Kim's Cafe

DeSoto, Mo

In celebration of TWO YEARS of Eat and Critique (nearly 100 posts!) , Please stick around for a  special guest-post at the end of this review!

Facebook, the ever-changing social media tool that everyone loves to use and complain about, delivered an upsetting message to my ‘wall’

“Kim posted on your Wall:

"Hello to my favorite critic! Just wanted to let you know that I have put the cafe up for sale. Hope to see you and your family one more time before it sells."

I haven’t learned the reason for Kim’s selling the place, but I certainly am aware of the millions of reasons that any sane person would want to get out of the business.

A while back I read Anthony Bourdain’s book “Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly” and while the book was about upscale Big City restaurants rather than diners in DeSoto Mo., the pains and pitfalls of running an eatery are pretty much universal. That a single-owner or family-owned restaurant can survive very long anywhere is pretty remarkable. Customers are incredibly fickle, food prices surge, hours are always long, and profit margins are threadbare. Fast food franchises often offer cheaper meals, though not as fresh and varied, but especially in value-demanding times and places the bottom line reigns supreme.

I do know that Kim works incredibly long hours on her feet, in a hot and quite dangerous environment, hot stoves, knives, raw meat, cramped spaces.

A restaurant/café/diner is about the last place I would want to invest in or operate, though I love them and greatly respect and admire those that manage to make a go of it.

As it turned out, Adam and I were going to be alone this weekend and when left alone to put our heads together are lousy at making decisions. Angel is our family's rudder, though she would never admit to it. What we didn’t want to do was to try some new place without her, so a repeat was called for. Kim’s announcement made the choice obvious.

I replied back to the FB comment indicating that Adam and I would be there on Saturday. She answered back: “Sounds great. All u can eat fried chicken on saturdays.”

That made it especially easy, I’d never tried her fried chicken.

The Place:

Main street, DeSoto, next to a recently closed bank, in a strip mall that is only about half occupied. I was driving my newer little car as Angel had taken the family truckster to Iowa to attend an annual seminar for E-collar dog trainers. She’d left us with only four rather sedate dogs, all ours, to tend to. Adam had them walked and fed by the time I got up from my mandatory nap and was ready to go. “I get to ride in your new car!” he exclaimed.

“Whoop-dee-doo” I replied, underwhelmed. Not that there’s anything specifically wrong with the little Chevy, it did a fine job of getting me to and from work in its first week of ownership. It’s just not an impressive vehicle. When people at work ask me what I got, the reaction after I tell them is generally; “Oh.”

The unimpressive car at Kim's

It has a four cylinder engine that I am still trying to get used to. It sounds different, and of course has less raw horsepower than my past few vehicles, all which sported six cylinders. As we left the driveway and took on the back roads that lead to highway 21, it seemed as though the little machine was begging, pleading its way up the rolling hills.

On 21 the road flattened out. Unlike the slave-to-indigenous-terrain farm roads, the steeper hills on 21 had been professionally flattened out, crushed, blasted away. There are still hills but the road was cut to scrape them down to longer, less severe obstacles. On this road, as well as I-270, where I spend the vast majority of my driving time, the little car doesn’t even break a sweat, cruising along quietly and easily. The car was picked out for precisely this type of mileage, not to sate my inherent, flash-and-roar machismo.

We turned into the lot, parked right in front of the door, got out, groaned, then got back into the car. A sign on Kim’s door announced that their card reader was inoperable, cash only. I don’t carry much cash, ten or twenty dollars is about the most a mugger would ever get out of me. I have been assimilated by the plastic-Borg and live off my ATM card. The closed bank in the parking lot used to be my own bank which would have been convenient. As it was though we had to drive a half mile further to the town’s one remaining branch. I could have used the machine at another brand of bank but there’s always a fee involved and I’m a renowned cheapskate.

We got the cash and returned. We were the only customers.

We sat at our usual booth and were greeted by a young and charming blonde lady. She offered menus and asked about drinks. Adam looked at me and grinned. I mildly panicked. There’s a hand written sign on the tea dispenser that reads “Fresh brewed tea.” Kim and I have gone back and forth on this very issue before as I have regularly reported that her tea was woefully bland or at best, unremarkable. I’d even avoided ordering it the last couple of visits so as to not find fault with it. But on this day I’d already had a soda (or ‘pop’ for you unsophisticated southerners) earlier in the day and was still sugared up and bloated from it. I took a chance, threw caution and better judgment to the wind and went with the tea. “Ooooo.” Remarked Adam. The little blonde looked confused. “Can I get lemon with that?” I asked. “Sure.” She answered. I mentally crossed my fingers.

The menu was familiar with a couple of exceptions, a few options were crossed out, most notably the ribs, which Angel had once thoroughly enjoyed.

