Cracker Barrel

Cracker Barrel

1193 Scenic Dr  

Herculaneum, MO

http://www.crackerbarrel.com/

It was my week to choose, I procrastinated. Friday night we were watching TV and a commercial for Cracker Barrel came on. Angel let out one of those smoky, soft moans that she lets out when she sees something she likes or wants. I made note of it and on Saturday announced my decision.

It’s not wise to ignore Angel’s smoky moans, they don’t occur very often anymore.

The Place:

Some places ban firearms.
Here, they're considered art.

In Herculaneum, near the interstate. A large free-standing, porched, barn-like building. On the porch are dozens of wood rocking chairs. They are for sitting or for sale. The Barrel sells lots of stuff, in fact to get to the restaurant itself you have to wind through shelves and racks of vintage-brand candy, clothing, toys and kitschy country novelties. The ceiling of the store is heavily laden with stuff you’d expect to find at a yard sale in Mayberry, sturdy old bicycles, wash tubs, lanterns, farm implements. I would not want to be caught in that storefront during a tornado or earthquake, there’s a couple of tons of jagged metal-edged items up there.

Stupid golf tee game

We pushed our way trough the shoppers, gawkers and dawdlers to the hostess counter. A lady holding a tray and wearing black pants and white button down shirt approached and sat her tray down on the podium. “Your hostess will be here in a minute, I don’t know how to do her job.” She said, pulling a paper out from underneath, picking up her tray and wandering off. “Someday you will dreamer, someday!” I called to her, trying to lift her spirits. I don’t think she heard me over the sounds of my ribs cracking beneath Angel’s elbow.

We were seated near the huge, empty fireplace. In the winter they burn logs, lots of logs in that massive hole in the building. Not this summer though, thank goodness.

Menus were slapped down, drink orders taken (tea, tea, Coke) by our cute, short, round-faced young waitress. Not as trim and tanned as the Hooters ladies, but infinitely more approachable. The place was packed, it always is.

The Food:

The large, flimsy and thin brown paper menus were filled with country classics. Choosing was only difficult because almost everything looked good. Angel was in the mood for a simple steak, which sounded good to me as well. So when round-face came back we ordered sirloins, with baked potato and side salad. We were asked about salad dressing, Angel named one, I asked for a recitation of the options. Round-face struggled a little with this, especially when I asked after about the tenth one she could remember, “What was the fifth one?” My ribs cracked again, so I chose Thousand Island.

The lamp, bolted to the table.

Adam opted for the chicken fried chicken, a safe, comfortable choice. We asked for the complimentary bread basket to be split between cornbread and biscuits, we couldn't recall which of the two we preferred.

She skittered away, we settled in for a wait. Adam pulled out the stupid golf-tee-in-a-triangle game. I didn’t bother. I looked up the solution on the interwebs once so it’s no fun anymore. Looking around there was more old junk on the walls. It looked like they’d cleaned out the American Pickers’ store. Oil signs, moose heads, rusty tools, sleds, canoes, washboards, radios, food tins. Mike and Frank would go ape in this place, or at least politely pretend to. Danielle would just roll her eyes, like she always does when the boys find something cool. She’s no one to judge though, being a bawdy burlesque dancer and all. All those tattoos, it’s a crying shame, bad parenting no doubt.

I hear the salad is very good.

The salads showed up pretty quickly. They were gorgeous. Fresh, thinly sliced, skin-on cucumbers, a dozen or more cherry tomatoes, crisp lettuce. I peeled open the long, narrow, condiment-ized salad dressing tube and squeezed it all on. I then stirred it around, cut the cucumber slices in half, took the first two or three bites, all fresh all…

That’s as much as I can say about the salad. At this point things went seriously foul. Three or four bites into the big salad, our steaks arrived. Sizzling, the butter in the potato just starting to melt, there was barely enough room on the small table for the salads, the bread plate and the three main courses. Seriously, things were teetering over the edge of the table.

I was incensed.

I’ve often complained about too much time between courses. The Barrel struck out with the exact opposite problem. Neither of us had even dented our salads and we were now confronted with a dilemma.

Fresh from 'the Barrel?'

Grilled steak has a very short half-life, you can’t just set it aside like a sandwich or pile of green beans while you finish up a salad.  A fresh grilled steak requires immediate and focused attention since they do not get better from sitting long at room temperature.

We could have split the eating three ways, potato, steak, salad, had there been enough room on the table! But here wasn’t. I abandoned my salad, which was very good, after another bite or two. I had to prep the potato and dig in to that thick, rare steak. The salad went to the empty setting across the table, blocked from easy access by the kitschy, bolted down, oil lamp.

