Poppy's Ristorante

2000 N. Truman Blvd.
Crystal City, Mo
On the Interwebs
On Facebook
We like Poppy's. It's a deceivingly classy and beautiful eatery, next to a bowling alley.
The Place:
The interior is gorgeous. Hardwood floors, heavy wood furnishings, and the walls are decorated with nice, tasteful and well thought out art. Even the lamps are tasteful and classy. I encourage you to got there and see for yourself. If you can't, please got to their web site to see the photos.
It was about half full when we got there, the day had been blustery, but temperatures in the forties beat the snot out of those we had experienced earlier in the week.
Angel picked it, no one objected. They make really good dishes, and plenty on them. They serve seafood, pasta, steaks and chicken all various ways. The bar is very well appointed. Angel said she wanted something less filling than the huge pasta plates we usually get. That sounded like a plan.
We were seated immediately at a four-top in the back room. Next to us were three heavy oak, pew-like booths. One held a young dad and his two pre-teen boys. I knew that story without even knowing them.
We ordered our drinks, tea, sweet tea and Pepsi. Sharp, professional, black shirted staff members bustled about. A senior citizen one of a of a foursome at the next table started singing "Jesus Loves Me", all smiles.
Which I have to say was better than the slightly too-loud music from the overhead. It just didn't fit. I suppose it was supposed to be adult contemporary, and they weren't actually bad songs, it just didn't fit with the general ambiance. Something soft and classical, Bach's Well Tempered Clavier or some piano sonatas would be better, or maybe some 50's classic trumpet and piano jazz. The stuff playing was like old late night FM (when nobody was listening) or Muzak.
The Food:
Angel decided rather quickly. I was still perusing, as was Adam. She ordered an appetizer, the St. Louis favorite, toasted ravioli. We'd seen an episode of "Restaurant Impossible" this week where Chef Robert Irvine ripped up the dish made at the St. Louis restaurant that supposedly invented the stuff. Though Mama's "On the Hill" Is reputedly the actual location of origin, the ownership of the place has changed a few times since the original dish came about in the 1940's. Irvine said the stuff there was just frozen ravioli. Which it might have been. Anyway, by episode's end they'd fixed that.
It's not complicated. You make ravioli, let it dry a bit, bread it (Panko please) and slam it into a deep fryer. The composition of the ravioli is key, as is the quality of the marinara sauce you dip it in.
The ravioli at Poppy's was pretty good, better than some places, mostly bars, that I've had it. Not too dry, crisp, yet with a moist, cheesy filling. The marinara was house made and quite good.
The tea was simply excellent. It's as if they knew I was coming. Clear, dark, fresh, a respectable 4 1/2 on the PJTea scale. We ordered.

Como salad

Me: NY Strip steak (medium rare), a baked potato and the combination salad with house dresing. Angel sure enough didn't order pasta, she asked for the lighter grilled salmon, a greek salad, then she blew the go-light plan by adding a baked potato. Adam ordered the Chicken Capri, described as "Charbroiled or lightly breaded,chicken, fried, prepared in a white wine, cheese and butter sauce, with broccoli, freshly sliced mushrooms, bits of prosciutto ham, and a touch of garlic." He asked for it without the mushrooms. He sided it with potato and bacon soup and mostaccoli in marinara sauce.

