orange, a hue of orange that does not actually appear anywhere in nature.
Adam said they were fine, Angel said they were a bit spicy. The mild form of this offering is a compromise for Angel and her son. He'd like them a bit hotter, her, a little less so.
My salad was, of course, awesome. I love the salad bar at RT.

Soon enough, but not too soon the main courses arrived. Angela, our server, and another server swept in and delivered the plates. As they sat mine down I instantly recognized the egregious error I had made. Coconut Shrimp is a bold choice for a guy that cannot stand coconut.
More like Coco-NOT!

I tried one anyhow and gagged. The coconut was thick, caramelized and sickly sweet. I handed one to Angel and told her why.
"Peel it off." She said, I hadn't heard her say that in many years, so for a moment I was a little distracted. Then I peeled the coconut coating and tried the actual naked shrimp itself. It tasted like coconut. Feeling bad for me, Angel handed me one of her shrimps, which was delicious.
Angela had insisted I carve the steak in her presence. It was fine. The mashed potatoes as well were very good, creamy and buttery.
Angel's grits plate had a lot of andouille sausage. Andouille is of French origin but showed up in Louisiana by way of German immigrants. It is pork based and usually spicy. It's a favorite in New Orleans

cuisine. I don't care for it much, when it comes to sausage I always prefer the sage-y southern style, whole hog stuff. I'm okay with a Brat once a year or so, but spicy sausages and my metabolism don't often get along very well.
Grits, even though I am allegedly a southern boy, I have never liked, at all. Angel doesn't get this.
"These have lots of cheese though, you might like them covered in cheese!"
I sighed. "I don't care if they are covered with gold and prostitutes, I don't like grits."
To me, grits taste like sand.
Overall she liked her meal, but the spiciness of the sausages and the richness of the cheese soon overwhelmed her.

Adam, of course didn't say much about his, though he seemed to like it just fine. He had a side of broccoli because he's his mother's son and I can't seem to talk  him out of such things.
When he finished his meal, he grabbed a couple of napkins and wrapped up the four remaining cheesy biscuits. Those things are awesome, famously awesome.




Summary:
Angela, our server was a real trooper. She seemed to handle a well intentioned ass-hat, me, like a pro. She didn't stumble, got everything right and stayed cheery and attentive throughout the meal. As did Jessica, or Stephanie, I forget which, handling the tables in my view, cheery helpful, almost like they were instructed and trained to maintain an upbeat demeanor. I was quite happy with the service. The shrimp was my mistake. The price, more than many places we go, was a reasonable sixty bucks (we had a coupon). Reasonable for the quality of the food. All the food was properly and professionally prepared, cooked to order.
The only ding RT's gets this round is the crouton shortage.
So, for our fifth anniversary,  at the place that angered me enough to take on this trek originally, we were well pleased.
Once again, thanks to all our readers for making this journey fun and interesting.

Cracker Barrel

1193 Scenic Drive
Herculaneum, Mo.

We were going to Chipotle Mexican Grill, but Angel looked at their online menu and said it looked like fast food, just with fresher ingredients and that she wanted something a little more substantial. I'd mentioned earlier in the week that CB had added a low impact section to their menu and that some of it looked interesting.
So off we went.
The conversation topic was, of course, the impending winter storm and deep freeze predicted to follow it. It was estimated that the real ugliness would start around midnight. By the time we left, around 5:00 P.M. though it was still somewhat pleasant, temps in the low forties, though the clouds had started to move in.
We got to the place and it appeared not too busy.
We had to walk through the country-folk-kitsch storefront to get to the dining area. A stack of metal chickens caught my eye, I don't know why.

