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.

The Farmer's Kitchen

4660 Yeager Rd.
Hillsboro, Mo.
On Facebook

Angel was out of town, her and Deede went to Fort Wayne for a dog training seminar of some kind.
Adam and I struggled with a choice. By default we would go to Gordon's Stoplight Drive in in Festus, where we usually go when she's out of town. But neither of us was pumped for that. So we struggled, up to the  moment we walked out the door.
I'd had breakfast at Farmer's Kitchen, I've even remarked that this place made the best waffles, ever. But I'd never been there for a grownup meal.
It made sense for us since Adam and I couldn't even decide what kind of food we were in the mood for. At least FK had a variety of offerings. I wanted catfish, one of their reputed specialties. I also knew they pulled a smoker up to the front on weekends and cranked out some quality barbecue.
So we piled into Das Coche Negro, (my black VW Jetta, German engineered, but built in Mexico) and made the seven minute drive. The weather had been pretty mild for a July, except for this day, it was balmy, sticky, humid and hot.
We chatted on the way, his day at work was 'fine'. I gathered.
The Place:

It's been open for less than a year by the current owners, Karen and Rick Lindwedel. It's located on the road to the Post Office, Just north of Queens Market.  Those are legitimate Hillsboro directions, if you need more than that, then get your fancy self one of those highfalutin GPS machines.
They cleaned the place up and decorated it in the style of a farmer's man cave. Framed feed sacks, antique wood tools, hand carved cows, etc.
There was only one other couple there when we walked in, (it turned out they weren't a couple at all in the Biblical sense, just a man and a woman that happened to be there at the same time.) We were early since we didn't have to wait for Angel.
I led us to an empty table off to the side, near the door. A lady behind the counter saw us, but was talking on the phone. We waited.

She brought us menus pretty soon though and asked about drinks. Tea and Pepsi.
The menus were simple, colorful, laminated, single sheets. There were fewer offerings than I expected. I located catfish, and barbecue. I also made note of the chalkboard by the counter that touted the day's specials. Still plenty to choose from. When she returned with Adam's drink, she apologized, saying that  they were almost done brewing a fresh batch of tea, my drink would be a few minutes "If you don't mind waiting." She said. Mind? Me mind waiting for a fresh batch of tea? It was obvious at this point that she did not know me. Or maybe she did.
The Food:
I asked Adam if he was ready, he said sure. So I asked about the catfish. "Oh, sorry, we're out, we had an unexpected run on it last night and haven't restocked." She did offer a couple of fish alternatives, Tilapia, and another white fish I'd never heard of, but I told her they were a bit too un-fishy, I liked catfish precisely because it had actual taste. So I asked her about the barbecue.
"Oh, we didn't smoke today." came her apologetic answer. Oh well.
"I'll just have the sirloin and shrimp special then." I was a little disappointed, but how disappointed are you really if your fall-back option is a sirloin steak with shrimp? I had to choose two sides. I went for the baked potato and grudgingly, green beans.
Adam asked for the Chicken Fried steak, fries and corn, off the cob please.
I was concerned about the green beans. In 'country' restaurants, you usually end up with overcooked, flat, either tasteless or too salty, mush.
We waited. The non couple split up and went their separate ways. I learned later that the man was actually Rick, the co-owner. We were being served by Karen.
We waited long enough for me to get sick of the music. The cheap, plastic boom box by the door was tuned to J-98 (The Boot) out of Farmington, a town that makes Hillsboro seem like Gotham City. It was whiny, nasally country music. Lots of steel guitars, lots of drunk guys regaling about their lost loves and pickup trucks, arrrrgggghh...
But, it is 'Farmer's Kitchen', alas.

Then the food arrived. Alongside a juicy, thick looking sirloin and a split open and tender baked potato, were a couple of thick slices of grilled toast. Grilled, beautifully browned and buttered on one side only.
The shrimp basket held a lot of breaded and fried sea creatures, a lot of them. My carb alarm went off just looking at the meal. Bread, breaded shrimp, a fat baked potato. I'd have to eat strategically, no way would I be able to eat all that filler. Concentrate on the steak, nibble on the rest.

