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.

On the Web
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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.

IKEA

1 Ikea Way
St. Louis, Mo.
On The Web

We were very excited about this, we'd been waiting for it for over a year, from the first
announcement that Ikea was opening up a St. Louis location.
It had been nine years, or more, since we'd been to an Ikea.
That one was in College Park, Maryland, about 30 miles north of our house in Calvert County. We went several times during the five years we lived there. It was always more than a mere shopping trip, it was an event. Angel and I are not 'shoppers'. Rare is the casual trip to one or more stores just to browse. Ikea has always been different though.
We'd always stop in the cafeteria and order Swedish meatballs, maybe a sweet dessert.
Then we'd take the tour. We sometimes bought flat pack furniture, but the real delight were the small things, clocks, lamps, office storage stuff, pillows, etc. We'd marvel at the tidiness, efficiency and pleasant forms in the small rooms in the big store.
A casual search around our house, even now, will reveal several Ikea-unique products.
The new location finally opened a few weeks back. We were patient, there was an absolute frenzy for the first few weekends, the crowds made the news.
Ikea was founded in Sweden in 1943, during that cold country's darkest unpleasantness. Most people consider it a Swedish company still, though it is now multinational, headquartered in the Netherlands.

The Place:
Just north of I-64 off of Vandeventer Ave. You can't miss it. The signage and lighting are big and bright.
It was well received when Ikea announced they would be building in downtown St. Louis. There's been a lot of flight and blight in the past several decades. Metropolitan St. Louis has been expanding though, mostly westward, toward and into St. Charles County. This location, just a hop and a skip from the Arch should be a real shot in the arm for the downtown economy.
Oddly enough, Adam had never been to an Ikea. All those trips we made in Maryland, he'd never gone. So we left our house early, around four thirty, so we'd have plenty of time to browse and still get him home in time to go to work. Trying to use Tina-Tina in Angel's SUV proved useless (Her Tom-Tom GPS device tuned to a naggy female voice) since the store's listed address is "1 Ikea Way" Tina-Tina hasn't had a map upgrade in over a year, it wouldn't have a less than one year old road in her database. . . Instead, Adam served as navigator, using his smart phone's GPS and maps. It knew where "1 Ikea Way" was.
The parking lot revealed hundreds of cars, but there were still a few good spots not far from the door.
We went in on the ground floor (1 of 3) and rode up an escalator to two. There was a lady handing out maps and answering questions there. We located the massive cafeteria and got in line. Yes, a line of dozens of people ahead of us. There were poles and ropes set up in an infuriating zig-zag to keep everyone in line in a relatively small area. In the very large dining area there were scores of people and families, from about a dozen or more discernible ethnicities. I remembered this from the College Park store as well, a big draw for a very diverse customer base. College Park is, as the name implies, a big college town. (enrollment 34,000+) "1 Ikea Way" is very close to St. Louis University (enrollment: 13,000+) This is relevant since Ikea's products are made for small, efficient apartments and rooms, which are common up near the arctic circle, not unlike college accomidations. It's a match made in heaven.
Adam's been looking into getting his own place, maybe an efficiency or studio apartment closer to his work. He values efficiency and convenience as well.

The Food:
A no-brainer. For myself and Angel, Swedish meatballs and mashed potatoes. She added a side of mac and cheese, I added a salad. We both grabbed a slice of garlic toast, she also pulled out a violently-sweet looking chocolate cake. Adam, predictably picked out the chicken tenders and fries. Also available were some veggie wraps and some salmon dishes. It's not a huge selection, but there's certainly something for just about anyone.
For drinks, I smartly chose the grind-and-brew-right-into-your-cup, coffee. Angel and Adam were stuck with Pepsi products.
We found a table near the big window.
The first bite of the small, gravy'd meatballs sent be back in time and place. . .
I have admired and respected the Scandinavian lands and cultures for many, many years. Even to this day. I'm one year into my 'translated Scandinavian crime novels' theme of reading material.  It all started when I was quite a bit younger and I discovered Sweden's finest export and pop mega-phenom, ABBA.
Yeah, ABBA. You have a problem with that? Well, do you? (pause for a self-empowering 'Fernando'