She brought the drinks, Adam had chosen Pepsi. The tea looked different, it was surprisingly clear and bright. I dunked the sizable lemon slice and took a sip. Remarkably it wasn’t at all bad. (still a little weak though, sorry Kim)

The Food:

My mind was already made up. “The all-you-can-eat chicken, please.” I announced. “Okay, but that’ll take about twenty-five minutes.” She answered.

“Twenty-five minutes?” I barked rudely.

“We make it fresh to order, we don’t cook it ahead of time to dry out under a heat lamp.” She explained. Color me impressed. Take that KFC!

I assumed Adam was going to get the same thing, he didn’t. He’s always throwing me a curveball. He instead ordered the chicken strips. I conceded to the default sides, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans and a biscuit. His was ordered with fries (crinkly) and macaroni and cheese, it also came with toast.

I looked at my watch, he pulled out his phone gadget. I marked the time, he started browsing or playing a game or whatever it is that young men do with their fancy mobile telephones these days. A thought occurred to me while his face was buried in the tiny screen. I got up, went to the car and retrieved my book, a real book, not one of those fake electronic books. (I own an E-book but I’m having trouble adjusting to it. I’m definitely perched on the brink of fogey-ism.)

We sat quietly, not talking, engaged and immersed into our individual amusements. I was briefly taken from the pleasant DeSoto diner to the ugly desert in the Middle East, following young, arrogant and thuggish Brits from ‘the Regiment’ into the dangerous and clandestine infiltration of a remote WMD factory. The time passed quickly, the lads had barely started amassing a decent day’s body count when our food arrived. We dropped our devices and absorbed the sizzling aroma.

All-you-can-eat.

‘All you can eat’ would be more appropriately called “More than a normal guy could possibly eat in one sitting.” A drumstick, thigh, an enormous breast and a wing, expertly lightly breaded and golden brown filled the plate, nudging out the small bowl of gravy-laden mashed potatoes and the bowl of slow cooked green beans. I estimated about twenty pounds of food, expanding to thirty if I actually ate it all. I realized that my desires and eyes were much bigger than my handsome tummy. Just looking at it made me feel full.

I pulled the skin off the thick end of the drumstick. Steam poured out of the fried-flour casement. My fingers seared quickly and I dropped it back on the plate. Adam giggled. “Hot?” he joked. “The lava flow from Mount Pinatubo was hot, this is an entirely new level of temperature extreme!” I answered, dunking my oily, reddened fingers into the icy tea. He laughed because I was in severe pain. I was exaggerating only a little though, I should have paid more heed to the sizzle.

I used my fork to break open the drumstick and the thigh in several places to cool. I let the wing and enormous breast continue to bask in their own internal infernos. I buttered (margarine-d) my thick biscuit and took a tour of the sides. The gravy was thick, white and deliciously infested with chunks of real pork sausage. The potatoes were thick and piled high. The green beans had obviously been simmered low and slow alongside some pork fat, just like grandma used to lovingly clog our young arteries with. I enjoyed thoroughly, but cautiously. There was a lot of chicken to plow through.

Chicken Strips

Adam’s strips were similarly perfectly cooked and he tore into them with the gusto of a young man having a tasty, casual meal. The strips were breaded and fried in the same manner as my chicken, actual chicken slabs, not reprocessed bits, pieces, odds and ends.  Our drinks were dutifully refreshed, I made it sloppily through the leg and thigh, clawing my way up the luscious chicken one limb at a time, enjoying every finger-sucking, moist and tender bite, every crunch of golden brown skin. I skipped over the enormous breast, it was too enormous. It was the kind of enormous breast that can completely intimidate a short, timid, middle aged man with modest appetites and full awareness of his own limitations. This breast was about the size of a catcher's mitt, definitely more than a handful, certainly larger than I'd ever had laid out before me. Perhaps it just appeared enormous, cut or deliberately dressed to visually entice. Flustered and intimidated, I eventually skipped ahead and disassembled the wing instead. I was filling up fast.

“Would you like us to start making you some more?” asked the blonde. I had forgotten that I could have all I could eat, she wasn’t aware that I was already well-past that point. “No thanks, this’ll be just about enough.” I kindly understated, barely suppressing a heavy, lumpy belch. I could barely imagine any standard human being able to take on more than one serving of this large, but tasty feast. Adam was no help, he’d surrendered in his battle with an entire strip remaining. We sat back for a moment groaning and swelling.

Summary:

There was absolutely nothing bad or wanting about this meal. Kim’s crew can sure cook the standards. The chicken was about as good as any fried chicken I’ve had in this life, much better than that served by the much-celebrated Hodak's in St. Louis (Where chicken lovers come to roost!). Home-style, tender, juicy, crunchy. Not heavily seasoned, they let the chicken itself do the talking. (Of course I am aware that chickens don't really talk, especially those that are dead and have been chopped up and deep-fried. I'm speaking metaphorically.) The bill came to twenty seven dollars and change, only that high because they wisely hedge their bets for any ‘all-you-can-eat’ offering.

