Zoup!

810 North New Ballas Court
Creve Coeur, MO.

On the web.

Yeah, 'Zoup!'. Sounds like. . . and that's what it is. If I had to compare it to  a place you've heard of, I'd say it has a menu similar to Panera/St. Louis Bread Company, with not as much bread.
Yes, you can get a bread  bowl for your zoup!, if that is what you are into. I didn't since it sounded like a soup sandwich and my head spun from the mental image of that.
I don't usually go to lunch with the folks at work, I've mentioned that before. My weekday lunch regimen is a bit non-conventional. Fruits and nuts. That's all, fruits and nuts and not really a lot of that.
I eat just enough in the morning to sustain me through lunchtime. Then the fruit and nuts not only kick me into a higher gear, they fill me up. This odd diet allows me to easily avoid whatever temptations might be available, cakes, bagels, leftover pizza, a vending machine full of salty and sweet snacks.
Thursday morning though, the lite breakfast wasn't doing its normal job. By ten my tummy was growling, I was actually looking forward to the chimpanzee meal around noon.
One of my co-workers, one whose name I will not reveal (OWNIWNR) stopped by my desk-kingdom and asked if I'd like to try a new place he'd found. "A little soup and sandwich place I see on my way to work." He'd never been there, neither had another co-worker, who I'll refer to, once again, as 'Tim'.
I heard my tummy gurgle again and surprised myself a little by saying "Sure."
We rode over in OWNIWNR's relatively new car, outfitted with more on-board computers and displays than could be found at NASA during the Apollo program.
I worried a little about what I might order, but decided the worst case scenario would only mean one minor, reversible, backslide for the week.
The drive to Zoup! was not long, seven or eight minutes. During the run I distracted OWNIWNR by mentioning the Cleveland Indians heading to the World Series. He likes sports, he claims his family bleeds Cardinals Red. Indeed he once showed me a paving brick at Busch Stadium with his name on it. At the time I offered to take him to the downtown bus station where, for reasons I cannot at all explain, he could see my name and phone number on a wall. (no one ever seems to call though).
I'd heard about the Indians earlier on my drive in to work. It was about the only sports news presented on NPR, between the sad and increasingly pathetic fund raising pleas on this the last day of the autumn drive.
I remembered it because I'd not heard anything about the Cleveland Indians since the movie 'Major League' came out on DVD. In fact, all I really know about that team is from that movie. "Is Charlie Sheen still pitching?" I asked him.
The Place:
Zoup! is on one side of a busy shopping center. Which one, I don't recall. I don't really explore much
around the workplace, the traffic is thick and restless in that area during the day.
We walked in timidly, like the first-timers we were. The serving line was in the back. The front had window counter seating allowing patrons (Zoupers!?) the intoxicating vistas of a shopping center parking lot. Between the window and the line were nice, but fairly standard tables and chairs.
The place seemed clean and well tended.
There was a line, but not an insurmountable one. That's a nice aspect of limited menu places. Since they only offer so many things, the line moves quickly.
We stepped up.
The menu was on the wall behind the line. Wow, lots of zoups! The place boasts a rotating zoup! menu, which means not the same choices everyday. I like that idea. I could see the big vats steaming. There were about three that I figured I could be happy with. A turkey chili, a zoup! called chicken Potpie and a 'Seafood Chowder'
I would have preferred a bit more specificity than 'Seafood'. That could mean a lot of things. I like some, shrimp, scallops, crab, lobster, but don't want anything to do with oysters or clams. (snotfish)
But no worries first-timers, they offer free samples!
Just about everyone in line was asking for a sample or two. It gave me a chance to check out the seafood. Tim was tasting the Potato Cheddar, I'd ask him about it later. This is the same guy that recommended One19 last week so I sort of trust his food judgement a little.

The Food:

The salad selection looked more than adequate, with a Cob, a house and a few other specialty salads. They also had a reasonably good sized sandwich menu, which I ignored. If I have a sandwich, any sandwich, for lunch, I'm bloat-y and snoozing by 2 P.M.
I couldn't hear what OWNIWNR ordered, it turned out to be zoup! and a sandwich.
The zoup! comes in various sizes. 'Side', cup and bowl. After evaluating a sample, I decided that the seafood chowder was the way to go.
Apparently a chunk of bread comes with the zoup! order, I declined. Just the soup and a small drink please.
The serving line was filled with perfectly friendly and helpful people. Even the checkout lady didn't yell at me.
The price knocked me back a step. Ten bucks and change for a bowl of soup and a small drink, period. Not that I can't afford that, but it did seem a bit pricey for a small lunch. Heck, my own version of lunch costs me about seventy five cents per day.
It occurred to me why I was hungrier than usual. During the week, dinner, or supper, is my largest meal of the day. Even that is not really all that big. I usually pile on the whole meal in one of the smaller plates in a set. If you eat the right things you don't need as much. Also, my job doesn't exactly burn off a lot of calories, that's why I have to limit and regulate myself so closely if I want to maintain my girlish, but strikingly handsome figure.
However the evening prior to the gurgling tummy, I'd only had a thin lunch meat sandwich and a tennis ball-sized apple. Nothing else the whole evening.
Hopefully the chowder would do the trick.
We were rung up and handed receipts, mine was #97.
It doesn't take a long time to prepare an order at a soup place, so I had barely enough time to sit down and take a sip of the surprisingly fresh tea when they screamed out my order number.
A tray, a paper bowl and a plastic spoon. Sort of Spartan, but the bowl actually looked to me like way too much.
The sample I'd had didn't seem to contain any of the detestable snotfish I'd feared. Stirring around the semi-thick, creamy and buttery chowder I spied chopped shrimp, crab and fish. If it had snotfish in it, it was ground to a pulp and was undetectable.
It was not so thick that it would hold a spoon upright, but definitely thicker than Campbell's Cream of Celery, which is my go-to soup base at home.
The tastes were fantastic. I could indeed taste the crab and the shrimp. It was not nearly as heavy as some chowders I've had, which was a good thing.
The conversation was sporadic, we'd exhausted my sports knowledge with the bit about the Indians and OWNIWNR knew that Tim and I don't really follow sports. Tim enjoys playing with science fiction action figures and reading and collecting Archie comics, if I remember correctly. He's also teaching his young twin offspring how to play vintage Dungeons and Dragons. Yeah, he's one of those, I think.
So we talked about pension plans, IRA's and limited retirement options. Had the lunch lasted longer we would surely have started swirling into talking about aging issues, diseases and surgeries and the like. It always happens when you hang for long with a few gents of a certain age range.
As a meal, it was very tasty, quite satisfying and held up nicely throughout the afternoon. I did have to take a 2 P.M. anti-snooze walk, but that's not uncommon.
Summary:
A nice little place, convenient to work, quick enough to feed you with a little time to spare to get back to the cubes before managers start yelling. The staff was very pleasant, I saw no service infractions, no back-ups or mishaps. The price was a bit higher than I had assumed, but be advised, not all the zoups! are priced the same. Seafood was about the priciest on the list. OWNIWNR's two-fer, Potpie zoup! and Chicken Toscana  sandwich, ended up costing him over fourteen dollars since he'd up-sized from a 'side' zoup! to a bowl. But it was "Very good" and certainly worth going back for. He added "With a few minor tweaks it would bee a serious contender with Panera." The zoup! was, all around the table, very good. Tim's potato cheddar was according to him, "Awesome." Yeah, he talks like that.
Though higher priced than I'd expected, that would only be a real problem if I ate there frequently. But alas, I'll mostly stick to my own berries, twigs and seeds most of the time.
So if you're looking for a quick, great quality meal and you are in the general area, be sure to give it a shot!

Battle: Fish Sandwich! Hardee's vs Arby's , etc.

Main Street Cafe
902 N. Truman Blvd
Crystal City, Mo.

