Concord Grill

11427 Concord Village Ave.
St. Louis, Mo.

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This was Angel's choice and she's all in on this 'no more crap' idea. If you get the hankerin' for a burger, drive past 20 or so fast food and franchise places and stop here instead.
Debbie at CG even custom made me a burger once, a Shrimp Alfredo burger, which is exactly what it sounds like. It was very good, but a bit above the price point to be on the regular menu. So make sure you ask for this when you go in. Have everyone at the table ask for one. They'll just ask you to make another choice, then you can get the one you wanted anyhow. Help me out on this.
Concord Grill offers a lot of different burgers, a LOT of burgers. The standard size is nine ounces, but for a dollar less, you can downsize to six ounces, which is what Angel and I do. Nine ounces is over a half pound (pre-cooked weight) and for lesser sized people with sloth-like metabolisms, that is a LOT of meat. Adam was able to join us for this burger run, I don't think he downsized his.
The Place:
Near Lindbergh and Baptist Church road in the southern part in St. Louis County.  Plug the address in to your car's fancy talking map machine, or you cellular telephone. They'll get you there.
It's an older building, post-war style and construction, I understand it has been a few other things before it became the Concord Grill.
It has a large deck outdoors, but on this trip it was hovering near the freezing mark all day, so no one was outside, even though the inside was all but busting at the seams. It's always crowded. Noisy, busy, crowded, yet we still go there. That should tell you a lot. I don't even like elevators with more than one other person in it. We just usually don't do noisy, busy or crowded.
We were seated right in front of the door, not a prime spot, but once again, for this place we didn't mind.
There's a nine foot flat screen on one wall, a few other human-sized ones scattered around the others. All seemed to be playing sports games of one kind or another. One I noted was a football game, Duke vs. Maine, two universities I have absolutely no interest in playing a sport I have even less interest in. Later, all three TV's that I could see were tuned to the same channel for a hometown favorite, the St. Louis Blues, which is a hockey team, I am told. Not a big hockey fan either.
Let's just get to it.
The Food:

Pimento Burger

We all got burgers.
Me: Pimento-Bacon Burger with fries.
Angel: Ultimate Shroom Burger, fries
Adam: Breakfast Burger, fries.
I had un-sweet tea, Angel had sugared-up tea, a Pepsi for Adam.
There was about a fifteen minute wait, not really long for as busy as they were.
The pimento was not on the regular 'Burger Tour' menu, it was a special. I had asked the cheery young lady that took our order about it. "Burger, bacon, topped with pimento cheese." Simple, straight forward, tasty sounding.
I grew up liking pimento cheese (the caviar of the south), all by itself on bread. As I recall we had it a lot, it might have been cheaper than real food. Which begs the question, "Just what the heck is a pimento anyhow?"
Well fans, I looked it up. It is a form of red chili pepper, in fact the word 'pimento' is derived from the Portuguese words for 'bell pepper'. BTW, there are more Portuguese speakers in Brazil than there are in Portugal. I'm not even sure Portugal even exists anymore. I'll look that up next week, maybe. Remind me.
So the red pimento slivers in pimento cheese and crawling out the pit-hole of green olives, is little more than a bell pepper cousin. It is slightly sweeter than common red bell peppers.

Breakfast Burger

There's actually a machine in olive factories that 'pits' the olive and inserts the pimento in one quick movement.
So how is pimento cheese on a burger?
Actually, it's a pretty good fit. The thing tasted just like a good burger topped with pimento cheese, which is mostly just cheese and mayo anyhow. It was a little messy, little blobs of the cheese spread fell out during the meal, but messiness is just part of the burger experience.
Adam's breakfast themed burger included hash browns, egg, bacon and American cheese. We decided that it does not really qualify as a 'breakfast' burger unless it also included Lucky Charms or Cocoa Puffs. Now you're talking!
He quietly wolfed it all down in no time.
Angel's, the Ultimate Shroom, was topped with extra mushrooms and horseradish sauce. I don't care for horseradish in any amount. Angel said her burger could have included even more. (I looked this up too, no, horseradish is not made from actual horses.)
Angel's biggest beef. . . get it? Beef? LOL. Angel's strongest comment wasn't about the flavors, she

Ultimate Shroom Burger

was quite please with the taste. It was the bun/burger size ratio.  Our miniaturized burgers contained one third less beef than the regular burger. The bun though, was the same. Thus, her burger had about a half inch of bread edge all around it. Perhaps, she mused, if they flattened the smaller ones out a little more it would have been a better fit.
We were all quite pleased with our meals. I still couldn't finish my entire plate, but that does not mean I did not thoroughly enjoy it.
I asked the family about the fries. I'd noticed that they were sprinkled with pepper. To a person, yes, that was quite a nice touch. I tend to forget to put salt on fries, I can't say it ever occurred to me to pepper them as well. I may start doing that.
Summary:
This place is just plain great. Debbie and her crew are true pros. The wait staff I observed were not just professional and competent, they were not just friendly, they were actually, genuinely cheerful, as if they were enjoying themselves. Very helpful, always smiling and all over the floor taking care of this and that.
Yes it was busy, yes it was noisy, but it was a happy place. The customers were all laughing and joking with each other.
The food is exceptional. Occasionally they offer fish or fried chicken, I've heard that it is just as good as the burgers, I don't doubt it. Debbie has created a nearly magical combination of great staff, great food and fantastic, intelligent and very, very handsome patrons.
The Concord Grill deserves every one of the many, many accolades that have been heaped on it.