I’m truly sorry that Kim’s selling the place. I can’t imagine it will be any better under new ownership. Kim cares, Kim cares a lot. Her food is always good, she stresses over the details and always maintains high quality at a low price. I will miss her. She’s a sweet, hard-working and pleasant person, a patient and generous hostess and an awesome cook, with the most enormous breasts I’ve ever seen.

Here's to you Kim, may love, fortune and joy follow you down whatever path you take!

_____________________

Guest Post!

A tangent from a larger blog post by my dear friend, Annette. See the entire story at her blog site:  http://annettecrey.wordpress.com

A Licking Meal

Eaten by Annette Rey

On a rainy day inside a building made of pine over 100 years old, I ate an unusual meal. Licking, a rural town in Texas County, Missouri, held their 'Licking Mill Festival' on Saturday, September 17, 2011. The event was not your run-of-the-mill (so to speak) festival.

It offered unique entertainment to the area and other refreshingly different offerings. Instead of the usual and boring hamburger or hot dog fare, I was treated to a bowl of ham and beans; sweet, warm, juicy and cooked to perfection. Inserted into the bowl were as many long, darkest green, crispest green onions I wanted and I have ever eaten – picked fresh that day from the vendor’s gardens! The meal came with a square of corn bread – no, not Jiffy Mix (I know that is the favorite of some people). This bread was probably made without sugar as it slightly resembled corn pone, but was not hard. It was tender, crumbled a bit and was whitish in color. Included with the meal was a “dessert” – a choice of an individually wrapped Twinkie or a Hostess Cupcake (I chose the chocolate) and the drink – coffee or hot chocolate – again, I chose the chocolate.

The meal was filling, tasty – loved those onions. It was enjoyable, too, because it was a nice surprise – like I said, not the average offering of hamburger/hot dog.

And now the best part – all of that, drink, dessert and all, cost me a meager $4.00.

Despite the rain, it was a great day! Visit Licking for some of their future events and experience something new in a pleasant, unassuming small town. 

 __________________________________

Kim’s Café V

Desoto Mo.

Man it was hot, ninety seven degrees, humidity hovering around ninety percent. The last thing we wanted was something heavy. Adam was the chooser and he chose well. Kim serves big meals and small ones.

The Place:

Across from the tracks at the bottom of the hill, across the parking lot that used to serve as a mini-bank, pretty much a single teller/drive-through affair where Angel did most of the banking that required transferring actual bits of paper. It closed a month or so ago, and Angel has been fuming about it ever since.

When we got to Kim’s there were no other customers, it was not quite five P.M., so we’d beat the evening crowd. We sat down in our usual booth, after a short squabble about who sat where. A gentleman arrived with menus just as we’d sorted it out. He asked about drinks, and we replied, tea, tea, Pepsi.

I know, I know, tea at Kims, like I was just begging for trouble. When the gentleman delivered the drinks he made sure to say “I brought you some extra ice, the tea is fresh-brewed and still warm.” I kid you not, he upped the ante.

Without saying as much we were looking for something different, not that the stuff we’d had before was bad, quite the opposite in fact. But there’s really only so much one can say about an excellent BLT or burger.

Kim came out warily, cautiously, yet friendly. We called up our orders.

The Food:

I ordered the walleye fish sandwich with fries (crinkle-style) instead of chips. Angel called for the ribs, Adam the chicken fried chicken, mashed potatoes and corn. With her ribs Angel asked for mashed potatoes and the house salad.

The salad was delivered promptly, Adam snagged a crouton before the bowl hit the table. Adam likes croutons, often the bagged ones we usually have around the house end up as his snacks more so than as salad topping.

Kim’s croutons are light, golden, with a slight crunch. Adam likes them okay but he likes the dark rubbery ones at Ruby Tuesday’s better. I dug in for the story. “So do you like these croutons?’ I asked, he nodded. “But not as much as Ruby’ Tuesdays?” I probed. He squinted and attacked. “You’re just looking for something to write about, you don’t really care if I like these croutons better than others!”

I wrote that down.

“I’m just looking for critique points, that’s why we’re here.”

“Yeah, but you’re going to make an issue about me and croutons like it's a big deal.”

“Hey, you don’t have to answer, I already know enough about you and croutons to write three paragraphs about it, I just like hearing your opinion.”

He grunted, then added “I like the croutons in the bags we get from the grocery store better than Ruby Tuesday’s.”

I wrote that down as well. It wasn’t really all that fascinating, but it would make for good filler in case this review turned up short.

As it turns out I can write three paragraphs about Adam and croutons.

The salad was about half gone when the door chime announced the arrival of another customer. I’d seen the middle-aged man step down from his big white pickup. He was wearing new jeans that were rolled up, they were about three sizes too long otherwise. This look was popular in the 50's. He also wore a bright red shirt, large glasses, and a straw cowboy hat. In other words, he didn’t really stand out in downtown Desoto.