The Place:
The dining area walls were lined with more old, useless junk than my mother's attic. Pictures, ads, old sports equipment, tools, and firearms. Too much if you ask me, it was like saturation decorating, far more quaint junk than necessary to make the point. I did appreciate the fire in the large fireplace though. It made the place smell hickory smoked, like the tobacco barns of my youth.
We were led to a table and offered menus. Erica stopped by and asked about drinks. She was a young, tall, rail thin girl with an easy smile and a sweet voice. Tea, sweet tea with no ice and Coke. She left us alone with our enormous and flimsy paper menus. Adam played the silly little golf tee game, solved it first try.
The Food:
I hadn't firmly decided on the lighter fare. There was pecan crusted catfish, Corn Flake oven baked chicken, a nice looking pork chop and a pepper grilled sirloin. The thing that made these items qualify as lighter fare was the lack of grain products. The offered sides were things like a cucumber, onion and tomato salad, green beans, broccoli, a baked sweet potato and mixed veggies. The light meals didn't even come with the customary corn bread or biscuits, and there was no gravy anywhere in sight. This is the kind of stuff I eat during the week. Lots of veggies, very little bread, breading, pasta or potatoes. I'm not saying it works for everyone, I'm not a diet snob, but it works for me and I can stick with it.
The drinks arrived and I have to say that appearance-wise the tea looked fresh and bright. the taste wasn't bad, I'll give it a score later.
Erica returned in good time and we ordered.
Me: Catfish, the cucumber salad and green beans. Angel surprised me and ordered from the lite side as well, the oven baked chicken, the baked sweet potato and the salad. Adam scoffed at us and stuck with the more traditional chicken fried chicken, broccoli. mashed potatoes and cornbread.
Once Erica left, out came the smart phones and tablet. Angel complained about no signal, I'd already scanned for wifi and found none, at all. Adam played a game.
They have smart phones, I have the tablet. A heavily researched 7" Asus ME173x, in case you are interested.  It was my Christmas present. I've been using it to take notes and pictures for these outings since I got it. I've created a simple little database entry form for critique notes, and the rear camera (it has one on the front side as well, for my vast and rapidly growing collection of selfies) is a 5MP device that takes excellent low light photos. All the pictures in this post came from the thing, no flash required. Adam hates the flash part of our outings, so this helps soothe family tensions.
The food arrived pretty quickly. I noticed a problem with my plate right away. More on that later, as well. The little salad was gorgeous. Bright green and red, fresh looking. The catfish filet looked crispy-breaded, the green beans were cooked southern-style. By that I mean way overcooked, to the  point of complete flaccidity. I don't know why we southerners do this to a perfectly good vegetable, but we do. My mother did it, her mother did it, and my two other grandmothers cooked this way as well.*  At least CB, like my grandmothers, cooked them in bacon fat. Sort of a country risotto, infuse the timid tasting article with slow cooked  flavor. Still, the beans were as limp and lifeless as the skin on a drowned person.
The salad indeed was crisp and fresh, as tasty as it was pretty. My catfish however, though it originally looked crispy, was not. Huge mistake, huge rookie mistake. The green beans were wet, duh. So wet that they could not hold their own juices. The juice bled all over the plate, turning the crust on the bottom of the fish into an unappetizing mush. The fish itself tasted pretty good, surprisingly so, but the look and feel of that soaked bottom ruined it. It would not have mattered if the fish were traditionally battered or breaded then deep fried, the problem was the bean leakage. A simple ramekin would have solved this. Bottom line, for easily foreseeable and fixable reasons, catfish=fail.