Adam's CF Steak looked traditional, just like it is supposed to look. They gave him a choice of gravy, white or brown, he went old school. The corn looked traditional as well, I do not know whether it was fresh off the cob or canned. The fries looked like they could use another minute in the deep fryer, but other than that it looked just fine.
I noticed that something was missing though. Karen was asking how it looked, if we needed anything else, steak sauce, etc.
"The green beans?" I asked. I almost didn't, country style green beans are at best a mediocre item, but I did pay for them.
Karen sighed in disgust with herself. ""I can't believe I forgot your green beans." She said, sincerely upset with her error. I wanted to tell her to never mind since it wasn't that big of a deal for me, but I let it go.
She trotted off and we set in. I buttered and creamed the tater, then sliced an edge off the steak. Perfectly cooked to order. Pink, tender and moist. The taste was exceptional. The char and pepper on the steak was exactly correct. The taste was euphoric, orgasmic, it melted on my tongue. Nothing else in the world mattered at that moment.
I had been worried. There was a big banner at the counter touting "Jefferson County Cattlemen, Best Beef in the state." That to me, looked like a challenge. If you're going to make a claim like that in big, bold letters, you better deliver.
And they did. This was as fine a cut of meat, precisely cooked, as I've had anywhere. The potato was also precise, tender, not burnt, excellent consistency.  The shrimp, well the shrimp was breaded and deep fried. that's the easiest way to overcook shrimp. It was fine, but I actually prefer grilled or steamed shrimp, the breading is too much of a distraction. As far as breaded shrimp goes though, no worse or much better than anywhere else.
Karen brought the beans. I was shocked, amazed, confused.
These were not the flat, dull, mushy beans I was expecting. these were sauteed. Bright green, shiny with oil and littered with bits of onion and garlic. Someone's not quite the quaint, country style cook I'd thought. These were fresh (I think) and still had tooth to them. The garlic, onion and oil gave them the look and taste like you find at more cosmopolitan restaurants. I actually wanted to eat them. Bravo Farmer's Kitchen!
Adam went through his plate pretty quickly, I was still dawdling, agog over the beans and the luscious steak. As planned, I only had one of the toast slices, it was quite excellent prepared that way, about half the shrimp, 90% of the steak, and 1/3, or less, of the potato. I liked it all, but starches bloat me up almost immediately. I got all I wanted, all I could hold, no complaints.
Adam couldn't work up a highly positive adjective to summarize his meal, but he did explain it. "It's chicken fried steak and corn." He said. I understood. It's a mild, almost bland plate at its best.
Summary:
Karen took very good care of us. Near the end of the meal the evening shift showed up and a delightful and friendly, beshorted young lady took care of busing our plates and bowls. Another couple, elderly, had wandered in, they were being taken care of quite well too.
Adam and I headed up to the counter, the young lady met us. This is when I confirmed that our earlier server had been Karen.
As if she knew we were talking about her, she stepped out from the kitchen. I told her the food was quite good. She mentioned that Rick, her husband, was a farmer. "I'm sorry." I told her, then added "That explains why you have to work." She laughed. Farmers in this area are not your ten-thousand acre industrial farms, they are mostly small, traditional, family farms, 120-500 acres. They require a lot of work, for little profit.
Jefferson County was never an agricultural powerhouse. People mostly settled the are because of the mining. Lots of metals, lots of mines.
I did not introduce myself as a food critic, no need making her worry unnecessarily about what I already decided was going to be a pretty good review.
The price was more than reasonable, twenty one bucks and pocket change. You read that right. A mighty good steak, heaps of shrimp, fresh tea, country fried steak, a big baked potato, a generous portion of fries, and some outstanding veggies, for twenty one dollars. Of course, there were only two meals rather than our usual three. I guess we could get by cheaper on this mission just by leaving out Angel. I'll suggest that to her when she gets back.
I was a little disappointed I didn't get catfish, or barbecue, but a small business just can't have everything on hand all the time, a lot would go to waste if they did. Besides, the steak was exceptional.
We've got a real jewel here. I knew they put out pretty good breakfast fare, but they've proven themselves equally competent on the more challenging meals. I will go back, mainly to try the catfish and probably for that occasional Saturday morning coffee and waffle.

Off The Hook

12636 Rt. 21
DeSoto, Mo.

 On our way to Off the Hook, we saw a sign for a new restaurant in DeSoto. We blew past our first choice to check it out, decided we'd try it, but not this week. Angel had her mind set on OTH's corn poppers, once Angel has her mind set on something, that's pretty much it.

