Osaka Sushi Grill

38 Gravois Station
House Springs, Mo.
On The Web

We heard about this place on social media, on a Jefferson County Missouri general information feed.
The question asked by the moderator was "Favorite place to get Crab Rangoon from?"
(Struggling to avoid smugly calling out the stranded preposition)
The discussion was lively, as it always is on such hot topics of personal preference. There seemed to be several passionate, probably alcohol fueled opinions. One place came up a few times, one we'd not heard of. Angel looked up the menu and showed it to me. "It looks different." she angrily and resolutely sighed. (actually I can never seem to guess Angel's emotions accurately, she may in fact have been pleased.)
We resolved to got there at the first opportunity.
Recall that recently I have been whining about getting tired of Chinese places, the food was all starting to taste alike, and it seemed muddy and almost off-putting. But this place by name and menu was definitively not just another Chinese themed restaurant, it was Japanese and yes there is a difference.
One word on the menu caught my eye and launched a flood of ancient memories.
Gyoza. (ギョーザ, ギョウザ)
I can recall it now, like it was just yesterday. . .
Back in the 80's I was stationed at Misawa Air Base on the northern tip of the largest (Honshu) of that country's many islands. For three years.
That's a long time to be anywhere, so yeah, I explored a little, tried a few things more than the average tourist. Admittedly and regrettably I didn't take full opportunity of the time I spent there. I explored tried and tasted far less than I could have.
Occasionally one of my bosses, Harry, would head off base before lunchtime and bring back a party platter of gyoza. These are basically pot stickers like you find in other Asian cuisine, but with two notable differences, more on this later.
I tried other local foods while I was there, of course. I could never acquire a tasted for two things though, sticky rice used for sushi and any form of raw fish. I tried, in Japan, but sorry, no.
I also tried sake in an unofficial and rather unceremonious ceremony called a sake circle. Basically a bunch of the local fellows that worked for NEC, the national phone company, and who we GI's worked closely with, being a communications squadron and all. The sake was heated in a battered electric aluminum percolator until it was the temperature of hot tea. Sake is terrible, unless you drink it this way, then it slides down your throat like butter. About three shots in, you're lucky if you can stand up again. I was seldom lucky.
Good times. . .  But I digress.
The Place:

House Springs is in the north central part of Jefferson County, the bulk of it sits along Highway 30 (Gravois Road in St. Louis) It was one of the earlier settlements in the county, named after one of those early pioneers, Adam House. Mr. House was notably slaughtered by indigenous Americans  of the Osage tribe along a creek, House's Springs, in 1800.
We don''t get there often as the connections over to 30 from our house are scary curvy and narrow. We took the scenic and scary curvy route this time, Hillsboro - House Springs road because. . . well it's pretty obvious isn't it?
We found it easily enough, it's not a huge place and there are only a few shopping centers. Greater House Springs boast about 14,000 people, but that covers a lot of unincorporated, rural land around it.
"Osaka" (large hill or slope) is part of Japan's second largest metropolitan area, about 250 miles east of Tokyo, also on Honshu.
Walking in, we were pleased, it was quite modern and tidy, very much in the tradition and style of the
Japanese. Dark green textured wallpaper, thick lacquered wood table tops, dark ceramic tiles. Traditional Japanese three string shamisen music played lightly in the background. As is traditional with sushi places, the prep area was brightly lit and fully visible to the diners. Sushi making is a very high precision art steeped as much in tradition as cuisine. A good sushi chef prides himself on his skills and is confident putting those skills on display.
There were only a couple of other people there at the time, making the whole experience seem more intimate and personal.
Shortly, a cheerful and welcoming young lady stopped at our table and asked about drinks. We kept it simple, tea, Angel sweet, me, not sweet.
The menus looked familiar, we'd read through it on line.
The Food:
Angel had been interested in the bento boxes. Bento, roughly translated 'convenience', is a traditional, single portion meal containing a few different, segregated foods served most often in compartmentalized box-plates, similar, but of much better quality than American TV dinners. In Japan this is a popular way to lunch, either made at home, or picked up or delivered from a restaurant. I had a yen for some yakisoba, which along with, another Japanese dish, yakimeshi, I had acquired a taste for in Japan. Chinese restaurants serve very similar dishes. Yaki means grilled, or fried. Meshi is a word for rice. Soba is literally 'buckwheat', but informally, noodles. So yakisoba = fried noodles, yakimeshi = fried rice. Some Chinese places come close to that which I recall, but it has been so long now, I don't know if I can recall the actual taste anymore, just that I could eat a lot of either.
However, indecision got the better of me. They had a combo platter, the bento box. They came with steamed rice, but for $1 U.S. or roughly 115 Yen more, you could get fried rice. It also included two Rangoons, three small California rolls and two gyoza.
Kazumi talked Angel into an appetizer. Sushi is a specialty of the place, they are terribly proud of them. They offered a diverse selection. Kazumi pushed a couple, not an aggressive upsell, more like a friend trying to get another friend to share a new experience. We’d already explained to her that I would not be sharing the experience since the thing I don’t care for in sushi is essentially what makes a thing sushi in the first place, the sticky rice. I apologized for my inadequacy and coaxed Angel to go ahead and try one anyhow.
She settled for the Spider.