IHOP

110 Kate G Lane 

Fenton, Mo.

It was Angel's first family sit-down meal at a restaurant in nearly six weeks, so she picked the place. 

Oh, haven't I mentioned Angel's situation?   She's been whining for a year or more about aches and pains everywhere from her back, to her hip, to her toes. Constant, shrill whining. Test after expensive test revealed nothing conclusive. Finally she came across a doctor that figured it all out.  Her foot was damaged internally, causing her to sub-conscientiously compensate with other body parts to maintain balance while walking/standing upright. This is why the pain moved from place to place. 

It turns out that she had a ruptured ligament/tendon, a torn ligament/tendon, topped off with some bone shrapnel inflaming a foot joint. 

Wow! Right? I bet that did hurt!

Back in July she went in for surgery. It only took a couple of hours, but she came out with a massive splint/cast. That was replaced a couple of weeks later with a slightly smaller cast. Then finally, last week, she had that one removed and was sent packing with a complicated, but removable  'boot'. 

So for several weeks, she was basically confined to her recliner, or wherever else she could move about on her knee scooter. 

On the day of her cast removal, I took her to a Chinese Buffet on the way home. She was still scooting, I had to fill her plate as she rolled down the line.

By Sunday she was taking a few very slow steps, with and without the use of a standard crutch. She also took her SUV out for a spin earlier in the day. Progress. Slow but, certainly tangible progress.

IHOP it was. Adam happily joined us at Gravois Bluffs in Fenton. Gravois Bluffs is a multi-acre shopping center, surrounded by other shopping centers. Big box, medium box, most every department and discount store you've heard of is located either in or around Gravois Bluffs.  I drove the SUV, Angel wasn't quite ready for a longer drive herself. That booted leg doesn't have a lot of wiggle room under the dashboard, so it gets cramped up in no time.

The Place:

I didn't bother looking at a menu ahead of time, with a name like 'International House of Pancakes', even an idiot could probably surmise the potential offerings.

On the way to the bluffs I asked Angel if he thought IHOP offered hot dogs. She just looked at me with that adoring, down her nose, squinting glare that she uses frequently when I am talking.

Adam was already there. We hobbled into the joint, Adam and I took turns opening the doors for Angel. We're both old school gentlemen that way.

The place, like other 'breakfast' venues, smelled heavily of maple syrup. I find that aroma quite sickening.  It was not overpowering at IHOP, but it was definitely there. My brain responds to the smell of maple syrup much the same way it responds to that of decaying flesh, rotting eggs, or children in general. Revulsion.

The place was certainly bigger than a Waffle House. Tables and booths all over the place, a full sized restaurant. It was neat and clean and appeared to be well staffed. It wasn't crowded either. 

The multi-page laminated menu was all about pancakes, waffles, eggs, toast and powdered sugar.  I don't get that last item. They put it on pancakes, waffles, French toast, crepes, etc. They also seem to push breakfast food as dessert. I don't even add a pinch of sugar to the batter for pancakes, waffles, or French toast when I make them at home.  I prefer savory, not pastry.

I asked the young man for coffee, Angel wanted sweet tea, Adam, of course, wanted a Pepsi. We asked for and were allowed a little more time to make our selections. A lot of it looked good, it was a tough choice narrowing it down.

That extra time lured me into making a rookie mistake.  Idle time conjured up the will to stretch, experiment, order something I would not normally ask for.

The Food:

I scanned the entire menu, sure enough, no hot dogs.  They had burgers and fried chicken but no hot

dogs. 

Angel predictably ordered the Country Fried Steak. The server asked if she wanted gravy on it. . . we laughed and laughed. The young man got the message and smiled. "Would you like some mashed potato on your gravy?" 

I'd thought about ordering the same thing, but the only veggie side option was broccoli. You know about me and broccoli, don't you? I could have asked them to leave the nasty greenery off the plate, but then there would be that void, the place where broccoli would have been, and that's too much like actually being served broccoli.

Adam was also predictable, chicken and waffles. Adam only eats like seven or eight things, those are two of them.

Now to mix it up.

Two eggs, over medium, crispy bacon, hash-browns and French toast.  

The shock and gasps were palpable.  My family knows I like French toast, the way I make it anyhow, but that I can recall, I've never ordered it at a restaurant.