The Place:
On the highway between Hillsboro and DeSoto, north of Walmart. The parking lot slants downhill toward the restaurant, a significant slant. One should keep this in mind while ordering a meal, as the climb back up to the car can be quite the struggle if you overeat. Trust me on this.
The lot wasn't too crowded and it didn't take very long to be seated. We were taken to a table along the west wall, near the middle. The din was roaring with the screams and laughter of the many children. A couple of large groups with more kids than anyone really needs surrounded us. I sucked it in and tried to be patient. I may have mentioned this before, I don't like eating around kids. then again, it's not just eating.
We sat at the wood table, laminated with ads for local businesses and a lame, never-changing, same-on-every-table trivia question list.

Corn Poppers

Name the states with four letter names, how many sides does a pentagon have, who was the first female supreme court justice, etc. It occurred to me that the game would be more interesting if it was different questions at every table and the answers were spread out among the other tables. More of a challenge that way and it would force people to interact more.
Kaylee, our waitress for the evening, smiled and asked about drinks. Un-sweet tea for me, with lemon, sweet tea, no ice for Angel and Adam asked for a Pepsi.
When asked by the boy about the no-ice thing, she said she was tired of being cold. I looked out the window and recalled that the weather experts/alarmists were calling for a major snowstorm starting that night. I'd spent a half hour in the warm afternoon sun, sweating as I pre-salted our four hundred foot driveway.
We flipped open the tri-fold menus. Kaylee brought our drinks and asked about an appetizer, Angel rang out about the corn poppers, whole kernel corn battered and deep fried.
The Food:

Catfish Plate

 Although the menu had many, many tempting offerings, for me, OTH is about the catfish. Not the best I've ever had, that honor is reserved for this all-you-can-eat catfish buffet place in Eureka Springs Arkansas, I forget the name, Don's, Ron's, something like that. It could be gone now, or renamed/re-owned. Last time I was there was about fifteen years ago. I still think it was the best catfish anywhere. However OTH's catfish has never disappointed. There is a problem with the meal as offered, but I'll get into that later.
Angel tried something new, baked chicken, Parmesan style, with mashed potatoes, a roll, and green beans. Adam ordered a sure-thing, Chicken fried steak, also with a roll and mashed potatoes, and a side of corn.
My meal came with fries and hush puppies and two sides. I picked slaw and baked beans.
The corn poppers arrived and we divvied them up into our saucers. I agree with Angel, these things are sinfully good. I tried to only have a couple since my meal was going to be large and filling, but I failed. I had five or six.
As we popped the poppers I looked out the window again, a bank of heavy gray clouds was moving in. I could feel the atmospheric changes in my sinuses, which are as accurate about front movements as any multimillion dollar, sophisticated weather equipment.

Baked Chicken Parmesan

The big family group in front of us was starting to grind on my nerves. Two of the little boys, about eight or nine, were on autopilot and sugared up. They ran toward the restroom a dozen times, rudely oblivious to the fact that other people even existed. I said nothing though, I'm polite that way. I was thinking things though.
Their food arrived, family style, chicken, fish, hush puppies, green beans, mashed potatoes. They'd apparently ordered everything OTH offered. The rude boys and the quieter ones as well loaded up their plates with fries. It occurred to me what a plague French fries are to children. Kids and many adults seem to be addicted to the nutritionally useless, but yummy sticks. Child obesity in the U.S. can probably trace straight back to those things, and all washed down with sugary pop. I love fries too, but kids don't do moderation well. However I did get an idea why parents don't keep them away from their kids. As soon as the kids' plates were loaded up with fries, the table got quiet. Deep fried silence inducers. I get it, kicking the obesity can down the road for the sake of temporary peace and quiet.
The plates arrived and I stopped scowling at the kids. My plate was stacked high with four filets of catfish, two hush puppies and a fist full of fries. I splatted a little ketchup on the plate, for the hush puppies.

Country Fried Steak

I broke open one of the filets to let it cool, they were sizzling hot. I tested the beans and slaw, served in separate ramekins. The beans were smokey and not too sweet. The slaw was vinegar based and sweet. I like this okay, but not as much as creamy slaw.
In comparison, Angel and Adam's plates were not near as crowded or piled as high. I knew I wouldn't be finishing my plate, I never do, it's simply too much heavy food. Adam sampled his mother's chicken and didn't care much for the Parmesan treatment of it. His country fried steak though, disappeared quickly. They finished before me, by a long shot. I managed to finish off the beans, a third of the slaw, two filets and both hush puppies, but that was it. I was full. Angel and Adam ordered dessert, I passed.
Angel asked for the dish that I would have chosen has I not been too full to enjoy it, blackberry cobbler. Cobbler is like a lazy man's pie. Fruit filling and some loose bits of crust. Adam went overboard and took the mud cake, a cake/brownie topped with whipped cream and chocolate syrup.
I asked for a box, I had not touched my fries. So I loaded them and the two remaining filets into the white Styrofoam as Angel and Adam finished off their small desserts. For three and a half bucks each the desserts seemed overpriced for the modest serving size.