Well, several things happened this week related to the search for a decent fish sandwich. First and most important, Angel has seceded from the quest; "I want something decent to eat this weekend." was her declaration of rebellion.
As if that would stop me. Her loss. So this weekend I took her out to a place of her choice. (but only after she tried another fish sandwich, more on that later.)
One of my Facebook and IRL friends Anne and her husband Clarkson have been after me for years to try Main Street Cafe in Crystal City. I just never got around to it. Clarkson's last prod, in a comment to my Eat and Critique Update post about this majestic journey was something like "You need to try the Fish Sandwiches at Main Street Cafe. Anne sez they are pretty good." I was shocked, truly, truly stunned. Clarkson is a very, very smart guy, he's married to a writer and they are Methodists, surely he knows how to correctly spell the word 'says'.
That egregious error aside, he was right, I really did need to try a fish sandwich at some greasy fried chicken and breakfast place where all the high-haired waitresses smack gum and call you 'Hon'.
No seriously, he reminded me that I'd been promising to check this place out for a long time, It was the perfect thing to do. Especially if I was going to be alone.
So Saturday morning came and I'd lined up a series of Festus/Crystal City chores like Lowes, and Books Galore, a great, dare I say phenomenal, used book store. I can always find a stack of books there. I read a lot, I am constantly need of a fix.
So lunch it was. I'd still take Angel for her palate cleansing steak later in the evening at Bistro on The Square in Desoto.
The Place:
I pulled in promptly at 11. I opened the door to see a place that was literally (I don't actually mean that) twice the size on the inside as it was on the outside. It was also packed. I spotted only a couple of empty tables and one of those looked only recently vacated.
The hostess greeted me and asked if I was lonely. . . or something like that. I had fallen distractedly in love with her accent in just the few words she'd said.
I easily fall in love with certain accents. To hear familiar words with a foreign lilt and meter  is like music to me. Well, actually music doesn't do much for me, but it's like what I hear music is for most people.
She said little else, she didn't need to, I was a slave to her bidding, and she showed me to an empty four top that I immediately felt guilty for accepting since I was dining lonely. She left me there after asking me what drink she could slather all over me. . . or something. I answered "Unsweet tea." That seemed to please her but she actually punished me by saying no more.
I couldn't quite decipher the source of the accent. It sounded a little Eastern European, but not, It wasn't Italian or Spanish, I couldn't quite figure it out. She appeared to have some Mediterranean features, coal black hair, angular face. . but no, I couldn't really tell from that either.
Soon, another, older lady brought my tea and asked for my order, in that same haunting, enchanting accent.
I asked her about it after I'd ordered my food.
"Turkish." was the surprise answer. "I love it!" I stupidly replied.
This made her smile and she thanked me in that delightful accent.
I'd go back to this place, even if they poisoned me or worse, fed me broccoli, just to hear these ladies talk again.
The Food:
Okay, so I ordered my fish sandwich, noticing that Main Street's (Which curiously is not on Main

Street*) version cost only a little more than the crap-wiches we'd had at those fast food places.
I'd been told in the past, mostly by Clarkson, that they have great breakfasts there. Looking around that must have been true, more than half the people dining were still breakfasting, at 11 in the morning.
Before long, the older of the two ladies brought out my plate. I broke a tip off the fish, yeah, steaming, singeing hot on the inside, best to wait a few minutes. Breaded and fried fish is like that.
I poured a puddle of ketchup alongside the golden fries. Angel always squirts lines of the red sauce directly and unevenly on top of them. This is one of our irreconcilable differences that will certainly come to a head in the future, forever fracturing the family unit.
The fries were very good. Crispy and left in the fryer for a moment or two longer than most places would. It also insures that they are all cooked through.

The fillet was huge, it looked to be a full side of fish. It extended beyond the ends of the standard hoagie roll. The fit was good otherwise though. I pinched off another bit and decided it was starting to cool off enough as to not be dangerous anymore. I went ahead and cut the massive sandwich. This made two sandwiches each roughly the size as the full sandwiches we'd tried to date. I wasn't going to finish both, not with that massive pile of luscious fries laying there begging me to finish them off. I added the lettuce leaf, which was an option, not standard equipment, when ordered. I had noticed the tartar was quite chunky with relish, perhaps house made. There was plenty of it as well, served on the side in a sealed condiment container. My first bite into the sandwich (half) as a whole was very nice. I could taste a bit of corn meal in the batter, the fish itself was flaky, hot and very tender. It had flavor. Not as mighty as my beloved catfish, but quite satisfactory. Angel would be jealous, if she actually cared at all about accomplishing glorious feats.
Summary:
The place did not empty out while I was there, in fact, a small waiting line formed at the entry. One party even sent in a scout. I watched the middle aged man come in tentatively and sort of take the measure of the dining area. He finally seemed satisfied and peeked out the front door and gestured as if to give the all clear. The man that eventually came in behind him was older, perhaps the first man's father. I recall him because the elder man reminded me very much of the older gentleman farmers that came to our church when I was a kid. This man had a full head of wavy silver hair and a matching full beard. Not a timid goatee, I'm talking full ZZ Top. He wore a tidy button down shirt, tucked neatly into his jeans which were held on this thin rail of a man by a leather belt, pulled up roughly to nipple level. I'm going to do exactly that once I'm old(er).
The crowd was eclectic, there were families, groups, couples and singles. Young, old, etc. The one thing they had in common was they all knew where to get a decent meal in this village.
I'm really sorry I haven't tried Main Street Cafe sooner. I would have gone more often, perhaps I will now. The food I had and the food I saw being served all seemed top notch. The staff was large, sufficient, attentive and productive. My Turkish ladies seemed professional, yet friendly and approachable.
As I said earlier, I only ate half of the sandwich and less than half of the fries. The portions were enormous. I can't eat an entire American diner style meal, there's just too much food for this minuscule nugget of a man. Frankly though, too much food is about the best kind of problem to have.
When I got home Angel was in her comfy chair, eating, believe it or not, some of the frozen fish sticks from that box I took the picture of a few weeks ago. I showed her the half sandwich and fries in the take-out box. She took it, she ate it. . . all. Every bit of the fish sandwich that she'd said she wanted no more of. Yes, she liked it.


* It used to be on Main Street, but that location burned down a few years back.




Culver's
123 Richardson Crossing
Arnold, Mo.
On the web

When I first posted 'Battle; Fish Sandwich! I received a comment on a Social Media posting that said

she preferred the fish sandwich at Culver's.
Culver's is a Wisconsin based chain of burger and frozen custard restaurants. There's a few of them scattered around St. Louis, a couple in Springfield, Mo, thirteen in Kentucky and none in Maryland.
We reviewed Culver's (Fenton) a few years back and thought pretty good of the experience.
This time though it was for Battle: Fish Sandwich!
     If you didn't catch the original Battle Post, you can find it below in its entirety.
The Place:
I don't like navigating Arnold, the roads there simply make no sense. We were meeting Adam at the store. Adam works nights at a large discount super-store in Arnold. He moved into his own apartment just north of there a couple of months ago. He wouldn't be having the fish, he doesn't like seafood, or most food for that matter.
Culver's colors are bright blue and white, a very clean looking combination.The inside sparkles with these colors. The young men behind the counter were wearing aprons and neckties. Culvers' likes to exude that wholesome, productive and clean living atmosphere.
The place was buzzing with people, more than one might expect for an early Sunday evening.
Angel ordered our fish baskets at the counter, Adam asked for a bacon butter burger. (Wisconsin, remember? All things dairy.
I found a booth that had just been cleaned up by a busy young lady.
We had our drinks, tea, sweet tea and some form of soda pop. I was quite impressed by the tea. For a 'fast food' type place it was quite fresh and dark.
The Food:

The baskets were brought out by another lady, we had a number, she found us without any trouble. I then recalled the crinkle fries.
Crinkle is a tough style of fry to get right. They are thick and this makes the deep fryer a risky option. It's very easy to cook them too high and not long enough. They come out starchy that way. But when they are done correctly, the taste/texture combination is delightful.
The first thing I noticed about the sandwich nearly sent me into a spontaneous standing ovation. The bun was roughly the same size and shape as the fish.
I opened it up for a quick examination. Shredded lettuce, shredded cheddar cheese (Wisconsin), tartar sauce as paste, and a light fried batter coating on a thick piece of cod. To the eye and to the things we've observed about various fish sandwiches, all good so far.
Angel yelped at her first bite, too hot. I held off and enjoyed the perfectly cooked crinkle fries for a few moments. It was still really hot when I did bite into it.
I had trouble forming an opinion. It was all right, the buttered bun the lettuce, the fish coating. . . about three or four bites in though, Angel stated her her mind:"Flaky and boring."
She was right, at least about the flaky part. Fish should flake off, this fillet was perfectly cooked. She was also disappointingly correct, there was virtually no flavor to the fish itself.
I tried and tried, but I could not get excited or happy about this beautiful thing. "There's not even enough salt on the fish." Angel added. Even the tartar sauce was nearly tasteless. The batter didn't even have much flavor. Not bad, the fish or the tartar sauce, but not really good either. It was like a boring movie following a fantastic theme song.
When Adam asked Angel to rate it  against the others, she shocked me. "It's better than Arby's."
Gulp! (Spoiler alert: Arby's was the worst of the previously reviewed sandwiches.)
She added that she still preferred McDonalds'.
Arrggh! This is going to be a lot tougher than I thought.
Summary:
I can't agree that McDonalds is better than Culver's at making a fish sandwich. Well, I could, but I won't. The hardest thing to swallow about Culver's offering is that it cost 30% more than the other places. The extra $$$ bought us nothing really, at all.