The reason is quite simple. Go to one of these places. Order French toast without further description. What you'll probably get is barely battered toast, glopped with cinnamon, powdered sugar and maybe even syrup.

I thought I'd be clever though. "Is the French toast sweet?" I asked the dashing young man.

"I don't think so." He replied. Here's my mistake. I assumed that meant it wouldn't be coated in a cloud of powdered sugar.

But it was. Sure I thumped most of it off, but by the time it hit the table, the golf ball sized butter ball was already melting and acting as contact adhesive to the dusty stuff.  I spent a few minutes knocking off as much as I could. Then I re-piled the stack and dived in. The first bite was even more disappointing. There was indeed a residual sweetness, but the real abomination was the cinnamon. Almost enough to qualify as a sticky bun. I don't mind a little, but the sugar and the spice had turned the thing into a thing just short of a bear claw.

This was not IHOP's error, it was entirely my own. 

When I make French toast at home, a thing I learned to do as a kid, I use exactly three ingredients, bread, egg, milk, and not very much of the latter. Then I top it off with. . .  nothing. If I want a sweet pastry, I'll make donuts. Yeah I can do that too. I hardly ever make donuts, I hardly ever eat cake.  I'm just not a big sweet pastry guy. I'd make a lousy cop I guess. I can walk right past a sheet cake or pile of free donuts at work with no more temptation than if they were a golf course, fabric store, or fitness center. 

What I want when I want French toast is simply egg drenched bread, fried in butter. I've even taken the resulting toast and made grilled cheese sandwiches with it.  Boy howdy, that's good eats!

But that's just me.

The origin of French toast is a little murky. There are versions of the egg-soaked bread going back to the days of the Roman Empire, which, as I recall, was a very long time ago, perhaps dozens of years. What we do know for sure is that it did not originate in France. We are also pretty sure that extravagances like cinnamon, sugar and maple syrup were not part of the original design. "Pain perdu", or 'lost bread' is what the French call it. Named so since the idea was that it was a way to rehydrate and thus extend the lifespan of leftover bread that was a day away from being tossed out. The British call it 'eggy bread' since they lack imagination, they also tend to top it with ketchup since they, as a culture, also have no discernible food dignity.  A 14th century German recipe calls it 'Arme Ritter' or 'poor knights' because. . . well, who the hell knows why the Germans do anything the way they do.

The bottom line is, as far as French toast goes, IHOP made it their way, not my way. I knew better. I cannot criticize them for this.

As far as the rest of the meal, the two eggs, over medium were cooked perfectly, the bacon was indeed crispy and the hash browns, as they are supposed to be, crispy golden on the edges. No complaints, at all. 

Adam ate all his chicken and waffles, he must have really liked them a lot since when asked about it he replied "Fine". 

It was Angel that proved to be the chief complainant this time. I looked down on her plate when we were finished. Remarkably there was still a third of the CFS remaining. Her fork was down. "Too salty." she said. "Except for the broccoli, I had to add salt to that."

Ouch.

Summary.

Discounting my mistake in ordering, I'd have to say I was quite satisfied with my food. Adam's cryptic, one word response was a little less clear. Angel was a slight thumbs down.

In other words, 'Meh'. 

We can get just as good at a couple of places closer than Fenton. Waffle House, Huddle Hut, etc. So for us there's no wow factor at IHOP. Nothing pulling at us to go back very often. Of course it specializes not in fancy food, but comfort food. People don't go there to be wowed, they go to get good breakfast type meals. Simple, predictable, cozy comfort food.

It's a fine place for what it is, with a deeper menu than Waffle House. So go ahead, enjoy!

 

Waffle House

1304 Veterans Blvd.
Festus, Mo.

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

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

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

Hardee's Pork Chop Biscuit

10610 Old Highway 21
Hillsboro, Mo

I know, I know,  I said I was going to stop reviewing fast food places.
This was all Angel's idea, blame her.
In our weekly county paper we received the usual pile of glossy printed ads. The one for Hardee's caught my true love's eye.
Pork chop. . . Mmmm, pork chop.
She mentioned it to me on Thursday evening, then again on Friday. So as soon as I was up on Saturday I slipped into some sort of pants and shirt and then slid my feet into my old, comfy Crocs.
I made the five or six mile drive to town, then nosed the VW into the drive thru lane. I had my order in my head. So when the metal box addressed me I yelled it out.
Two Grilled Pork Chop Biscuit with Egg and Cheese, two Mile High Bacon Egg and Cheese Biscuits, two medium Tater Rounds, and two medium coffees.
There was no one in front of me so I drove right up to the window. In only a couple of minutes the window opened and coffees were passed through. I returned the favor by letting the young lady hold my debit card for a moment. By the time she was done with it, someone handed her a steaming bag.
Boy, that was quick.
The drive home was uneventful.