Angel's chicken was pretty, golden brown. this appearance was highly misleading though. The brown was not a result of perfect oven toasting, it was because - Corn Flakes. The chicken itself was a little dry, and from the taste I got, nearly tasteless. It appeared that no other spices were added to the cereal breading. In other words, pretty bland. No discernible pepper, garlic powder, or even salt. The sweet potato was better, so Angel says. I tried a bit and found it positively disgusting, a squashy-sweet flavor and texture, yuck. She liked it though, said it was like pumpkin pie. My point exactly, I hate pumpkin pie. Adam took one bite of his broccoli (which was served in a ramekin) then pushed the little bowl aside. "No flavor." He uttered. He finished his chicken, though he said the gravy tasted like flour and milk. A  recurring theme was emerging. He didn't care for the cornbread either, though I tried a little and found it to be just fine. This was not a sweet cornbread muffin mix, this was cornmeal and flour, milk, eggs and fat. Pretty much just like the simple hoe cake, or skillet cornbread I grew up with. I liked it, he didn't. Oh well. The mashed potatoes were 'okay', he said, but could use something, maybe more butter (flavor).
I rescued my meal though. I was not full, that's what a low carb meal will often do, leave you not-bloated. Which is a good thing once you get used to it. I haven't had heartburn in several months. I had room for something decadent though, so without even polling the family I asked Erica for some apple pie and a cup of coffee.
This, CB can do quite well. I refused the ice cream, since what is the point of making apple pie and then boasting about the 'no added sugar' method of making it if you are just going to drop a hyper-sweet ice cream bomb on top of it. I did forget to tell them about the other part though. So it arrived hot. Call me an idiot, you wouldn't be the first, but I like apple pie a lot, but I like it cold. Refrigerator cold, especially with coffee. But hot wasn't too bad. The taste was good, not overly sweet, the crust was flaky and not dry or burnt on the edges. This pie saved the meal.
Summary:
My goal was to sample some of the 'healthy' choices. Mission accomplished. These are great ideas, catering to a rising number of health-conscious customers. I like seeing choices like this, especially at places that are traditionally breaded, deep fried and gravy-heavy. However, this meal overall, was not a success. I do not think it was because of any problem unique to the lite-fare menu items though. Even Adam's traditional meal was mostly bland and uninteresting.
That and simple serving issues, like having my fish swimming in bean juice, took a good idea, a potentially great idea and turned it into a completely lackluster affair.
The bill for our meal, including my pie, was a reasonable forty three dollars and change. No complaints there. The service, Erica especially, was quite good. Attentive, friendly, detail oriented, ready to please. At one point a manager of some kind stopped by every table to check up on the customers. In my book, this is always a good thing.
But the food was simply disappointing. Unimaginative, timid, bland.Comfort food does not need to be bland and lifeless. Maybe there's a customer base that likes their food this way. I know that CB was one of my father's favorite places to eat. I don't get it though. It's like a good idea being executed by someone that's never had the original, traditional foods they offer. It looks right, but it just isn't
Oh yeah, the tea. Somewhere between a + 2.5 and + 3. Not bad at all.