The Beginning:
That's right, two fast food joints. The very sort of establishment that I've repeatedly said I was going to stop going to. But this was special, it was also Angel's idea.
We've both been seeing signs and ads from these two places in particular about 'new' fish sandwiches. I used to like Burger King's version until a few years ago when they changed something. I don't recall what exactly, but I didn't like it. I don't like McDonald's fish, because. . . McDonalds. Well, that and they put a slice of cheese on theirs. Any novice gourmand will tell you, fish and cheese do not go together, even if the squished fish patty on the bun is made pretty much the same way particle board is, and the cheese is actually 'pasteurized, prepared cheese product'.
But Hardee's and Arby's are about a third of a notch better, all around, than McDonalds.

The Place: Hardee's, Hillsboro, Mo.
I don't have to be more specific about the location. Drive into Hillsboro, it's on the corner. I shouldn't have to describe it either, if you don't know what a Hardee's (or Carl's Junior in the south and southwest) looks like, then you are simply not doing America correctly.
The Hillsboro franchise is pretty much a local institution. As it is near the courthouse, which is pretty much the only industry in town, which means at any time of day you could come across lawyers, politicians, bureaucrats, realtors, deputies, bail bondsmen, jurors and folks preparing for trial.
It's very visible location also makes it a great place to meet someone from out of town or an exchange place, be it kids, or dogs.
Angel does that quite often, she'll meet people driving up from the shelter she works with and trades out foster dogs, or picks up dogs to be delivered further up the road. Hardee's doesn't seem to mind all this other stuff going on in their more than ample and easily accessible parking lot.
We don't go to Hardee's much any more. Not since we started eating better food anyhow. They have good coffee and free Wifi though.
The Food.
Fish sandwich combo, regular fries and drink. We both opted for tea. Angel ordered and paid, I filled

up three ketchup tubs. There was no one else in the place (this didn't change either) so we had our choice of seats. Angel picked one near the back, apparently arbitrarily.
Shortly, a young lady brought out our order of fish tacos and tortilla chips.
Yeah, the only customers, eating the same thing, and they misfired.
The lady was very apologetic even though we weren't really that bothered about the mistake. When we ordered, there was a clinger, a middle aged man just chatting up the lady at the register, going on and on about fish tacos. . .  easy enough to make a mistake.
Shortly the lady returned with our sandwiches and a fresh new batch of apologies.
We assured her that no one was killed or maimed because of her much less than egregious error, so it was no big deal. It really wasn't.

I looked down at my basket, then up to the poster in the window, then back again. "One of these things is not like the other."  I mean, look at that poster. A thick golden patty with dark green lettuce peeking out and thick, oozy tartar sauce slathered on.
The one in front of me looked tiny, pale and flaccid to me. (no jokes please)  The bun was much thinner than the one on the poster, it was already deflating under its own lack of heft. The lettuce was pale, nearly transparent and tasted exactly like the paper wrapper provided. It also was the stupidest component of the sandwich. It added no taste, not very much nutrition at all, and a very meek texture as well. Worse, it acted as a built-in Slip 'N Slide* for the fish. I eventually had to yank the puny, limp greenery out of the sandwich just to be able to finish the meal. The tartar sauce was also puny. I barely noticed it was

Actual  Hardee's print ad.
Notice a difference?

there at all. It sure wasn't chunky like the stuff on the poster. The sandwich, even without the lettuce, was designed by a committee, as the saying goes. The bun was round, the filet was sharply triangular. The fish stuck out a lot on both ends and there was quite a bit of bun with nothing between it. The bun itself was fragile, it nearly disintegrated just trying to do its one job. I don't like big thick, heavy buns, but I do prefer something adequate for the job at hand. The fish itself was pretty good, not great, and the breading, advertised as 'beer batter' had no real taste at all, especially of beer. The fries were decent, dirty-style (un-peeled) which I like. Too much salt though. Most fast food places salt their fries way too much. After all there's a shaker on every table if someone wants more.
Angel's assessment: "Not my favorite fish sandwich." And "It's the wrong shape."


The Place:
Arby's
690 S. Truman Blvd.
Festus, Mo.

We were going to go to both places in one weekend. However, that Sunday happened to fall on Easter, which is apparently a holiday. We had to wait a week.
It's at the intersection of Truman and Veterans boulevards. Head to Walmart, you'll see it.
   This Arby's won a past contest, the roast beef sandwich comparison with Lion's Choice. This was a very unpopular victory, at least as seen in the comments, the family friendly ones that I allowed to be posted anyhow. That contest has been, by far, my most popular blog entry to date. Lion's choice is a regional favorite, Arby's is an international fast food giant. Sorry locals, Arby's simply won that battle.
How about this time?  The level of difficulty is the same as for Hardee's. Fish sandwiches are not their flagship. It's even kind of difficult to find it on the menu boards. At Arby's we even had to ask if they had it.
We ordered the same thing, regular combos, medium fries and drink. One difference, Arby's has seasoned curly fries.
Inside, the interior looked less like a Burger King or McD's and more like a Panera. Not so plastic and rigid in layout. Really kind of nice. High ceilings, wooden chairs, textured ceramic tile, with plenty of room between the tables. We placed our order and picked one near the back.
As with Hardee's the previous Saturday, we were the only customers when we went in. The staff stayed busy though sweeping the dining area, etc. One young man behind the counter had set up a small step ladder and was pouring goop into the ice cream machine.
The Food:
It didn't take long, they called Angel's name and she fetched the tray. The curly fries looked very tempting. I like seasoned curly fries pretty well, except for the ones that got all tangled together and came out of the fryer as a wad more than a curl.
The sandwiches were wrapped in paper, which we quickly disposed of.
Immediately noticeable was the higher quality bun. Sesame seeded, a little larger and thicker than the generic/bargain bun at Hardee's However, the 'fillet' looked identical, that odd narrow, isosceles triangle shape. Which of course meant it did not fit well on the round bun either. It was prettier though. I popped the top to see what was there. Tartar sauce, check. Lettuce, shredded. Hmm, that's a better way to do it, I thought inside my head. The Hardee's Slip 'N Slide lettuce method was a complete fail.

This lettuce was sort of bound together with the Tartar, and pasted to the bun. There wasn't a lot of lettuce, but they had a winning technique. There was no slippage with this sandwich.
But the accolades stop there. I decided that my first bite would be the tiny exposed point of the triangle, just fish.
A breaded, fried flip-flop. 'Rubbery' was the exact word that popped quietly into my head. Well, this was the tiny end, it always cooks faster, the whispering other voice in my head said to me. Not the shrieking one, I don't really pay much attention to that one, this was the slow, calm Canadian accented voice that I listen too most often.
So I took a bite of the fat end. No better. The word 'flaky did not enter my brain as it should when eating fish. Dry, rubbery, no good. A nicer bun, a prettier sandwich, better lettuce technique just don't matter if the fish is wrong, wrong, wrong.
I waited for Angel's assessment. I tried to read her face as she ate but she hates it when I stare at her when she's eating. . . or sleeping. . . or watching TV. . . okay, she always hates it when I stare at her. I can't read expressions well anyhow, so I waited for words.
"Dry, they've been sitting. It's like they cooked them yesterday then nuked them today."
Her sandwich, like mine, went largely unfinished. "I'm not going to waste calories eating something that just isn't any good. This just means I can have a doughnut with my coffee later."  (I refer to this  as Angel's Law of Compensatory Nutritional Math.**  Her theories on food also include gems like "Anything eaten while drinking wine doesn't count." and  "I need to finish this bag of cookies/cake/candy today else I'll be snacking on it all week.")
The next day we were still going on abut how bad it was. "Angel offered: "I don't think the word flaky could possibly be used when describing it, and 'flaky is exactly the thing fish should be."
Then she said something that stirred the demons in me: "Even McDonalds squished fish patty on a bun is a lot better than Arby's."
I made growling, rumbling noises, spat out a toxic curse or two, contemplated violence against small animals, vegetables and minerals.
"When's the last time you had one from McD's?" she dared ask.
Gauntlet thrown.