Summary:
Everyone was pretty pleased with their meals, no significant complaints. My only gripe was the amount of food I was given, which is hardly a thing one should complain about. I don't understand why they don't offer the fries as one of the side options rather than as a part of the plate. This plate had a LOT of deep fried food on it. I didn't eat my fries even though I like fries, I just knew, once again, that I wasn't going to be able to finish so I picked what I like the most, the fish, and still couldn't even finish that.
The bill came to forty seven dollars and change, not really bad at all, especially considering the amount of food served.
Kaylee was efficient, polite and dutiful, the entire floor staff seemed hard working and professional. OTH is a great place to go for big plates of food, they certainly know how to cook catfish, country fried steak and corn poppers. It's an excellent place to take a big group of people, the staff didn't seem to mind at all scooting four or five tables together. The family style offerings are perfect for such groups, and they pile on enough fries on a plate to keep a whole herd of children pacified.

Granny Franny’s

3191 Flucom Rd
De Soto, MO

Adam’s choice.  We had initially discovered the place while doing an active search for eateries on the Wide World of Web, drove by it once while we were in the general vicinity. I asked our silver haired waitress about the name, expecting a quaint and interesting story about 'Granny Franny'. As it turns out, the joint was opened by a lady named Franny who just happend to be a grandmother.
I said I expected it to be interesting, not that it actually was.

The Place:

It’s a bit out of our normal search range, though it has a Desoto address, it’s actually seven or eight miles east of Desoto, at the intersection of Flucom Road and Highway 67. We rarely have a need to go that far in that particular direction, the population and number of businesses out that way are pretty thin, and it’s not even on the way to anywhere we usually go.

The building is shared with a convenience store, so this is like a traditional cross-road rest stop. Outside the noise was of high-speed highway traffic, there were only a few cars in the lot. The door opened up to a typical, diner looking place. The chairs were black, the tables were all covered with yellow-ish vinyl tablecloths. The walls were bare, brown brick up to halfway up, the rest was painted a reddish rust color. All the empty tables had wrapped place settings and paper placemats, and every setting sported an inverted, heavy white coffee mug.

Seating was segregated on two sides of the entry, though there was no visible apparatus to keep the smoke from the left side from wafting into the non-smoking right side. The aroma was there, but not overpowering.

We were escorted to a table by a silver-haired lady of obvious and significant experience wearing a red St Louis Cardinals jersey emblazoned with the number ‘7’ and the word ‘Holliday’ across the back. I’m not sure what it meant, probably has something to do with baseball. She was the only member of the staff we ever saw, the front was her domain. There were a few patrons on the left side, we were the only folks on the right. We picked up our menus which boasted ‘Hand-dipped Milk Shakes’ on the cover. (Adam and I naturally pondered the purported added-value of someone dipping their hands into milkshakes.) The menu listed the standard fare, chicken-fried steak, burgers, a few sandwiches, and lots of breakfast choices.

The Food:

I decided to go a little light since I’d had a solid breakfast at Kim’s Café earlier. (I was in DeSoto to title my unimpressive car and the place to do that, a furniture store, was just a few blocks down main street from Kim’s)

The BLT jumped out at me. I consider BLT’s ‘light’ since they don’t usually weigh too much. That was good enough for me, I’d let Angel and Adam do the heavy lifting.

We took delivery of our drinks, Tea, tea and as Adam ordered it; ‘Pepsi-Coke’. As I had mentally predicted, Angel ordered the Chicken Fried Steak (CFS). When asked for her choice of sides, she naturally demanded mashed potatoes with gravy, lots of gravy and was then told she still needed to pick a couple of veggies. The waitress rattled off a list of the usual ones, but one threw me.

“Did you say ‘beets’?” I asked.

“Yes I did.”

This confused me. Had we taken a bad turn and ended up in in the outskirts of Kiev?   Стара, принеси мені відро борщу!   (Old woman, Bring me a bucket of Borscht!)

“How is that prepared?” I asked, trying to cover up the reflexive gagging sounds.