Greek Salad

We munched happily on the ravioli and the fat warm buns we'd been served. The place started to fill up even more.
The salads and soup arrived shortly. I'd had Angel's Greek before. It's good but I wanted something more American. The Combo salad is just lettuce, onions, carrots, and cherry tomatoes, a pretty basic salad, but what made this salad pop was the dressing. Sweet and creamy, absolutely delightful.
Adam's soup was thick and hot. chunks of potato and bacon filled his spoon, it disappeared pretty quick.
Just as we were finished with these, the entrees arrived.
The plates were clean, not cluttered with garnish. The foil-wrapped baked potatoes came on separate small plates. On my steak plate there was the steak, nothing else, on Angel's just the salmon. Adam's was gloppier, thick chunky sauce covered the plate, the chicken barely visible. In his separate plate was a pretty big pile of tubular pasta, covered in red sauce.
I cut into the steak, perfectly cooked, juicy, bloody, hot. I prepared my potato, slashing into it like a mad man, until it was practically mashed, then I added the sour cream and attacked it again. Butter and cream melted together soaking decadently into the ground up meat of the potato. I was looking forward to this, I hadn't had a baked potato in a long time, maybe months. Angel nodded her head after her first taste of her salmon. She picked off a small chunk of the fish and slid it onto my plate. I had some potato to clear my pallet, then another bite because it was so yummy, then tasted the salmon. It had a nice smoky taste and was quite flaky.
My steak was perfect. They hadn't tried to add flavors to it, just a good, honest, salt and peppered steak. I had cut the steak in half, it was a big boy, and I imagined I would take about half of it home. I had plans for it. Sunday morning scrambled eggs and steak plans.
The tea filler came around every time our glasses got down to half, the food went down smoothly and quickly, especially the potato. It was perfectly cooked, tender, warm and buttery.
Adam barely picked at his pasta, Angel tried it and winced a little. I thought about trying it but...potato.
Finally finished, I asked for a box. Meanwhile Angel said that though the fish was  very good, it would have enjoyed some sort of sauce, as it was "kind of dry after awhile." Adam said that the pasta sauce wasn't very good. Angel said that it tasted like someone had heated a can of diced tomatoes and poured it on straight, no depth to the taste. I thought this was odd, since everything else indicated that the kitchen knew how to deliver flavors.
Adam also said that the chicken sauce was a little strong on the wine taste. Adam's not a wine drinker. In fact he doesn't seem to ingest alcohol of any kind. I can't say that his assessment of the sauce counts as a bad note since he doesn't like wine.
Summary:
I filled the little Styrofoam box with the half steak. A manager came by and asked how everything was, I remarked honestly that I thought it quite good.
The bill arrived, a not surprising sixty seven dollars and change. We were told that the appetizer discount would be applied at the check-out. They'd told us earlier that for some reason or another, appetizers were half-off this evening. That would bring the tab down about three dollars.
As we were getting up, a server was talking to the man with the two boys. She said he looked familiar.
"Yeah, we used to come here a lot when we lived here . . .  (awkward pause) We're divorced now and I only come to town once in a while."  I felt a little sad for him. I knew the drill, I had recognized the situation when I first saw them, but not because of some psychology class or documentary on the subject. No, I learned this from the school they call life.
We grabbed our stuff and headed up front. You pay at the cash register at Poppy's.
The service was excellent, at every point, absolutely no criticisms here. The food was mostly excellent, just minor points, like some sauce for the fish and they might want to rethink the sauce on the pasta.
Angel was griping. Her plan for going for a light meal had been quickly spoiled by that potato. For me it was quite different. My life had been rejuvenated by it.
I highly recommend Poppy's. If I had to give up my lucrative restaurant reviewing gig, Poppy's would still find a solid place on my short list of  favorites.

Trattoria Giuseppe

5442 Highway 21

Imperial, Mo

Birthday Feast!

Angel’s birthday is March 4. For years we have celebrated, if at all, any such event on the weekend before, due to our work schedules. So Saturday night was her choice, I offered to take her anywhere in the world she wanted. I felt fairly safe because she is burdened with the same sense of responsibility and frugality as I am, so she wasn’t going to say “Gallagher’s in NYC” or even better, the Captain’s Table in Solomons Maryland. (We have celebrated there before. Highly recommended!) She instead chose Trattoria Giuseppe, perhaps the finest all-around eatery in Jefferson County, Mo.

We don’t get to go very often since it is kind of pricey compared to other places. Not NYC expensive, but for this area kind of hard to justify more than infrequently.

Which makes a celebration there even more of a celebration.