Epilogue:
The storm hit, you may have heard about it. We got a foot of snow followed by bone-cracking low temperatures. So this time the Henny Penny-like media-meteorologists got it right.



* Yes I did have three grandmothers. Ask me about that sometime.

Golden Corral

6110 S Lindbergh Blvd
Saint Louis, MO 63123
 We had to head up to Webster Groves to pick up some dogs. Since we were going to be in the burbs anyhow we thought we'd compare One American style buffet to another. A few weeks ago we ate at Ryan's in Festus and had very little nice to say about it. Well, someone at Ryan's corporate office must have read that review, or maybe there were business reasons that have nothing to do at all with my lackluster remarks, but last week They closed the Ryan's in Festus as well as the one further south in Farmington. No reason was actually given in the newspaper account we saw.
So off we headed to the outer rim of St. Louis, on South Lindbergh near the big mall. This area is a big deal for shoppers. All the big box stores are there alongside the mall and that is surrounded by dozens of car lots. There are many restaurants nearby as well. This particular Golden Corral is enormous. It is also always busy. We've passed it up in the past due to the line of people waiting to get in. Angel said we had plenty of time to wait. I almost doubted her though as right ahead of us a school bus was spitting out teenagers by the dozens. I noticed the bus was from Madison County Kentucky.
Cool, I thought, I'm from Kentucky too! Of course Kentucky has one hundred and twenty counties, many of them I have no idea where are without a map. This was one of those.
Kentucky is diverse, there are in my mind at least three completely distinct and identifiable regions, as different from each other as can be in a single state. There's the Appalachian region in the east, this is where Kentucky's hillbillies and feuding families are and where everyone seems to think of when I tell them I'm from the commonwealth. I'm not from there. Then there's the Lexington/Louisville/Frankfort/Covington (South Cincinnati) region which is also where all of the horse activity is, the bluegrass area in the northern and central part of the hump. I'm not from there either.
Then there's the unheard-of nether regions, well south and west of the mountains and coal mines, way southwest of the urban areas and pristine horse ranches. The skinnier western part of Kentucky is famous for pretty much nothing. That is where I'm from, Trigg County. Madison County is up near Lexington. This means I actually know very little about it. Growing up where I did, Louisville/Lexington were several hours away, whereas Nashville was a little over an hour to the south. Most of our big city needs were managed down there rather than to the distant northeast. I only recall going to Louisville a couple of times, and Lexington once or twice in  my whole childhood. Our TV was from Nashville, the big hospitals were there as well.
Madison County, as it turns out is the county where Daniel Boone built his famous fort/town. I'd never been there. In southern Madison county, near Berea, is a community called Farristown. This is where the busload of kids was from, here for an an archery competition. (I asked one of the weary chaperones). They'd not heard of Trigg County either.
The Place:
We were in line behind them. All of them. They were easy to pick out, all wearing gray event tee shirts. None of them looked anything like Katniss Everdeen, but they weren't toothless, banjo-pickin' hillbillies either.
We indeed waited but not for as long as I feared we might. Golden Corral operates like a bustling, well oiled assembly line. The front staff carried two-way radios and were constantly checking and clearing the tables as people left.
You order your drinks and pay at the front. Then soon thereafter a floor person ushers you to a table about a quarter mile away. No need to sit first, just  set the drinks down and start the carnage.
The Food:

My first round.

The variety at the Corral is spectacular.  Pizza, pasta, steak, a dozen varieties of chicken and beef, fried roasted, spicy, southern-style. There is a soup bar, a salad bar, a Chinese section, and Italian section, a 'bakery' and a dessert bar that includes a chocolate fountain.
I was timid at first, taking very small portions of just a few things since I was looking forward to what might pop up around the corner. The first plate at this place should be a scouting mission as much as a main course.

Angel's protein plate

I sampled some sesame chicken, meatloaf, green bean casserole, mac and cheese, black eyed peas and a fist sized roll. If you look at it the roll looks enormous, it was, but it was very light and fluffy, mostly air. It probably contained no more actual bread than a regular slice of bread. I added a couple of tablespoons of mashed potatoes and a little gravy. Angel and Adam had beaten me to the table. Angel had about thirty kinds of chicken, mostly wings. She was in the mood for meat, that happens occasionally. Adam had chicken, of course and a huge pile of mashed potatoes. He also got one of the warm, fluffy rolls.

Adam's chicken and taters.

 I was quite impressed, everything was pretty good. It all seemed fresh and well prepared. There were no actual disappointments on my plate. I'm not a huge green bean casserole guy, but this stuff was actually pretty good. The taters were fluffy and not over-salted. The meat loaf was cooked perfectly, with just enough caramelized red sauce (ketchup) to taste pretty authentic. The mac and cheese tasted like name-brand mac and cheese, the sauce thick and creamy.
 I was taking longer so the other two got up after a while, uttering nothing but good things about their meals. Angel noted that she liked the casserole as well.

Angel's seafood round.

Her second round was seafood themed. Fried fish and chowder and something called 'okra' which looked and smelled like a slimy mollusk or mussel of some kind, though she insisted it was a vegetable. Sure, whatever.
Adam came back with more chicken, something he was quite happy with. 'Bourbon Chicken' he called it. Angel said she'd liked it as well.
My second round included chili. They had a big steaming, meaty pot of it at the soup bar. I found a bowl and spoon and ladled in just a little bit. I was almost full and didn't want to waste a lot, I just wanted to taste it. I spotted some cheesy garlic biscuits, the bourbon chicken, a small fried chicken leg and apple pie. Just a little of each.
The chili was quite good, a little sweeter than Wendy's but otherwise quite similar. I like Wendy's chili a lot.