Mile High Bacon Egg and Cheese

Angel had just come in from tending to some of the boarders (dogs, not humans) She seemed happy to see me and was very pleased that I'd brought her some coffee. She usually doesn't get around to making her coffee until she's rotated all the dogs out at least once.
"What's with  the other biscuits?" She asked about the two mile highs.
"Just in case." I replied.
We each took our fair share and sat back in our recliners. Not much was said.
My own impressions were fairy positive. This was not mushed and reformulated meat, this seemed to be an actual, thin sliced, boneless pork chop. The flavor and texture were both there.
Angel said hers was good as well, but with some reservations. "I'm not much of a biscuit person."
I immediately called the most vicious attorney I could find and insisted we immediately file for a divorce, without prejudice, with the demand to leave her penniless and lonely for the rest of her natural life. Not a biscuit person? If I'd known that all those years ago. . .
Bottom line, she liked the pork chop part of it because it tasted like a pork chop.  I thought it was a pretty good breakfast sandwich, because I am a biscuit person.
So yeah, we can recommend it. It was much better than that Bologna and Velveeta thing Hardees offered a few months back. . .
Bonus, this time I didn't get sick!

Huddle House

13012 MO 21
De Soto, MO

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

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

HoneyBaked

(HoneyBaked Ham)
6936 S. Lindbergh
St. Louis, Mo.
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First, I wish to be very upfront and clear about this.
I was invited and paid, up front, to try this place out, by one of HoneyBaked's PR firms.
Things like this happen occasionally. Via this page's 'Email Me' button, which marks incoming emails as coming from there, I get invitations to try restaurants, bars, etc. Most of the places are too far away to be of any interest to me, others, I simply forget. And this is not the first time I've been offered free food. A couple of years back I posted a scathing review of Domino's Pizza and a few days later I got an email from their corporate headquarters apologizing for the poor service and  telling me there were a couple of coupons, essentially a reimbursement, waiting for me at the local store. I suppose they are still there, I wouldn't know.
Anyway Erin Peacock from Peacock Public Relations in Orange County, California, hit the button and offered a $50 gift card to ". . . add Honeybaked to your table."
She never said anything about me writing anything about it, but since she found me on Eat and Critique, the implication was pretty clear.
I mentioned it to Angel, she thought it sounded pretty good. So I responded to Ms. Peacock. Within moments I received a reply asking for my mailing address. I'd already checked out the firm, so I gave it to her. By the end of that week, UPS delivered.
The email said something about Easter and ham, but since we don't do Easter, I didn't feel especially rushed.
I do have journalistic integrity though. I will give an honest assessment. That integrity was drilled into me by my two years, one as Editor in Chief, for the 'Trigg Times' (High School Paper) and five more years of watching 'Lou Grant'.
Though Lou, Joe and Billie would never take money up front to write a story, I will, since I make my own journalistic rules here. I do promise to be honest though. Peacock never said anything about what they wanted me to say. If they don't like what I say, that's on them. Besides, $50 is well below my actual bribe rate.
The Place:
 South (St. Louis) County, in a very busy stretch of overt capitalistic endeavors, big box stores, auto dealers, a mall, shopping centers and adjacent to a traffic ticket fixing joint.
I'd not seen these before moving to the area. If you get a ticket you can pay them a certain amount to get the charge reduced and save your precious 'points'. I've only had one ticket since I moved here and have never bothered learning more about those businesses though.
I don't like this area, too busy, too many lanes, too many intersections, too many distracted drivers.
First I stopped at the mall, something I haven't done since 2006. I usually have no interest or need for malls and all those people there. That's why God created Amazon.com, so people like me don't have to go to crowded stores to pick through clothing, cell phones and sunglasses.
Angel and Adam were in Springfield celebrating her paternal grandmother's 100th birthday. We had discussed HoneyBaked before she left though, we had a plan.
I drove up there before noon on Saturday. I wanted to get it over with.
The parking was tight, a lot of people getting tickets fixed, I guessed. The store entry was a bit confusing, I ended up going in through the exit door by mistake. The lady at a little table giving away cheese samples looked at me funny, but said nothing.
It was a cattle line.
A literal maze, like at an amusement park, with ribbon suspended by move-able chrome poles guided people from the entry door, made two u-turns and fed out to the counter. It was manned by three or four cashiers. There were about eight people ahead of me so I tried to read the overhead menus. I need new glasses. I couldn't make out a thing until the last turn.
I had looked at products online ahead of time, but only generally, not specifically.
I did some calculations in my head and figured up an order. I stepped up as ' . . . next person in line, please.'  Steph stood confidently at her station, smiling. Not a big, ugly, fake smile like real estate people have, but a nice, genuine, relaxed smile.  I thought about asking her to marry me. She could do worse.
She obviously had more confidence than me. I was already rattled from the traffic and the uncertainty of my order. I wanted to spend at least the entire $50. I would even be willing to go over, since we're budgeted to eat out every weekend anyhow, as long as I got out of there with a wide sampling of HoneyBaked's offerings.
We could have blown the entire amount on a big ham or a whole turkey, but then we'd have to make something to go with it.
The Food.