“Is that made with real spiders?" I asked. Which wasn’t really that stupid of a question, since the Japanese commonly refer to crabs as spiders. So the answer was not a resounding “no”.
We went ahead and ordered our bento boxes as well, both of us chose chicken, Angel the Osaka (sesame) style, myself the Katsu style. When we asked Kazumi what that was, she explained that it was a little like steak sauce, or maybe barbecue sauce. I struggled to try to imagine something that tasted a little like ‘A1’ and a little like ‘Sweet Baby Ray’s’.
The Sushi arrived and it was beautiful, a true work of art. Precise, clean, minimalist. It was drizzled with a dark, smoky reduction, just a little. Sticking out on two slices were crispy tempura crab bites. I was tempted, but I just couldn’t get past that sticky rice. Angel was delighted though. She immediately tried to force some on me. I resisted at first until I remembered why I was there in the first place, as a service to you, my devoted fans. So I swallowed my pride. I took a bite that would be mostly crab and boy howdy, it was phenomenal. I pretty much let the rest of lie. Sorry, I just can’t handle sticky rice. I could tell by the not-rice parts though that this was expertly prepared.
Angel had most of the rest of it, savoring every bite. “Easily the best sushi I’ve had.”
Kazumi stopped by to refill our teas, answering questions and getting the jokes. Her accent was quite pronounced, but we understood each other just fine.

The boxes came soon. Neat, tidy, minimalist, precise. I was impressed by what I saw. The two chicken dishes were not made the same way. Angel’s looked like what you might get at a Chinese place, mine looked more like thin strips with a different, coarser, lighter breading. Also quite noticeable, sauces had been drizzled on the chicken, unlike Chinese places that completely flood the dish.  This was simply brilliant. When I tried my first piece I could taste the chicken the breading and a little of the savory sauce, individually, distinctly. Rather than the one-note General Tso at the buffet, this was a melody of flavors and texture. Angel’s sweeter sauce was also just barely spooned on, giving it that same breadth of flavor and texture.
The Rangoons were as good as they get, crispy, creamy, slightly sweet. The gyoza was the stuff of my

dreams. There was something here that seemed familiar, yet absent from my life for many years. We worked together to figure out what made these ‘pot stickers’  a little better, a little lighter than those at the buffets. Angel finally nailed it. “The wrap is thinner.” She declared. Also, the innards were better as well, just a different recipe, a bit more garlic for an earthier, less artificial flavor. We’d both opted for the fried rice, which is one of the only two ways I will eat rice; fried or Krispie. It too was less burdened with lots of extra stuff. There was a slight sprinkling of veggies and meat, but once again, neat, tidy, clean and precise.
It should be no surprise that I didn’t try the California rolls in my bento box. That was okay, the chicken, the gyoza and the Rangoons were plenty filling. Angel agreed, even though it had appeared rather Spartan when delivered, it turned out instead to be more than enough food.
Summary:
Clean and precise, the food, the place and the staff. The tastes were so much cleaner and fresher than at most Chinese places. The price, thirty four and change before the generous tip. Was it that different and that much better? You bectcha.
Perhaps I'm a bit biased, what with having lived in Japan for three years, I accept that. We simply loved it, we could hardly stop talking about it.
Kazumi (I hope I'm spelling her name correctly) was a delight. Bright, charming, funny, helpful and professional.
I have no bad words. None. We will be back.


* The lacquered wood horses in the top photo are not from the restaurant. They are tokens of the region where I was stationed. They were called Hachinohe  or Tohoku horses, for the region and nearest city. We uncouth, uncultured GI's often called them Misawa Mules. Not unlike Kentucky, where I was whelped, That region of northern Honshu was historically famous for the quality of their horses. These brightly painted icons from my own collection are a celebration of that history. 