He stood in the middle of the floor, apparently unfamiliar with the layout. Kim kindly and politely asked to assist him, she did not appear to recognize him either. A new customer.

“Do you know what you want?” She asked him, pulling out her pad. He continued to look around at the overhead ‘special’ announcements.

“Do you have sauerkraut?” he asked.

The three of us immediately snapped to attention. We painfully choked our snickering and listened for what could possibly come next.

Kim, also looking a bit baffled played it as best as she could. “We have kraut that we put on our some of our sandwiches.”

Then it got better.

“I was thinking kraut cooked with a ham bone.” He replied as if that were a common diner option everywhere but here.

We were struggling to maintain ourselves, we had to whisper since we were the only other customers at the time.

“That’s the line I’m going to use at every restaurant we ever go to.” I told the clan. Adam snorted, Angel sighed. She sighed because she knows I will.

She knows this because of how I order beer.

Here’s a challenge for you. It’s not a big one it only requires that you watch TV. You’ve seen it a thousand times already, a guy walks into a bar and says to the barkeep: “Beer!” that’s it, just “Beer.”

Now you try it. Go to a bar and ask for “Beer.” Just like they do on TV. Go on, try it, it’s hilarious, or as Angel describes it, embarrassing. So she now knows at sometime, someplace completely inappropriate, I’ll ask for sauerkraut, cooked with a ham bone. Maybe at Trattoria Giuseppe’s, or Wendy’s or Waffle House. It’ll be hilarious!

Anyway, Kim masterfully talked the cowboy into a burger instead, though I now know what I’m ordering next time.

The food we got was of course, excellent. Kim is a splendid restaurateur, she doesn’t serve anything that isn’t good, and she offers much more than standard greasy diner fare. The fish was crispy on the outside, flaky inside, the fries were crinkly and crunchy, the pickle sour. Angel left teeth marks on the bared rib bones and Adam’s food disappeared quickly.

The tea? Well, that still needs work. It was clear and fresh, but either the ice or the cup itself had a flowery aroma to it that did not fit well with the drink. Hey, if I didn’t criticize something I wouldn't be earning my paycheck.*

Summary:

Awesome good place! The price is fair and the food plentiful. The bill came in at thirty-two dollars and change, I bumped up the total to forty even. At the register Kim smiled and asked about the only thing she was really worried about. “How was the tea?”

“Kim, you’re just not going to win this one.” I answered.

“I have to try.”

That’s why I like her and her place so well, because she cares and she will try.

_______________________________________

* There is, of course no actual paycheck with this gig.

Kim's Cafe IV

DeSoto, Mo.

Angel, Adam and Deedee (one of the dogs) were off to Springfield. Angel’s grandmother’s 96th birthday and an impromptu baby shower for her rude and insufferable daughter Stephanie. I got to stay home and tend to the six dogs she left behind. Not a huge problem, four of them are ours, well trained and rather laid back, plus Pointy (a min-pin mix) and Eva (looks like Deedee, but with an un-cropped tail) who were in for foster care and basic training. I kept them fed and made sure everyone got to go out to play at least every couple of hours. The weather cooperated and the whole chore was amusing, but uneventful. Blue pined for his mother’s return, George was both oblivious and grouchy, and poor, elderly Bailey who’s recently lost most, if not all of her hearing, moped around quite pleased with the quiet. Pip, my own dog, sat with me in my recliner and followed me around when she wasn’t out playing with the foster girls.

Around dinnertime I debated whether to eat out or not. I was only mildly hungry, but finally my obligation to my growing circle of fans overcame my own personal preference.

I could have just grabbed a quick burger, but my doctor says my ‘numbers’ are a bit too high to be casually gorging myself on fatty meats and deep fried this or that. I’d decided to at least moderate, if not back off the stuff entirely.

The Place:

Kim’s is a personal favorite. Pretty much small-town diner style in décor and offerings. A small place in a strip mall on Main Street in Desoto, across from the tracks. I walked in to see three ladies tending the front, two young and underfed, one as old or older than me. Kim was nowhere in sight, but I could hear her voice in the back, barking orders and instructions, running the place as calmly and capably as a seasoned battlefield commander.

A few tables were occupied, one by an older guy, one of those older guys, chatty, flirtatious (with the staff, not me) and a small family or two. I picked a booth closer to the family in order to avoid striking up a banal conversation with the old dude. The child in the family’s possession had an entire Thomas the Train set, locomotive three or for cars and a caboose, in front of him. You’d think this would have shut him up, but it didn’t. He was just as whiney and demanding as all kids that age are. His parents were dutiful and attentive though and spurts and outbursts were kept to a minimum. I personally believe there should be a ‘No Kids’ section requirement in eating establishments, about three or four blocks away from the slimy, sticky, shrill beasts. But that’s just me.