They offer the big meats, it's what they are known for, but they also serve smaller 'sliced' one pound portions. The sides were the wild card.
I ended up ordering one pound each of smoked turkey and ham. I added potato salad, and asked about bacon. Yep, Steph assured me, they had that. I did some math in my head and realized I was short of the $50 minimum. I saw a poster for sides and saw mac and cheese, I added that and was still short. So I saw another poster and asked for cinnamon  rolls.
I still came up about a buck and a half short of the target, but made the decision that enough was enough.
She ran my gift cards, one of them seem to be problematic, but she persisted and apologized graciously for the problem. She couldn't know that it really didn't matter to me, I could afford to actually pay for the whole amount on my own. The cards just got me in the door.
She fetched the stuff, and even opened up the foil covered ham to show me that it was indeed ham, not asbestos or heroin, and offered to do the same for the turkey. "That's okay, I've actually seen turkey before." I assured her. Actually I trusted her, heck, we were practically engaged. If you can't trust your potential fiance to serve you the food you asked for, what good are they?
I fought the traffic and the intersections and the lanes and finally made it home. I was in charge of the dogs, so I put everything away and took care of them.
When everyone had been cycled I looked over the cinnamon rolls and the mac and cheese. Steph had gently pointed out that these items would need to be heated. "I have an oven and I'm prepared to use it." I had assured her. She seemed to be impressed that her future husband knew his way around a kitchen.
Not bad, thirty minutes so at 350. She hadn't said anything about cooking the bacon, but I'm not a complete idiot.
As dinnertime approached, I started the prep work. I decided to heat up only half the rolls, there were a dozen of them and I didn't think we could finish them all in the remaining weekend, even after they got back.
I followed the instructions, peeling back a corner of the plastic seal on the mac, and foil-tented the half dozen rolls. I let them finish completely before I started anything else.
One small skillet, one slice of bacon, halved. I find that bacon cooks better if you make it smaller.

Once the bacon was done to crispy, I tore off some turkey and ham and threw it in the same skillet for a couple of minutes, just to heat up. No need wasting good bacon grease.
This all only took about ten-fifteen minutes. I plated everything, opened a fresh bottle of Dasani and let Rudy watch me eat. He loves watching people eat. He really, really loves watching people eat, closely.
The bacon was crisp, thick and smoky, exactly like bacon should be, nothing more. The turkey and ham were also fresh and flavorful, not too much monkeying with herbs and spices. I decided the meats would make for a really tasty sandwich. I didn't make a sandwich myself since there were already a lot of starches being served up. Besides, I wanted to taste the product commando-style to get at the bare essence of the stuff.
If anything There weren't any real veggies in the meal. But that's on me. If you recall I hadn't really thought this through. Green beans, corn, maybe even lima beans or peas would have cut up the flavor profile a little. It was definitely a brown meal.
Except for the mac and cheese, of course. Speaking of which, I was quite pleased with the creaminess and cheesiness of it. As good as any I've had anywhere. The potato salad was of a style. If I were to chose some or make some, it would be stronger in the mustard department. I like canary-yellow potato salad. Interestingly the potato salad had shredded cheese in it. It wasn't bad, just a style, well executed, that I only like, not love. But that's a preference thing. I certainly didn't dislike it. In a buffet, family get-together, or catered event, I'd certainly have some.
The cinnamon rolls were thankfully small. Even though I'm a rural American, I don't like or need huge portions of things. Those calorie bombs that you find at bakeries and coffee shops are just too big for me.
I saved mine for after-dinner coffee. And it was pretty good that way. Small, simple, a basic and comfortable cinnamon roll.
The really nice thing about having turkey and ham in the fridge is the sheer versatility. Both meats are great in a breakfast scramble, a quick lunch sandwich, even on a salad. Sunday morning I did make that scramble, and instead of sprinkling the bacon, turkey, ham and eggs with shredded cheese, I added some of the HoneyBaked  mac and cheese.
After Angel and Adam got back, bringing some of Springfield's famous Chinese food with them, they each tried the HoneyBaked selections.
Both liked the meats, Adam preferred the turkey over the ham, and also thoroughly liked the mac and cheese. Angel really liked the potato salad, the mac and cheese, not as much. "Too noodly" I think she said, whatever that means.
Summary:
Quite good! Certainly better quality meat and sides that you find most places. I could very easily see HoneBaked as a top tier candidate for laying out a table for a medium to large gathering, family, coworkers, etc. There's no too-strong flavors, it's all good ol' American comfort food, well made and satisfying to a wide range of palates.
As for the store, well, had I been paying more attention to this Easter thing, I should have expected HBH to be really busy the day before. The line did move fairly quickly though.
The price, for you, not for me this time, is not unreasonable for quality product. Sure, you could get a less expensive deli tray at a discount big-box store or grocery, but HoneyBaked is about quality, consistency and freshness. Maybe your poker buddies wouldn't care, but more upscale events require something a bit better than off-the-rack, generic meats and sides.
I heard from a former HBH employee, my stepson Tyler. He said he had a genuinely positive experience running the ham spiraling machine* down in Springfield when he was younger. Happy employees, that's always a good sign .
As far as the staff for this visit, Steph was more than just a cashier, she actually engaged, paid attention and worked efficiently. All the time with that knowing, confident smile. Maybe we'll get our wedding reception catered by HoneyBaked.



