Texas Roadhouse

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

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

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

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

Waffle House

1304 Veterans Blvd.
Festus, Mo.

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Sure, I've reviewed Waffle House before. In my mind, a good place deserves mention and a great place deserves frequent mention.
I'll keep it short.

The Place:
West of I-55 just off Highway A. Just look for the big yellow sign.
Diner style, booths along the wall, stools at the counter. Clean, bright and seemingly always staffed by cheerful and hard working people. In this case, the crew consisted of three young folks, Kelsey, CJ and Josh.
Josh was the grill master, the ladies deftly worked the tables and counter. They all wore matching gray shirts, black pants, black apron and black caps. Our primary server was Kelsey, whose pony tail was pulled through the adjusting gap in her cap.
I cannot recall coming across a bad crew at a Waffle House. Always friendly, always busy, occasionally breaking out in song, though not too loudly. Always welcoming and sincere, always helpful. This trio was no exception.
The Food:
Me: Hash browns, smothered and covered (onions and cheese). Add some bacon, two eggs, over medium, a biscuit, and of course, coffee please.
Angel: Hash browns, smothered, covered, chunked and country. (ham, gravy) add sausage, scrambled eggs, skip the toast, with ice tea.
Adam: All American Breakfast, eggs, bacon, scrambled eggs, toast and hash browns (plain) instead of grits, with soda pop.
Yeah, we all got pretty much the same thing. But that's why we like it there, this is what we want when we go to WH, and  WH is our preferred place when we want breakfast for dinner.
The food didn't take very long, but why should it? It's a pretty simple menu. Not a lot of fancy seasonings and sauces to fuss over.
At one point, KC came out from behind the counter and poked the jukebox. This concerned me at first, I'm not much of a listener to music, especially the kind of music most people poke in a jukebox. But she impressed me with Otis Redding's 'Sittin' on the dock of the bay.' We're good.
She seemed surprised when I complimented her on her selections.
As I said, the food came in good time. I looked over at Angel's blasphemic hash brown concoction. Not that I could actually see any hash browns, they were completely covered by an epic mudslide portion of brown gravy. Angel was quite pleased though. Angel likes gravy, I might have mentioned that before. (That night, she posted on FB:"Went out for gravy tonight. Yeah there was other stuff on the plate too, but who cares when there's GRAVY on the plate.")
The real problem, for me, was the ham. I understand the gravy, but the ham corrupts the subtle purity of hash browns. It's like adding a bunch of exclamation points to a paragraph were they simply don't belong.

The last thing to arrive was Adam's waffle. They make a pretty good waffle here. Don't just take my word for it though:
"Whoa, that's good, that's good! . . . this is better than The French Laundry!" -Anthony Bourdain-
I suppose I should explain a few things about that.
I'll assume you know who Anthony Bourdain is. He's all over TV, all over the world. He's been everywhere, tried everything and isn't afraid to call a dud, a dud, he even does so quite profanely. He's worked in some of the finest restaurants in the country, top tier. Among Restaurant Magazine's Top 50 Restaurants in the World, frequently listed is The French Laundry, located in the Napa Valley in California. Bourdain himself once called that high end eatery: "The best restaurant in the world."
That was before he'd ever been to a Waffle House.
Summary:
The food, every bit of it, was great. Perfectly prepared, cleanly and promptly served.That almost goes without saying. The service was simply outstanding. Every member of that young three person crew checked on us during our visit. They all cheerfully greeted us when we arrived and all three wished us a good evening when we left. My coffee cup never saw the halfway point.
The bill for all that comfy yummy-ness was a modest thirty two dollars. I tipped large.
This is how diners and restaurants should work. Limited menus, simple, fresh ingredients, a crew that truly works as a team. Casual, friendly, relaxed. Dining as it should be.