break)
Actually I discovered them about the time they were breaking up, in the early 80's. I did buy all their albums though. I have since collected everything they ever released, even solo works in Swedish. Also a few documentaries and video DVD's, including a questionably sourced copy of ' ABBA The Movie'. As recently as last Christmas, Angel gave me a coffee table book of photos from the group's heyday.
There is, of course, quite a bit more to Sweden than ABBA, or so I am told, but this was where my infatuation with all things Scandinavian began.
Hmmmm, we've drifted off course here. . . back to the food.
The salad was quite good, though I was disappointed to only be able to find two kinds of dressing, a raspberry and a balsamic. There may have been more. The salad was fresh and crisp though.
The little meatballs were smooth, creamy and delicately spiced. No heat or punch, just mild, comfortable and cozy. They contained beef and pork, but the mix is thorough, not a pairing of flavors or textures, more of a perfect, harmonic blend. The gravy was the same, nothing striking or pronounced, just smooth and mild. This dish makes me think of cold, dark days. . . a plate of comfort, like a cozy blanket for your shivering soul.
The mashed potatoes were not laced with garlic, or cheese, or anything else, just creamy, buttery and
mild.

The serving, at first glance, seemed rather small, especially compared to meat and potato offerings at American-style eateries. . . but the meal was indeed quite filling and satisfying.
I sampled Angel's mac and cheese, smooth and creamy as well, perfectly acceptable without being remarkable.
She shared the cake around, not as violent as it appeared, not overly sweet at all. Quite tasty, especially with the bold coffee. .
Oh yeah, that coffee. . . The dispenser had a touch screen that let me choose espresso or American. . . I picked the latter because I would need to get some sleep sometime during the next week. . .
Fabulous, fantastic, perfect. I even lingered over the cup after Adam and Angel finished and headed off on the tour.
Lingered, lingered. . .  Oh yeah, that reminds me. On the plate with the meatballs and mashed potatoes was a small dollop of lingonberry jam.
Lingonberries are quite common in Scandinavia, they thrive in those northern latitudes. Lingonberry jams are quite simple, just berries and sugar. They are somewhat raspberry-ish, though much less tart. It's not a strong taste. I think most Americans would enjoy it quite well on a biscuit or pancake if it were more common here. So go ahead, don't be afraid, it's not that strong of a taste.
Summary:
I knew what the meal would be going in. My only negative comment would be that the meatballs were not as warm as they could have been. Servings are plated from small steamer baskets, mine had apparently been there for a while. Not really cold, just not quite up to optimum serving temperature.
The place is huge, with multiple seating options, even rows of easy chairs. It's a bit noisy, like a cafeteria or food court, but tolerable being as it is so vast. Everything appeared to be clean and the cafeteria was very well staffed. There was a shortage of dessert options, the lady at the register had said that there were lines for the cafeteria since the store opened that morning. Desserts are time consuming to prepare and bake, so it's quite understandable that those will run out most often.
The prices are more than reasonable. The meatballs and potatoes were $4.99 and the sides just as reasonably priced between two and five dollars. (The cake was $3.29)
On the way out of the store, you can grab frozen/bagged versions of almost everything. We grabbed meatballs and a gravy packet, we also grabbed some of the coffee. Mmmm, it was good.
The whole Ikea experience is amazing. It's more like a tour than a shopping trip. There are interesting little things, kitchen and bathroom gadgets, stuffed toys, mugs, pans, glasses, lamps, clocks. . . We managed to half fill a blue bag. No flat pack furniture this time, but we did see a couple of things we're going to take measurements for.
Highly recommended, better at off-peak times.

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!

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.

Denny's

6441 South Lindbergh
St. Louis, Mo.
On the Web
On Facebook

Oddly enough, we hadn't been to Denny's in three years. This surprised me a little when I looked it up. It seemed more familiar. But some places are like that. Denny's has been around since 1953, originally as Danny's Donuts, changing its name to Denny's in 1959.Their 'Grand Slam' breakfast has been on the menu since 1977. Not many non-fast food franchises carry a menu item that long.
Maybe that's why it seems familiar, they've changed a little over time, but they are also still very much the same.
Of course they offer much, much more than their famous breakfasts, but I usually associate it with bacon, eggs, sausage, etc. I looked on the menu and found a 'Fish and Chips' plate, but I knew better. It might actually be good, but why risk it?
Angel had picked it because she was jonesing for French Toast and hash browns. Adam and I did not argue.
The Place:

At a very busy section of south Lindbergh, just across from a huge mall. Lots of shoppers whizzing by. This section of road is near the I-270 and I-255 junctions and thus, is twisted, wide, busy and a bit confusing. Angel was second guessing her exit immediately. Not that there's a wrong way to turn, you're never very far off, but with so many major routes intersecting, one could easily find themselves in an infinite loop.
I would have just gone up Highway 21/Tesson Ferry, then south on Lindbergh, I'm a right-angle kind of guy. Angel wanted to trim the corners. She was never lost, but did end up in the wrong lanes a couple of times.
It's a typical Interstate-like Denny's, the tall, familiar sign makes it easy to spot. Inside it is subdued, darker carpets and walls. Lots of tables and booths, the kitchen line open to public viewing. We were seated in a booth near the food line.
Sheree greeted us and asked about drinks and handed out the menus. Since I'd read my earlier review of the place, I ordered coffee rather than tea.
Angel ordered something called Caramel Coffee, which sounded sickening to me. Adam asked for an iced coffee, also awful sounding.
The Food:
The menus are very large, very colorful and have pictures of just about everything. This makes the menus unwieldy, but it is iconic. You get these massive billboard menus at Denny's, its always been that way.
I considered several things but always came back to the breakfast page. The aroma of the place is of smoky breakfast meats and syrup. I don't care for the syrup stench, you can tell this by the fact that I just referred to it as a stench. It's a long story, one you can find here, under the section 'I Digress'.
Sheree came back and set three glasses on the table. "Don't get excited, it's just the water." She said. I took that as a cue. "Oh boy, the water's here, the water's here!" I shouted.
Sheree gave me a matronly glare. So did Angel.
I had sized up Sheree immediately. She's been serving tables a long, long time, I could tell just by seeing her fly from table to table, multi-tasking with a seasoned pro's efficiency and demeanor. I knew she'd been fielding smart-ass attitude for her entire career. I also knew she could handle it. These were our roles. The seasoned waitress versus the snarky, less-funny-than-he-thinks, middle aged guy. It's a play as old as diners themselves.
She took off again, promising to return.

Caramel Coffee

She was very busy. Several times I heard the younger, less experienced crew members call her name for advice or guidance. I knew we were in good hands.
She came back with our drinks and flipped open her order pad.
Angel started with Chicken Fired Steak, 2 eggs, hash browns and plain white toast.

I struggled because I  couldn't find the combination I was wanting. "Can I get French toast with a Grand Slam?" I asked. Sheree wrinkled her face. "There's a French toast menu that you can add sides to." She said. I flipped to the full page 'Build your own French Toast' plate page. I let out a frustrated sigh. "That's really complicated. How about I tell you what I really want and you can tell me what it is that I want to order."
She frowned a little, in that matronly way.
"Two eggs, bacon, hash browns and French toast." I told her.
"I can do that." she said confidently. She scribbled something down.
Adam asked for a 'Grand Slamwich', breakfast on bread, with some hash browns.

Iced Coffee

As she was folding her book, Angel spoke up. "Oh, and we'd like some of the Pancake Poppers too!"
"The Pancake Puppies?" Sheree replied. "Yeah, that's it."
These are what they sound like, golf ball sized and shaped pancakes, deep fried. Like pancake Hush puppies, thus, 'Pancake Puppies.'
The place was quite busy, I knew it would be several minutes before the food arrived. I spent the time productively though, using the free WiFi to download another version of Angry Birds on my tablet. Angel and Adam goofed off with their devices too. We had to, otherwise conversation might have taken place. Nothing good ever comes from casual conversation amongst family members.
In the meantime, someone refilled my coffee, Sheree, maybe, I wasn't really paying attention.

The food did arrive and it looked great, even better than the pictures.
Mine arrived on three plates, which I quickly reduced  to two by scraping the hash browns onto the egg and bacon plate. I was a little concerned about the French toast, I'd neglected to tell Sheree to hold the powdered sugar. There wasn't a whole lot, but as I've said a thousand times before on these hallowed pages, I've weakened my tolerance of sugar over the past couple of years. I can usually handle it as a fractional part of something, like in baked beans, barbecue sauce, sesame chicken, but as a frivolous condiment, not so much. I flipped the Texas-style toast over and tapped most of it off. The resulting pile made up about a teaspoon and there was still a little left on the bread, but it was better than nothing.
Staring at the little pile of powder,  I formed a rock-solid comedic idea. Using my butter knife, I scooted the powder into a straight line, unwrapped my straw, but before I could even get the straw to my nose, Adam figured it out. "Stop it, just don't." He chided. He doesn't appreciate true comic genius.

Grand Slamwich

His Slamwich looked huge. Huge and delicious! Two eggs, and a generous variety of breakfast meat on toasted and buttered potato bread. Yeah, a 1320 calorie sandwich. Add the hash browns and you have 1500+ luscious, delicious calories.
No one ever said this stuff was 'health food'.
Angel's CF Steak came with her requested add-on, extra gravy. To Angel, gravy is it's own elite food group. She doesn't have it very often, honestly, but when she does, she likes a lot of it.