The steak was cooked as ordered, barely seasoned at all, which was fine. The potato was plump and steamy, creamy with all that butter and sour cream. Angel tossed me some warm (but only slightly warm) corn bread and a tiny sealed plastic tub of butter. I peeled back the top and dug out a stone-like pebble of hard-frozen butter. No way was the cornbread or the biscuits anywhere near hot enough to melt it. Which turned out to be moot since neither the cornbread or the biscuits were all that good. A little industrial tasting, not home made-like at all. I asked Angel about this. She agreed that the cornbread was dry and unlike more familiar cornbread, devoid of any hint of sweetness. She didn’t try the biscuits.

I tossed most of my cornbread into the abandoned salad bowl across the table. A mostly uneaten, hard, dry biscuit joined it a minute later.
We were about five or six bites into our main courses when the waitress returned and tossed the check onto the table. She asked how everything tasted, which was wise on her part since we weren’t displeased with the tastes. We grunted ‘fine’, ‘okay’, etc. though I was now even more riled up having the feeling, what with the much-too-soon arrival of the check that we were being rushed. She topped off our drinks, which didn’t add to the pleasure at all. She filled my glass by reaching over Angel and all the way across the cluttered table and tilted the pitcher sideways as some waitresses are prone to do. She filled my tumbler, or should I say overfilled it. The term for how full it was is ‘convex meniscus’ where the level of the fluid, due to viscosity/surface tension of the liquid, forms a cone higher than the edge of the container. In other words I couldn’t move the darn thing without spilling it. I found my straw, which I rarely use, and had to siphon-suck a little out to drop the level in the glass low enough to pick up and drink like an adult.  I don’t like using straws since I read somewhere that people, grown ups, who use straws suffer from latent nursing trauma. A Freudian mommy issue, perhaps weaned too early, or much too late. I don’t have any mommy issues, in spite of what several so-called professional counselors and therapists have said. Well, except for my hatred of poetry, which is a completely different issue that I won’t go into at this time. I don’t have mommy issues so I don’t drink through a straw. That’s the point I’m trying to make.

This of course bothered me. I can top off beverages for years in a row and never overfill one. It’s not exactly rocket surgery.

Steak, potato, bludgeoning tool.

Then we get to yet another serious issue. A repeat, the so-called 'knives'.

The Barrel distributes massive, Crocodile Dundee impressing steak knives. Serrated, heavy, large, and as dull as the side of a spoon. The potato was not so much carved or sliced, it was mashed. The steak became ground beef under the ridiculously dull edge of the big, scary-looking utensil. There’s no excuse for this, especially since I recall griping about this before. Thick meat needs a slightly sharp knife, these things were blunt objects. Even the lovely and sweet Angel griped about this.

Summary:

Long-time fans will recall that Adam usually doesn’t say a whole lot about these meals. He’s not a big talker. But he said this about the Barrel. “They blew everything but the food.”

I agree. The steak was fine, even after being crushed by the bludgeoning tool I was given to dissect it. The potato was great, the salad was fresh, generous and crispy. The price wasn’t even that bad, all told, the prematurely dropped off bill came to just over forty dollars.

But everything else, the frozen butter, the knives, the unmistakable sense of being rushed, the overzealous refilling of the drinks, it was not a pleasant experience at all. Which is a terrible shame.

There is simply no excuse for rushing a customer by delivering the main course a mere two minutes after the salads, especially on a crowded table. Simply inexcusable.

As we left we stopped in the store area and paid too much for some vintage candies. Chick-O-Sticks for me, flat taffy for Angel, and a giant sucker for Adam. I had trouble enjoying the shopping, I was still miffed at the lousy service.

I do not blame the waitress, except maybe for the tea, the other stuff must be conscious management decisions. I hope they reconsider these choices.

There are several other country style dining places in the area, some, like ‘Off the Hook' in  Desoto are downright excellent. Unless Cracker Barrel gets its act together I just can’t see bothering with them much in the future.

  

Main Street BBQ

1620 Hwy Z

Pevely, MO

http://www.bbqonmain.com/

Herculaneum Fire Department

I’d spent all day at the Herculaneum  Fire Department taking CERT classes.  You don’t know what that is?  I’ll explain later. At any rate it was an all-day class, and I asked the family to pick place that was nearby or on the way. As it turned out it didn’t really matter, by the time class let out, a little early, Angel was on the road in the other direction from dropping a couple of dogs off. I went on home, she got there about the same time and had to let the remaining dogs out before we could leave. She and Adam had already assumed Main Street BBQ, they didn’t see any reason to change that. So we headed out from home and to within a couple of miles of where I’d already spent the whole day.

