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!

 

Off the Hook

12636 State Route 21
DeSoto, Mo
On the Web


This was my choice. Well, not exactly. My first choice was to go to Fountain City Grill, a nice little place that we wish we went to more often. Angel invited Adam, he said he'd love to tag along but Saturday would be tough because of his work schedule. We agreed to delay a day and go Sunday. Adam visits pretty often, at least every other week. We have a secret weapon to get him here frequently, a washer and dryer. He's been to laundromats, he'd rather drive for a half hour or so each way and visit with us than go back to a soul-sucking laundromat.
So Sunday afternoon, while I was doing important cemetery stuff on the computer I had a thought. Is the Fountain City Grill even open on Sunday? Yes, most of my thoughts are indeed italicized, I don't know why.
Answer: No.
Crap.
Well, how about Bistro on the Square? Pretty nice, decent food. 
Nope.
So what IS open?
The Place:
Off the Hook (OTH) is sometimes billed as a seafood joint.
Not exactly.
This is Missouri, almost as far away from an ocean as you can get in the continental U.S. Sure there are some places in the city that probably fly in the catch of the day, but this is not one of those places.
Inside, the walls and shelves are stuffed to the gills (pun intended) with boat and fishing geegaws and gadgets. From small wooden sailing ships to a real live Jon boat in a trailer that has been converted to a salad/soup bar.
There's a large, occupied aquarium behind the counter, nets, fishing poles, etc, etc, etc.
It's a bit much really.
The place is spacious though, especially if it is only one third occupied as it was this evening.
The young lady at the counter told us to find a table and a server would be by shortly. Sure, why not. We picked a table by a window on the west side. We ordered drinks, I ordered tea, knowing immediately that this was a mistake. I had rememberies of the tea at OTH.
We scanned the menu, not that I needed to. There's only one entree that drags me to this place,
The Food:
You simply must start with an appetizer, specifically the corn poppers. These are battered, deep fried balls of whole kernel sweet corn. It is an absolute requirement. You won't be disappointed.
Angel ordered a chicken or country fried steak. I am aware that there is a difference, but it is a difference without a significant distinction in my book. So there, Clarkson Wells!
(One, country, is flour battered with brown gravy, the other is egg battered with a creamy gravy)
She ordered some sides, I forget what exactly, but there's a reason for that.
Adam ordered grilled chicken, blackened, also with some forgettable sides. Me, the reason I go to this place?
Catfish. Corn meal breaded, deep fried catfish. Mmmmm, that's good Mississippi River seafood.
OTH boasts that their's is All American, red, white and blue, USA farm raised only. I'll take their word for it. USA! USA! USA!

Corn Popper

I like catfish. Certainly more than I like cod or tilapia or salmon. Even though I often mention that I was raised near the swamps in southwestern Kentucky, I did not eat catfish when I was young. Sure I caught a few with a cane pole and earthworm bait, but I would certainly never eat the slimy, sting-y bottom feeders. I don't recall when I first started eating, then loving catfish, but I have loved it for at least a couple of decades. I like catfish more than those other, more commonly served fish types for the same reason I prefer the dark meat of poultry more than the white meat. Because catfish and dark meat have actual flavor. I'm not a breast guy, ask anyone, ask Angel. Chicken/turkey breast is dull, dry and tasteless. No, give me some of that dark, muscled thigh, I'll gladly sink  my teeth into that, all day long. Mmmmm, dark meat.
I had another remembery and mentioned to the lady, "No fries please." By default the fish comes with

Catfish

two hush puppies and a pound and a half of fries. I like fries, sure, but my memory also served me to recall that there would be four breaded fillets, two hush puppies. . . there's no way I could ever finish this plate of food with that many starchy things on it, it will never happen.
I wanted the fish, that's all that mattered. I asked for white beans, slaw and corn. (since I nixed the fries I was offered a superfluous third side as part of the meal.)
She took our order and we waited, which means like a normal family we turned on and stared at our personal electronic devices.
The poppers were wonderful, seriously good, but be careful, they are hot, hot hot!
The place wasn't filling up, spotting a crew member was rare, very rare. In fact we noticed that there were some un-bussed tables just sitting there, un-bussed (and they stayed that way). At a few points

CF Steak

during the meal there was no staff presence in the front at all. One gentleman, behind us, spotted a server way across the big room and chased her down, asking to be waited on. A couple a minutes later a young lady appeared and rushed to apologize to the table.
I assumed that a couple of the staff had called in puny, such  a pretty day and all.
The entrees arrived, we dug in. The catfish was as good as I hoped, crunchy, flaky, moist, savory. Not at all gamy or fishy, just better than cod.
The sides, well, the white beans were better than I expected, the mild seasoning they were hosting blended in with the creamy, dare I say mushy, beans. The veggies all appeared to be canned or frozen, seasoned with something, bacon, onions, maybe, and very overcooked. Southern style over cooked, just like Grandma used to make. She slaw was the vinegary