Angel had not wanted much of a fuss over her day, even less so than usual. Neither of us are big on such things anyhow, but this one represented one of those really ugly round numbered birthdays and she’s been fighting the aging process tooth and nail. Not with surgery and harsh diets, but with abject denial. Not me, I long for the day when I will be dismissed as just another dirty old man.

I've promised not to mention her birthday to anyone, so keep it to your yourself, please.

I did not argue her restaurant choice, in fact I wasn’t at all surprised.

The Place:

About the least likely setting for the finest eatery in a county of 220,000 souls. It’s on old highway 21 amidst auto repair shops and junk yards. The signage is minimal, the bar next door could easily host a fleet of big motorcycles and their fat, bearded and leather and denim clad owners. The place is not really in Imperial, which is a relatively small town to begin with, it’s just the nearest post office. It is best described as just north of highway M on old 21. That will help the locals, but only a little.

The place is understated in appearance, inside and out.

There were outdoor tables in front, empty due to the winter chill. Music played though, Dean Martin crooning an Italian ballad.

Angel had made reservations, even at the early Five P.M. hour and that proved to be a wise thing, the place was all but full when we got there and filled completely by the time we left. This place is quite popular.

There’s no need to dress up, the vast majority of patrons were like us, clad in jeans. There were no suits, tuxes or slinky, shiny dresses anywhere.

The ample wait staff, all dressed in white cotton shirts and black slacks, dashed around efficiently and professionally. Inside the doorway the host verified the reservation and Giuseppe himself stepped over and greeted us. He does this at every serving. Every time we’ve been there he makes the rounds, everyone gets personally greeted. He’s classically Italian in appearance, not very tall, jet black hair except for a few gray streaks, loose fitting loud-print chef pants and a chef’s tunic. There’s no mistaking him. A genteel and proud man and rightfully so.

We were led to our table. They seated us near the back of the dining area, near the curtain-doored restroom area. I thought about complaining but there were not many other tables available and  Angel said she liked being back against the wall. After I sat down I agreed, it gave us a full view of the whole dining area.

We were offered a basket of sliced French-style bread, handed menus and asked about drinks. Tea, tea and Coke.

Everything on the menu looked good. This problem was further complicated since we’d tried several things and knew that everything we’d had was indeed very good.

When our drinks were delivered, Kelly, our server, told us about the special. ‘Surf and Turf, a filet with three jumbo shrimp.

I laid down my menu, so did Angel. Kelly stepped away for a moment and soon Adam set his menu aside as well.

Me: Surf and turf, an 8oz filet, medium rare, three grilled shrimp and a baked potato, a salad with the house dressing.

Angel: Surf and turf, filet, medium, asparagus and the same salad.

Adam: Pepper loin filet, cream pasta, and instead of salad, the day’s bacon potato soup.

Kelly wrote it all down, questioning us about options, making note of the details. I poured some olive oil into the little saucer, dashed on some pepper and Parmesan, and broke off and dipped a chunk of the bread. A simple delight, it also lubes the gullet for the feast to come.

Shortly the soup and salads arrived. I pulled out my camera, Adam sighed, and my little Nikon groaned and objected telling me I’d forgotten to feed it fresh batteries. It blinked out and the thing hummed itself into a nap. Normally I carry extra batteries, not this time. Adam didn’t seem to be too disappointed.

My camera was dead, so instead
of pictures of food, here's a photo
of my dog wearing a silly hat.

The salad at Giuseppe’s is wonderful. Simple lettuce, with a single cherry tomato, two dark, rough olives, a pepper pod, a chunk of artichoke heart, a couple of rings of red onion. All coated in a slightly sweet, yet light vinaigrette dressing with just enough pepper. I offered my artichoke and olives to Angel, I just don’t care for them as much as she does.

Angel dipped her teaspoon into Adam’s thick soup, sipped it and moaned approval. Adam nodded. That soup disappeared rather quickly. Although he said it may have been salty, that didn’t seem to slow him down. I sort of expect bacon soup to be salty.