She curled up her face like I was an idiot and simply replied “Pickled” as if that were the only possible method of serving them. There are in fact many ways of serving beets, all of them disgusting. They are very popular in many eastern European countries, along with potatoes because both are roots, and no decent vegetable would want to show its face above-ground in those dismal, bleak places. The national motto in Ukraine translates to something like “We’ve proudly become quite adept at being cold, hungry and politically oppressed!”

Smartly, Angel did not order the beets, and instead asked for green beans and fried okra. Yeah, Okra. Yuck. Sure some American cultures eat okra all the time, but I’m pretty sure those people are too ignorant or poor to know any better. I mean why resort to eating that bitter, slimy stuff when there’s so many perfectly healthy cats running around?

Adam ordered the CFS sandwich and fries. The lady asked him if he’d like anything on his sandwich so he asked her what was available. “Tomatoes, onions. . .”  He stopped her there. “Never mind, just the sandwich please.” Adam doesn’t like regular, wholesome sandwich toppings.

While we waited for our starter, fried ravioli, we watched as people came and went with take-out pizza. It’s another service provided by this crossroad business. The ravioli was good, served with a bowl of marinara sauce for dipping. You have to watch out for this St. Louis treat though, when fried, the meat and cheese inside remains at three thousand degrees for several minutes, and when bitten in to the innards shoot out with the force of a locomotive into the tender parts of your mouth, where it sticks like boiling tar. I think it’s what napalm is made out of.

BLT + Fries

The food arrived in good time. Mine, a simple sandwich and fries was well made, the bacon thick and extra-crispy, the fries generic but well cooked. I could not be disappointed. Angel’s plate was mostly gravy though she insists there was an actual CFS and mashed potatoes underneath. Adam’s sandwich didn’t have any gravy on it, so he took the bun top and set it down in his mother’s plate, coating the underside of the bun completely. She even spooned some more onto his sandwich later in the meal. She actually ate her okra, (after dipping it into the gravy as well) if only to make me angry.

All the food was well prepared, served simply, very tasty and satisfying. Angel had weighed herself down, I had smartly left room for some apple pie, which I had made at home earlier in the day.

Summary:

The bill came to nearly twenty eight bucks, $4.79 of which was the ravioli starter. Which means that Granny Franny’s is on par with Kim’s and most other locally owned eateries of this style. A lot of food, good food, for not a lot of money. The staff, the silver-haired lady was quick, polite, and professional. The entire transaction was seamless and without error or mishap.

It’s not a place I will frequent, but only because it is well out of the way of pretty much everything I need to do, but it’s nice to know it’s there, serving that rural area of the county. If you happen to be traveling down Highway 67, though I can’t imagine why you would be, then by all means stop in and chow down!

Laddie Boys II

2595 Us Highway 61

Festus, MO

I first heard about Laddie Boys II a couple of weeks back. A friend had informed me that another friend, Marty Ray, was going to be performing there. I Knew Marty could play guitar/harmonica and sing, but I did not know he’d taken his act on the road. As it was, I could not attend that day. Good news though, Marty’’s group, ‘CT and the Retirees’ played there every other week. So on Saturday afternoon, I headed out, not for the food, but for the music and a brush with fame. 

Laddie Boys is a bit off the beaten path. It has a Festus address, but is a good five-seven miles outside of the city, on a road, highway 61, that has been largely bypassed by I-55 and is generally used only by locals. It sits conveniently beside a convenience store and was probably a big deal before the Interstate was installed. When I got there around 1:00 P.M.I was surprised. The music was to have started at 12:30. My reckoning was that this would be after the lunch rush, if there was indeed a lunch rush.

What I saw was a large, free-standing building, those of you familiar with the ‘Stuckey’s’ chain would recognize the style and period of the building. Nothing surprising about the building itself, those are scattered and repurposed all around the Midwest. What tossed me as odd was the parking lot. It was full, overflowing. I ended up parking in the outer area of the convenience store lot. As I approached the door I ran into Annette, the friend that had originally recommended it.

(Photo Courtesy of Annette Rey)

“We got lucky and got a table, somebody cancelled a reservation at the last minute.” She told me as we headed in. She dragged me back to a table where already seated were Verna and her daughter, and Ann and her husband. When I sat there were only two empty seats left in the room, at the end of our table. At the entrance was a line of folks waiting for someone to leave so they could take their place. That never happened. The place was standing room only.