*J. Hoenselaar, the founder of HBH in 1957, was also the inventor of the spiral slicing machine first used in his business.

St. Louis Bread Company (Panera)

1075 W. Gannon Dr.
Festus, Mo.
On  the Web



Outside the Metro St. Louis area, this 1800 store franchise is known as Panera Bread. The 101 locations here though, still go by the original name, St. Louis Bread Company.
It's quite a popular lunch or shopping break place. No deep fat fried items, mostly fresh made breads, salads, pastas and soups.
I had recently re-read some earlier reviews, looking for places that I needed to re-evaluate. This one surprised me as I feel as though we'd been there more frequently, but no. Not since 2010.
In that review I summarized by saying essentially that I'd ordered the wrong thing.
Well, time to fix that with a little advanced planning. During the week before this visit, I looked up the menu and made a mental list of things I'd be happier with.
The Place:
I like the idea of SLBC. A quality step up from fast food joints. They are also made for lounging.
Aside from the booths and tables, there are lounge chairs, quiet, cozy nooks that beg to be relaxed in. Grad a small bite, a cup of coffee, some WiFi or a book and just sit back, take a break. Like a coffee house. It has a clean, modern, casual look and feel. The seating area is separated from the ordering and counter area. I want to like SLBC.
We stepped in and up to the  ordering area. My mind went blank. It took me several minutes to readjust, refocus. No panini sandwich, no panini sandwich. . .
Commonly panini are squashed in a George Foreman type grill. I've decided that I didn't want all the ingredients heated, I wanted them fresh and cool. That was rule 1. . . I forgot the other rules. There was a soup that looked good. . . nope don't remember, go for a classic.
I placed my order, Angel placed hers, they handed over my cup. Angel settled up and waited for her lemonade. They also gave her a flashing vibrator. You know, the kind restaurants hand out to alert you when your order is ready.
I found us a table by the window, a four top. The boys, Adam and Larry arrived separately. We were going to a farm supply store afterward and for some reason they weren't interested in doing that. They were also handling their own bills. It's a new arrangement, part of an agreement we reached when Larry moved in. It's not a contentious agreement, just one that is part of the ongoing growing up process.
They would sit with us though.

The Food:
I had poured myself some unsweet tea. It looked clear and fresh. It was pretty good. Angel loves the lemonade, the boys had pop.
The vibrator started flashing and jiggling. At the same time someone behind the counter shouted Angel's name. The redundancy seemed completely unnecessary. No one could ignore the flat, square pager. Angel fetched the food. It looked fresh and clean.
I had ordered a Bacon Turkey Bravo sandwich and Creamy Tomato soup. The sandwich contained turkey, apple wood smoked bacon, greens, tomato and Gouda cheese doused with a small amount of their 'signature' sauce.
According to some folks who reverse engineer foods, the 'signature' sauce is ketchup based with lemon juice, Worcestershire and Tabasco sauce with a pinch of dried mustard. That sounds about right, it had a zing to it. The bread was their tomato basil bread, which you can also buy by the loaf. It was darker than white bread, a little more orange than wheat.