At some point Kim peeked out form the back, smiled and waved at me. I scanned the menu, not having pre-decided on anything.

The Food:

Well, okay I had decided to try the chili again. I’d had a slinger/slammer there a few months back but I couldn’t recall the chili exactly. I didn’t want just chili though since I’d had some of my own home-brew for breakfast/lunch. Fortunately Kim offered a ‘cup’ for a buck ninety-nine, that would do. Now, what to have with it. The ‘Special’ sounded good, a NY strip with shrimp scampi, baked potato and a salad, but whoa.. that’s a whole lot of food. They also headlined ribs and pork steak… also too heavy. I eventually decided on a light sandwich instead. A BLT. I know, I know, bacon…. But sheesh, I could atone for this little sin later, during the work week.

I ordered, the BLT would come with potato chips and the chili with crackers… but compared to other outings and possibilities, a fairly light meal.

While I waited the café remained abuzz. Kim offers delivery and pick-ups and a lot of the busyness was tending to just that.

My coffee arrived almost immediately. I only ordered that because Kim gets upset with me for always referring to her tea as ‘unremarkable’. Having coffee instead would be a sure way for her not to get dinged for that yet again. The coffee was dark, deep and quite good, but not excellent.

In less than five minutes after I ordered my meal, it was on my table. A simple BLT, standard toasted white bread, a single fresh leaf of lettuce and three or four wide and perfectly cooked strips of bacon over a fresh slice of tomato. The chips were standard potato chips, which was fine since I really didn’t need them anyhow. The small bowl of chili was thick and steaming, beans floating to the top like coffins after a flood. Alongside my plate was placed a basket full of saltines, two per cellophane packet. I don’t mind this as unwrapping these packets can be counted as ‘exercise’ and helps burn off calories and build muscle tone.

I tried the chili first. Savory style, and not bad at all. At home our chili tends to be sweeter, more tomato-y, but I don’t mind the earthy style if it is done well and this version was. I intended only to get a taste, instead I ate more than half of it. The BLT was simple and perfect, not even a half-note out of tune. I only had to apply the packet of ‘Real Mayonnaise’ and it was just as good as I’d ever had. The pickle spear was crisp and substantial and went better with the sandwich than the chili.

Summary:

A very good meal experience. The food was delicious and satisfying, the service was spot-on. The atmosphere was that of a small town diner, the real kind, not the fake kind that Country Kitchen, Denny’s and Bob Evan’s try to pass off.

The price was another pleaser. My whole meal came in at eight bucks and change. As I settled up I whipped out my tired and abused ATM card and handed it over.

“We’re supposed to ask if you’d like to add a tip to the card.” the young lady with the bright blue streak in her otherwise black hair shyly said.

“But of course fair maiden, of course!” I replied “What sort of ignorant, boorish heathen would leave this fine establishment without dropping a few shillings for the lovely winches!”

“She looked at me a little funny, so I repeated myself. “Yeah, I’d like to add a tip.”

She prepared to tap in a number. “How much?” She asked.

“What was the total on the bill?” I asked.

“Eight dollars and seventy nine cents.”

“Make it ten then.” I responded.

“Make the total out to ten dollars?”

“No, add a ten dollar tip to the bill.” I smiled.

“Are you sure?”

“Certainly, just make sure to let Kim know.”

“Oh, I will.” She smiled as she pulled the receipt out of the little printer.

I didn’t mention that we accidentally short-tipped Kim the last time we were there. So what if the girl remembers me as ‘Mr. Spendy’, it can’t hurt.

Kim's Cafe II: Boys night out.

Main Street
DeSoto, Mo.

Angel was in Wisconsin for her yearly pilgrimage to learn more and more about training dogs. She took the energetic DeeDee with her, leaving Adam and I with a mere five dogs to maintain. Adam was in charge of that effort as my work takes enormous chunks out of my availability. She’s gone out of town before, Adam and I usually take this as a reason to go to places that serve breakfast all day. I don’t know why. As we were discussing this I suggested, then insisted that we go back to Kim’s since she offers full time breakfast.

We fed the dogs and put them away for a nap and took off in my mighty 2000 Olds Alero Coupe. This is my commuter car (75 miles per day), my findagrave car, my weekend individual events and chores car. Angel’s only ridden in it a couple of times, Adam maybe a couple more. It has that lived-in ambiance to it, so before we went to the café, I took it to the car wash and vacuumed it out.

We got to the café about 5:00 PM, we were the only customers.

The place:

Kim had friend’ed me on Facebook after someone showed her my Eat-and-Critique blog entry from our previous visit. I sent her a note earlier in the week letting her know we would be stopping in. Though we were the only customers at the time, I couldn’t tell for sure if Kim knew who we were, so I decided to let it stay that way for a while.