Against my better judgment I dipped another slice of bread with my salad.

After the salads were done and the plates carted off, we glanced around at the growing crowd. The whole time we were there no more than one or two tables opened up at a time, and they were filled pretty quickly.

At one table there was an older group that shared a bottle of wine served in a silver ice stand. Another table was lined with Budweiser bottles. The mood was calm yet happy. Even the children were pretty well behaved.

The plates arrived, three steaks, still sizzling.

I unwrapped my potato from its space suit-like foil and shoved in the butter and sour cream.

I sliced into the perfectly grilled steak, sopped up a little of the steak butter that had been drizzled on it, and savored perfection. There was a slight char on the edge of the steak, the inside was moist and very tender, it melted on my ecstatic taste buds.

The table was quiet as we soaked in the food. Every detail was excellent. Angel applauded the asparagus, I marveled at the precision of the taste and texture of the potato and steak.

A little steak butter spilled into the potato and I was certain that this was exactly what heaven should taste like.

I couldn’t quite finish, that second slice of bread had been a little too much, but I had no regrets.

I asked the family about their meals, which I didn’t need to do, I saw it on their faces.

Angel summed it up when telling me about her steak. “It’s like a fluffy cloud of meat.”

Summary:

Everything about Giuseppe’s is very good.

The staff is always professional and efficient. The food cannot be topped, the ambiance is casual, easy, yet classy. The place is run as professionally and expert as any place I’ve been in the area.

Of course there’s a price to pay for this.

The meal came to eighty eight dollars before the tip. That’s a lot for a meal for three in this area. But trust me on this, it’s worth every penny.

We passed on dessert, we were full. However we did stop on the way home at Dairy Queen and picked up an ice cream birthday cake for later.

Texas Tater N' More

144 7^th Street

Hillsboro, Mo

On Facebook

The new burger chart

I’d been meaning to go back to this place sooner, and more often. The ladies that own Texas Taters were really supportive of the local Library effort and deserve more patronage.
The day had started out drab, gray and drippy but had cleared up and warmed up quite nicely, in the 50’s by dinner time. I was ready for some food and mildly excited by the fact that Texas Taters were now offering burgers according to their Facebook page. I saw this as wonderful news for those families that are not unanimous in their desire for a baked potato. 

The Place:

Cavernous interior

 On 7^th street… which I think is a joke since I really don’t think Hillsboro has seven actual streets. I just know that it’s visible from Main Street, north of BB. It’s above an auto parts store and has a drive-up window.

This building was probably something else before it was a restaurant/diner and its not the ideal building for what could be a cozy little eatery. Inside it is almost cavernous, high ceilings and about twice as much floor space as it needs. They keep it very shiny and clean though. The white tile floors and bright blue walls cheer it up, the Mocha painted wall in the back tones the brightness down a bit. In the background a radio station was playing, Christmas music, which I was already pretty sick of. At work they’ve been playing it endlessly for about three weeks, enough already.

We stepped up to the menu poster on the wall by the counter and studied our options.

The Food:

Tablecloth

Angel wasn’t with us the only other time we’d been in. She studied the menu like it was a college final. Angel likes baked potatoes though, I mean who doesn’t?

I’d decided to get a burger since it was a new offering. I queried the ladies on the sides, the size of the burger, toppings, which they had listed as LTPO, which took me a moment to figure out that it stood for  lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and onions. I also asked about their ‘sauce’ listing. It turns out that they were referring to ketchup, mustard, mayo, etc. I went for a classic burger though they offered more exotic southwestern configurations. I asked for mustard and ketchup as the 'sauce'. When I couldn’t decide on the side, crinkle fries or wedges, the lady offered to serve a little of both. Very accommodating.