Grilled chicken

type as opposed to sweet and creamy. It's okay, but after a while the vinegar wins.
There were indeed, four large fish fillets. An entire school of fillets. Much, much more than a man my size should, could or would ever eat, even without a pound and a half of fries.
The sides were pretty much all a fail.
Angel thoroughly enjoyed her steak, "It's small, but in a good way." She pondered for a moment and added: "If it were any bigger the saltiness of the gravy would have been overwhelming."
Adam didn't have much good to say about his chicken breast. "Peppered, but not much flavor, and it was tough (dry)"
In the end I finished two fillets, most of the white beans, both (overcooked) hush puppies, and not much else. I did not ask for a box, fried catfish does not reheat well.
Summary:
I love the catfish, none of the other stuff really mattered that much to me at this meal. It's hard to find good fish in this area, especially a good catfish.
I've had the same complaints about OTH nearly every time. 1. The tea is simply awful, too weak, too old. 2. The portions on some of the meals are simply twice as large as they need to be. I imagine a great deal of food gets tossed or taken out. I would have happily paid the same price for two fillets as I did for four, less guilt about wastefulness as well. Offering a sedentary, middle aged midwesterner a plate of four breaded and fried fish fillets, two hush puppies (deep fried cornbread) and a pile of fries, plus add two more sides, you are not just a restaurant, you are an accessory to suicide.
3. Please, please find some fresh veggies for sides and stop boiling the life, color and flavor out of them.
As for the staffing issues and there were several, I'm going to play nice and give them the benefit of the doubt. It could have been a shortage day, a couple of people called in puny or cars broke down, though a couple of more times with that many disappearances could indicate significant staffing and management issues. I thought about this particular problem again as I stood at the counter waiting a few minutes for a staff member to appear and take my money, fifty dollars and change.

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.

Bob Evans

1003 Veterans Dr
Festus, Mo


 This is one of the most difficult reviews I've done. The last time we went to this place We were terribly disappointed. So much, in fact, that we have not gone there in nearly two years.
The only reason we went this time is that Angel had noticed that they'd just reopened after a major remodeling. Sometimes that means nothing, sometimes that means they are trying to make improvements. I never really had a complaint about the decor or the layout, it's always been the food that I thought needed re-thinking.
The decor had indeed changed. Entering we immediately noticed it was brighter, fresher. In the center, between the two dining areas, they had set up a bakery area. They seemed to want to emphasize/capitalize on this. There were donuts crullers, etc. It looked tempting, but we were hungry for actual food.
We were seated and introduced to a young lady, whose name I was going to mention, but I have decided not to since I do not want any of the somewhat negative things I have to say later to be tagged to her. She was polite, friendly, professional and she got our order right.
I had a little fun with her since she seemed to be in pretty good spirits. "Could I start you off with some tea or lemonade?" She made the mistake of asking.
"Why yes, yes you can." I answered and went back to scouring the menu. The look on her face a few seconds of silence later was priceless. I of course ordered tea, she upsold it by suggesting a lemon. I relented. Angel asked for sweet tea, Adam, the cola.
The menus were shiny and fresh, they'd capitalized on the effective use of white space and that made them seem brighter as well. Angel pointed at the lower left hand image on the burger page. It showed a sparkly glass of ice tea and the promise: "Our all-natural, long leaf black tea. Brewed fresh throughout the day."
Challenge accepted!

The Food:
BE sells comfort food, hearty, wholesome, southern/mid-western fare. Nothing fancy or spicy, nothing extravagant. This BE sits at the foot of a large hotel, it's a perfect location for a place that sells this sort of thing. Seasoned, weary travelers often want something other than fast food. I know when I was a road warrior, I eventually sought out a place that at least mimicked home cooking.
Coincidentally, we all ordered the same exact thing we did at our last visit, two years prior.
Me: Meat loaf, mashed potatoes and green beans.
Angel: Country Fried Steak, mashed potatoes and green beans.
Adam: Deep Dish Chicken and Noodles.
We were offered a selection of breads, rolls, biscuits, etc. We chose rolls.
The young waitress and her trainee scampered off.  Our drinks were in front of us.
I was impressed. The tea sparkled as only fresh brewed tea does. I took a cautious sip.
It had taste, it had substance, it was actually very good. They'd not been merely boasting, this was exactly as advertised. I awarded it a +4 on the PJTea scale.
This seemed to me a very good omen. Perhaps they were trying to improve. A fresh bakery, fresh tea, things were certainly looking up.