(Photo, Courtesy of Annette Rey)

The band was playing mostly old style country music. Not the hideous new, rock-sounding anthems, but old school stuff mixed with some blues and a gospel song or two. There were four or five guitars, a dobro and an electric bass, no banjos or mandolins, and thankfully, no steel sliders*. One lady had the voice of a Carter Family member and delivered the old songs with respect and justice. Marty switched between his guitar and a haunting, sometimes howling harmonica. He coaxed the mouth-harp into perfect, lonesome, train whistle sounds as the band sang “I hear that train a-comin’” and tore through “Orange Blossom Special”, like it was written for them.

I ordered tea, even though Ann’s husband advised me against it. He’s a fan of these posts and knows my thoughts on ice tea. I also ordered a blackberry cobbler. The others had ordered full, late lunches, I’d already had a big meal.

(Photo, Courtesy of Annette Rey)

At 2:30 or so the band took a break, Marty disappeared. In about fifteen minutes he returned. No longer in his jeans and band tee shirt, he’d switched into a one-piece bejeweled, white, bell-bottomed jump suit, donned a raven-black toupee folded into a pompadour, sporting oversized gold-framed sunglasses and packing a different guitar. On the face of it shimmering decal letters were applied that simply said “Elvis”.

Yeah he did, and a damned fine job of it too.

I got home around four, Angel was getting ready for doggy-supper. She feeds everyone at 4:30, every day. Adam had cleaned up and was waiting patiently. I freshened up a little and by five we left, heading straight back to Laddie Boys ***. It was my week to choose.

The Place:

As described earlier the place was probably originally a stand alone restaurant of the Stuckey’s type. Inside were dark paneled arched vaulted ceiling probably thirty feet at the peak. Old suspended country-style chandeliers cast a soft, incandescent yellow light. The crowd had thinned considerably, the only folks seated were CT and the Retirees, resting up after a great gig. I left them alone. We found a large, dark toned booth near the back. Without the crowd, the place echoed like a church on Saturday.

A waitress approached. Instead of a standard greeting she called out “Hey we’ve got ourselves a movie star!” Naturally I assumed she was referring to me as I am constantly being confused with the dashing actor Monte Blue. But it turns out she was referring to Adam. He was sporting a beret, which he wears backwards over his longish, wavy hair, a-la Sam Kinison.  We couldn’t decide if it was indeed Kinison she was thinking of and the name Jack Black also whizzed by. Bottom line, she thought he looked like a really famous person, she just couldn’t recall which one.

"People tell me all the time that I look just like Elizabeth Taylor.” She added.

I replied: “I really don’t see that at all.” Which was the truth, but according to Angel, it was one of those times that the truth simply did not need to be brought up. Not that the waitress was unattractive at all, I was just never especially enamored with Elizabeth Taylor, who I always thought of as pompous, rude and arrogant. The waitress was none of these.

She took our drink orders tea, sweet tea and Coke/Pepsi. (which is how Adam now orders his drinks because rare is the case a place has both.)

When she delivered our drinks, she took our food order. The tea was fresh, but a bit weak.

 

The Food:

The menu was uncomplicated, but full of great-sounding, home-style offerings.

I went with the catfish plate served with fries and slaw, they offered three options, one filet, two, or three. I’d just recently had some cobbler (quite good) so I went for the single. Angel decided on the roast beef with gravy and a salad. Adam chose the country fried steak. **

A few more people trickled in, though it was obvious that the state of being packed earlier had more to do with the band/Elvis then it did the food itself. CT and the Retirees disassembled, Marty saw me, looked surprised and stopped by. “We were just talking about you.” he said. Which surprised me since I’m always surprised when I hear that someone is talking about me, I mean really, get a life already.

“I told them that at that table of writers that were there for the show was one guy who I never thought would show up, yet there you were! I know how much you hate country music.” He said.

“Generally I do hate country music, unless it’s local, acoustic and mostly the older stuff. I can almost stomach the music you guys were playing.” I answered.

“Well I’ll pass that along.” He responded, somewhat sarcastically.

“I can tolerate some of it Marty, but if you’ll recall I’m from Kentucky and your band was at least one Banjo short of being great.”

He left after saying kind words to Angel and Adam. Marty’s a really decent guy and one heck of an Elvis Tribute Artist and this is the opinion of a guy who can’t stand any of the Elvis impersonators he’d heard up till that date.

Angel’s salad arrived quickly, Adam dived for the croutons, turned out there weren’t any. He whined about that for at least an hour. It was a simple salad of iceberg lettuce, onions and tomato chunks. It appeared crisp and fresh.