CF Steak, extra gravy.

She also likes her eggs scrambled. I do sometimes, but not when I go to a place with a mastery of egg-making. I prefer mine over-medium. Places like Denny's, Huddle House, Waffle House, and IHOP pride themselves on their egg-making. I rarely get a bad egg at any of these.
She glopped her gravy onto her plate, swirling everything into it. The toast, she said, was a bit too dry, but everything else was great. White toast, dry? (insert 'DUH!' here')

Pancake Poppers, er, Puppies.

Something was missing though. "Where's the pancake poppers?" She asked us. Sure enough they hadn't been delivered. Sheree came by after a few minutes and we mentioned it. She sighed and frowned. "I'll check." She said and dashed off as if on a Holy mission. I had the feeling someone was about to face-plant the grill. She came back and apologized, then a few minutes later brought out the plate, they were fresh out of the fryer. She also delivered two ramekins of syrup and sat one down right in front of me.
She apparently hadn't seen the memo. Seeing my eyes bug out, Angel snatched up the little bowl and stuck it on the far side of the table, saving the entire joint the ravages of a violent and noisy panic fit.
You think I'm exaggerating. I'm not (much). The smell of syrup touches off the exact same gag reflex in me as a rotting, split-open skunk on a hot day.  I'm told this is not a common reaction, though I do not understand that. I suppose It's a good thing I'm not Canadian.
Summary:
The food was mostly very, very good. There was Angel's dry toast, and Adam said his sandwich was great, but a bit too big. The biggest, and only real 'fail'' was the Pancake Puppies. I recognized it immediately. I only had one, but could tell there was something not quite right. It tasted, familiar, not pancake familiar but something else. Then it occurred to me what my mind was telling me I was eating.  "Funnel Cake!" I shouted quietly and without passion. "That's it exactly." Adam replied.
Not that there's anything wrong with funnel cake, as long as you're at a county fair where you expect to go home with a queasy, greasy feeling in your gullet. This happens when you inexplicably yet consciously order something you know has been cooked in thrice burnt, five day old oil by vagabonds, hobos, thieves and one-armed scalawags.  Angel agreed. The taste was exactly that of deep fried sugar in old grease.
Everything else though, was exceptional. My toast was grilled well and soft  in the middle. It still managed to sop up its share of egg yolk. The hash browns, we all agreed, were the crispiest we've ever had, perfect. And the service? Sheree was a real peach. Professional, efficient and solid. Sure the Puppies were late, but they weren't really very good, I'm not sure any of that was on Sheree though. She took very good care of us and didn't react rudely or violently at my poking at her. She had a good sense of humor and plenty of patience. She should of course, be granted an immediate and generous raise, as well as a good parking spot.
The tab came in at around thirty three bucks, not bad for a delicious, sating meal.
On the way home we were discussing the meal.
"I wish the Pancake Poppers had been better." Angel told us.
"Puppies, Pancake Puppies." Adam corrected her.
"I don't know why I can't remember that." She replied.
"Let's see, you are a dog trainer, boarder and rescuer. Yet somehow, the word 'puppies' eludes you." I commented.
"That is weird." Adam added.
"It has to be Freudian, or maybe even Pavlovian." I summarized.

Cracker Barrel

1193 Scenic Drive
Herculaneum, Mo.

We were going to Chipotle Mexican Grill, but Angel looked at their online menu and said it looked like fast food, just with fresher ingredients and that she wanted something a little more substantial. I'd mentioned earlier in the week that CB had added a low impact section to their menu and that some of it looked interesting.
So off we went.
The conversation topic was, of course, the impending winter storm and deep freeze predicted to follow it. It was estimated that the real ugliness would start around midnight. By the time we left, around 5:00 P.M. though it was still somewhat pleasant, temps in the low forties, though the clouds had started to move in.
We got to the place and it appeared not too busy.
We had to walk through the country-folk-kitsch storefront to get to the dining area. A stack of metal chickens caught my eye, I don't know why.