And here, the prettiest darn national anthem on the planet.
*Kimigayo - National Anthem of Japan

Cinco de Mayo

4587 Hunter Lane
Byrnes Mill, Mo

This was a near last-minute decision. No one in the clan had given much thought to eating out this weekend and no one wanted to make a decision. I suggested Los Portales out of lack of a better idea, Angel offered up another Mexican joint, Cinco de Mayo, a place we don’t get to very often. I thought that was better choice for the very reason that we don’t get there often.

The Place:

Alongside highway 30 in Byrnes Mill/House Springs. It’s an orange, faux-adobe structure topped with a big yellow sign. The parking lot was packed pretty tight. Inside, the place itself was nearly filled. The hostess had to think for a moment about where to seat us. She took us to the left this time to what probably used to be the smoking section. The interior walls were also orange and heavily populated with beer signs. Two big, flat TV’s mutely played ESPN, neither TV was in eyesight of our booth.

A young man rushed up and introduced himself as our waiter. He asked about drinks, and against better judgment I asked for tea. Angel went for Diet Pepsi and Adam, the regular Pepsi. Angel recalled that the last time we’d been there that the tea was horrible. I remembered that too, it was a flowery concoction that tasted a little like hand lotion. At the time the manager said that they were thinking of canceling the tea vendor’s contract. Apparently they had, the tea I was given didn’t taste like hand lotion anymore, it tasted like nothing at all.

There were large parrots painted on the windows and several faux-parrots hanging from the ceiling, enough immobile parrots that I kind of expected a Monty Python sketch to break out at any moment.

The Food:

The chips arrived shortly, a big basket, along with a beaker of salsa. Adam poured the lumpy stuff into the provided bowl and the crunching began in earnest as we scanned the menus.

 Burritos, tacos, fajitas, enchiladas, various combinations of beef, pork, chicken and shrimp. Oddly, ‘parrot’ was not listed anywhere.

I finally decided on a chicken chimichanga which included rice and refried beans. Angel, a fan of most things seafood, decided on shrimp pollo which sounded exciting to me until I found out that it was not a sport involving smacking a little ball around with a mallet whilst riding saddled shrimp, I’d pay to see that. No, it simply meant a dish of shrimp and chicken. She said later that she’d actually wanted the fajitas, served sizzling on a blazing hot iron platter, but with her still-recovering left arm she thought it might simply be too dangerous. A wise plan being as merely shampooing her hair has proven almost lethal.

Nachos Supreme

Adam went simple, the Nachos Supreme (chicken). No one was really pushing the edge, pretty basic stuff. So we sat and munched on the thin, some might say too thin chips. Many of them broke off scooping up the moderately thick, spicy salsa. Nearly half the chips in the basket were barely more than crumbs, we’d been served from the bottom of the bag.

The people kept flowing in, it was nearly stacked to the rafters with people, a bustling, busy place amped up in energy by the classic rock radio station playing ‘Walkin’ on Sunshine’ and other upbeat anthems overhead.  No mariachi, corridos, ranchera, or even creepy narco-corridos*, it was all-American rock, which clashed with the parrot and palm on adobe theme of the restaurant. About as Mexican in overall ambiance as Taco Bell.

Call me old fashioned, call me a traditionalist call me a romantic, call  me a hapless idiot, but when I go to a place-themed restaurant I like music from that area. Chinese, Italian, Greek, Mexican, even Kentucky Fried Chicken, I want music from the place. Is that too much to ask?

Chimichanga

Another basket of chips arrived, the very busy place was keeping the young, pale, all-American staff on their toes. There used to be Mexicans working there, none could be seen this evening. Not necessarily a problem, but all my favorite Mexican joints are owned or at least operated by Latinos. I’m not meaning to be racist, but I really believe the best Mexican food is made by Mexicans.

The wait grew longer. I was almost full from the addictive chips and salsa. Our waiter, not named Pedro, Jose or Miguel, but rather ‘Kyle’ came out and apologized, saying that the ‘party of twenty one’ was almost done being served and our order would follow that one shortly.

About one third or less of the way into the second basket of chips, a young lady brought a third basket, saying “your server said you wanted more.”

Okay, the place was busy, but not beyond advertised capacity. In all, three people stopped by to check on us. None offered drink refills.

The food finally did arrive; Adam and I got our plates a full several minutes ahead of Angel’s. Awkward waiting ensued.

Chimichanga: A deep-fried burrito.