Bonus review! No extra charge!
The Place:
McDonald's
Hillsboro Mo.

Yeah, I know, but I had to see for myself. I had to be objective.
I won't describe it much, it's a McD's. Complete with elderly people drinking cheap, but decent coffee, at all times of the day. On this day there was a couple of senior ladies sipping coffee and playing Skip-Bo. Angel ordered two 'number 8's.' Fish sandwich, medium fries, medium drinks.
The Food:
We waited several minutes before a young man brought the tray out and delivered it to a baffled couple of senior ladies playing Skip-Bo. I waved my hand hand and called out something. . . I don't recall what. He handed it over to us.
"Oh goody, it Monopoly time again!" Angel shrieked. We peeled stickers, I won a free burger of some kind. I slid it over to Angel.
The fries were McD's traditional, which I've never been as big a fan of as many people. They tasted freezer burned to me.
The sandwich at least looked like the images in the ads. The bun looked artificial, almost too perfect in brown-ness and shape.  There was also the tell-tale sign of McD's fish sandwich, the American cheese.  To my satisfaction the fish patty was square and roughly the same size as the bun. Points! However, in assembly, my patty was offset a bit and sealed into that position by melted pasteurized processed cheese product.  I opened it up to take stock. yup, fish, cheese and a lot of Tartar-like sauce. No lettuce, not a

problem because I'd noted that lettuce added little to the fish sandwich experience. But that cheese. I can't imagine why they want to put cheese on a fish sandwich. Aside from a clash of tastes, it disrupted my sandwich mechanically.
As for taste, it was nostalgic. It reminded me of every school cafeteria fish sandwich I'd ever had. It was not awful, it was. . . generic.
"I like them because they are not very big." Angel quipped. A valid point. In this age of mile high, nearly-a-pound burgers, a smaller, lighter choice is a very good thing. Sure, it's not an actual fillet, and I'm pretty sure no sea life you've ever heard of was harmed making this thing, but it was closer to my fish sandwich memories than either of the other places.


Summary:
The price at all three places differed by only fifty cents, around twelve dollars. McD's was actually the most pricey. Arby's and Hardee's were using a higher quality seafood, they should be able to beat McD's hands down,  with their eyes closed. But they didn't. Arby's completely ruined it. They should revoke Arby's license to cook fish or fish byproducts completely.
Hardee's offering was at best after-thought-ish. They could bring this thing to the front row of the menu with just a tweak or two,  but they won't ever do it, no one ever listens to me. Meanwhile, McD's squished fish patty of unknown origin on a fake looking bun, served the same as it has been served for decades, actually seemed good in comparison.
"I like it because I know it will always be the same, hot and smothered with Tartar sauce."
Is that important? Consistency over quality? Well, that is actually the apparent McDonalds business model, cheap food, exactly the same wherever you are. Being as they are the biggest, most successful fast food company, I guess they know the customer.
Overall though, I'd like a better fish sandwich. But what would make a better fish sandwich?
I'm glad you asked. You'd be surprised how low my standards actually are.

So what should a fish sandwich be?
Well, let me tell you about the fish sandwich of my younger days. I don't recall having fish very often at all, of any kind, during my childhood. Fish might have meant frozen fish sticks or patties, like they served in the school cafeteria. Later, when my own family was starting to grow, and money and time were both luxuries, I'm certain there were fish sticks. They were relatively inexpensive, easy to prepare, and kids liked them. I recall having them fairly often when Adam was a baby. That is when I

perfected the poor man's fish sandwich. Five fish sticks laid out on a slice of white bread as shown in the photo. It fit perfectly, unlike the awkward, triangular 'filet' vs. round bun situation I described earlier. And yes, I squeezed ketchup on the sticks. Tartar sauce, being something of a single-tasker, just never made it to the already too expensive shopping cart. Sometimes we had a bottle of malt vinegar laying around, that would fancy it up a lot. But mostly it was ketchup, five sticks, two slices of white bread. I haven't had that in a while, but I may real soon. While at Walmart earlier I picked up some fish sticks, for the first time in many, many years. A craving? Nostalgia? No. . . . I wanted to take that picture for this part of the review. Yeah, I'm that serious about my work. That's the extent to which I am willing to go to please you, my loyal fans. Heck, for you folks, I'd even go to McDonalds.
So fans, I simply want a good, reliable fish sandwich. Something just a little better than what was sampled here, or even the five-stick version I once made for myself.
Please, somebody, how hard can it be?





*Slip'N Slide is a trademark of Wham-O Toys, a California company founded in 1948 by two frustrated USC graduates, Richard Knerr and Arthur 'Spuds' Melin. 

** A reference to Alice's Law of Compensatory Cash Flow: "Money not spent on a luxury one considered even briefly is the equivalent of windfall income and should be spent accordingly."  Calvin Trillin, 'Alice, Let's Eat' (1978)




 

 

 
 
 

McAlister's Deli

170 Gravois Bluffs Circle
Fenton, Mo.
On the Web

This too was Angel's idea. I don't recall what prompted it, maybe a commercial or ad somewhere.
Before we start though, I need to apologize for the poor quality of a couple of the photos. My trusty tablet died, I took over another one that Angel bought but rarely used since she got her newest smartphone. This was the first time I'd had the new/old tablet on a critique run and the built-in camera has different sensitivities from the one that died.
    McAlister's is a medium sized chain headquartered in Oxford, Mississippi. It's higher end than fast food joints, but still with the overhead menu, the order counter and relatively quick service.
I impressed Angel with this factoid since she's actually been to Oxford Mississippi and I haven't. About ten years ago, a few weeks after hurricane Katrina, Angel and a group of volunteers, mostly from or associated with the Humane Society of Calvert County, Maryland, loaded up an RV and a big, flat trailer loaded down with animal crates and made a fast run to the stricken area to help rescue dogs. One stop they made was in Oxford, the hometown of one of the volunteers.
The Place:
Gravois Bluffs (pronounced 'Gravy' by Angel) is a very large retail complex just across the St. Louis county line. The main parking lot itself is several acres and along the front there is a line of 20 or more, mostly franchise, eateries. McAlister's among them.
I don't like going there, especially on hot July afternoons. All that concrete and asphalt does nothing to stifle the sweltering heat.
Angel announced this place earlier in the week, I poled my two nearest work-mates and got two thumbs up. Well, Tim gave a thumbs up, I'm optimistically assuming that what Doug showed me was also a thumb. Tim even had a couple of recommendations, which Angel based her selection on.
The place had a stylish, modern, but relaxed feel to it. The overhead music was contemporary pop, not the worst kind of overhead sound. I was pleased and impressed with the many large black and white photos of long ago Fenton. I'm a sucker for historical photos of local places.
We went up to the counter and took our time.
By the time someone behind the counter said 'Next', we were ready.
Angel: Big Nasty with mac and cheese and sweet tea.
Me: Half French Dip and chili with un-sweet tea,
Adam: Chipotle Chicken Grill, Broccoli Cheddar soup and Root Beer (Barq's)
We found a table and waited. We had our drinks. I was seriously impressed by my tea, probably the best restaurant tea I've had anywhere. McAlister's is quite proud of their tea, often having tea-based promotions. They've earned that pride, this was a great glass of tea.
The Food:
Eventually, the food arrived. The plates were sorted out and placed. I opened my sandwich and was .
. . underwhelmed. There just wasn't a lot of meat on the bun. The chili cup was sloppy, there was even a large wad of chili spillage on the plate.
As I was photographing the plates, Adam announced that there were no napkins. I walked around the joint and couldn't find any napkin dispensers and had to stand in line at the counter again to ask for some. These minor things started piling up in my mind. I was hoping to breeze through a positive review for this highly recommended place.
The chili was lousy. First, it didn't have beans. I know some people like this sort of thing, but I don't. I consider bean-less chili to be a hot dog topping, a meat sauce, little more. Also, other than the meat and the broth, I could see nothing else. No onion, peppers, nothing. It may as well have been canned hot dog chili. It also was rather tepid. Served a little too cool.
The meat, Black Angus, on the sandwich was quite good. There just was not very much of it, at all. Angel and Adam even commented on my meager portions.
Angel's 'Big Nasty' is what Tim had recommended. I'd read up on it. It's an open faced roast beef
sandwich slathered in brown gravy. I knew this would be right up her alley. She did not regret her choice. She wanted to try the mac and cheese as well, no disappointment there either. She left a lot of bread behind. We've both been cutting down on the starches and just can't handle a lot of nature's packing material anymore. Often we've found and My puny-meated sandwich is a good example, that sandwich places are not picking up on this national trend of cutting back on excessive carbs. Subway certainly hasn't got  the memo. You don't need a mega-bun to just hold some meat and toppings together.
I tried a bit of her gravy'd meat. It was pretty good. Not spectacular, but quite okay. The mac and cheese seemed a little on the cold side. She let me have her pickle, which was nice since I only had about a tablespoon of meat and and about four tablespoons of the chili.
At the time, Angel said everything was good, though later she said that in hindsight, the gravy might have been a little salty.
Adam had finished first, his sandwich was also a bit sparse. He was disappointed that he ordered a sandwich and soup plate and didn't think he needed to specifically add chips or something, claiming that at Cool Beans in Hillsboro the soup and sandwich choice comes with a side. I agreed, I was happy to have a third note, Angel's pickle. I wondered why Angel and Adam got a pickle but I didn't.
Summary:
Well, as you can see I had a few issues. I went in with high hopes and left with a less than 'two thumbs up' opinion. Some of these things were obviously minor, easily correctable errors. If I've said it once, I've said it forty seven times. A pile of minor, easily correctable errors are indistinguishable from one huge infraction. It is indicative of weak management, either in the store or on the corporate level. I appreciate places that want to elevate above 'fast food', I really do, but with that higher price tag, we expect better than fast food service.
There's some really good things about what McAlister's is trying to do, but it is no time to take their eye off the road. I'd love to love this place. The ingredients are all there. But at this point I just can't recommend it to someone I wanted to impress.