Huddle House

13012 MO 21
De Soto, MO

The quest was for a satisfying Chicken Fried Steak. I don't recall exactly why. We discussed different restaurant options, you can find the traditional southern dish lots of places. Somehow we decided to try Huddle House. They were in my head since I'd just received another coupon via email. Not because I'm a food blogger, but because I joined their little fan club. The coupon seemed interesting, a free 'bacon waffle' with the purchase of something else.
The Place:
On Highway 21, just past Veteran's Blvd. Locals will know where that is. It's only been open a year or two. I used to go on Saturday mornings, with a book, to get out on my own for a while. I don't do that much anymore, no reason.
It's kind of small, like Waffle House and that kind of place. HH serves dinners and burgers, but they're more famous for breakfast feasts. Inside, it has that sweet maple smell that WH has as well. We headed to the only cleared and unclaimed table big enough, a five top to the left of the door. I positioned myself for maximum viewage, of the staff as well as the other patrons.
As is typical for these places, the menus are huge, shiny and colorful. More like an oversized tri-fold catalog than a list of options.
'Katie Bug' (according to her name tag) Asked us about drinks, tea, tea and pop. She told us our server, Katie, would be with us shortly. I assumed she was referring to herself in the third person. I respect that, Dennis does the same thing. It's a sign of quiet intelligence.
But no, another young lady, tagged only with 'Katie' came by a few moments later. Dennis was disappointed he'd misjudged Katie Bug. The new Katie seemed to be confident and friendly. Until I picked my toast option, when I said 'brown.' She looked baffled. Angel muttered something like 'all toast is brown.' because she's a smarty pants. Katie eventually figured out that I wanted wheat bread, which to me, seemed a silly thing to call it since all bread offered was made from wheat. The only thing that significantly differentiated the first two choices was the color of the bread, white and brown. Who makes these illogical rules anyhow?
By the time she came back with the drinks, we were all ready to order.
In the time between ordering and eating, I noticed that there were three or four TV's, muted, each one tuned to a different station. Soccer on one, closed-captioned news on another, and the nearest one had a bunch of guys digging for something. It took us a while to figure out what though, At first I  assumed they were gold diggers. Not Dean Martin's singers and dancers, the other kind, husky dirty guys with picks and shovels.
Then I noticed the overhead music. Thank the gods the volume was pretty low else I would have had to destroy the place. Country. Ugh.
The Food.
True to the quest, Angel and I both ordered the CFS. There were two versions of it, a breakfast meal with two eggs, hash browns and toast, and the dinner version with two sides, mostly potatoes with only one veggie option, the unnamed vegetable of the day. We both opted for the breakfast version, since we knew that's what this place was pretty good at.
Angel wanted her eggs scrambled. She also went for the third bread option, also made from wheat, raisin toast.
I asked for over-medium eggs since I like to stir the hash browns into the gloppy yolk.
Adam did us a favor, asking for the thing we had a coupon for, a bacon waffle with chicken tenders. Too bad we'd not printed out the coupon.
The wait for the food was longer than I expected, but not excessive. I watched the guys dig. They finally ID'd the show 'Prospectors Unearthed' They search for rare gems, mostly they looked like random rocks and pebbles.
The food arrived via two servers. They'd split the adult meals into three plates apiece for some reason. The CFS had its own plate, as did the toast. the eggs and hash browns shared a slightly larger one. We thought this was a bit of a waste when it would all have fit nicely on a single, regular sized plate.
Angel and I did the same thing, transferred the steak over to the egg plate and shoved the empty plates out of the way.
They had provided a steak knife, though it was hardly necessary. CFS is pounded tender, and HH had done a good job of that. I did notice that the steak knife was considerably sharper then those they pass out at Ruby Tuesday, where they serve actual, un-pounded steak. The CFS was the first thing Angel and I tried. She nodded and said that she liked a crispy chicken fried steak.
And yes, it was indeed crispy. Inside the breading, the meat was moist and tender. Not over salted or over peppered, just right. It satisfied my craving perfectly. Even the gravy was spot-on. Thick and not over spiced.
The eggs were, of course, perfectly cooked. I've never had a disappointing egg at HH. Angel and I agreed that the hash browns could have been a little crispier, but they tasted good, especially swirled in egg yolk and occasionally a little spillover gravy. My brown toast was fine, I did notice it was lazily buttered. A splat in the middle of two facing slices and not spread. I wasn't too bothered, it's just toast. I wouldn't have ordered it had it not come as standard equipment on the meal.
Adam seemed to enjoy his waffle and tenders. A bacon waffle is really just a waffle with crumbled
bacon on it, not in it. I make sausage waffles at home. I crumble the sausage and mix it into the batter. Adam assumed they would do a similar thing here, nope, just sprinkled some crispy bacon crumbs on a standard waffle. Not a terrible thing, since it is, after all, bacon and waffles.
Summary:
Pretty satisfying. Simple stuff prepared traditionally leaves little room for surprises. A fair price too, $32.40 for everything, about half the cost of the previous week's less than great meal at Ruby Tuesday, with sharper knives as well. You could not eat here often and maintain your girlish figure, it's better suited for carb loading and the occasional comfort food fix. No fruit, nearly no veggies, mostly starchy, buttery and fatty. But for a busy day or a long day on the road, a real pleaser.