We picked a booth out of the bright sun and sat down, Kim followed us and handed us menus and informed us of the two specials, pulled pork, and all-you-can-eat spaghetti.

I could smell the smoked pork, or at least I thought I could, and as I scanned the various breakfast options none of it seemed as appealing as a pulled pork sandwich. Adam shifted too, struggling to decide what to order when he liked pretty much everything. We ordered our drinks Tea and Pepsi and they arrived pretty quickly.

We finally decided. I indeed would have the pork, as a sandwich, which came with baked beans and coleslaw. I added fries to the order since Adam had told me they made crinkly fries, I like crinkly fries. Adam chose chicken nuggets, fries and corn. She took our order and scurried away.

Adam and I sat and looked around, neither of us are very chatty. The music was unusual so I asked him what it was that I was listening to, whether it was hip-hop, or reggae or some different genre. “I don’t know what it is exactly, but I know it’s ‘Ludacris’.”

I recognized the name, which was odd. I don’t listen to music much, well, hardly ever. I don’t claim to keep up with the industry or trends and couldn’t tell you any top ten songs for the last twenty or so years, if there still are top ten songs. I’m really, really out of touch with all forms of music.

Ludicris and I have something in common as it turns out, a bond that reaches across cultural and musical barriers. Ludacris, Christopher Brian Bridges, was born in Champaign, Illinois in September 1977. I transferred to Chanute AFB, very near Champaign (Rantoul) In September 1977. Coincidence? I don’t believe in coincidences. (Actually I do, I just say that because that’s what all the cops in all the books I read say.)

The music was booming but not too much, not like that car that runs up and down our street too frequently, booming its booming booms enough to shake leaves off the trees. Ludacris’ delivery was at least mildly tolerable even though I could not quite discern most of the lyrics other than, and I’m not making this up, “nick nack paddy wack”. Hearing this much I thought I might make out the rest of the song, but it turns out Ludacris was not singing “This Old Man” after all. In fact, this song was not especially kid friendly at all, it was in fact, a little suggestive (and by ‘little’ I mean ‘extremely’) and generally disrespectful.

That song was followed by a heavy metal, hair band ballad that I recognized but really didn’t care for. This was apparently a mix tape, or whatever you call personal compilations these days.

Looking around I noticed a corner table with paperwork and a book, I assumed it was Kim’s workspace. I was immediately saddened to see that the book was one of Nora Roberts’ latest, future-themed pseudo-bodice-rippers, “Strangers in Death”. I was once tricked into reading one of Nora Roberts’ books. The very popular Ms. Roberts also writes thriller/mystery novels using the pseudonym J.D. Robb. Not knowing that at the time, I picked up a book by Robb and suffered reading it. It took place in the near future, just far enough that the day can always be saved by a little deus ex machine.* Sure it contained a crime, a serial killer, but the thin criminal plot played second or third fiddle to the main character’s (female) sobs, moans, inner lusts and desires.

Her knees weakened whenever this man she should really hate and fear passed near her. The musky scent of his sweat and cologne quietly wafted through the suddenly hot, electric air. She really should know better, she DID know better, but the savage, animal lust in her pined for his closeness, his danger, his strength, his manhood. She quivered as the cooling sweat ran down her neck and beneath the delicate lace that barely covered her . . . .

But I digress.

The Food:

The food arrived. The sandwich was thick and heavy. The beans in a separate bowl still bubbled and steamed. The coleslaw, also in a separate bowl, was piled thick and high. The fries were plentiful and not greasy. I scooted them into a smaller pile and squeezed a puddle of “House Recipe Fancy Ketchup” beside them. I dipped a couple of small ones and delighted in the texture and homey taste of crinkly fries and off-brand ketchup. I sampled the beans, perfect. Chunks of bell pepper told me that these were not directly from a can. The coleslaw was creamy, with only a hint of sour to compliment the creamy sweetness, delicious. The pork was smoky, tender, falling apart, moist and drizzled precisely with just a little barbecue sauce. I danced from one offering to another, around the plate and back again. About halfway through the bun broke apart and merged with the moist pork, losing its identity as a sandwich completely, I didn’t care. Adam cleaned his plate, we didn’t talk much between bites. We were though, in mutual agreement, our grunts confirmed as much.

While eating, Kim stopped by a couple of times to refill our drinks and to ask if everything was okay. Adam finished before I did because he’s young and doesn’t know how to savor each bite and gorge at the same time as I do. As Kim took his plate she asked if he’s like pie, cream pie, four or five different kinds to choose from. He looked at me I grunted and shrugged my shoulders. He told her he’d think about it.

I stuffed the last bits into my face, sighed, sat back and just enjoyed. “You want pie?” I asked him. “No not really.” He answered in what might have been our longest conversation of the meal.