The Place:

On Highway Z between I-55 and 61/67. It’s a stand-alone affair that was probably something else before it became what it is now. You walk in and confront a counter, on which you will find a large painted menu. Paper menus area also available. You just pick your choice(s) of meat, add a couple of sides, pay for the order, fill your drinks, then find a table. We did all that.

The Food:

Me: Pulled pork sandwich, red potato salad, baked beans and un-sweet tea.

Angel: 2-meat platter, turkey and brisket, corn cob-ette and coleslaw, she tasted the sweet tea, poured it out and got Diet Coke instead.

Adam: Chicken and Pork platter, baked beans and coleslaw.

Pulled pork, beans, potato salad

We sat and waited, not for all that long. I started telling them about my day in class, they feigned interest.

The food came, served on plates, the sides in small bowls. I flipped my sandwich open, put the dill pickle slices on it, took a bite then fetched some sauce, it was a little dry by itself. Tasty, but dry. Adam picked at his beans, then set them aside. “The beans have stuff in them.” By which he meant diced onions. I tsk’d him and carried on. Angel passed around small pieces of brisket, it was pretty good. She said it was okay, but not nearly as good as the turkey, which she described as "Yum!”

Her corn didn’t fare as well, she said  it was almost tasteless, like it had been soaking in water too long, she ate it all anyhow.

Turkey+Brisket Platter

I soaked my pork in ‘Sweet and Smoky’ sauce, that made a lot of difference. They make their own sauces and they do it well. I found the beans to be a little too sweeter than I usually like them, but not to the point of being not-good. The potato salad, made with red potatoes and skin left on, was awesome. Smooth, creamy and not too much mustard or vinegar.

My sandwich was quite large, the pork, though moist with the added sauce still proved a bit rubbery at times, I was a little disappointed, but even a not-great pulled pork sandwich is better than most things. Adam said he loved his chicken, even more so than Bandana’s, which is a very high compliment. Correction: Adam said his chicken was fine, but he prefers Bandana's. He was slightly less pleased with the pork.

Chicken + Pork Platter

Angel went on and on about her turkey, using words like ‘Great!’

“I love it here.” She cooed. “You can just come in, order some meat and if you feel like it can toss a couple of small sides in with it.” Angel loves meat. At around ten at night she usually snacks on ‘night-meat’ either deli stuff or whatever might be leftover from dinner. No bread, no sides, no toppings or sauces, just cold meat straight from the fridge.  

Summary:

I’d had turkey and scrambled  eggs as an early (6:30 A.M) breakfast before class and the Fire Department treated us to Pizza from a local place in the early afternoon. I only had two slices since it was rather bland (even more so than Domino’s) but that, along with the breakfast was about twice as much as I normally eat on a Saturday. So I dismissed at least most of my criticism, and the lack of motivation to finish my meal, to that. The tab was forty two dollars and change, about the same as Bandana’s, not bad at all for in-house smoked meat. It takes about five minutes to grill a burger, smoking meat takes hours, I expect to pay a little more.

You may note that none of us had French fries this time, which is rare for us, but that’s because Main Street doesn’t serve them anymore. I’d overheard this at the counter but did not hear the explanation. I figured it was because that was the only thing I could recall them ever needing a deep fryer for and it probably just wasn’t worth the mess and maintenance.

It’s still a very good place to grab a smoky meat sandwich despite the little minuses I pointed out. Still highly recommended.

The DogHouse Diner

1185 Scenic, Suite 153

Herculaneum, Mo

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Herculaneum-MO/The-Doghouse-Diner/192860966412?v=info#!/pages/Herculaneum-MO/The-Doghouse-Diner/192860966412?v=wall

We spotted this place a few weeks ago, it shares a parking lot with La Pachanga, the mediocre Mexican restaurant we recently visited. DogHouse is of course a hot dog diner, specializing in ‘Chicago style’ hot dogs.

The Place:

The diner boasted one entire customer as we went in. The place was shiny, bright and crisp. Brightly painted red and yellow walls, the color of a hot dog, or catsup and mustard. The floor consisted of thick and broad brown stone tiles. The tables and chairs were new, stylish and black as were the bar and stools. Around the walls were scores of framed posters and magazine ads harking back to an early optimistic America. There was one TV screen a modern flat panel set to the old TV show channel, ‘I Love Lucy’ was on.

We chose our seats at a table along the wall. It was a tight fit. We’re not huge people but there was not a lot of elbow room. These tables were designed for two, arranged for four.