The Place:
The dining area walls were lined with more old, useless junk than my mother's attic. Pictures, ads, old sports equipment, tools, and firearms. Too much if you ask me, it was like saturation decorating, far more quaint junk than necessary to make the point. I did appreciate the fire in the large fireplace though. It made the place smell hickory smoked, like the tobacco barns of my youth.
We were led to a table and offered menus. Erica stopped by and asked about drinks. She was a young, tall, rail thin girl with an easy smile and a sweet voice. Tea, sweet tea with no ice and Coke. She left us alone with our enormous and flimsy paper menus. Adam played the silly little golf tee game, solved it first try.
The Food:
I hadn't firmly decided on the lighter fare. There was pecan crusted catfish, Corn Flake oven baked chicken, a nice looking pork chop and a pepper grilled sirloin. The thing that made these items qualify as lighter fare was the lack of grain products. The offered sides were things like a cucumber, onion and tomato salad, green beans, broccoli, a baked sweet potato and mixed veggies. The light meals didn't even come with the customary corn bread or biscuits, and there was no gravy anywhere in sight. This is the kind of stuff I eat during the week. Lots of veggies, very little bread, breading, pasta or potatoes. I'm not saying it works for everyone, I'm not a diet snob, but it works for me and I can stick with it.
The drinks arrived and I have to say that appearance-wise the tea looked fresh and bright. the taste wasn't bad, I'll give it a score later.
Erica returned in good time and we ordered.
Me: Catfish, the cucumber salad and green beans. Angel surprised me and ordered from the lite side as well, the oven baked chicken, the baked sweet potato and the salad. Adam scoffed at us and stuck with the more traditional chicken fried chicken, broccoli. mashed potatoes and cornbread.
Once Erica left, out came the smart phones and tablet. Angel complained about no signal, I'd already scanned for wifi and found none, at all. Adam played a game.
They have smart phones, I have the tablet. A heavily researched 7" Asus ME173x, in case you are interested.  It was my Christmas present. I've been using it to take notes and pictures for these outings since I got it. I've created a simple little database entry form for critique notes, and the rear camera (it has one on the front side as well, for my vast and rapidly growing collection of selfies) is a 5MP device that takes excellent low light photos. All the pictures in this post came from the thing, no flash required. Adam hates the flash part of our outings, so this helps soothe family tensions.
The food arrived pretty quickly. I noticed a problem with my plate right away. More on that later, as well. The little salad was gorgeous. Bright green and red, fresh looking. The catfish filet looked crispy-breaded, the green beans were cooked southern-style. By that I mean way overcooked, to the  point of complete flaccidity. I don't know why we southerners do this to a perfectly good vegetable, but we do. My mother did it, her mother did it, and my two other grandmothers cooked this way as well.*  At least CB, like my grandmothers, cooked them in bacon fat. Sort of a country risotto, infuse the timid tasting article with slow cooked  flavor. Still, the beans were as limp and lifeless as the skin on a drowned person.
The salad indeed was crisp and fresh, as tasty as it was pretty. My catfish however, though it originally looked crispy, was not. Huge mistake, huge rookie mistake. The green beans were wet, duh. So wet that they could not hold their own juices. The juice bled all over the plate, turning the crust on the bottom of the fish into an unappetizing mush. The fish itself tasted pretty good, surprisingly so, but the look and feel of that soaked bottom ruined it. It would not have mattered if the fish were traditionally battered or breaded then deep fried, the problem was the bean leakage. A simple ramekin would have solved this. Bottom line, for easily foreseeable and fixable reasons, catfish=fail.
Angel's chicken was pretty, golden brown. this appearance was highly misleading though. The brown was not a result of perfect oven toasting, it was because - Corn Flakes. The chicken itself was a little dry, and from the taste I got, nearly tasteless. It appeared that no other spices were added to the cereal breading. In other words, pretty bland. No discernible pepper, garlic powder, or even salt. The sweet potato was better, so Angel says. I tried a bit and found it positively disgusting, a squashy-sweet flavor and texture, yuck. She liked it though, said it was like pumpkin pie. My point exactly, I hate pumpkin pie. Adam took one bite of his broccoli (which was served in a ramekin) then pushed the little bowl aside. "No flavor." He uttered. He finished his chicken, though he said the gravy tasted like flour and milk. A  recurring theme was emerging. He didn't care for the cornbread either, though I tried a little and found it to be just fine. This was not a sweet cornbread muffin mix, this was cornmeal and flour, milk, eggs and fat. Pretty much just like the simple hoe cake, or skillet cornbread I grew up with. I liked it, he didn't. Oh well. The mashed potatoes were 'okay', he said, but could use something, maybe more butter (flavor).
I rescued my meal though. I was not full, that's what a low carb meal will often do, leave you not-bloated. Which is a good thing once you get used to it. I haven't had heartburn in several months. I had room for something decadent though, so without even polling the family I asked Erica for some apple pie and a cup of coffee.
This, CB can do quite well. I refused the ice cream, since what is the point of making apple pie and then boasting about the 'no added sugar' method of making it if you are just going to drop a hyper-sweet ice cream bomb on top of it. I did forget to tell them about the other part though. So it arrived hot. Call me an idiot, you wouldn't be the first, but I like apple pie a lot, but I like it cold. Refrigerator cold, especially with coffee. But hot wasn't too bad. The taste was good, not overly sweet, the crust was flaky and not dry or burnt on the edges. This pie saved the meal.
Summary:
My goal was to sample some of the 'healthy' choices. Mission accomplished. These are great ideas, catering to a rising number of health-conscious customers. I like seeing choices like this, especially at places that are traditionally breaded, deep fried and gravy-heavy. However, this meal overall, was not a success. I do not think it was because of any problem unique to the lite-fare menu items though. Even Adam's traditional meal was mostly bland and uninteresting.
That and simple serving issues, like having my fish swimming in bean juice, took a good idea, a potentially great idea and turned it into a completely lackluster affair.
The bill for our meal, including my pie, was a reasonable forty three dollars and change. No complaints there. The service, Erica especially, was quite good. Attentive, friendly, detail oriented, ready to please. At one point a manager of some kind stopped by every table to check up on the customers. In my book, this is always a good thing.
But the food was simply disappointing. Unimaginative, timid, bland.Comfort food does not need to be bland and lifeless. Maybe there's a customer base that likes their food this way. I know that CB was one of my father's favorite places to eat. I don't get it though. It's like a good idea being executed by someone that's never had the original, traditional foods they offer. It looks right, but it just isn't
Oh yeah, the tea. Somewhere between a + 2.5 and + 3. Not bad at all.