So what I expected was a crunchy tortilla wrap. No, it wasn’t. It didn’t look as though it had been anywhere near cooking oil. The tortilla cut like a fresh one, even doughy on the ends. There was no crunch to it at all. The taste wasn’t bad, but it was a burrito, not a chimichanga. In the middle of the plate was a pile of green avocado puree, guacamole, which at best I am not a huge fan of, but in this case it had absolutely no flavor at all. Something that green should have a stronger taste. There was also a smattering of shredded lettuce and tiny pieces of tomato topped by a dollop of sour cream. I cut the chimichanga/burrito and swirled everything together. It would have been better with a crunchy element, but it wasn’t bad, though it lacked any ‘zing’.

Shrimp Pollo

Angel enjoyed hers thoroughly. She said that the chicken was moist, almost buttery and the onions, peppers, shrimp and mushrooms were all very good. Adam didn’t say a lot about his nachos but he did eat more than half and didn’t complain other than ‘The chips were too thin.’ They used the same fragile, wafer-thin (yet another Monty Python reference) chips in the nachos as were in the baskets.

Summary:

We had our fill and the food was pretty good to excellent. The crowd may have led to the several service slips, the unsolicited chip glut, the complete lack of drink refills and the delays. These are typical anywhere when staff is stretched thin. They worked hard to be sure, but you could almost see on their faces the overwhelming pressure to just get through the busy night. It’s chief among reasons I don’t care for really busy places.

The bill came to only thirty three dollars and change, a good bargain for the amount of food. I didn’t tip very much, too many service mistakes. I’ve seen servers thrive in such chaos, this gets tipped well. There were no catastrophic errors here, just no one rising to the occasion and too many small errors.

I was hoping for something a little more fresh and bright. My food was certainly okay, but it lacked punch, zing, sparkle. The rice, beans and chicken all pretty much tasted alike. Angel even said that as good as hers was, it didn’t seem Mexican at all, more like Mexican-lite.

I’d like to go back, but only if the crowd was smaller, to give them a chance to shine. The place is certainly popular, which says a lot.

_____________

*Narco corridos: Ballads about drug trafficking and related violence, I’m not making this up, they’re quite common.

Slingers

4662 Gravois Rd
House Springs, MO

“ The slinger, made famous at O.T. Hodge’s Chili Parlor, or Chili Mac’s as it is also known is well known to me. In the two years I worked downtown Hodges was a very popular lunch stop. The slinger itself has been described many ways, one of them: "a hometown culinary invention that might account for St. Louis' high rate of heart disease.” (Eatandcritique ‘Kim’s Café’ 7 Sep 2010)

The Place:

Slingers is a joint we’ve been talking about trying for quite some time. The only reason we hadn’t to date was because it’s in House Springs*, it takes a while to get there because of the skinny, curvy roads.

The place used to be called ‘Eat Rite’ which was probably a bold-faced lie. It’s a diner, a greasy spoon, I don’t think they even offer a salad. It is breakfast and burgers, all day, they even serve what I hear is a pretty good St. Louis style Pizza.

The place is located in a small strip mall adjoining a title loan company, a barber shop, a tattoo parlor, and a little boutique that sells designer handbags… sure it does.

There’s more floor space than a typical diner, it could easily seat a hundred. There’s no banquet room. The floor was industrial tile, well worn and scuffed, not recently polished. The back tables and chairs were low-end metal and faux-wood, the booths were nothing remarkable. Booths lined one wall and the front window, tables in the middle, and a well-worn counter offered a few spinning stools. There were a dozen people or so already there, as well as a man waiting at the counter for his pizza order. A ten year old CRT television was showing the Missouri/Nebraska football game, no one seemed to be watching.

The patrons were, as best could be politely described, as ‘locals’. No fancy dress or airs about them. One lady sat at a table reading a book, sipping some coffee, another table was crowded with some form of rural nuclear family. The lady behind the counter was the only floor staff, acting as waitress, cashier and apologist. (there was something wrong with the man’s pizza order). We seated ourselves at a booth (my choice this time) that afforded us a view of the counter, a little of the kitchen as well as the front door in case terrorists showed up. ( It pays to be vigilant.).

After a few minutes the lady brought us what passed for a menu. It was really just a two-sided printout, cheaply laminated. We ordered our drinks, they were brought out quickly. Tea, Pepsi and Diet Pepsi. The tea was cloudy and bitter.

The selection was simple, calories, cholesterol, served your way. Since the place was called Slingers, I didn’t need to read it thoroughly, it was my destiny to order the eponymous item.
The aroma was a little sickening. The whole place reeked heavily of stale cigarette smoke. It was just that kind of place.

The Food:

The chalkboard showed the daily special, 2 breaded pork chops w/2 sides $5.80. Nah.. too bland, but not a bad price.