Old Standard

1621 Tower Grove Ave.

St. Louis, Mo.
http://www.oldstandard.co/

The Story:

I was supposed to meet up with a clutch of ladies from the Missouri Women Bloggers group.

Supposed to.

About five or six of us had RSVP'd the invite.

I mapped the destination into my VW's hand-me-down Tom-Tom GPS machine. It got me there just fine. Too early. I spotted the eatery at 6 P.M.

I had an hour to kill. No problem I had a bottle of water, a good book and there was the vast and tidy Tower Grove Park, just a few blocks away. This day was the first real Spring-like day of the year, with the temperature finally hovering around sixty eight degrees.

In the park there were cyclists cycling, proud parents pushing strollers, runners running, dog walkers walking, the dogs stressing the leashes, eager to frolic. I Found an out of the way bench near a bright red and white striped-roof pavilion. The pavilions in the park date back, along with the many tall columns and statues, as far back as the 1870's, when the park first opened. It truly is a grand thing.

At about 6:20 my personal cellular flip phone started stirring and fidgeting in my pocket. The message, apparently sent to others in the group as well, asked if we were headed to the restaurant. I replied with a 'yup' and went back to my book. (A translated Norwegian crime thriller) My plan was to arrive at the restaurant about fifteen minutes early.

As the time approached I closed the book and drove the few short blocks back to the eatery.

I found a tight parking spot in the back, peeked into the open front of the building and saw no one that I knew. Not unusual. I'd only met the ladies once before and I have about the worlds worst facial recognition software in my brain. Yeah, I'm one of those people that simply cannot remember faces well. Probably due to my highly introvert-ish lifestyle, which includes as a major component, avoidance of eye contact.

A young lady blocked my entrance to the building. Someone in authority, obviously. "May I help you sir?" She asked.

I said I was there to join a group of ladies, which didn't seem to narrow it down much for her. I mentioned our meet-up coordinator's name. That seemed to help.

She stepped aside and pointed near the back, to a lone lady, who looked vaguely familiar, at a table space large enough to hold five or six people.

I walked toward her, hoping she would look up and show some sign of recognition. She did.

We sat and exchanged trite pleasantries. Then she said "I've ordered my meal to go."

I was confused, were we going on a picnic? 

"I got here just before six and waited, no one else ever showed up." She added. I looked at my watch, confused again, it was not quite seven.

She must have noticed my befuddlement, which meant she was much better at facial stuff than I've ever been.

"It was supposed to start at six." She said.

I felt pretty silly. I explained that I'd spent quite awhile making sure I could find the place, but had not revisited the initial invite itself and somehow had just solidly assumed that it was to start at seven.

She seemed okay with that, more frustrated that no one else had even replied to her message.

A server stopped by, I asked for tea. We explained that we weren't sure if the others would be joining us.

Her food sack arrived, She apologized and left, she'd already told her husband that she'd be bringing some home.

I was alone at a big table with a nice glass of tea and a menu in front of me. What to do.

Impromptu review. It was the obvious thing.

I'd brought my electronic tablet with me, along with some paper and a pen, I was ready.

The Place:

As pointed out earlier, this is a part of town that dates back to the mid-1800's, if not earlier. Many of the old
buildings have been maintained and re-purposed. There's a lot of old brick shotgun houses and storefronts. Old Standard's building was originally a stable for carriage horses. If I heard the waiter explain it to the couple at the next table correctly, it had also been a service station, a machine shop, etc. It'd had many lives.

The front bar area had the exposed slightly arching rafters you'd expect in an urban stable. The back dining area was more squared off. The stable section was exposed and white-washed brick, the dining area identically painted concrete block. The floor throughout was bare, unpainted concrete.

All the tables were wood, not painted to look retro-rustic. Rather than give it an antique appearance though, it looked a bit hipster.

The small space was pretty full and because of the acoustic nature of bare concrete, brick and high ceilings, it was also pretty loud. 

Sort of a cool, quirky place. Not bad at all.

In the back dining area, longer than wide, there was bench seating along the divider wall and wooden chairs opposite in the aisle. It was a tight fit for a large number of patrons, not a lot of elbow room. Cozy.

I was left there at the large table feeling even more awkward than I usually do. 

So when the waiter apologized profusely as he asked me if I would mind moving to a smaller table so they could accommodate a walk-in group, I was not put off by it, I was actually relieved. He moved me to a two

top in the very back. I bumped my head twice on the suspended light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

It was back there, next to the kitchen entry, that I encountered my first displeasure.

An aroma swept through the room, just for a moment, but it curled my gut. I should have known or expected it, they were cooking down some greens. Though the aroma eventually passed through, an essence of it remained in my smell-memory. A few more times during the evening I be assaulted again by the preparation of a new order of the vile stuff.

I grew up in the south, I am quite familiar with southern comfort food. I love fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, black eyed peas, blackberry cobbler, apple pie, barbecue and even burgoo (look it up).

I grew up sharing meals with my ancient grandmother, one of the worst cooks to ever come out of the proud southern tradition. There was not a dish that she did not over-boil or scorch. Aromas, more correctly, odors, wafted through our small shared house nearly every day. Gagging, putrid smells would linger for hours, forcing us to play outdoors routinely, where the air was only fouled with rotting roadkill and untidy outhouses.

Grandma would grab a small knife, go back behind the sagging garage and chop whatever wild 'green' was growing there, then chop it up and boil it down to its molecular framework on her stove. How did it taste, you ask? 

Ha! I have no idea! I could never stand to get close enough to it to put any of the sloppy, slimy stuff in my mouth.

So greens are not a great smell-memory for me. I do not equate that odor with any sort of 'comfort'.

The Food:

This was the easy part. They pretty much only make fried chicken and sides. The only decision was which sides and how many and which chicken parts. Unlike at many chicken places, you can specify exactly which parts you prefer. If you know me, you already know I prefer dark meat.