I've noticed on social media that this chain gets a lot of criticism. I've never had a bad experience. The place was clean, the food was well prepared, and the service, the two Katies, were friendly, efficient and professional.
As I looked around, everyone seemed to be at least satisfied, even the skinny red headed young man with the scraggly red beard, foot long ponytail and three foot chrome chain clipped to his belt loop at one end and billfold at the other. I did notice several patrons that spanned more than one generation, kids with grandparents. I suppose it's a good place for that, lots of things that both kids and mature adults can enjoy.
I recently went to a diner in Hillsboro, the name of which, I won't mention. I had breakfast, a waffle two eggs, hash browns and bacon. It was awful. The hash browns were greasy and bland, the eggs overcooked and the waffle was delivered with a generous sprinkling of powdered sugar. For me, the sugar ruined the waffle. It wasn't listed on the menu. That's twice that place has served a very disappointing simple breakfast. I don't think I'll go back. Huddle House, on the other hand, has never disappoints. It's that simple. Get the standards right, customers will come back. Huddle House delivers. Dennis approves.

Off The Hook

12636 Highway 21
DeSoto, Mo.
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My choice, last minute. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Place:

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

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

Tea, sweet tea, Pepsi. 

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

The Food:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel loves her gravy.

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

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

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

"Something wrong?" I asked.

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

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

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

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

Summary:

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

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

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

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.

Waffle House

#1163
Festus, Mo.


You know where it is, just off the Interstate.
The one in Festus, overlooking I-55 is pretty much just like the other 2100 locations in 25, mostly southern, states.
The Place:

There's something quite laudable about consistency, simplicity and efficiency. Also, another Boy Scout-like quality, preparedness.
"The ability of a Waffle House to remain open after a severe storm, possibly with a limited menu, is used by FEMA as a measure of disaster recovery known as the Waffle House Index."
Yeah, they're ready for it. Portable generators, a stockpile of food, and a healthy Disaster Preparedness plan.
The same can be said about the food, simple, clean, unfettered by sparkles and bling.
Open 24/7/365, fair weather or foul, they've got what you want, when you want it.
The place is small, cozy, friendly. The diner-like layout encourages interaction with the crew, and the crews I've come across are always willing to chat, a little or a lot.
Angel had a craving, a hankering for hash browns this week. I don't try to understand or explain these things, I just go along for the ride. I can enjoy breakfast for dinner, lunch, or even breakfast, just about any time.
It wasn't very busy this warm but pleasant Saturday night. Someone said that everyone was at the fair, the Jefferson County Fair, in Hillsboro.
The fair was exactly why we decided to not go to a place in Hillsboro. Whenever and wherever a throng of people are gathering, we can be found going the other way.
I was of limited mind. For two nights in a row my ankle collar, rather, my work phone, had interrupted my precious nights' sleep multiple times. Functional, but listing off task quite a bit.
We stepped in and picked from several open booths.
The Food.

The menus were two sides of a legal-paper sized, colorful, laminated card. Limited options, sure, but everything you need. A young lady name-tagged 'Rebequa' stopped by and asked about drinks. Coffee, sweet tea and Coke. We flipped the menus several times, as if we didn't know what we wanted.
Actually, I was taking a risk. I was not going to order two eggs, over medium, bacon, hash browns (with onions) and toast, which is my normal order for places like this. I decided to go off the map. I knew they could whip together a good breakfast, time to push the envelope, live on the edge.
I finally picked the 'Texas Bacon Cheesesteak Melt, a sandwich. It came with hashbrowns, I 'smothered' mine, onions.
Angel asked 'Rebequa' about the portion sizes of the hash brown meals. She pulled out the stops. She went for the large, adding onions, ham and sausage gravy (smothered, chunked and country.) She added two scrambled eggs on the side, said no thanks to toast because that just seemed excessive.
Adam picked his go-to plate, the two egg (scrambled) All-Star special, toast, hash browns (plain), bacon and a waffle.

Smothered, Chunked, Country.

I announced my choice and got stares from the family.
'Becca' as her crew members called her, scurried off. I was going to ask her about the spelling of her name, but decided against it, that's exactly what she wanted people to do.
The food came pretty fast, I'd only made it through one Angry Bird level. Angel and Adam had not made it very far into whatever they were e-devicing either. No complaints though.
The plates came out and looked perfect. The scrambled eggs were all bright and moist, not overcooked. The hash browns looked crunchy. As her plate appeared before her, Angel moaned, the moan of a woman about to be perfectly satisfied.
Adam's took more than one plate, three to be exact, the waffle and the bacon each got their own. I personally don't care too much for WH's waffles, too cake-y and sweet. Adam immediately blasphemed and covered his with syrup (blech!).