Summary:

By the end of our meal a couple of other tables loaded up, one a man merely asking for coffee, Kim offering to make him a fresh pot. The other table an extended family of some sort, local, familiar to the place and to Kim. She stopped by our table and dropped off the ticket placing it upside down near Adam. On the back was a “Thank you!” from Kim, in perfect, pretty cursive writing. The tail of the ‘u’ in ‘you’ joining, without breaking, the tall, looping exclamation point. Nice touch, classy. It made me wish for a moment that I remembered how to write in cursive.

The tea was okay, I had higher hopes though since there was a hand written, bright orange sign exclaiming “Fresh Brewed Tea” behind the counter. A little stronger would have been nice, and Luzianne is always preferable to the other common brands. But hardly anyone gets this right.

Kim herself was pleasant, friendly, efficient and professional despite the fact that she reads romance novels, or as I call the genre, “more unlikely and unbelievable than science fiction” and listens to music that should be more to the tastes of her kids than herself. I did worry about her a bit though, she was wearing a thick ankle pad/brace on one leg. I didn’t notice a limp, but hers is a job that keeps you on your feet a lot… but it could also have been an injury sustained from kicking someone’s ass in a karate fight…. Whatever it is Kim, I hope it gets better.

The bill came to a pleasant twenty-one dollars and change. As we paid, Kim asked if we wanted to tack on a tip. I answered “Run it up to thirty even.” She smiled, thanked me and otherwise did not protest the 40% gratuity.

We will be going back, Kim’s is a fine, down home place with great food and good people. It’s now officially one of my favorite café’s. I’ll rate it four and a half out of five greasy spoons.

_____________________________________

* deus ex machine: Latin for "god out of the machine”. Simply, it’s a plot device where something the reader didn’t know about inexplicably pops up and comes to the sudden aid of the protagonist. It’s derived from old Greek theater where the plot twists and turns and then just as it all seems hopeless and doomed, another actor, in the visage of a previously unmentioned god is lowered onto the stage and poof! Problem resolved. It’s very easy and very prevalent in bad science fiction. A device, machine, ability or creature that we were not clued in on just appears or becomes available out of nowhere, just at the right time. A form of this device was used in the J.D. Robb book I read. Hundreds of pages of whining, emoting, lusting and stumbling around looking for clues, EVERYONE is eliminated as a suspect since the murders take place in a highly secure holographic game room. But alas! At the very end it turns out that the game’s projector has been ‘tweaked’ to the point that it can actually project a sword that will lob off a guy’s head in the real world. I saw it coming from about page twenty. Very disappointing. It’s one of the reasons I don’t care for the overwhelming majority of science fiction.

Kim’s Café

102 Plaza Sq.

DeSoto, MO.

The Place:

Snuggled amidst the Dollar General, a branch of Bank of America and among other things a Payday Loan store, Kim’s is a bit hard to see from the road, and by road I mean Main Street, Desoto across from the tracks.

DeSoto is historically, and to a lesser degree currently, a railroad town. In 1859 St. Louis Iron Mountain Railroad built a depot there along the lines that were constructed to run from the mines in Iron County to St. Louis. Later as the Missouri Pacific Railroad a major car repair facility was established. Currently the rails are still in heavy use by Union Pacific. Early on, DeSoto was the largest town in Jefferson County until the decline of steam-powered railroad use and suburban sprawl in the north eventually overran it.

If you were to have stood in the woods just west of DeSoto back in 1980, there would have been just as many Americans to the east of you as to the west. It was the population center of the U.S. that year.

Main Street and the tracks sit in a valley, the rest of the town, churches, schools and old homes rise up rather dramatically behind the street providing lovely, quaint views both from the valley as well as from the heights.

The shopping center is 70’s or 80’s style generic. Kay’s Café is merely another storefront, though inside it tries to hearken back to freestanding small town café’s and diners of the 40’s and 50’s.

Bright white walls and counter make the place shine, cheapened a little by mixed-make tables, and bright orange booths. At the register was a bulletin board with small business cards and home-made tear-away sheets offering massages, lawn service and yard sales. Colorful gumball and candy machines sat amidst buckets soliciting for donations to Jerry’s kids and other causes.

The place was clean, but cluttered. The kitchen sat behind a wall, only the noises and smells emanating from the back gave it away.

We were allowed to choose our seats, I chose a booth by the window as the tables seemed either too large or too small. Across the room a banquet area was dark and signed “private party”, though there was no party, just empty tables. Above those tables hung a banner that read: “Koyote Kim’s, Best after party in D’ town.” I had no idea what it was referring to.

We were seated and handed our menus by a lady (not Kim). It was simple, we already knew from the paint on the window that breakfast was available all day, it was that kind of place. Angel and Adam had eaten lunch there the day before, but I’d never heard of it. I chose to eat dinner there based on Angel’s mention of one of the dishes that was available.