You would also know I'm not a breast man. Angel certainly knows this. I'm a leg and thigh man. I like the lower parts, more muscle matter, more natural taste.

The reason so many things in the universe 'taste like chicken' is that refers to the the dull chicken breast, which is almost devoid of any definable or unique flavor. A generic meat taste and texture, similar to tofu, that works best only when soaked or dipped in something. Wings have a bit more muscle tissue, but not much since we've bred poultry for bigger breasts making their already weak wings pretty much unused. Plus, wings are a lot of trouble for the paltry amount of meat they hold.

So give me the thighs and legs.

I ordered one thigh, one leg and a side of slaw. That order, the '$10 Deal' came with a biscuit. Or so the menu said.
It lied.

The wait was longer than I had anticipated or wanted. I was a long way from home, alone, with only my tablet and the eatery's waitress-obtained WiFi password with which to fill the time. Not much going on in social media, no new emails, nothing popped to mind to browse and I don't have any games on the tablet. I'd purged those a long time ago. So I took photos of the tea, the menu, the dangling light bulb which was still swaying from its last smack of my forehead.

I hadn't tracked the time, fifteen, twenty minutes, maybe more. I had assumed they had a bunch of chicken piled up in a steamer tray in the back and slaw certainly wasn't made to order.

I finally decided that they had taken my order and only then started the frying process. Nothing else I could fathom, short of criminal sloth, could fill that gap. During that time, two or three more vile, nasal assaults took place.

The food finally arrived on some rustic tray. Immediately I worried about the bird gams. Very, very dark breading. 

Old Standard double dredges and then pressure-fries their 'famous' chicken, not unlike how the Colonel makes his. This is a tricky way to do things. When you pan-fry chicken, it takes longer, but you know when to stop cooking it. In a pressure pot you have to seal up the whole deal to maintain the 15 PSI of searing steam generated. You can't see it until you stop cooking it, gradually reduce the pressure, during which the chicken continues to cook, then finally and carefully open the lid. This is fine for a roast or other naked meat, but with more fragile and fickle bread crumb coatings, difficult too maintain consistency from batch to batch. A lot of variables at play that don't really apply to a tong-equipped mom standing over an open skillet. Thus, overcooking is a real risk.

Hopefully the outer shell will have protected the inner meat. And I do mean shell. The crust was the color of overcooked toast and pretty dried out.

The cornbread substitution surprised me, pleasantly. Cornbread is about my all time favorite bread. My dad made it the way his mother, my other grandmother, had shown him. Usually it was pan fried and pancake shaped. No need for fancy pans, just a skillet, some grease (his mom used lard) some batter and a skillet.

Southern style cornbread is not very sweet, its more earthy, relying on the very mild sweetness of the corn meal itself. City folks and big restaurant chins usually add sugar, or honey, or something, to sweeten it up considerably. I usually don't mind it though. This would be a good test of what statement Old Standard was trying to make. Was it going for a traditional plate or were they trying to impress the more upscale locals.

The slaw answered the question before I even had a bite of anything on my tongue.

This was not either of my  grandmas' coleslaw. Finely shredded cabbage swirls, a sprinkling of whole kernel corn and something curly and orange, not carrots, that firmness could not curl that tight. Peppers maybe? There was also no mayo in the mix. This was going to be a vinegar based offering. The stuff looked moist, but shiny, not creamy or milky.

I prefer the creamy kind. They were not traditionalists here. They were definitely fishing for a more

'sophisticated' palate. 

I went ahead and tried the slaw. Yup, vinegar. The little orange curls were more pickled. Pickled peppers? Who does that? I wouldn't be finishing it.

I had noticed when the food was served that though there was cornbread, there was no butter offered to fix it up properly. The server responded to my mention and returned to the table with a condiment-wrappered packet containing enough butter to grease a while pig. I needed about a teaspoon but was given ten times that.

She did show off the two unmarked squeeze bottles of house made sauce, one sauce white and creamy, the other the color of highway safety cones. She explained the white one, using the words 'honey', 'yogurt', then something else. I had stopped listening at 'yogurt' "It's great on the chicken." She claimed. I would taste it and see for myself, expectations, low. I knew what the bright orange stuff was, hot wing sauce. No thanks.

I scooped out some of the soft butter and split open the disappointingly cold cornbread wedge. Good thing the butter was soft because there certainly no BTU's left in the bread to melt it. Optimistically I tried it ahead of nearly everything else. I knew the chicken needed a minute to cool since I'd cracked open the crust on both pieces. Tightly sealed fried chicken holds in all that searing steam for a while.

Well, hell. Sweet. Too sweet, sweeter than Jiffy Muffin mix sweet. Almost dessert-sweet. No earthy, subtle cornmeal taste to be detected. Disappointing. 

Time for the real test. How badly was the breading overcooked?

It wasn't awful. There was a crispiness there, not quite the texture of old linoleum. Harder than the Colonel's, to be sure. It had a slight, but not over-powering burnt toast taste. I peeled off most of the breading and pushed it aside. 

The chicken thigh and leg meat was cooked perfectly. Still very moist, cooked through, but not too much. The outer shell had sealed in some seasoning, the pressure pot squeezed it into the meat. Not a strong or distinct seasoning, no single note rang out, but better than non-seasoned meat.

I finished all of the meat, a little of the breading, most of the too-sweet bread and barely any of the slaw.

Summary:

Ten dollars and thirty seven cents was the tally. I couldn't tell if they'd intended to charge separately for the tea, which was quite good, but all I saw was the amount on the bill. I fished fourteen dollars out of my dusty billfold and just handed it to the lady. I'd been there long enough, I was ready to hit the long road home, I didn't want to bother with another waiting period to process a card.

The servers were nice enough, I guess. They were pretty busy and appeared somewhat harried. They didn't chat or up-sell, nor did they even seem especially outgoing. They were not crass or insulting though. They got the order right, by that I mean the plate delivered was pretty close to the one ordered. The time lag was in the kitchen A tea refill offer came only after the pointlessly narrow glass was near empty, no other was ever offered. I felt no connection to the servers though. Between the guy and the lady I didn't get the impression that either of them were too concerned about a lone, middle aged guy at a two top.

The food was quite a bit less than I had hoped for. They were trying to upscale a fairly basic meal. I'm sure I was not their target demographic, they just weren't cooking for my tastes. There's nothing wrong with that. As I get older I notice lots and lots of things offered up that I'm just not the target for. Movies, TV shows, clothes, cars. . . It's not just food. I know there's a crowd hungry for what they offer, the place was really busy. They don't need my vote.

Back when I worked at that Big Beer company, the people I worked with would regularly line up for lunch at another, much larger and well regarded, chicken house. They loved it. They still invite me to tag along occasionally.

Big plates, lots of starchy sides, enough to nearly fill some of the biggest boys I worked with. The few times I went, I found the chicken to be unnecessarily greasy, generally lacking in flavor, the potatoes over-mashed and the veggies over-boiled. But they raved about it. 

I get it, different people like different things. I've taken a similar hit whenever I bring up St. Louis style pizza. I just don't get that either.

So my criticism about the food is based on a recognition that tastes are widely varied. I hope I've described it well enough for you to decide on your own whether you might like it or not.

I'm at a point where I enjoy tried and true old favorites, un-tweaked, simple, basic, rather than replaced by or jacked up with whatever is newer, trendier, more modern. . . Which also explains why I keep Angel around.

Arby's

12693 Lamplighter Square

St. Louis, Mo.

On the Web

Yeah, I know, I said I was going to stop eating at and reviewing fast food chains. But there's a story here, granted not much of one, but if I didn't report on this meal there wouldn't be anything this week, because . . . work.

I had to go in to work Saturday afternoon for what was predicted to be an all-nighter and extended to a seventeen hour shift. I try to get ahead of these events when I can, so my Saturday morning would involve sleeping as late as possible, running out to take care of a couple of chores, try to sneak in a nap, then head to work. Sure there's something a little odd about setting an alarm for 3:00 P.M. but that's just the way it is. If you want a career in IT support, you just better be prepared for occasional to frequent weekends, holidays and all-nighters.

All went to plan, I slept until I just couldn't anymore, about 8:30, had some breakfast, checked my social media and email, lounged around for a bit, showered and headed to the Post Office, etc. When I got home I hung around for a bit then went in for my nap. I was up by 2:30.