The meals came a few minutes later, simply plated, no garnish or fanfare. My single fillet coated in browned cornmeal was large, the portion of fries was small, and the slaw, served in a separate bowl, was creamy and crisp looking. Angel’s roast beef was steaming and swimming in brown gravy, Adam’s pounded, breaded and pan-fried steak was covered in thick white gravy.

I asked for Ketchup and tarter sauce, Liz Taylor rustled some up very quickly. The meals were all hot and perfectly cooked, fresh, homey and heavy.

(Photo, courtesy of my stupid, low-res cell phone.)

We made the food disappear without a lot of comment. My slaw was indeed sweet and creamy, not watery and vinegar-heavy. My fish was flaky, moist and tender, as good as I’ve been able to find anywhere. Angel added salt to her beef and beans. We’d noticed that the patrons that were trickling in were of the more senior variety. I’m reluctant to call them ‘old’ but that’s really exactly what I’m trying to say. I should also mention that at the show earlier, someone remarked that I was apparently the third youngest person in the joint, and that was only true because some lady dragged her two grandkids along with her. Which led Angel to remark that a place that caters to seniors may hold back on salt in prep and cooking as many of the greatest generation may not care for saltiness as much as younger whippersnappers. Angel and I have decided that this was fine. “It’s pretty easy to add salt to something that’s been cooked a bit bland, but just about impossible to take it out if it’s been over-salted.” She said. I agreed. I hadn’t noticed any saltiness in my food, which if you regularly follow these reviews is something noteworthy. It may define to which generation I actually belong.

Summary:

A very good meal. Sure, those who like a lot of salt may need to add some, but that was about the only concern anyone had other than that Adam said his corn could have been sweeter, a sign of being over-cooked. The food was simple and near-perfectly prepared, the wait staff was dutiful and attentive, the place was clean, friendly and comfortable. The bill only came to twenty eight dollars, a very reasonable price for good, fresh home-style food. Nothing fancy, but in ambience and quality, better than anybody’s Cracker Barrel.

To learn more about Laddie Boys II, CT and the Retirees, and Marty Ray: Click Here.

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*Steel Slide Guitar. The country-music instrument that screams like a dying sow. It screams “Dennis is going to hate this whiny, nasal song!” Buck Owens pretty much ruined country music for me.

**Country fried steak vs Chicken fried steak: I was told earlier in the day that Laddie's 'country fried steak' was actually 'chicken fried steak.' I did some research on this and came to conclusion that the distinction between the two terms is somewhat regional and highly flexible. The jury is still out. In most places the terms are interchangeable.

*** Laddie Boys is NOT named after President Grover Cleveland's dog (1920-1929). I was hoping it was, as I could have delved into the significance of that history. This Restaurant, according to Liz Taylor, our waitress, was named for the nickname of the son of one of the former owners of the place. Of course HE could have been given that named based on the famous dog, who was immortalized in bronze (paid for by voluntary donations, mostly pennies from school children) and donated to the Smithsonian Institute, where it is still housed yet not on display.

Off The Hook

12636 State Route 21

De Soto, MO

http://offthehookfish.net/

The heat was building, it would be getting worse. With the mix of ninety-plus degrees, no breeze and humidity in triple digits, the air was thick and hot enough to hang and cook meat on. Angel tended to the dogs most of the day, letting them out for only fifteen minutes or so at a time, putting frozen water bottles in the outdoor watering buckets. I stayed indoors as much as possible. Unlike Angel I’m a cubicle dweller by trade and do not manage well outdoors in such ridiculously stifling, soul-sucking weather.

It was Adam’s turn to pick the eating place, he chose well.

The Place:

Off The Hook is a large, locally owned family style restaurant, a free-standing building on a large lot between Hillsboro and DeSoto. It’s quite a popular place, generally very busy. The large parking lot sits on small, rather steep hills, not a slot on it would be a good place to let go of a shopping cart or bowling ball. Angel parked the SUV on a significant slant and we slid out. The heat met us there as well, slapping us in the face like we’d just jerked open the door to a pizza oven.

The lot was not even half full, we went in and were immediately seated at a table. The motif/décor is river/pond nautical, and not entirely consistent, certainly not professionally designed but not obnoxious either. The menus were handed to us by the hostess. I made a cursory once-over, though I’d pretty much decided what my meal would be. Angel didn’t seem to be having any trouble either. Adam looked content, of course he should have been, he’d chosen OTH after all.