Why so many pickles?

My sandwich looked simple. Not over stuffed, not pouring out of the edges. Many places go overboard with sandwiches, I prefer that they don't. I was worried about it a little though. In my mind I had accepted the fact that the steak would be tough and dry. I didn't know where that premonition came from, but it was a risk I was willing to take. It was accompanied by a squeeze pouch of 'real mayonnaise' and more pickles than were necessary. I shoved a few into the sammich though, squeezed in a little mayo.
Adam sorted his all out, keeping it all on separate plates. I would have

mushed everything together, but he's his own man.
Across from us, sitting at the counter, a husky, middle aged man continued bantering with the crew. He seemed familiar to them, calling them each by name. Then they started discussing schedules, covering shifts and I got the impression that we might be in the presence of the owner/manager.
They were discussing how light the traffic flow in the diner had been, he chalked it up to the fair.
"But they'll come here when afterwards won't they?" One of the young ladies asked him.
"Nah, they'll be too hot and tired and filled with deep fried carnival food." He answered.
"What about the drunks?" Another asked.
"They'll go to White Castle." He chuckled.
At another point they were discussing being nice to difficult customers. He had wisdom for that as well. "If they want bad service they can go to Huddle House." Everyone laughed at that as well. I liked this guy.
My sandwich surprised me. I was all ready  to be harsh, but it turned out to be pretty good! The steak was thin and moist, tender and tasty. It was no original Philly cheese steak, but for a local hash house, not bad, not bad at all.
The food disappeared rather quickly. Angel's moan turned into soft grunts and occasional single word essays. "Crunchy". "Gravy.", "Mmm." and "Perfect"
Summary:
Rebequa laid the check down ($28.52) on our table as we were wrapping up. She took the empty plates away. I noticed she'd written her name on the check, not Rebequa, but rather Rebecca. Actually she spelled it out ReBecca. A real identity crisis going on with this one. I couldn't tell whether when the crew talked to her they were saying Becca or Bequa. Maybe she's on the run from the cops.
She was good though. Kept us refilled and cleaned off, got the orders exactly right. It was a fun meal, Waffle House is a happy place, even with all the drunks going to White Castle instead. I'd have to be very liquored up myself to ever step foot into that disgusting place.
The food was, as expected, fast and quite good, even the off-the-norm sandwich.
As I said at the top, there's something to be said for simplicity, quality and consistency. It is as dependable a place as you'll find. No fake pink meat slop, no added flavorings or preservatives, just good, hearty food, cooked quite well.

Denny's

6441 South Lindbergh
St. Louis, Mo.
On the Web
On Facebook

Oddly enough, we hadn't been to Denny's in three years. This surprised me a little when I looked it up. It seemed more familiar. But some places are like that. Denny's has been around since 1953, originally as Danny's Donuts, changing its name to Denny's in 1959.Their 'Grand Slam' breakfast has been on the menu since 1977. Not many non-fast food franchises carry a menu item that long.
Maybe that's why it seems familiar, they've changed a little over time, but they are also still very much the same.
Of course they offer much, much more than their famous breakfasts, but I usually associate it with bacon, eggs, sausage, etc. I looked on the menu and found a 'Fish and Chips' plate, but I knew better. It might actually be good, but why risk it?
Angel had picked it because she was jonesing for French Toast and hash browns. Adam and I did not argue.
The Place:

At a very busy section of south Lindbergh, just across from a huge mall. Lots of shoppers whizzing by. This section of road is near the I-270 and I-255 junctions and thus, is twisted, wide, busy and a bit confusing. Angel was second guessing her exit immediately. Not that there's a wrong way to turn, you're never very far off, but with so many major routes intersecting, one could easily find themselves in an infinite loop.
I would have just gone up Highway 21/Tesson Ferry, then south on Lindbergh, I'm a right-angle kind of guy. Angel wanted to trim the corners. She was never lost, but did end up in the wrong lanes a couple of times.
It's a typical Interstate-like Denny's, the tall, familiar sign makes it easy to spot. Inside it is subdued, darker carpets and walls. Lots of tables and booths, the kitchen line open to public viewing. We were seated in a booth near the food line.
Sheree greeted us and asked about drinks and handed out the menus. Since I'd read my earlier review of the place, I ordered coffee rather than tea.
Angel ordered something called Caramel Coffee, which sounded sickening to me. Adam asked for an iced coffee, also awful sounding.
The Food:
The menus are very large, very colorful and have pictures of just about everything. This makes the menus unwieldy, but it is iconic. You get these massive billboard menus at Denny's, its always been that way.
I considered several things but always came back to the breakfast page. The aroma of the place is of smoky breakfast meats and syrup. I don't care for the syrup stench, you can tell this by the fact that I just referred to it as a stench. It's a long story, one you can find here, under the section 'I Digress'.
Sheree came back and set three glasses on the table. "Don't get excited, it's just the water." She said. I took that as a cue. "Oh boy, the water's here, the water's here!" I shouted.
Sheree gave me a matronly glare. So did Angel.
I had sized up Sheree immediately. She's been serving tables a long, long time, I could tell just by seeing her fly from table to table, multi-tasking with a seasoned pro's efficiency and demeanor. I knew she'd been fielding smart-ass attitude for her entire career. I also knew she could handle it. These were our roles. The seasoned waitress versus the snarky, less-funny-than-he-thinks, middle aged guy. It's a play as old as diners themselves.
She took off again, promising to return.

Caramel Coffee

She was very busy. Several times I heard the younger, less experienced crew members call her name for advice or guidance. I knew we were in good hands.
She came back with our drinks and flipped open her order pad.
Angel started with Chicken Fired Steak, 2 eggs, hash browns and plain white toast.

I struggled because I  couldn't find the combination I was wanting. "Can I get French toast with a Grand Slam?" I asked. Sheree wrinkled her face. "There's a French toast menu that you can add sides to." She said. I flipped to the full page 'Build your own French Toast' plate page. I let out a frustrated sigh. "That's really complicated. How about I tell you what I really want and you can tell me what it is that I want to order."
She frowned a little, in that matronly way.
"Two eggs, bacon, hash browns and French toast." I told her.
"I can do that." she said confidently. She scribbled something down.
Adam asked for a 'Grand Slamwich', breakfast on bread, with some hash browns.

Iced Coffee

As she was folding her book, Angel spoke up. "Oh, and we'd like some of the Pancake Poppers too!"
"The Pancake Puppies?" Sheree replied. "Yeah, that's it."
These are what they sound like, golf ball sized and shaped pancakes, deep fried. Like pancake Hush puppies, thus, 'Pancake Puppies.'
The place was quite busy, I knew it would be several minutes before the food arrived. I spent the time productively though, using the free WiFi to download another version of Angry Birds on my tablet. Angel and Adam goofed off with their devices too. We had to, otherwise conversation might have taken place. Nothing good ever comes from casual conversation amongst family members.
In the meantime, someone refilled my coffee, Sheree, maybe, I wasn't really paying attention.

The food did arrive and it looked great, even better than the pictures.
Mine arrived on three plates, which I quickly reduced  to two by scraping the hash browns onto the egg and bacon plate. I was a little concerned about the French toast, I'd neglected to tell Sheree to hold the powdered sugar. There wasn't a whole lot, but as I've said a thousand times before on these hallowed pages, I've weakened my tolerance of sugar over the past couple of years. I can usually handle it as a fractional part of something, like in baked beans, barbecue sauce, sesame chicken, but as a frivolous condiment, not so much. I flipped the Texas-style toast over and tapped most of it off. The resulting pile made up about a teaspoon and there was still a little left on the bread, but it was better than nothing.
Staring at the little pile of powder,  I formed a rock-solid comedic idea. Using my butter knife, I scooted the powder into a straight line, unwrapped my straw, but before I could even get the straw to my nose, Adam figured it out. "Stop it, just don't." He chided. He doesn't appreciate true comic genius.

Grand Slamwich

His Slamwich looked huge. Huge and delicious! Two eggs, and a generous variety of breakfast meat on toasted and buttered potato bread. Yeah, a 1320 calorie sandwich. Add the hash browns and you have 1500+ luscious, delicious calories.
No one ever said this stuff was 'health food'.
Angel's CF Steak came with her requested add-on, extra gravy. To Angel, gravy is it's own elite food group. She doesn't have it very often, honestly, but when she does, she likes a lot of it.

CF Steak, extra gravy.