Classic Burger with plenty of PLTO

Sure enough Angel built herself a baked potato with gravy, grilled chicken and then threw a wrench at rational thinking and added broccoli. Adam also got a potato, one of the standards, a ‘Cowboy’ which was topped with barbecue pork, but traded out the onion straws for more bacon. Adam likes bacon, because he’s a good, honest, patriotic American. As for drinks, we stayed on script, Tea, Diet Coke and root beer. I had noticed in the back decanters for Luzianne. These ladies are not just nice, they’re smart and classy.

We sat at a booth admiring the colorful Texas-themed table coverings. We sat at the ‘boots’ booth.

We sat for a moment chatting and slurping our drinks out of the 24 ounce Styrofoam cups, which I do not particularly care for.
 Angel had taken Rudy, our foster dog of multiple breeds, through her morning training class and was quite proud of his progress. He came to us very, very skittish but has warmed up a lot since we’ve started socializing him and letting him stay upstairs. That way he spends the entire day around noises, comings and goings and in close proximity to other dogs. Rudy has adopted Adam as his daddy. Adam is a softie for Rudy as well.

A gentleman brought our baskets to us in short order.

Grilled Chicken ad (blech) broccoli.

The potatoes are huge, Texas-sized. The burger wasn’t quite as big as I thought it would be from the description I was given and this was a good thing. I hate wasting food. It was certainly big enough and sided with a very generous portion of mixed crinkle fries and skin-on wedges. The crinkle fries were nice and crispy, the wedges might have been crispier had they been left in the fryer a bit longer, or pre-cooked a little. They were not bad at all, just not as crispy as they could have been.

Angel and Adam dug in and I didn’t hear much from them for several minutes.

“I wonder if you can get a baked potato with a side of fries?” She asked. Of course you can, this is America!

The burger was pretty good, grill-fried, medium rare, thin and tender. There was plenty of LTPO, all fresh. The Texas-branded bun was quite good, and a clever touch.

Cowboy, with extra bacon

 I polled the family as they finished up, rather as they stopped eating. These potatoes are huge, and as the lady pointed out to us she’s never been taken up on her offer to serve up seconds to anyone. 

“The chicken was good, fresh and seasoned well, the broccoli was cooked perfectly and the portions were generous.” Is sort of what she said, my note-taking skills don't allow for verbatim comments. “Really good.” She added.

Adam had only a few words, all of them positive. “The pork got to be a little sweet after a while” was as bad a comment as he could muster. Both of them left topping-less carcasses of baked potato skin. Angel added that it would be nice if they offered up a tub of butter or margarine for the last bit of the potato since once the toppings are gone, the remainder is a bit dry.

Summary:

I like this place, I really do. We will go back. I’m not crazy about the building, but there’s not much that can be done about that. There are not many available buildings in the tiny shire of Hillsboro, so short of building from scratch; you have to settle for what’s available. I love, love, love! the idea of a baked potato place. The ladies that run it are very nice and accommodating.  They really seemed to care what we thought and were quite proud of their offerings.

The bill came to a mere twenty three dollars and change, which is pretty cheap for three full meals.

Aside from the potatoes and now, burgers, the place offers several sandwiches and a good variety of ice cream and frozen treats. I’m not sure how anyone has room for dessert when they finish one of these huge taters, but it’s there if you can handle it.
Highly recommended! They also cater and deliver.

Texas Taters n’ More

144 7th Street
Hillsboro, MO.

On Facebook

On Wednesday night I attended  my first meeting of  the Campaign Committee for the Hillsboro District Branch of the Jefferson County Library.  I became interested in this effort as a result of a newspaper article in the Leader, the Jefferson County weekly paper that said that the committee had successfully petitioned the County Council to include the initiative on the November ballot.

Okay, enough of the soapbox, (see more about it below) but it is actually integral to this review.

At the meeting, I was quaintly and grass-root-ly putting stickers on piles of pamphlets. The lady next to me, also there for the first time, started chatting with me. Normally I am averse to this sort of social interaction, but she seemed relatively harmless, and I knew I could get up and walk away at any time.