Epilogue:
The storm hit, you may have heard about it. We got a foot of snow followed by bone-cracking low temperatures. So this time the Henny Penny-like media-meteorologists got it right.



* Yes I did have three grandmothers. Ask me about that sometime.

Huddle House

13002 Highway 21
DeSoto, Mo.


All alone.
Angel and Adam were in Springfield for the weekend tending to some familial obligations.Her entire clan, parents, aunts and her other two adult kids live there with their families. I allow her to take these trips occasionally.
But this left me with a quandary, what's for dinner?
I can cook, and I often do. I'm no chef but i can get it done quite well. I needed to get away though, out of the house for a spell. I've been taking care of six dogs while they've been gone, six dogs that don't always get along. They have to be sorted and fed and let out and back in on a pretty tight rotating schedule. I love my five dogs and even the little bat-eared dynamo of a foster, Rudy. They can be  a lot of work though, especially when it is wet and muddy out.
So I decided to step out for Saturday dinner, just like we do every weekend.
I didn't want a burger, no reason really, I just didn't want a burger. So I made up my mind.
The Place:
I know we were just there a few weeks ago, I usually don't review the same place in such a tight turnaround unless something serious has changed. I went prepared but didn't expect to be reviewing it. If I'd kept with my standard order for places like this I probably wouldn't have felt obligated. It's hard for these places to do a bad job on sausage, bacon, eggs, waffles and hash browns.
The place was busy, not full, still clean and aromatic. I was greeted by the staff and told to find a seat anywhere. I squeezed into a lonely-guy spot near the register and kitchen entrance. I sorted through the stack of large, brightly colored menu cards. The young lady came by and I asked for coffee. I had planned that step ahead of time.
She brought it back and I gave my order, I don't know why I strayed, but it didn't look like that big of a leap. I then sipped on my excellent coffee and cracked open my book.
When I dine alone, like for lunch and dinner Sunday through Friday, I read a book. I can  go through a novel and a half per week this way. I order used books four or five at a time to feed this particular appetite.

What I wanted

The Food:
I'd ordered a Sausage Scramble. Notice the picture of it on their menu. Looks pretty good eh? I thought so. Scrambled eggs with crumbled sausage topped with gravy, with a side of toast is how the menu described it. So I ordered it. I read my book, sipped my coffee, tuned out the rest of the universe for a few minutes. Until my plates arrived.
What I saw made me immediately change my plans about not reviewing the meal. Houston, we have a problem.
I just about barfed, which is my natural reaction when I see barf, and this plate looked exactly like barf, dog barf to be specific. It happens a lot, a dog eats his kibble too fast, goes outside and runs around then heaves and heaves and hacks up his lunch, which if he's  a good dog, he will lap the puke right back up. It's disgusting to be sure, but not for a dog. Dogs are born without a human-level dignity gene. Food is food, plating and eye appeal doesn't account for much. Dog barf has a specific look. The kibble is still clearly identifiable since it has only had a little time to start breaking down in the stomach acids and bile. However it is certainly not as appetizing as the original kibble meal. And it always has a particular odor that lets you know that this is indeed naturally, organically recycled kibble.