 The plates arrived quickly, very quickly, too quickly.
The rolls were not delivered. We were told that they had just a couple more minutes before they came out of the oven. Not a problem in my mind.
The plates were simple, no garnish or flair, simple, clean, to the point. The portion size was modest by many restaurant's standards, but just right in my mind. The Meatloaf is offered in two versions, one slab or two. I opted for the single and once again appreciated the option. Not everyone wears the same size pants, why would you only offer up one size of food portions?

 The meatloaf, made with ground beef and sausage, had a dense texture. It was not as dense as I'd found it on my last visit, when I'd compared it to tofu and dog poo. It was still more dense than meat loaf is typically made. The taste was not bad, although once again the flavor of the gravy was stronger than the taste of anything else. But not near as bad as I'd said about it before.
Angel in fact made a lukewarm pronouncement about her food. "Pretty good, not too salty. Adam seemed to like his noodles as well.
About halfway through the meal, the waitress returned, told us that the rolls were still in the oven and asked "Do you still want them?"
It was this question that caused me to decide to not use her name. It's the wrong question, at the wrong time.
I said we did, since I now was now a little annoyed. The rolls did finally arrive, fresh from the oven, after two of the three of us had already finished our meals.
Adam and I both buttered one up and wolfed them down. It was not exactly the delight I had been anticipating. I wrote a word down in my official eatandcritique notebook.
I waited for Adam to finish chewing his, which took a little longer than one would think such a thing would take. He took a big swig of his cola and said "Doughy". The exact word I had just written down. The d*%$#  things were not in the oven long enough.
Summary:
This is where it gets tough. I want to be fair, but thorough here, so please bear with me. The tea was outstanding. The service was, for the most part, quite good. The food, well, as best as I can manage is to say that it was mostly improved. Unfortunately, that's a pretty low bar. It was bad enough the last time that I actually wrote a scathing rebuke to Bob Evans HQ and then we didn't go back for nearly two years. So to say it was improved is not really an A+. It's more like going from a D- to a C- or a C.
The bread thing is no small point, because it was allowed to needlessly spin out of control.
As I'd pointed out the new Bob Evans showcases its bakery. That's a bold move. That a simple roll was not thoroughly cooked, not ready in time to be served with the meal is not exactly a trophy winning effort. I appreciated they were fresh-made, but the fact that they weren't well-made, and that they weren't available at prime time dining hours is almost inexcusable.
The waitresses error may not be entirely her own. I can't excuse management and training from this.
The meals were served very quickly, and why not? It's all batch made stuff. In the back there were probably meat loafs, CFSteaks and noodles being heated in steamers and pots. All they had to do was dish it out on a plate. If the rolls were not ready, then why blow the natural order of things by not waiting for them? OR, offering us an alternative. They offered several bread choices when we ordered, surely something was ready. This was an error. The waitress's question ' Do you still want them.' should have been way down the list of options when it was obvious that the rolls were not going to be ready. Thus, one small problem quickly escalated from understandable to annoying, to frustrating and memorable.
I really wanted Bob to be better. I really thought it might be happening. But as I polled the table, things darkened.
"Good at first, but then it got too salty." was Adam's critique."And the gravy didn't taste real, like it was made from a kit."
Dagnabbit, these are simple things to fix, mostly. I think BE over-thinks their meatloaf, and their gravy is too strong in taste, and the taste is not that of  house-made.
The waitresses should be trained in how to handle unavailable product situations, because, hey, it happens. And the back of the house expediter, if there is one, should not rush out a meal until it is complete.
That's all.
Unfortunately, even though the place looked fresh and bright, the waitress was mostly spot-on, and the price ($34.28) was not bad, I still can't recommend this place until the rookie mistakes are fixed. This is a long-established franchise in a prime location. It should have these sort of things sorted out.

I fully realize that in the greater scheme of things, that my criticisms are pretty trivial. My life did not alter its course because the rolls weren't ready. I doubt that anyone has ever slammed their fists on the table and demanded a refund or filed a lawsuit over a little thing like this.
I point it out because the food service industry is very, very competitive. Multiple little things, fixable things can add up easily and become lack of repeat business and lack of good references. Sometimes little things like this, especially the food quality, can be all it takes to have people, without them saying a word, staying away in droves.

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.


 

IHOP

Gravois Bluffs

Fenton, Mo

Maya

So where do you go after three full days of turkey and trimmings and the leftovers? “IHOP.” Angel declared. “I want some breakfast-y food.”