She also likes her eggs scrambled. I do sometimes, but not when I go to a place with a mastery of egg-making. I prefer mine over-medium. Places like Denny's, Huddle House, Waffle House, and IHOP pride themselves on their egg-making. I rarely get a bad egg at any of these.
She glopped her gravy onto her plate, swirling everything into it. The toast, she said, was a bit too dry, but everything else was great. White toast, dry? (insert 'DUH!' here')

Pancake Poppers, er, Puppies.

Something was missing though. "Where's the pancake poppers?" She asked us. Sure enough they hadn't been delivered. Sheree came by after a few minutes and we mentioned it. She sighed and frowned. "I'll check." She said and dashed off as if on a Holy mission. I had the feeling someone was about to face-plant the grill. She came back and apologized, then a few minutes later brought out the plate, they were fresh out of the fryer. She also delivered two ramekins of syrup and sat one down right in front of me.
She apparently hadn't seen the memo. Seeing my eyes bug out, Angel snatched up the little bowl and stuck it on the far side of the table, saving the entire joint the ravages of a violent and noisy panic fit.
You think I'm exaggerating. I'm not (much). The smell of syrup touches off the exact same gag reflex in me as a rotting, split-open skunk on a hot day.  I'm told this is not a common reaction, though I do not understand that. I suppose It's a good thing I'm not Canadian.
Summary:
The food was mostly very, very good. There was Angel's dry toast, and Adam said his sandwich was great, but a bit too big. The biggest, and only real 'fail'' was the Pancake Puppies. I recognized it immediately. I only had one, but could tell there was something not quite right. It tasted, familiar, not pancake familiar but something else. Then it occurred to me what my mind was telling me I was eating.  "Funnel Cake!" I shouted quietly and without passion. "That's it exactly." Adam replied.
Not that there's anything wrong with funnel cake, as long as you're at a county fair where you expect to go home with a queasy, greasy feeling in your gullet. This happens when you inexplicably yet consciously order something you know has been cooked in thrice burnt, five day old oil by vagabonds, hobos, thieves and one-armed scalawags.  Angel agreed. The taste was exactly that of deep fried sugar in old grease.
Everything else though, was exceptional. My toast was grilled well and soft  in the middle. It still managed to sop up its share of egg yolk. The hash browns, we all agreed, were the crispiest we've ever had, perfect. And the service? Sheree was a real peach. Professional, efficient and solid. Sure the Puppies were late, but they weren't really very good, I'm not sure any of that was on Sheree though. She took very good care of us and didn't react rudely or violently at my poking at her. She had a good sense of humor and plenty of patience. She should of course, be granted an immediate and generous raise, as well as a good parking spot.
The tab came in at around thirty three bucks, not bad for a delicious, sating meal.
On the way home we were discussing the meal.
"I wish the Pancake Poppers had been better." Angel told us.
"Puppies, Pancake Puppies." Adam corrected her.
"I don't know why I can't remember that." She replied.
"Let's see, you are a dog trainer, boarder and rescuer. Yet somehow, the word 'puppies' eludes you." I commented.
"That is weird." Adam added.
"It has to be Freudian, or maybe even Pavlovian." I summarized.

Concord Grill

11427 Concord Village Ave.
Affton, Mo.
On the Interwebs
On Facebook



It is impossible to answer the question "Why this place?" without discussing my car. My new(er) car.
For the last epoch or two I've been driving small, cheap, disposable cars. I don't invest much into them and as soon as they became too much cost/trouble, I get rid of them and get another one. My commute (80 miles per day) is brutal on cars, especially small, cheap, disposable ones.
This, the third year of my unimpressive Chevy coupe's term of service, was to be its last. I'd put sixty-plus thousand miles on it in that time, and recently had to pour lots of hard earned ducats into it just to get it to pass the safety and emissions inspections. So for the last couple of months, I've been thinking about a replacement. This is new. In the past I never really thought about cars until it was too late. Then I'd just go grab whatever was available on the lots for the price I had budgeted. That's harder to do than you might think, I'm somewhat of a tightwad. Sure, I sometimes imagine myself tooling around in a pricey, flashy engineering and aesthetic marvel, but when it comes to contemplating the $$$, I run away, shrieking.
As I was researching this time though, a process that largely consisted of noticing other cars, on the road or in the parking lot, I found myself most pleased with only two or three options. Not just appearance, that's just paint and metal bending, but to a great degree, reliability, ruggedness and MPG's. I spend a lot of money on gas doing this commute. I also decided to up my budget a little, that opened up a new line of possibilities. One of those came available, at a reasonable price at a reputable dealership (another requirement) and I went for it. This process was expedited by the fact that Adam was finally in the market, had saved some money, and was looking for a small, cheap and perhaps disposable car.  So I sold him my Chevy. He offered a little more than I would have earned on a trade-in, but less than reputable dealerships would even have something in their inventory to match.