My eclectic second (last) round.

The pie was pretty good, but not awesome. The bourbon chicken was smoky and lightly sweet. I agreed with Adam and Angel, pretty darn good. The roll was similar to Red Lobster's but maybe a little heavier. All of the food was quite satisfying. The only disappointment around the table was that the lady guarding the chocolate fountain would not let Angel dunk her gummy bears. We don't know why, it's apparently just some sort of arbitrary fascist policy.
 Summary:
I started this week's review by saying it would be a comparison of the now-closed Ryan's to this place. Though they offered similar fare, there was hardly a comparison other than that. The Corral had more variety and all of the food was prepared just a little better. Often at Ryan's there were throw-always, things that looked good but didn't quite measure up. I had essentially the same food at the Corral that I'd recently had at Ryan's. The winner was clear, it wasn't even close. We paid almost exactly the same, just under forty five dollars, but the quality difference was night and day. Adam spoke highly of the quality and variety as well, that says a lot. I won't miss Ryan's much, the Corral is a slightly longer drive, but not prohibitively so. The archers of Farristown seemed pleased as well, they were still lining up for seconds and thirds as we left.


 

Ruby Tuesday’s

1120 Shapiro Dr.

Festus, Mo

Last minute choice.

It was Sunday, I’d just awoken from a heavy, fitful nap. My mind was a bit fuzzy, it had been all day. I suffer from a common disease called "career IT system administrator". The side effects are occasional bouts of sleepless nights and long weekends. IT system admins can only work on big, important systems when the actual users are not using them. This weekend was a scheduled task, to move a  big, important server from one piece of hardware to another. Lots and lots of details, lots and lots of things that can go wrong, and of course we couldn’t start the six hour or more task until Saturday at five P.M. Knowing this ahead of time we lunched on Saturday at our newly-discovered favorite place, Cool Beans Java Cafe in Hillsboro. We had their barbecue steak sandwich on pretzel bread. Awesome good.
The server move went fairly well, I work with experienced pros, but it still took a long time. I drove in to the workplace to speed up the process, my home internet connection is not really ideal for real-time support for many things. Driving in actually saved time and frustration. We finished about eleven thirty, I got home after midnight.

Going straight to bed wasn’t really an option, so I had a snack, watched a little TV and popped the cork on a new box of wine to wind down.

I got to bed about two A.M. which, if I were still in my twenties, would not have been a problem, but surprisingly, aging has affected my tolerance to lack of sleep and even disturbances in sleep patterns.

Sunday started late and was, in my head, foggy. I managed to take care of some chores, mechanically, one of those days were I went to Walmart with a short list and returned with only those things on the list. This is rare. I mean, it’s Walmart.

I got home and took that nap. I woke up with a headache and still fuzzy. It was like I’d flown to Japan. Getting old sucks.

The Place:

Near the Lowes, overlooking I-55.

It was pretty busy, always is. A large group in front of us got seated before we did. We were led to the left of the salad bar. Several families were seated and in various stages of their meals. Directly across from us was a young mother and father with three small kids. One of the boys was jumping  up and down in his seat, something his mother scolded and begged him to stop, only to be rebuked with a nasty “No!” from the little snot-nosed brat. This went on for a while. I was able to tune it out. On this day tuning most things out was not my problem. Tuning them in was difficult.

We scanned the menus, I wasn’t looking for anything new or adventurous, so I pretty much stuck with the same thing I usually get.

The Food:

Angel was in a mood to try something different. We scanned the menus, me not really paying much attention, just checking to see if the petit sirloin was still available. It was, and for a couple of extra bucks they’d add a lobster tail.

“Have you decided what you want with your salad?” Angel asked the table.

The salad bar at RT’s was a forgone conclusion. It’s the reason I was after a ‘petit’ steak. RT has the best salad bar in the known universe. It’s always freshly stocked with dozens of options. My only complaint about it is that the plates are too small.