This was fine with me even though unlike her, I was not tired of the leftovers.

The IHOP in Fenton was chosen due to logistics. Maya, a sweet and charismatic Bull Terrier (not a pit bull) needed to be taken home to Valley Park Saturday evening, about the same time that we normally go out. So we’d known ahead of time that we needed to pick something in that general direction. There were many other dining options of course, but Angel’s craving was pretty specific.

So we loaded up Maya, who travels well, and headed out. We delivered her to her delightfully Swedish family and headed back to Fenton.

Gravois Bluffs also played well into another craving, the craving to do at least a little shopping. Gravy Bluffs is also home to Target, and a new H.H. Gregg Electronics and Appliance store. None of us had even left the homestead since the day before Thanksgiving. We’re not ‘Black Friday’ people.

The Place:

Gravois bluff is a large shopping area perched, as the name implies, on a high bluff overlooking Highway 141. Across the highway is a smaller, but just as busy shopping area. I only go there a couple of times a year, being shopping-center-reluctant as I am. I even buy my shoes, shirts and underpants online.

IHOP is one of many restaurants, all lined up at the front edge of the vast shopping center. Red Robin and Olive Garden are literally a stone’s throw away.

The IHOP was generally busy, but not as busy as some of the other places. Inside the bright store we were greeted and seated immediately. The aroma of breakfast, coffee and syrup (blech) wafted through the air as aromas tend to do.

Brian was there immediately to hand us menus and take our drink orders. I’d pre-decided on coffee, which meant I’d pre-decided on a breakfast-type meal of some kind. The tea at IHOP is bland, at least according to memory, but their coffee is pretty good. This meant I would have trouble going to sleep on time, but I wasn’t exactly lacking sleep after three days off from work.

The menus were colorful and picturesque. Everything looked good. There was a separate menu of new offerings. One meal stood out.

The Food:

Country sausage and potatoes. Country fried potatoes with chopped country sausage, cheese and gravy, served with two eggs and two pancakes. Add two strips of bacon for a buck and my meal still only cost 7.99.

Angel decided on the country fried steak with ‘extra’ gravy. Her plate also came with hash browns, eggs and pancakes.

Adam chose the chicken strip plate with mashed potatoes and (blech) broccoli. I don’t know what it is with this kid and broccoli.

As Brian took our order and I filled up my cup with coffee I first noticed the music. ‘Take On Me’ by A-Ha. An eighties favorite of mine. The music that followed was not eighties, but a mix of upbeat songs from several periods and artists. Not bland, but not edgy either.

Country Sausage Potatoes

Adam sipped his Pepsi, Angel tasted her sweet tea, I bathed in the steamy, aromatic pleasure of better than average coffee. I excused myself to go to the restroom, something I don’t normally do. However I’d been imbibing, heavily, the holiday punch, a wicked brew of citrus juices, mixed with red Kool-Aid packets and sugar-free lemon lime soda. It’s a family blend, we made it when I was growing up. It took it’s distinctive characteristic from dad’s strict no-sugar diet. No sugar at all, but with the right blend of juices, pineapple and orange, the stuff is plenty sweet and given a tart bite with grapefruit and lemon juice. When I make it I tend to become instantly addicted to it, which also means many more than the usual trips to the restroom.

The restroom was bright white tiles with a few red ones thrown in to give it some contrast. It wasn’t the cleanest restroom but it was far from the worst I'd seen.

The food arrived soon after I returned to the table. I was famished, having only had a turkey sandwich much earlier in the day.

The pile of food in front of me looked just as advertised, heavenly. Well, there did seem to be a whole lot of cheese. The butter balls on the pancake stack weren’t melting very quickly, the butter was rock hard so first things first, I chopped up the balls and spread them around. Since I don’t ever, ever put syrup (blech) on pancakes, the butter needs to coat them evenly.

Country Fried Steak with 'extra' gravy

We dug in. I was quite pleased with everything until about halfway in, that’s when I noticed the ratio was all wrong. There were lots of sausage chunks, and lots and lots of cheese and gravy, but not so many potatoes. When I make a similar dish it’s mostly potatoes, with only a sprinkling of cheese and only a small amount, if any, of gravy. The potatoes were all but gone, there were twice as many sausage chunks, and I was pulling globs of melted cheese and making a pile on the side of the plate. What was there was all quite good, the potatoes could have been crispier, but they weren’t bad. It was the ratio that was all wrong. My last few bites were mostly gravy and sausage and cheese, very, very unnecessarily rich. A dish like this is a certain artery clogger to begin with, I was OD’ing on it. Fortunately the pancakes provided a semblance of balance. IHOP certainly knows how to make pancakes.