I chose the ‘Baby Slinger’ Which was only different form the real thing in that it had one, not two eggs, I’m watching my girlish figure after all. There were choices here that I’d not considered before. I could choose the meat, either a hamburger patty, sausage patties, or bacon. I chose sausage just to try something different. Asked how I wanted my egg, I answered ‘raw’. She wrote it down. Seriously. She gave me an eye, but was apparently perfectly willing to comply with my order. I quickly changed it to 'over-medium'. I could also choose between potatoes, either hash browns or ‘American Fries” (they’re obviously still miffed about that whole French no-fly-zone thing from the 90’s. They hold their grudges proudly in House Springs.) I chose the traditional hash browns. I also had to choose between toast and biscuits, I chose toast. I then had to choose between white or wheat. I was frustrated, one too many choices. I went with white. The waitress/cashier giggled at my frustration so I decided to mock her. “Before you ask, I’d like it served on a plate, not a bowl, and I’d like a fork, not a spoon.” Angel giggled in that completely silent, non-giggling way she has.

Angel ordered the ‘Slammer’ which is the same as a Slinger except instead of Chili, it’s covered in white gravy. Mmmmmmm, gravy! When asked for her litany of choices she went with biscuit, hash browns, scrambled eggs and a beef patty.

Adam decided on Chicken fried steak, two eggs (scrambled), hash browns, white toast, and a side of bacon, not smothered in chili or gravy; commando style.

We didn’t have to wait very long.

Angel and Adam’s meals arrived first, they looked awesome. In a couple of minutes mine arrived as ordered, on a plate.

All I could see was a slice of pasteurized, processed American cheese product slowly melting in the vast pool of chili. I had to dig and poke to find the sausage, potatoes and egg. The chili was pretty good, not too strong. The sausage was a bit salty, though I’m not supposed to say anything is too salty. (See last week’s post about my problem with saltiness.) The hash browns and egg were perfectly prepared. Angel and Adam showed no shame and dug through their meals like Chilean Miners after a significant ordeal. I didn’t eat very quickly. There was nothing wrong with the meal (other than the unmentioned saltiness of the sausage) but I’d had Chili for lunch and was not feeling the heightened passion that Angel and Adam were. I looked at Adam’s naked eggs, taters, bacon and CF steak, it just looked better than mine even though it was essentially the same. Mine tasted like chili. Not a bad thing, but the individual tastes were severely muted. Even Angel’s gravy-soaked fare looked better since gravy is more of a light sauce than a torchy topping.

They finished before I did even after they stopped long enough to search through the packets of jellies and jams to find just the right one. I did stop, finished with nothing left but a glaze of chili and two small lumps of sausage.

We discussed the meal, the place, they unanimously loved it. Angel declared ‘This is the kind of place I like!’ Adam agreed.

We opted against dessert, they had a hand written list of pies and cakes. No apple, but they did offer rhubarb, something you don’t see everywhere.

Summary:

The meal came in at just under thirty dollars, making it similar to Kim’s Café in fare and price. The food was very good, except for….never mind. No frills, no vague promises of anything other than what it was. The place is a dive, a greasy spoon, and pretends to be nothing else.

I would have liked it to have been cleaner and smell less like a damp ashtray, and the service was thin with only one person doing everything out front. But there was nothing overtly unsanitary about it. The atmosphere was low key and very local. No candles, no froufrou, no crystal chandeliers. My biggest complaint is not really a complaint at all. House Springs is further away than DeSoto or Festus, which makes it less than convenient. Say on a Sunday morning I decided to get up and grab a hearty breakfast and a cup of coffee and to read the paper. I’d have to twist and turn bad roads for twenty five minutes or more to get to Slingers. I can be in downtown DeSoto in about fifteen and get the same fare for the same price.

The lady that was reading the book left before we did. We saw her again at the neighboring Walmart (not a super store). She worked there. THAT’s what I’m talking about! A place like this within walking distance of work? Perfect!

By all means if you are in or near House Springs, this is a great, relaxed, low key, low budget place to get your calories on.

___________________________________________

* House Springs:

The community is named after Adam House, who settled there ca. 1796, and for the two large springs there. In the late 18th century Adam House was killed by Osage Indians due to a dispute over stolen horses. Two of House's children escaped; his wife had died the year before of illness. Help from St. Louis arrived too late to aid the family, and House was beheaded. House's cabin was built near the spring about a mile from the Big River. Historical House Springs is located on Main Street off Route MM. ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/House_Springs,_Missouri )

I’ve always been intrigued by this story.