Renee, as I came to know her, while also sticking stickers on piles of pamphlets, told me a little about herself and more later in the formal introductions and mentioned she was going to start book readings for kids at this new Hillsboro restaurant, Texas Taters N’ More. She was offering to accept donations and contribute them to the Library committee.

I was fascinated, beside myself with glee. There was a new restaurant in Hillsboro that I was not aware of. So the hook was in. I knew from that instant that it would be the target of my next review.

The Place:

The place used to be Rich’s Frozen Custard, a joint I reviewed a year or so back. Restaurants are fickle businesses; it’s unfortunate, but not at all unusual to have one open for only a year or so, or less.

The building sports an auto parts store underneath. It’s a bit off the road and the new, modest signage is a little hard to see from Main Street.

Entering the doors I was instantly reminded of my Rich’s experience. A wide room, perhaps fifty feet or more square, and a high open ceiling. The walls were now painted blue which worked well with the bright, white, polished tile floors. On the walls were signs and kitschy objet d’ Texas.

There were several sparsely located tables and booths, the booth tables had been topped with buckaroo and ten gallon hat printed laminated coverings. The cavernous interior echoed, which I had remarked on back in Rich’s time, and can’t quite ignore now. It cuts down on any possibility of intimacy or private conversation, but if you like big, open, family style atmosphere this is just fine. Short of dropping a ceiling and installing partitions and such, I don’t see another remedy for this. This was once a hardware store if I recall correctly.

But that is of only minor concern compared to the service, the food and the overall quality of the experience.

The Food:

The menu on the wall made it clear, if the name of the place didn’t already give it away. They serve baked potatoes. I knew this ahead of time though since I tend to spend tens of minutes, more or less, usually much less, painstakingly researching every place we plan to review.

Adam and I scanned the menu, both pre-planned 'chuckwagon combos' as well as a ‘build your own’ list of toppings. A hand printed fluorescent marker board indicated that the special was  the chicken-fried steak and gravy potato.

I knew that if Angel were with us that this would be her choice.

Did I mention that Angel wasn’t there?

Buckaroo tablecloth

She’d abandoned us on Friday, something about a granddaughter’s birthday party in Springfield or something trivial like that. She was due back Saturday evening, or so she had said. I’m never quite convinced  that when she leaves us all alone like that if she will actually ever return, so I treat every one of her road trips like it’s permanent. I’m sure that’s just the way she’d want it.

So Adam and I, lonely and abandoned, stared almost helplessly at the menu. No guidance or suggestions from Angel, who is usually good for just that sort of thing, if nothing else. But she was gone now, perhaps never to return.

I saw one combo listed that stood out as a potato as I’d make for myself, the 'All American'. Cheddar cheese, sour cream, chives and bacon. Adam succumbed to the temptation of the chicken fried steak and gravy. One of the two attending ladies, the owners as it turned out, greeted us. “The potatoes are over a pound each before we even start, I hope you brought an appetite.”

All American

It made sense, this was a Texas themed joint, and Texas claims to do everything bigger, it’s a Freudian compensation thing I’m pretty sure, so naturally the potatoes would be ridiculously large. I took this into mathematical consideration. When you see a burger billed as a quarter pound or half pound burger, that is pre-cooked weight. As burgers and steaks are cooked the rendering off of the 20% or so of fat content drops that weight a dramatic amount. Not so with a fat-free potato, the post-cooked weight is pretty close to the pre-cooked weight. In other words, a one pound potato, with added toppings is pretty close if not more than a pound of food.

We ordered, adding a take-out potato for Angel, should she defy the odds and expectations and actually return home. Our drinks, tea for me, Coke for Adam and  a Diet Coke for Angel’s, or whomever’s, takeout. The lady attendant, the co-potato-chef, mentioned that the place would also deliver lunch orders.