We ordered our drinks, tea, Diet Coke and Coke. They arrived with luscious cheesy biscuits, another reason to go there. The tea was fresh and clear, it actually had flavor. RT’s usually makes good tea, not always, but usually, this was a good night.

I ordered my petit steak and lobster tail, with the salad bar and a side of mashed potatoes. Angel surprised me by asking for the French Quarter Gumbo, a dish that is apparently related to New Orleans cuisine.

I’ve been to New Orleans, had some Gumbo, I don’t think I’ve ever asked for it again. It’s just not my thing.

Adam ordered the Asiago Sirloin Steak with green beans and mashed potatoes. No salad bar for him, though it was guaranteed that he would be caught filching  those dark croutons off his mother’s plate. She always gets extra croutons because she knows she’ll be sharing them.

So we dashed to the salad bar, once again it did not disappoint. I piled my little plate high and slopped on some dressing. Angel did the same.

We sat back down and dug in. The little boy next to us was acting up again. His mother was explaining to him that they would be going to bed early since they were up so late the night before and had not napped. “No kidding.” I thought. The little boy screamed ‘No!’ a few more times, so she kept debating him.

The salads and biscuits hit the spot, we had time to finish, or surrender, a few minutes ahead of the main courses. RT doesn’t always get this part right, the timing of the courses, but this night they were spot-on.

The small  plate with my steak and lobster tail and mashed potatoes was clean  and sparse. I didn’t mind, I don’t need a lot of garnish and flourish.

Angel’s gumbo came on a larger plate and looked just like gumbo. Adam’s steak was larger than mine, but size isn’t everything.

Angel snorted her plate in an attempt to clear her sinuses. I carved into the steak and thought it a little tough, or maybe they just gave me a dull knife.

No, it was tough.

The lobster was tough too. You just can’t get a properly fresh and cooked lobster in the heartland. I knew it would be overcooked when I ordered it, it always is and not just at Ruby’s. Red Lobsters in the area can’t even cook lobster right. The thing was though, I wanted the taste of lobster regardless, even a chewy one. An overcooked, chewy lobster is still a lot better than no lobster. Lobster is kind of like sex that way.

I only finished about two thirds of my small steak, it was just too tough. The lobster only had about four bites in it, so I finished that, and the mashed potatoes were really good.

Angel had to give up on her gumbo, too spicy after a while, also she claimed to have lost some of her appetite when the mom at the next table kept asking the rowdy little boy if he was pooping.

Summary:

We had a coupon so our meal was ten dollars cheaper than it could have been, coming in at forty seven bucks.

The service was all pleasant and efficient and timely. As a dining experience except for the family at the next table, it was exceptional. The food was pretty good, well the steak was too tough, but the first few bites were good.

The salad bar, of course, makes it all better. Why we don’t just order a salad bar and biscuits and be done with it, I’m not sure.

Munzert’s

10857 Business 21
Hillsboro, Mo.

The Place:

Munzert’s faces the afternoon sun. The door handle was hot to the touch, enough so that I almost let go of it rather than holding it open for my slow moving family. I suffered through it though.

The parking lot was only sparsely populated and as we entered I saw only one other couple in the dining area. To the left was the bar, a few people sitting quietly. Overhead a flat screen was showing an Olympic soccer match. I don’t know if you know about this sport, I thought it was a kids game, or rather an excuse to take your kid somewhere and let him run up and down a field until he tires out so you can then go home and take a quiet nap. Apparently though, some adults play the game as well, mostly overseas. I’m not sure why, the game is as about as interesting as watching kids run up and down a field to tire them out.

Maya

The sun would have been baking the interior of the joint had they not had dark Venetian mini-blinds closed tightly above the tables. So even though the sun was bright and hot, the interior of the place was quite dark.

We were seated at one of the windows in a booth. The hostess was sweet and polite, a waitress handed us menus.