By the time the waitress finally stopped by again we were ready and gave out our orders, drinks, appetizer and entrees all at once.

The wood table was topped by a thick laminated ad space, local builders, flower shops, tanning salons each had simple ads glued down and glossed over. In the middle was a list of twenty or so trivia questions, the answers were randomly spread around the various ads. Adam took note and started reading them off.

“How many feet in a mile?” He asked his mother.

“Why would I need to know that?” she responded.

“Five thousand, two hundred and eighty.” I answered, not really thinking much about it.

“Why would you know that?” She sounded irritated.

I slumped in shame. “Uh, I read a lot?” I wasn’t sure why that would be a satisfactory answer but she left it alone. Adam fired off another one. “How many U.S. states have ‘West’ in their name?” Angel looked at me.

“Two” I said, sounding confident.

She furrowed her brow, Adam cocked his head like a baffled mutt.

“West Virginia and West Dakota.” Angel frowned, Adam snickered.
Adam jumped to the next one. “How many states have four letters in their name?”

I sat quietly and confidently as the two of them conferred, they both came up with Utah but forgot Ohio.

“All of them. All fifty states have at least four letters in their names.” I corrected them. They did not accept this as the correct answer, nor did the table, though I remained steadfast.

The Food:

Our Drinks came quickly, Tea, Pepsi and Diet Pepsi. The tea was weak, cloudy and flat, they don’t serve beer. Our appetizer arrived, Fried Corn Nuggets, corn poppers. These are basically small hush puppies with real sweet corn blended in and deep fried, a family favorite. While munching on these an attractive young lady at the next table started making overt passes at me. Staring, grinning stupidly, cooing and spitting. I waved to her and made a face. She squeezed her fingers into her sticky palms in an effort to wave back, blowing a decent saliva bubble while she was at it. Her young parents seemed amused, encouraging her to wave. She rocked back and forth in the high chair and cooed some more. Her round face and nearly bald head made her raven-dark eyes pop, the drippy near-toothless smile went easily from ear to ear. I waved some more, she cooed some more, our eyes locked and we telepathically conspired to make trouble.

“Leave the baby alone.” Angel scolded. Too late, the tiny thing was still smiling, but now refusing her spoonfuls of applesauce. Yet another corruption mission accomplished.

The food arrived, Angel and I had both ordered the catfish plate. It came standard with hush puppies and fries and two ‘sides’. I chose baked beans and slaw, Angel opted for white beans and green beans. The sides were contained in small half-cup ramekins, one of which, toppled off its precarious plate-edge perch, spinning, spraying and spilling the entirety of it’s holdings. Sticky and tiny cabbage shreds spread out on the carpet at my feet. Fortunately no one was seriously injured. The waitress sighed and offered to fetch me another batch.

Adam’s plate held his beloved country-fried steak, mashed potatoes and corn; all made it safely to the table.

We dug in, it was to be quite an uphill battle. Four filets and two hush puppies each, fries and two sides is a lot of food. We knew this going in though. As we did last time we simply ate until full then asked for boxes, two meals for the price of one.

Armed with only a broom, the waitress struggled for several minutes to clean up the mess, essentially chasing down miniscule cabbage shards one at a time into the dustpan. She eventually gave up, it was obvious that too-noisy power tools would be required to complete the chore properly.

The food was simply awesome. The catfish was moist, flaky and fresh. The hush puppies tender and fresh, as were the fries, the beans excellent, though possibly straight from a can. The slaw, not so much. It was vinegar style, not creamy, I prefer the latter. So there’s a certain irony to the spilled slaw. I didn’t eat much of the replacement at all. The waitress seemed to notice this, though she was a professional and said nothing to my face about it.

Adam’s plate emptied fast, not a crumb remained. Angel and I both managed to eat half the fish, She donated her fries to Adam. We refused desert and asked for boxes and the check.

Summary:

The food, except for the slaw was exceptional, the best catfish I’ve had in the area. The service was timely and except for the spill, quite professional and efficient. The cost was exceptional, thirty eight dollars and change for more quality food than we could ever eat in one sitting. The place is kept clean, except for the slaw in the floor, it was well staffed and quite busy. This isn’t the best restaurant in the area, but it is close, inexpensive and quite satisfying. As a comparison I’d say it is more like Cracker Barrel than Ruby Tuesdays, more rural in offerings and style. We will go back, and would not be the least bit embarrassed about taking guests, if we ever actually had guests, even though the tea is simply lousy, even worse than Kim’s.