What I got

Fortunately my sausage scramble did not have this odor problem, but the sight of it did trigger a momentary instinctive gag reflex. I let it settle for a moment, tried to wrap my head around what I was looking at. Before I dug in, the lady brought my toast, which looked a whole lot like biscuits covered in even more gravy. The lady asked me something, I was still sorting out my thoughts though. I snapped a picture of the plates, perhaps to use as evidence later. I relented, I manned up and pushed my fork cautiously into the mixture, tasted it shyly. It tasted quite good. It conflicted with what my brain was telling me it should taste like, that acrid, vile goop found in puke.
I closed my eyes for the next couple of bites, this helped a lot. The hash browns were quite good and crispy, I was grateful for the texture contrast.
Sure enough the toast was indeed a biscuit coated in gravy. I forked it and it turned to mush. By the time I tasted it the gravy had already cooled too much and now I had a plate of soggy bread covered in paste.
I could have called someone over and changed my order, but as you, my faithful fans know all so well, that ain't my style. I review what I am served.
I pretty much finished the barf special, but only because of the hash browns adding some texture and the book taking my eyes off of it.. I know what happened to make the plate unappetizing. I'll cover that in the summary.
I liked the coffee, it was delightfully fresh and dark. I knew it would go well with a small dessert. So I splurged and asked for strawberry cheesecake. Strawberries is in my book the third best way to top cheesecake after blueberries and my all-time rare favorite topping, banana pudding. It was cold and dense and delicious. I spent an entire chapter slowly savoring every sweet bite.
Summary:
The bill came to a few pennies under twelve dollars. Three and a half dollars of that was the cheesecake, not too bad. The service was good considering my coffee cup was never less than half full. The food came quickly and the lady seemed nice and friendly. But lets get to the nut of it. First the toast. It wasn't toast it was tepid, mushy, pasty gravy over an open faced soggy biscuit.
Then there was the dog-barf special.  I notice that the picture I took of my plate makes the eggs brighter and more yellow than the dim and gray day natural light at the table did. At the table it looked duller, gray-ish, brown-ish. I think what happened was this. They crumbled and cooked the sausage, scrambled the eggs, then stirred in the gravy. It was that last step that was the major mistake The picture on the menu clearly showed and even I believe described it as 'topped' with gravy. By mixing it all together the dish lost all visual appeal. Actually that's putting it mildly. It looked absolutely disgusting. Mixing the gravy in had the same effect as mixing too many colors of paint rather than letting them individually shine. It also mushed together the texture into a unified sticky, gooey blob. Yes when I eat breakfast I put all the individual items together on one fork, but at least I control the mixture and can look at it without gagging.
I do not know if it is their standard operating procedure to make a scramble this way, I can only hope that it is not. I don't know if I adequately described how awful the first eyeful of that dish was. This is truly sad since the taste of the sausage and the eggs and the gravy was quite good, if not maybe a little salty. In the future I will be curious to see if people at other tables order this plate and will make note of their reactions. Maybe it won't bother them at all, maybe they don't have a houseful of dogs.
Next time I'll stick with a non-scramble.

Huddle House

13002 Hwy 21
Desoto Mo.

The Place:
 On highway 21, just south of Rock Road. You can't miss it, the building is bright and crowded, and  open 24 hours. It's been open for about five months according to Emily, our server, who has been working there since it opened. If every new restaurant drew as many people as were there when we arrived, five months in, there would be a lot of very happy restauranteurs.  I'd heard of Huddle House, never actually been to one. We found it last week heading toward 'Off The Hook'. There was a sign that we hadn't noticed before.
Advance research indicated a Denny's like menu. Primary focus on breakfast anytime, but also offering sandwiches and dinner platters as well.
All week I salivated at the prospect, hoping that it was not a lame wannabe. The first thing we noticed was that it looked kind of small. Inside though it seemed to be much larger. Though it was very busy, we still had our choice among several booths and tables.
It was cozy, the aroma was that of breakfast, the walls were muted colors, burgundy and brown. The tiles sort of adobe color. The ceilings were high and the kitchen area was framed by stamped chrome, diner-style. Hanging from the ceiling was a large flat-screen tuned to a muted, but closed captioned, Fox News. the music was country and there were framed jerseys and photos representing local high school sports teams.
I was not surprised by the country music and Fox News, it simply meant that HH knew its locals.
Desoto is almost too far south for a daily commute into St. Louis, most people in and around  the railroad town are locals, many rural. It is a conservative, God-fearing town for the most part. Nothing wrong with appealing to the locals.
We were greeted by Emily and started drooling on the menus. We started with drinks, coffee for me, sweet tea and Pepsi for Angel and Adam.
The Food:

Stuffed Hash Browns

The problem with a place like this is that everything looks good. It's all comfort food.Nothing fancy, nothing pushing the envelope. I'd scanned the online menu ahead of time and had prepared myself for the meal I wanted.
After much deliberation and after Emily delivered our drinks, we ordered.
Stuffed hash browns for me. Yeah, you read that right. A layer of crispy hash browns, topped with scrambled eggs, sausage patties and crumbled bacon, then another layer of hash browns topped with some cheese sauce and sausage gravy, with a side of toast. Wow.
Angel and Adam finally decided on the country fried steak platter. Slight variations though. Adam wanted to replace the toast with a waffle, and Angel wanted extra gravy since Angel always wants extra gravy.
The CF steak platters came with toast, scrambled eggs and hash browns.
Around us, people were casually dining on similar fare. We sipped our drinks and occasionally looked up at the TV. Adam played a game on his mother's smart-ass phone, I people-watched. Salt of the earth locals, families, and a young couple that looked like they had recently been strung out on meth. That's an opinion only, I have no actual knowledge that the non-blinking wan and pale couple had ever used illicit home-made drugs.
I sipped my steaming Joe out of the fire-engine red mug. It was fresh, earthy and hot. Angel said the sweet tea was pretty good as well.
The wait for the food was a little longer than I expected, but not really too long. Then the plates arrived.

Country fried steak, with sides

"That looks like a heart attack on a plate." Adam said about my piled-high platter. Lots of gravy, enough to completely conceal everything else. Their CF steaks were also thickly coated.The scrambled eggs were bright yellow, the hash browns looked very crunchy, the way we like them.
We dug in.
My platter was everything I wanted and optimistically expected. Adam's comment bothered me a little. I am a man of a certain age with certain typical medical conditions, treated, common for the type. I try to watch my fats and cholesterol, yet here I was throwing caution to the wind. I thought deep thoughts as I shoveled the wonderful flavors and textures into my face.Yeah, this could kill me eventually. I thought, so could about a million other things though. I travel two and a half hours per day to get to and from work, I have a history of smoking and generally not watching my diet. I have an often-stressful job, frequently work long hours, don't get a lot of exercise, and have a family history of certain scary things involving advanced age. Lots of things could be pointed to as what eventually kills me, but frankly, if it is the occasional intake of food like this that eventually does me in, well, there are certainly much worse things.

Waffle

Honestly though, we pretty much only eat like this when we eat out. At home there are lots of salads  and light meals, fruit, veggies and ground turkey instead of beef whenever possible. You guys only hear about these heavy, rich meals because my regular meals are usually quite light, tame and boring. I don't usually eat breakfast, my lunches at work consists of a few snack crackers, a small box of raisins and a banana. Snacks are more likely nuts than anything else, so get off my case.
I tried one of the pointy, spill-over-bits of Adam's waffle, it was a sweet recipe, I'm okay with that, but it's not my favorite form.
I asked Angel about her steak. She wrinkled up her face and said that part of it was overcooked, so it was a little dry, but crispy. Adam agreed. Both finished their meals though without further comment. I couldn't finish mine, there was simply too much. "It beat you!" Angel cried when I pushed the plate away. "Yes, yes it did." I was however completely satisfied.
Summary:
The secret to places like this is to keep it simple. The spice racks are not overloaded with exotic herbs, recipes contain only a line or two. Think about it. You choose a good quality sausage and fry it in a pan. You scramble an egg, shred and grill potatoes. Then you mix flour, sausage drippings until smooth for the gravy. A little salt a little pepper and you're done. There are no complicated or complex recipes at all. Keep your grill clean and at the right temperature and keep an eye on the done-ness and you've got it nailed.Waffle House, IHOP, Denny's, they are all similar and all very good for this one exact reason.
The staff, Emily in particular was dutiful and always available refilling our drinks. She smiled a lot and seemed warm and friendly, as did the other servers. All in all a very nice, inviting, comfortable experience.
 The price was right as well, all that luscious food for only twenty eight bucks, less than ten dollars per person. A guy could really get used to this sort of thing, if only it wasn't trying to kill him.