I didn’t take long. I’d built up an appetite earlier in the day during a failed quest to find a simple, yet non-existent plumbing fixture, followed by an afternoon of defending an on-line political statement I’d made in frustration.

Angel had a full house of dogs, including three Great Danes and an adorable and lovable new client, Maya, a brindle Bull Terrier. Not a pit bull, Bull Terriers have an egg-shaped head and small triangular eyes. A Pit Bull, with its wide, square head is closer to a Staffordshire Terrier.

Overhead music played, 60’s stuff, Beatles, Motown, etc. I’m not a huge fan of 60’s music, though it is much more tolerable than country or anything contemporary currently playing on radio stations anywhere.

The selection process was quick and by the time the waitress served our drinks, tea, tea and Coke, we were ready to order. I jumped in first.

The Food:

A ten ounce New York strip and German fries for me. As for salad I picked the dinner version, with Thousand Island dressing.

Dinner salad

Angel, was hovering somewhere between a steak and the fried chicken, finally landing on the chicken. She opted for the Caesar salad, mashed potatoes and gravy. She said she’d prefer the German fries, but they didn’t come with gravy.

Adam picked the peppercorn strip steak, mashed potatoes and the Caesar salad.

As we waited for the salads we each played with our phones. Angel and Adam debated the strategies of a connect-the-dot game they’d been playing, I was just trying to get my phone to turn on.

The tea was cloudy and not exactly fresh, but it was wet and cold. The salads arrived in about the right amount of time.

Steak, German fries.

The salads looked fresh and bright, though mine was a bit skimpy on the tomato front. Two small tomato chunks, that’s all. Other than that it was quite good.

A few minutes, but only a few, passed between the salads and the main course. They did not deliver one course on top of the other as did Cracker Barrel a couple of weeks back. Bobby’s been in the restaurant business for several decades and knows better than to rush customers through.

The potatoes were served in small bowls on the larger plates. My steak, sizzling, with deep, dark grill marks was starting to let loose of it’s inner moisture, I didn’t want to waste that luscious stuff so I dumped my bowl of potatoes onto the plate.

German Fries are large chunks of skillet-fried potatoes with lots of onions. I’ve never had them anywhere else, but I absolutely love them. Even with soaking up the steak drippings they did not get mushy.

Chicken, mashed potatoes.

My knife glided trough the grilled pink meat just like a knife is supposed to. Take note Cracker Barrel, steak knives should be able to slice things, like, say for example, a steak. The first bites were heavenly, I had several before I even noticed the rolls.

Long, firm bread, still warm. The butter was in individually foil-wrapped tabs, frozen.

I don’t like frozen butter, warm rolls are never warm enough to melt an iceberg. Fix that will ya’ Bobby?

The family dived in to their meals. Angels’ first three pieces of chicken were quickly converted into a growing pile of bones, Adam’s steak disappeared rather quickly as well. Primal, grunting, animal noises and knives scrapping plates were the only sounds from our table for several minutes.

Peppercorn Steak

Angel stopped before the fourth and final piece of chicken, she surrendered. I  looked at my steak, three quarters gone and decided to stop as well. I had an idea for breakfast, thin slicing the remaining steak along with some fried chopped potatoes and scrambled eggs.

Adam all but finished his, saving the last few bites for the box.

We were stuffed, and we all laughed when the waitress offered us cheesecake or carrot cake.

Summary:

In the few times we’ve been to Munzert’s we’ve learned this much. Bobby makes an excellent steak as well as some fine fried chicken. We were not disappointed this time either. Except for the cloudy tea, and the too-few tomatoes and the frozen butter, that’s really all the criticism we could muster.

“Yum, good as always!” Angel noted

“Good, I knew it would be, I’ve had it before.” Adam added.
And there you have it, about as good a review as it gets. No surprises, no mysteries, just a fine, well-prepared and satisfying meal.

At just over fifty dollars, this is certainly not the cheapest meal in Hillsboro, but it may be the best.