CF Steak and gravy

Adam and I wandered around the place, we were at  the time the only customers. It was early though, around five p.m. and also this was a brand new place having opened only a week before. Word of mouth had not quite kicked in yet. PLUS the Jefferson County fair was in full swing and the temptations of funnel cake and bizarre and mysterious fried things on a stick probably were sucking away some potential patronage.

We situated ourselves in a booth/table in the middle. It was only a few minutes before the food arrived. Red plastic baskets lined with bright blue and white gingham paper held the massive spuds. The presentation was excellent. Bright crisp green chives, scoops of bright white sour cream and thick brown crispy chunks of bacon, and a generous handful of shredded cheddar. Adam’s gravy-coated tuber held golden chunks of breaded steak popping through. The plating/presentation was above and beyond what I expected.

The drinks were served in Styrofoam cups, the plastic tableware was a little feeble, but adequate. I’m not a big fan of plastic or Styrofoam, but as this is a local startup, I have to give them a little slack. It’s not like I would be dismantling a sirloin.

Adam and I chopped and stirred around the massive tater, mixing the toppings generously. The first bites, as well as the last were warm and greatly satisfying.

Potatoes are not a very fussy food. It’s pretty basic. Cook it right and it’s a hit. The toppings, chosen to personal preference, only need to be fresh and generous. TTn'M got it all right, the texture of the taters was spot on, not dried out, not starchy or under-cooked.

Neither Adam or I were able to finish completely.

“I’m full, but not in a bad way.” He told me. The look on his face told me he'd really enjoyed it. 

I knew what he meant. Calorically speaking a loaded potato might not be any less deadly than a burger, but without the animal fat and the frying oils a baked potato simply doesn’t feel as greasy and sinful as a burger and fries. I too was full, in a good way.

Summary:

The price was equivalent to a burger joint, three meals and drinks for twenty two dollars and change. The preparation was spot-on, these ladies know how to cook a big spud. The toppings seemed fresh and crisp, the service was beyond personable, and the wait time was minimal. This is a fresh new start-up in our little town, so it needs support to help it thrive. I encourage all those in the area, including folks that might only be passing through on the way back to St. Louis from Old Mines** looking for new places to check out, to give this new place a shot. They do a good job and provide a refreshing  alternative to the greasy fast food joints in town. Angel was surprisingly home by the time we got there, much earlier than the 'never' that I'd expected. She'd done it right though, stopping at the Canton Inn in Springfield on the way back. I expect that by the time you read this I will have packed on a couple or twelve extra pounds.

________________

* Hillsboro is the seat of the sixth most populous county in Missouri. The residents of Hillsboro do not have free access to any library in the county, nor is there a library branch in the town. I’ve always thought this was odd, at best, and absurd, to be perfectly honest. So I decided to help out as much as able to get this silly situation rectified. Certainly Hillsboro is not a huge metropolis, but the people there surely deserve the same access to a library as every other place I’ve ever lived in my life.  Though it involves a property tax increase, a very modest one, a public library is among the basic services, like a school, a post office, sidewalks and water treatment plants that every small town usually demands. Even the right-wing utopian model of rural America, Mayberry, had a tax-funded public library.

** Passing through.  This is a cheap, gratuitous reach-out to Alanna Kellogg, the lady behind the St. Louis Food Blog group, a network for those of us who write blogs about food and eating establishments in the St. Louis area. Alanna recently recognized my brilliance and dazzling contributions to the St. Louis gastronomic community and accepted this little blog into the group. There’s a link at the upper right hand corner of this page.

Cracker Barrel

Cracker Barrel

1193 Scenic Dr  

Herculaneum, MO

http://www.crackerbarrel.com/

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

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

The Place:

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

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

Stupid golf tee game

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

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

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

The Food:

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

The lamp, bolted to the table.

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

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

I hear the salad is very good.

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

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

I was incensed.

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

Fresh from 'the Barrel?'

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

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

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

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

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

Steak, potato, bludgeoning tool.

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

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

Summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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