Angel had originally ordered a Greek salad with some clam chowder, but had been informed that  they were out of the chowder, so she subbed with cheesy broccoli soup. Each of our plates came with a softball sized soft roll. That looked pointless to me, I was already having a sandwich. Angel said it was for the soup, but that didn't make sense either, they'd provided a perfectly good spoon.
I like tomato soup, though I don't have it often as it is not very filling. This soup looked thick, bright and fresh. The sandwich was pretty. Folded deli turkey, bright lettuce, a strip of bacon, all on that slightly tanned bread. It hadn't been smooshed down. Beside it a nice looking, but pointless roll. In fact, when I did try to smoosh the sandwich, things slithered out all sides. I stuffed them back together and again, trying to make it small enough to fit into my mouth caused the slippery innards to act like like-pole magnets and fly apart. I determined that the main problem was the meat. Having been folded, it was not flat. The fold was much thicker than the ends, creating a wedge. The slippery tomato and friction-less lettuce had nothing to stick to, the whole thing was like ice on ice. The crust proved to be yet another problem. It was thick and neither soft nor crisp. It was, as best I can describe it, leathery. It would not compress, it could not be bitten through, I could only engage it in a destructive bout of tug of war. I only tried this once since that tugging caused the sandwich to come completely apart. I finally just ripped the crust off of the remaining mess of a sandwich. Both
Angel and Adam tried the crust, assuming I was exaggerating the problem. In the end, they agreed.
Though  the sandwich ingredients themselves were tasty, mechanically the sandwich was a serious fail. The whole point of a sandwich is convenience. A small one like this you should be able to eat it, stem to stern with one hand while you are holding a book in the  other. Not this one. It took both hands just to keep the thing together.
Angel was quite happy with her salad. "It's a Greek salad." she said, some sort of Greek dressing, some Greek olives, a little pepper. . .  Nothing outstanding, but it was fresh and satisfying. It's hard to screw up a salad. I could say the same about sandwiches, but they proved me wrong. As for the soup, Cheesy Broccoli, She liked it, but was really in the mood for chowder. My soup was good, though it looked like something had curdled a little in it. It may have been tomato pulp, it might have been thin curdles of cream, I couldn't tell, but near the end of the bowl, as the temperature dropped to tepid, it was texturally a little off-putting. There wasn't a lot of food to begin with, but having discarded a lot of the bread and stopping about two thirds of the way into the soup, there was ample room for more. Angel suggested dessert, with coffee. We rarely have dessert when we go out,  but it sounded like a great idea this time.

We headed back to the entry and looked over the pastry offerings. I'm not a fancy guy, I latched on to the cinnamon roll. Angel picked a smaller knotted pastry, a pecan twist. There was more than one style of coffee to choose from, some spicy, sweet concoctions, but also some plain, dark roast. I like a strong, dark coffee, so I filled my mug. Angel got something a little more girly.
The roll was simply gorgeous. All the food at SLBC seems to be made to appeal to the eye. We took our pastries and mugs back to our table and dug in. The cinnamon roll tasted exactly right, just the right combination of cinnamon, sugar, yeasty dough and frosting. I should just leave it at that. I really should, but I can't. the cinnamon roll was pretty dry. It tasted great, but it was very, very, day-old dry. Still better than no cinnamon roll though and the coffee was very good.
Summary:
I know I sound like  a whiner, but I really, really want to like SLBC. I just can't seem to find any food-reason to go there. Everything I've tried there has ended up being a bit of a disappointment. Not gross, disgusting or awful, just not up to my modest expectations. Even as a lunch destination, I have no real desire to pick SLBC over just about anywhere else. It's disappointing that a Bread Company's cinnamon roll is too dry and a sandwich bread is mechanically impossible to eat.  Is that asking too much?
The place wasn't expensive and I appreciate the less than Texas-sized portions. I like the freshness and clean-ness of the place and the food. I like the smell of baking bread, good coffee and stable WiFi. . .
Maybe this was a series of flukes, a too-old cinnamon roll, an overcooked loaf of tomato basil bread, slipperier then usual meat. . . but I really don't think so. If I were to guess, it is a problem of style over substance. Appearance over function. That's my opinion anyhow.
Angel doesn't agree, she likes the place and the food just fine. So this is really a draw. Maybe I'm just missing something.
Thoughts?

Lorenzo's

106 Main St.
Desoto, Mo.
On the web
Facebook

A few days ago on a certain social media site, someone in one of the county groups I follow, said they were moving to Desoto and wanted to know about restaurants there that other members could recommend. Lorenzo's jumped into my head immediately, but when I was about to comment, I noticed that several other people already had, more so than any other place.
There are some fine eateries in and around Desoto, but it was this place that I thought of first.
Coincidentally, when Angel came up with a list of two or three places for this outing, I chose Lorenzo's.
The Place:
It sits on Main street, across form the tracks. On the other side of the tracks, sure enough, property values drop.
Main street is old style, mid 20th century, small town brick store fronts. It even still has an old-school movie theater.
Lorenzo's sits adjacent to a vacant spot, where they've set up a patio. They're known to frequently get a projector and show ballgames on the wall of the next building.
It was a nice, some would say perfect, evening for sitting outside, but we didn't. We went in and were led to a booth pretty close to the last booth we sat at.
Charlotte brought us some menus and asked about drinks. Lorenzo's serves many, many beers and wines, so we got unsweet tea, sweet tea and Coke.
I like wine. I'm okay with beer. My problem with beer is that it is too filling to have with a meal. My problem with wine is snobs. If I had wine with my meal I'd have to rate it, and that is very hard to do without it coming to fisticuffs between myself, a simple man with simple tastes, and the snobs. They're a violent bunch and not as dainty as you might imagine.