It was then I realized something was not on my checklist. Work would start at 4:30. The heaviest lifting would be the first few hours. Better get something to eat.

Well, I was headed into the burbs anyhow, I had time to stop somewhere and get something.

I wasn't really hungry for anything specific. I didn't have time for a full, sit down affair, so I just replayed my route in my head and thought about what was on the way.

Heading in, at the first suburb, there are some traffic lights. One, if not all the others, is usually red when I get to it. I recalled the outdoor blinking LED sign, 'Two Fish Sandwiches, $5.' it has been flashing that for several weeks or months now.

I like fish sandwiches. I didn't need two, but I was pretty sure I'd never had a fish sandwich from Arby's before.

The Place:

It's a fast food franchise, they all pretty much look and smell the same. Plastic, pre-fab, nothing original, everything 'safe'. There was hardly anyone else in the joint at 3:30 P.M. on a Saturday. No line, straight to the counter. They took my order, one fish sandwich, curly fries and a medium drink and told me they were a couple of minutes away from having curly fries ready.

So I filled up my cup with tea and a little ice, pumped some ketchup into little paper cups, ripped out a couple of napkins and found a seat where the late afternoon sun wouldn't be on my face or neck. I waited for the order, only a couple of minutes, as promised. It was then I noticed the music. Odd choice, all 70's and 80's top ten. America's 'You can do Magic', Feetwood Mac's 'Everywhere', there was even a little ELO action. (look it up for yourself youngsters). This is the music that was the background noise for my coming of age, teen's through twenties. The problem with that is, and the youngsters won't know this, is that there weren't a lot of music options back then, before cable TV and the interwebs. You pretty much discovered a new song or group over the radio. Most towns had at least one radio station that played popular music at least occasionally, and when they did it was usually Top Ten. At night when the local stations went quiet, the big city flame throwers, like WLS in Chicago, jacked up the voltage and blasted doped up DJ's for hundreds of miles into the wilderness.

Of course, they too played pretty much the same top ten. If you were lucky enough to live in a big city or had a progressive university station nearby, you could sometimes hear more obscure stuff, but otherwise it was the same few songs, day after day.

So by the end of my coming of age period, I was already sick of all these songs.

Being as I was pretty much the only customer, there was no din to help mask the sound. At least it wasn't country. I don't know, maybe this is considered elevator music these days. At least they didn't whip out 'Afternoon Delight' (Starland Vocal Band) or 'Honey' (Bobby Goldsboro). There's a couple of ear worms for you.

The Food:

I like a good fish sandwich. I used to prefer those at Burger King, but they changed the formula a couple of
years back and I haven't had one since. I don't care for the crap at McDonald's at all. If you ever see my car parked at or queued up in the drive through at a McDonald's, go ahead and call the cops. It's either stolen or I've been abducted am am probably in the trunk..

So why not give Arby's a try?

A few years back we ran a comparison review between Arby's and a local chain 'Lion's Choice'.  It is to date, our most read and most controversial review, ever. Mostly because it infuriated the locals that we preferred the national chain over the local favorite for objective and well reasoned criteria. Still, local pride got vicious.

The curly fries were a last minute, impulse decision. They offer waffle fries too, but I recalled that the consistency of done-ness of waffle fries at fast food places is sometimes a bit iffy.

The fish looked good, golden brown and crispy. I hoped they didn't try to season it too much.

The curly fries looked well cooked, also a dark, golden brown. There were a few all tangled up and stuck together, one of the things I don't like about curly fries. That and the fact that they sometimes don't dip-fit into those tiny ketchup cups, make them, for me, more trouble than they are worth. They tasted pretty good though, not too salty.

The fish sammich was on a toasted sesame seed bun, topped with tartar sauce and a pointless, limp leaf of iceberg lettuce. At least they don't put cheese on it like McD's. 

I grew up loving fish sandwiches made at home, with fish sticks (five sticks, four side by side, the fifth one laid perpendicular along the tips of the first four), white bread and ketchup. Mmmmm. . . yummy.  Nobody seems to make them that way anymore. I like tartar sauce better than ketchup on fish, but back in the day it was simply not something we kept on hand at home. Nowadays, I can make a reasonable tartar sauce substitute  with mayo and sweet relish, things we do have on hand for some reason. My arrangement of five fish sticks fit the white bread perfectly, side to side, end to end. This big filet was more triangular in shape so the sides didn't reach the edge and the ends stuck out a little. I bit off some of the exposed fish first. Not bad. 

The breading was a little heavier than it needed to be. The fish was fresh, moist and flaky, the breading crisp, about all you can ask for. The curly fries tasted okay as well, despite having to pause and untangle or break apart a few of them.

The tea was about what I come to expect at most chains, a bit old and unremarkable.

Summary:

As far as fast food fish sandwiches go, it was pretty good. One national review site lists the Arby's offering as the best among its competitors. I tend to agree. It wasn't great, but certainly noticeably better than any other franchise fish sandwich I've had recently.

The service was fine, I liked the fact that they told me at purchase time that the fries would be a little while, that's a nice touch. The place was respectably clean, no litter or noticeable crumbs on or around the many empty tables. At least once during my short visit one of the crew was out on the floor with a broom. The crew didn't make a lot of noise as young crews tend to do at some fast food places. They did hoot it up a little when one of the young counter lady's husband (assumption) stopped in with their two young kids. She got to take a break and hug them for a few minutes. Sometimes I wish I had young kids stop into the workplace to grab some midday hugs.

I don't go to fast food places much anymore since they all tend to make me a bit queasy afterward. This was no exception. My tummy noisily complained most of the evening in the quiet office. So much so that I felt it necessary to tell the other two guys about it, apologetically. 

A quick meal for six bucks is pretty decent. Sure it sours the stomach later, but it certainly was filling. Around seven, the other guys said they were making up an order for some takeout, I declined. I was seriously not hungry, even though, uncharacteristically, someone else was picking up the tab. I ate nothing the rest of the night.

If I ever do yearn for a franchise fish sandwich, Arby's will be the top choice, though that only happens about once or twice a year, tops.

My only other complaint about this Arby's, or all of them, I don't know which, did not have Wifi. . . I thought all the chains had Wifi. Most of the time I do go to one of these places I'll order a coffee and maybe an apple pie, just to be able to do some downloads. 

So, not bad, better than others, but the whole fast food bar is pretty low.

Fountain City Grille

302 N. Main
DeSoto, Mo
On the interwebs
Facebook

Joining us this week was Adam's friend, Anthony, whom I call 'Larry' for no particular reason. He stayed with us for a couple of weeks a few months ago. A nice, quiet young man, a lot like Adam that way. This time the stay will likely be longer. He's packed up his belongings and left Tennessee in his rear view mirror. He'll be looking for gainful employment here and once he and Adam save a little and have steady incomes, they plan to find a place of their own.
They get along well and aren't trouble makers, so it is no real inconvenience. We'll throw some chores at them, they've already moved some furniture around for us.
How this will affect future staffing at Eat and Critique HQ, we're not real sure.
I'd been able to find out some of the foods he does and doesn't like, so I picked a place that I knew he could find something he would eat. We're used to that, Adam is a pretty picky eater as well.
The Place:

It had moved since we last visited. There was some sort of difficulty between FCG and the old Arlington Inn where they used to be. They worked most of the first half of this year setting up new digs on Main Street, just a few blocks away.
I love Main Street. This town has done an admirable job of maintaining it. It still has several blocks of old style brick buildings, most of them occupied. The street itself is nestled between the railroad tracks and a steep hill with winding streets and many, many old houses and churches. Charming, is the best way to describe it. The town's nick name is 'The Fountain City' due to a large amount of the unique water dribblers spread out all around the neighborhoods, none of which I've ever actually seen.
In the Arlington, FCG had a strict black and white motif, one they brought with them to the new location. It took us a while to get there though. As we entered town we noticed that Main Street had been blocked off with orange cones. There were no signs indicating why they were doing this. We had to drive around on back streets and alleys to get to a parking spot within a few blocks. I assumed that a rail car had exploded and was spewing toxic gases and sparking epic explosions. No such luck though, all was quiet on the street.
I asked our server about it. She replied that there was some sort of breast awareness walk or run going on. I wish I'd known that earlier, I'm pretty breast-aware already, but breasts are something I like to support as often as possible, hands-on.*
We walked in and noticed the very attractive, yet comfortable black and white. They'd done a very, very good job of decorating. They even brought the poster-sized black and white photos of many of the city's fountains.
The tables and chairs were also simple, painted black. Only the oak stained wood floor did not carry the binary color scheme.
We were told to sit anywhere, it was early in the dinner service day, only a couple of other tables were occupied. Across the room from us was a bit of artwork depicting a tuxedo'd man playing a grand piano. I liked the jazzy theme.