The Food:

Angel ordered the daily special, a rib eye steak with a baked potato and a salad. Adam jumped at the Chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes and corn, because it was also that kind of place. I ordered the slammer. The slammer doesn’t need a side dish, none was even offered.

For those of you from the St. Louis area, you will know this dish by its more popular name, the slinger. 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.”

The slammer at Kay’s is essentially the same thing. A hamburger patty, hash browns, two eggs any way you want them, all smothered in chili and served with two slices of good old American white bread toast. Yeah, a real slice of culinary heaven. Served properly there is so much chili that the other bits cannot even be seen on the plate. Digging in and around and finding the potatoes, eggs and beef patty is part of the fun.

Back at Hodges’ when the waitress’ asked how you wanted your eggs, it was sort of a joke as they were going to cook them the way they pleased anyhow. So I’d order them deviled, Easter’ed, dinosaur’ed, fertile, free ranged, petrified, upside down, breaded and deep fried, Benedict, flambé, or my all time favorite: ‘still in the chicken’.

No such shenanigans at Kay’s though, I needed to build trust before berating the wait staff.

Our drinks, tea, Pepsi and Diet Pepsi were served up quickly in plastic Pepsi tumblers. The tea was bland and forgettable. Angel got her salad, fresh and large with light toasty croutons which Adam enjoyed as he snitched them from his mother’s bowl.

Our plates arrived, Angel’s steak looked a bit timid, kind of thin. She insisted it wasn’t dry, though it looked to me as if it definitely had that potential. She did dip a slice or two in Adam’s gravy though.

My slammer was generous. The chili, definitely home-made, was not too spicy, and it was chunky with beef and big red kidney beans. Once I located the beef patty, I found it to be a bit crisp on the edges, maybe a bit overdone, but not bad. The eggs had been ordered over medium and were just that. The hash browns were not crispy, but smothered in chili it didn’t really matter. There was no toast. I couldn’t figure out how to eat this thing properly without dipping toast into the chili/egg sauce. As the waitress wandered again by I mentioned this. “Isn’t there supposed to be toast?” I inquired innocently. “Sorry about that, the cook hasn’t figured out all the plates yet.” She answered heading for the kitchen. “Harrumph” I harrumphed.

“She’s new, came in at the last minute.” The waitress called back to me.

“Not my problem ma’am!” I answered loudly. She held up her right hand apparently to show me her heavily and amateur-ly bandaged finger. We had established rapport.

She fetched the toast like a good little waitress and served it with a bowl full of condiment-packaged jellies.

I dived in, sopping up chili with toast, cutting into and mixing around the potatoes and proteins, then started making the requisite grunting noises.

I didn’t quite finish it even though I was quite famished when I started. I knew better than to try to cram too much in, since it’s not as healthy a meal as you might think and it tends to sit rather heavy for quite a while.

Angel and Adam finished ahead of me though, quite pleased with their meals. When the waitress came around and gathered their plates she asked if we needed anything else. “Heavens no!” I responded.

“You’re not even going to let me offer you some cream pie?” She shot back.

“Certainly not!” I answered harshly, lapping down a little more chili-sopped toast.

“She was just offering dessert.” Angel scolded me.

“Technically she was offering to offer us some cream pie” I slammed back. “Besides, I’ve already got dessert.” I answered scooping some strawberry preserves on my last toast wedge. “Did you want dessert?” I asked her.

“No.” She answered. Adam broke into fake tears. “Mom, dad, STOP FIGHTING!”

He does this because he’s never actually seen us really fight and doesn’t know what it actually looks like. It’s not that we don’t want to fight, or occasionally have reason to, we just stopped bothering a decade or so ago.

We would have just sat there for a while but someone had brought in a baby and it was doing what all screaming babies do, getting on my nerves.

Summary:

I’m going to say something quite startling later, so brace yourself. First off, the food was all quite good. The selection was small-town diner-ish, the wait staff was friendly and quaintly rude when pressed into a corner. I like that.

There were a couple of flies hanging around, we could have done without those, but overall the place was clean, bright and efficient. The price came in at thirty one dollars, not bad considering we’d spent that much the week before at that disgusting Fazoli’s fast food joint. I asked Angel about her steak again, and she qualified her endorsement. “For the price it was a good steak.”

Now for the startling bit. I enjoyed the slammer more than I enjoy Hodge’s Slingers.

(Waiting for shock and horror to subside). That’s right folks, Kim’s Slammer is more enjoyable than the famous slinger. The reason? The chili. Hodge’s chili always seemed a bit bland to me, not bad, just lacking in oomph. Kim’s had big beans, seasoned meat and savory stock, unlike the canned-like texture and taste of Hodge’s.

There I said it.

Kim’s is homey, comfortable and affordable. It’s hardly the place that would impress a high maintenance girlfriend, but for a good, solid, home-style meal it’s very good. I’ll give it a ninety.