The Food:
"I don't think I want pizza." Angel had declared. I kind of did. They serve a little nine incher at a very
reasonable price, $6.35 with up to six toppings. That's a lot of toppings. And they have some good ones. The standards, of course, but they also have 'gourmet toppings' including, from their website:
Anchovies, Artichoke Hearts, Basil Pesto, Capicolla Ham, Fresh Mozzarella, Fresh Spinach, Goat Cheese crumbles, Gorgonzola Cheese, Grilled Chicken, Meatball, Minced Garlic, Prosciutto di Parma, Ricotta Cheese, Shrimp, Volpi Salami.
Yeah. . . I know.
They also have a selection of sauces and cheeses.
I designed my own.
Traditional sauce, traditional cheese, topped with onions, bell pepper, Italian sausage, bacon, pepperoni and to spice it up a bit, pickled banana peppers.
Adam bought one off the rack, the so-named 'Sicilian', traditional sauce, mozzarella cheese, Italian sausage, pepperoni, Capicolla Ham and fresh basil.
Angel changed her mind. Her pizza was embarrassing. Garlic butter sauce, St. Louis style (Provel) cheese, black olives, mushrooms, sausage, onions, grilled chicken. To me, this didn't sound like pizza at all. Even less so when she informed us that she almost added artichokes. Seriously, artichoke. . . on a pizza. . . embarrassing.
Of course, the forgone conclusion, for an appetizer we were unanimous in wanting the deep fried cannelloni.
We get this every time. It's Lorenzo's one up of the traditional and generic (in the St. Louis area) fried ravioli. It's better, much better. The appetizer cost more than any of our pizzas, but it was gone in a couple of  minutes. They make their own. . . everything, sauces, sausages, everything there. The blend of meat in these bites is, as I've put it before, buttery in texture and smokey and savory, but not spicy, in taste.
Angel thought they'd been cooked too long, too crispy, Adam and I disagreed, as there is no such thing as too crispy. The signature, house made marinara sauce coated the crispy, buttery bits with a fresh sweetness that you cannot get out of a can.
We waited patiently for the pizzas, they are built to order and should not be rushed. We had our e-devices so we were entertained without actually having to hold conversations with each other. Lorenzo's has wifi, but you have to have the password. I asked for it and was told it was the zip code, which I didn't know, but I do now. So we sat there and privately swiped and tapped. The big-band, Italian-ish crooners filled the room with ambiance. Frank Sinatra, Peggy Lee, Dean Martin, etc.
The pies arrived. None of us has ever been able to eat the whole thing in one sitting, but that's a plus. Two words, 'breakfast pizza'. 
Mine was, by far, the prettiest pie. The bright yellow banana peppers, the green bells, the sauce and the cheese was a delicious looking palette. We all noticed that the pizzas had been sliced in quarters, too large to handle. There were knives along with other cutlery in a Mason jar on the table. Each quarter got sliced in half.
Be prepared though, these things come to you hotter than the surface of Venus (860° F). Do not dive right in, wait for it, wait for it. . .
The crust was thin, not cracker thin, but certainly not thick. It was also very good. Not too yeasty or oregano-y. Just a perfectly simple crust that does not need to be stuffed with anything. I finally did get to bite in and was perfectly satisfied. The banana pepper was a great addition, a new, different taste to the more traditional toppings. The little vinegar-y things were thankfully sparse and thus, did not overwhelm.

Adam's pie was mostly meat, with a sprinkling of
chopped basil to offset the otherwise bland colors. Adam is a pizza professional, capable of making a great pie himself at the place he works. Even though he eschews vegetables, onions, peppers, etc, himself, he respects them, his opinion counted for something. He was quite pleased.
Angel's atrocity was also nice to look at, but wrong, just wrong. No tomato sauce, chunks of chicken, and knowing that it was slathered in Provel 'cheese' rather than mozzarella, as God intended, she bit into it as if it were perfectly normal. Provel, a primary component of St. Louis style, is a blend of cheeses made specifically for the region. I've never cared much for it myself, it comes across as a bit sweet. Sure the texture is great, it doesn't harden as it cools, but for me the taste is one-off. Sure enough, the richness of the cheese had her stop about halfway through. Well, we all stopped about halfway through. The fresh ingredients and sauces

and cheeses make this pizza rich, and very filling.
Charlotte brought us boxes, and the check.
Summary:
 I told Angel that this would be a very difficult review to write. A good story requires conflict. There was none. Zero. The whole experience was pleasant, efficient, relaxed, tasty and just plain good. Okay, the tea was pretty weak, but that's it. Lorenzo makes seriously good pasta dishes and can also toss out an exceptional pizza, one of the best in the county, if not beyond. The price was more than reasonable, an appetizer and three pizzas for thirty four dollars and change. . . three six-topping pizzas! The staff was efficient, precise and experienced, very, very few slip ups in our many visits. The place itself is cozy and 'warm'. Even the music fits the place perfectly. I not only think Lorenzo's makes one of the best pizzas in the area, but on the whole, I'd go so far as to say that it is among the best restaurants as well.
Highly, highly recommended!

Waffle House

#1163
Festus, Mo.


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

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

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

Smothered, Chunked, Country.

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

Why so many pickles?

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

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