The menus were simple sleeved one sheeters with hot dogs, burgers and sides featured on one side, pizzas and salads on the other. We were asked about drinks, Angel asked for a Diet Coke and was informed that they only served Pepsi products. She switched to tea. Adam ordered a Pepsi, and I, of course also asked for tea.

The Food:

We scanned the menu, asking for a bit more time. There were no pictures to guide us. Though the diner boasts fifteen types of hot dogs, in reality they offer the same all-beef hot dog with a dozen or so variations of toppings. Chili, cheese, onions, relish, pickle spears, slaw, etc. The sides were billed as appetizers and there was a large selection, waffle fries, onion rings fried cauliflower, pickles, even mini burritos.

Angel ordered a chili dog, Adam and I had picked one called a ‘Miss Lou’ Angel and Adam went for the waffle fries, I got the onion rings.

The Miss Lou was basically a chili dog with cheese. Adam ordered his without onions, which in my mind made it NOT a Miss Lou.

As we sat waiting with our drinks Adam blew a straw wrapper at his mother. I decided to get in on the fracas but discovered that Adam had already taken my straw. A horrific fight ensued. He remarked that I don’t use a straw, ever, which in his defense is true. Ever since that terrible incident with a cup of very hot cup of coffee, I equate straws with searing, hellish pain. Still, just because I don’t use a straw doesn’t mean it becomes public domain. I shut him down completely by scooping up all the wrappers. If I can’t have fun, nobody can.

The tea was completely tasteless. Enough so that even Angel commented on its weakness.

The dogs arrived very quickly, even before the fries and rings. The dogs were served in brown resin salad bowls. There was no paper lining the bowl, which we’ll discuss at length later.

The frank was fat and pink, but not as long as the bun. The bun itself was a letdown. It was a garden variety grocery store white-bread bun, exactly like the cheap ones you give kids for lunch. The chili seemed different; it was later in the meal that Angel popped the question. “Is this meatless chili with beans?” I looked closer, sure enough it looked like canned chili without the meat. Brown sauce with beans. This struck us as odd since when we usually have chili on a hot dog it is bean-less with meat. I had never even heard of meatless chili with beans. Not that it was bad, it had very little taste at all, and mine was lukewarm to tepid, while the frank itself was steamy hot.

The all-beef frank they served was billed as being ‘not available in grocery stores, shipped in from Chicago’. Fine, that’s nice, but they tasted like old fashioned all beef franks, nothing really unique.

The cheese and onions were also mere grocery store fare.

The waffle fries turned out to be the high point of the meal. The onion rings were fine, but the fries were especially good.

As the meal progressed my bun started to dissolve into a thick, gloppy paste. As the frank cooled it’s taste shifted slightly to not-so-good. The chili which started out barely above room temperature had cooled even more.

It was not disgusting, but it was disappointing. We finished up and once again Angel took care of the ugly financials. I decided to say nothing about the meal so as not to taint opinion. It didn’t take long for Angel and Adam to express their opinions, Adam said it best. “We could have had the same thing at home.”

Maybe those particular franks weren’t available in grocery stores, but some that taste pretty much the same are. They come in packages of ten and you can usually get them on sale for about a buck. After that add whatever mustard, onions and cheese you have in the fridge, nuke some canned chili, and voila! You’ve got pretty much the same meal.

Angel re-mentioned the odd chili and agreed with Adam. She added that we could have done it considerably cheaper at home as well.

Summary:

Nearly thirty damn dollars. Three hot dogs, three sides, a Pepsi and two glasses of brown water. The bill was actually twenty six and change but with the merit based tip of two dollars, close enough. Too much for not so much.

We even discussed simple ways to improve the experience. Angel brought up the lack of paper in the hot dog bowls. I griped about the bun, and how a slightly better bread would have made it much better or even if they just toasted them they wouldn’t have turned into paste. And how about this, something, ANYTHING that was unique or fancy or original. “I wonder if their hamburgers are any good.” Angel queried. I responded that that was irrelevant as they billed themselves as a hot dog diner so it didn’t matter how good their hamburgers were. We spoke a bit about their lack of marketing savvy. They have no web site, though they do have a Facebook page with only thirty friends, which does not even include a menu.

I really, really wanted to like this place, I liked the idea of a gourmet hot dog diner. What we got was near gourmet prices for common food We really couldn’t recommend those place except to someone who specifically wanted a hotdog and if they also happened to be in that particular parking lot. I’m being generous giving it a score of eighty. The waffle fries were good after all.

Next week: There’s a new Chinese Buffet in Festus!!!!