In the back was a long serving bar with stools. This was not a drinking bar, I'd observed on a preview of the menu that they only served four kinds of beer. So there were no colorful bottles of brandy, whiskey or Scotch on display. I didn't mind, I don't drink and dine. Above the bar were two TV's one loudly blasting a college football game, the other, a nearly muted 'Ghost Hunters' episode.
We settled in and pretty soon a red-headed spark plug named Jessica brought menus and a big, welcoming smile. She asked about drinks and since I'd previewed the menu, I ordered. "I'd like some of your fresh brewed Ice tea, un-sweet, please."  She laughed, Angel blushed. "She knows what I'm talking about." I scolded and pointed out that right there on the front of the menu, under 'Beverages', it clearly stated 'Fresh Brewed Tea.' A challenge, accepted. If you are going to say 'fresh brewed' you better mean it. I know ice tea.
When she came back Angel ordered the requisite appetizer, the regionally ubiquitous Toasted Ravioli. We asked Larry if he'd ever had it before, we were ready to teach him a thing or two about local cuisine. "Yes, I have." He answered, which pretty much shut down that conversation. He joined the family tradition of pulling out his own e-device, latching on to an open WiFi connection. I was doing research, they were just playing games, I think.
The Food:
Jessica took our order, with flair and aplomb. When Angel spat out her choice, Seafood Fettuccine,  I vented. "That's what I was going to order!"
Jessica jumped in. "We can handle more than one order of it, we're quite good." She quipped. To spite her I ordered the grilled pork chop. She seemed impressed.
"Did that impress you, the way I chose the pork chop?" I said.
"It's a good choice."  She answered. I could have let it go at that, but that's just what she wanted me to do.
"Oh, I see, pork chops are a good choice, could you point out the bad choices available?"
She only paused a second. "Everything here is very good." she replied, weaseling out of our debate.
"Good answer." I relented.
For a side I asked for the green beans. No potato, I didn't feel like bulking up. Both Angel and I added a house salad topped with another St. Louis traditional, Mayfair dressing.
This dressing was first created at the very upscale Mayfair Hotel in 1935. It contains, traditionally, anchovies, champagne, a whole egg and oil base with garlic, mustard or horseradish, celery, peppercorn and onion. It is thick, like Ranch or Thousand Island, just not as sweet. More like a 'Cream of Caesar' dressing.
She marched off and tended other tables, it was starting to fill up.

We dug into the ravioli, which was served the same time as a basket of soft, pale rolls. I saved mine for the entree round.
Toasted Ravioli can go either way. At many bars they take a bag of frozen rav's and bread and fry them then serve  them up with some canned pasta sauce, or at least that's the impression you get. A few places go out of their way to make sure they are fresh, cooked right and served with a tasty house-made sauce. I'd say these little demons were the latter. Everyone, including Larry, agreed. As far as toasted ravioli goes, these were pretty good. They were gone pretty quickly. Our salads were served about the same time. Small, simple, but very pretty.
Greens, a couple of small croutons, a couple of purple onion rings topped with a thick, creamy sauce. Underneath the dressingI found some diced tomato and some cheese shreds.
I had to cut up some of the greens and the onions, but it was small, so not a big problem. It was all fresh. We could instantly tell that this dressing was made with anchovies. A good job of it though, not too fishy, just distinct. There was a little too much dressing for the modest amount of salad. The last few bites were mostly dressing, the thick stuff was rather clingy. The taste was excellent, just a bit too much of it.The entrees arrived after just a while. Very, very pretty plates.I won't rate 'plating' as important as taste, but it certainly has a role. I notice it when it is done well.
My pork chop presentation impressed me. A glaze-y dark brown sauce had been drizzled over the chop and extended to an artsy pattern on the plate. The green beans were still firm, just starting to soften up. The chop was about a half inch thick, thicker than those you find at a common grocery store. A problem with pork is that it has to be cooked through. That means it can easily be very dry. The thickness would help, but only if it wasn't overcooked. It's almost impossible to make a thin chop that isn't dry as a retread, but that's what they invented gravy for.
The sauce I knew to be balsamic based, also risky. Too much balsamic can be very vinegary. This was not, it had been sweetened up a bit and some had caramelized onto the pork. The chop was perfectly cooked, not at all dry. It cut easily and tasted marvelous. I don't eat pork chops often in restaurants, but this was about the best I'd had anywhere. I ate the whole thing. All of the beans too, perfect.
Angel's pasta dish was described as containing shrimp, which was obvious, crab and lobster bits, less obvious. It came with two big slabs of toasted, buttery bread, which made my roll seem. . . pale in comparison. I'm not sure I get serving bread with pasta dishes though. Pasta is flour and water, so is bread. That's a lot of starch, a lot of delicious starch on one plate. I dipped my roll into the sauce, it too was sea-foody, probably made with a shrimp stock, very tasty. Though she finished it completely, Angel said it was starting to get a little salty near the end.
Adam had ordered grilled chicken and garlic mashed potatoes. He too , ate it all. He mentioned that it was good, but a little shallow in the depth department, a sauce of some kind would have been nice. As you can see in the photo, it does look a bit Spartan. He added that the chicken was  well seasoned, but maybe with a little more salt than he likes.
Larry was well spoken about his order, a bacon cheeseburger made to his specifications, without anything other than bacon, cheese and burger, no veggies please.

He was quite happy with the burger. It was thin, smashed with a spatula and had dark edges. He said it was well seasoned and he really liked the crispy edges. I noticed he didn't finish his fries though. He seemed reluctant to explain why. "They were a little over-salted." he said, almost embarrassed to say it.
While we were finishing up, I watched as a sharply dressed, middle aged couple casually set up microphones, cords, instrument stands and bongos. . . yes, bongos, the tall ones. I asked Jessica about this. "Sugar Moon" She replied, which I took as a compliment. Then she explained
that they were a jazz duet that went by that name.
It was a quarter until six P.M. as I signed the check, the posted start time for the show. We had to get back to the dogs though, so, somewhat disappointingly, we left before they even started warming up.

Summary:
The criticisms I have pointed out are barely significant. It's like scolding your A+ kid for the 99% on their test paper instead of 100%. The 'saltiness' and the 'too much dressing' observations were not egregious errors, more of a personal preference thing. Long time fans will recognize that I often complain about saltiness and I've pointed out on many occasions that I may be overly sensitive about the mineral. I just don't use much salt myself. I've known many people who enjoy a higher level of the stuff. My old friend 'Wings' (his real last name was one of those Germanic tongue twisters, common in this area.) used to sit down to a plate of salty french fries and shake another half pound of table salt on them before he even tasted one. Lot's wife contained less salt than the amount he sprinkled on his food each meal. So it very well could just be us.
Jessica was a pleasure to have serve us. Witty, personable, pretty quick with the refills and not at all bothersome. She seemed to be enjoying herself. Everything we had was served exactly as ordered and sure enough, the tea, both the original pour and the refills were fresh brewed, dark and tasty.
On the way out we were greeted by Chef Tremayne. A proud and friendly man dressed in crisp kitchen whites. We complimented him on his food and the restaurant itself, he beamed. This man works hard and cares about the restaurant and the food. I could tell that from the confidence on his face and the tight grip of his handshake. The bill came in at a very reasonable sixty seven bucks, that's for four full meals and an appetizer. I tipped Jessica a bit more than is my usual, she certainly earned it.
I can see going back fairly regularly, the food is simple but very well made, the service is friendly and efficient and maybe next time there won't be a football game on and maybe we can stay for some live music.

* I am aware that lots of people are walking and running to raise awareness of and money for, breast cancer. I too have immediate family members that have had or will have breast and other cancers. I am not making light of the cause, I'm just here to entertain, while I still can.