A win/win.
So what was the question?
Oh yeah.
Knowing all week that I would be going to a particular dealership, probably on Saturday, and knowing that buying a car can easily turn into an all-day event, I looked at online maps around the dealership and located places to eat that we'd not been to before.
Sure enough, though I had concluded the business aspects of the deal earlier in the day, they needed to prep it for delivery and that would take a while. So I told them "I'll stop in  later." and drove home in what would be probably the last highway run for me and my unimpressive Chevy. No sappy emotionalism, my relationship to cars is roughly the same as my relationship with computers. I like them just fine, to the point of not even thinking about them when they work, but seriously hate them when they are broken. Kind of like marriage.
This review is about the place I'd found within a mile or so of the dealership.
Another aside:
As I was researching the Concord Grill, I came across the following from their web page:
"We have grown from 6 burgers to 40.  My goal is to have 50 different burgers including our burger of the month and we are very close to that.  If you ever have an idea for a burger please email me and we will give it a try!"
I couldn't resist. I looked over the online menu at the huge selection of sometimes bizarre burgers and tried to think of something that they hadn't thought of, also making sure that I would actually eat the thing if necessary. Thus, after minutes of thought, I came up with one:
Shrimp Alfredo Burger.
So I sent an email to Deb, the owner, as she requested. I also mentioned that I'd never actually been to her place but likely would soon.
I received this reply later that evening:
"Well, that does sound interesting.  We could run that for a special and see how it sells.  Thanks for the idea and we hope you come see us soon."
And you believe that one mere, mortal man cannot make a real difference in this crazy old world.
The Place:  (finally)
On Concord Village Avenue, just a hop and a skip west of  Highway 21, (Tesson Ferry) just off Lindbergh.
I'd picked up my new(er) black beauty, the German engineered and Mexican assembled VW Jetta, and led Angel and Adam, in the family truckster, to the place. The front lot was full, it's not a very large place. There were exactly two parking spaces available in the back though. Popular place.
Sure enough it was nearly full as we entered. It was also a little loud, like sports-bar loud. An older building, low ceilings, probably under a thousand square feet. (just guessing).
The lighting was dim, like a bar, and in the back, there was, sure enough, a nice oak-topped bar. The walls were nearly covered in beer-logo mirrors, most I'd heard of, a few I hadn't. There was an empty four-top near the bar, we were led to that one.
The table was, as all the tables were, covered with an inexpensive green vinyl tablecloth, the chairs were simple as well. There was absolutely nothing on the table but the silverware(knife and fork only), wrapped in dark blue hand towels, and one each, salt and pepper shaker. No candles, condiments, flowers, dessert cards, nothing. I liked this. I'd just that morning had a modest breakfast at The Farmer's Kitchen in Hillsboro, sat at a two-top, and had trouble moving the various containers and cards out of the way to make room for my meal and my book. I've noticed the same thing at the other breakfast House's, Waffle and Huddle. Too much clutter for me.
We were greeted by our server, a nice young man whose name I regrettably did not get, but the receipt says he is 'Server ID  17.' He handed us menus and asked about drinks. Tea, Dr Pepper (no ice) and Pepsi.
Sure enough the burgers by themselves filled an entire page. I didn't expect my creation to be listed, or even offered, it had only been two days since I'd sent the email. At best the Concord Grill's research and development labs were still working on a functional prototype.
I was not disappointed though, there were plenty of fine sounding burgers listed, along with a few that made me gag a little at the very thought.
Everyone at the table wanted a burger, sure, why not. The place boasted about the 'Best Burgers in Town', right there in the menu. That's a hell of a claim. Challenge, accepted. I'd already, from my earlier research, decided on a couple that would be good. Angel and Adam took a little more time, but also decided that we needed to try the toasted (fried) ravioli, because, as their menu said:

The Food:
Server 17 returned, we were ready:
Me: Concord Burger. Cheddar cheese sauce and bacon topped with onion straws.
Angel: Smothered Burger. Grilled onions, mushrooms and beef gravy. (Because, Gravy!)
Adam; and this surprised and impressed me a little:
Hawaiian Burger. Sweet and sour sauce, bacon and pineapple.
Hmm. Whatever floats your Mālia, I guess. (A Hawaiian boat)
The drinks had arrived and I was surprised. A place that serves scores of different beers usually can't be expected to make a good glass of tea. This wasn't really bad at all. A +3 at least.
  The ravioli came soon. It didn't look as elegant as some we've had recently, a little flatter, probably frozen rather than house-made and the sauce was pretty basic as well. But it was good enough. Maybe the rangoons next time.
As we munched on the fried pasta we pulled out our electronic devices as we tend to do a lot. Well, Adam and I pulled ours out, Angel had left hers in the car, and the car was way out back. So we laughed at her mistake and then ignored her plight.
I did pause and look around a little, She'd interrupted my important work by saying "This is a diverse crowd."
Sure enough it was. A table of loud, working class guys, a table of three generations of a family, a few elderly couples, even a college aged couple, dressed like Seattle in the mid 90's, quietly eating salads.
And the place was full, it stayed full. Several new arrivals were greeted by name by some other table full. this meant this was probably a neighborhood joint, a lot of the people knew each other. The din was palpable, especially the beer-drinkers at that one table, but somehow it didn't seem too bad. The laughter and conversations was sort of familial, like you'd expect in a neighborhood pub. Because of this we didn't mind it too much.
The burgers arrived, and boy they looked good.
Thick style burgers served up on kaiser buns. Along side the burgers was an entire slice of onion, a little shard of lettuce and a few home-style pickle slices. To me and entire slice of onion is a but much, so I broke up a couple of the outer rings and discarded the rest. The fries were big and crispy, seasoned with what appeared to be salt and pepper, though I thought I detected a little something else, garlic maybe.
I assembled my burger, then squished it to make it small enough to fit into my mouth, they were indeed thick burgers. Oh yeah, they'd asked how we wanted them cooked, I took mine medium rare. Sure enough a nice pink center.
When I squished it, hot, melty cheese erupted out the sides, Mmmm, melty cheese.
It tasted great. This was good quality meat, cooked expertly. The burger was a bit messy, and I loved that. the heavier than normal bun held up just fine.
 Angel examined hers and looked a little disappointed. Not enough gravy for her tastes. "I wish they'd served it with a dipping dish with more gravy, that's the only complaint I have though." She said. Have I mentioned that Angel likes gravy? I'm sure I've brought that up somewhere before.
Adam's looked like a Hawaiian burger, a big slice of grilled pineapple topping it off. I was happy to hear that there was no Spam on it though, Hawaiians love Spam.
 They were too big for us though. We're sort of small as far as people go. We're certainly smarter and more sensible that most people, but just a slightly smaller size.
It wasn't until later as I started this review that I noticed the burger page offered a smaller version of any burger for $1 less. That would have been about perfect. No problem though, we just ate as much as we could.
Summary:
A truly, truly enjoyable meal. every aspect of it, the food, the service, the cheerful, familial ambiance, everything was exceptional. Sure, as I said earlier, it was a little noisy, but that didn't seem to matter much. Even halfway through gorging ourselves we were talking about 'the next time'. Already thinking about what else we'd like to try there, maybe even some of the desserts, like the Twinkies, (I assume, fried) topped with Reese's Peanut Butter and Chocolate or honey and powdered sugar.... er, maybe not. But still the burgers were excellent, perhaps the best thick burger I've had around town.

Oh, and about that. This place is located in Affton, which is one of the scores of towns that make up suburban St. Louis County. (St. Louis itself is not in St. Louis county, it is its own county.) So the claim of the biggest and best burgers in town, (Affton, pop. 20,000) is certainly possible. As for the entirety of the Metro St. Louis area, I'm not so sure, I haven't even tried most of the burgers offered in that vast landscape. But I think the claim is certainly solid for Affton itself.
The closest Metro rival in my mind, in the admittedly meager number of places I've eaten, would be the Train Wreck up north in Westport Plaza. The burger I get there is very, very similar to the one I'd had at the Concord Grill.  So a comparison is only fair. I'd say the Concord burger was at least as good, every bit as good. At worst, a tie. As for biggest, well like I said, I can't finish a huge burger, so that really doesn't score many points for me.
An exceptional meal though, Server 17 took good care of us and was on the spot with servings, refills and the check.
The bill came in at forty eight bucks, about normal for a big burger pub, that covered the ten buck (average) burgers, the fries and the appetizer. Certainly a lot of food for the money, though next time we'll probably go with the smaller burgers, especially if they offer a 'Shrimp Alfredo Burger'. Mmmm.
(I'll send Deb an email asking her to let me know when/if it is ever offered. It seems only fair that I get a chance to rate my own idea.)