Angel, when I asked her about hers simply said “Yum!” I pressed her and got a little more. “The meat was too big, it didn’t even fit on the plate.” 

“Perhaps they should use bigger plates.” I offered.

“No the meat was too big.”

She continued: “The hash browns need to be crispier, sometimes they are, sometimes they’re not. Crispy is better. And the syrups are all really, really sweet.”

Chicken Strips

She’d put boysenberry on her stack.

“It’s syrup” I replied. “Syrup, by definition is going to be really, really sweet.”

She dismissed my comment as she does most of them.

Adam summed his up after a lot of thought: “No complaints.” I noted that he’d cleaned his plate quickly and helped himself to his mother’s second, non-syrup’d pancake.

Summary:

I will not choose the same dish next time, too rich, too cheesy. It probably suits some people fine though.  Better to stick with the controllable classics, and mix them together myself.

Brian, our server did a bang-up job. Friendly, dutiful and mostly attentive. He did fail on a promise to refill Adam’s Pepsi, but caught the error later and offered to let him have some to-go.

The empty plates were taken away quickly and Brian twice came by just to see how we were doing. Not overbearing, just friendly.

I could have sat there another hour or so, sipping on my coffee, but we were on a schedule. To get in a run through Target and Gregg’s we needed to rush a little, there were dogs at home that would be getting anxious soon.

All in all we were quite pleased. It was cheap at thirty six dollars and change, there was plenty of food for everyone, and for the most part it was all prepared well.

IHOP is quickly becoming a favorite of mine. They have a great variety of offerings and the price is right.

Bob Evans

1003 Veterans Dr.

Festus , MO

http://www.bobevans.com

Back before we started this great quest, Bob Evans was one of the places we went to often. It served country-style food, a good variety. It was something we could count on even if the food wasn’t exactly great.  

Last time we went we were a bit disappointed. Having tasted good food at so many other places, Bob’s just didn’t seem as good as we remembered it.

This past weekend things were pretty hectic, dogs and dog owners coming and going. By the time dinner time arrived, we realized we were all dressed up with no place to go, we hadn’t discussed where we would be going. Angel exclaimed that she needed something substantial, “American food!” She’d let her quick ramen noodle lunch go cold while tending to the dogs. Usually when Angel wants something substantial, it means something with gravy. So she went with the old default, Bob Evans.

The Place:

Overlooking I-55 in Festus, next to a hotel and a cluster of other eateries. Though themed 'country', it was only lightly so, it could have been a Denny’s. No bales of hay or rusty farm tools, fireplaces or rocking chairs. The place was about half full, the staff was buzzing around busily. A banner at the door had promised ‘Ten meals, six dollars.’ I remarked that this was great, since we only needed three meals, that would mean we could be in and out for about two bucks. Angel corrected me. Was it my fault the sign was poorly worded?

We were shown our tables and asked for drinks. Tea, sweet tea and Coke. We were handed the slick, laminated menus and we started changing our minds back and forth between the many home style selections. I paused for a moment over the biscuit bowl. A large,hollowed out biscuit filled with sausage, scrambled eggs, home fries, topped with cheese, scallions and gravy. It seemed a bit heavy, so I kept looking.

The drinks arrived. The tea looked crisp and fresh, but I knew better. It had virtually no taste.

The Food:

I was still not sure by the time the waitress took our order, so I picked something safe, meatloaf with brown gravy, green beans and mashed potatoes. You can’t go wrong with meatloaf, was my thinking. I opted for the ‘one-piece’ since I was not famished. I’d had a light lunch, rice, but hadn’t really done much to work it off. You’d think heavy napping would burn through calories, but it just doesn’t. It turns out the things I enjoy doing most are almost always less than aerobic. Reading, writing, napping, watching old movies, all the best things in life are pretty much useless when it comes to burning off meals.

Angel asked for the chicken fried steak, naturally, with green beans, mashed potatoes and ‘extra gravy’. She wasn’t even shy about it. It turns out that the things she enjoys doing most DO burn off food; tending to dogs, leading classes, cleaning, vacuuming, nagging at me, all tends to be more physical than my own preferences. Luck of the draw I guess.

Adam opted for the chicken and noodles deep dish. Kind of like soup with less broth.

When asked whether we preferred biscuits or rolls, I recalled that some of us liked rolls better than biscuits so I asked her to split between the two.

Angel then rudely made a phone call to one of her dog friends. Apparently the lady on the other end was amongst her yapping dogs so Angel had trouble hearing her, which also meant she talked louder herself.  I realized that this made Angel one of those people at restaurants that talk too loudly on their phones, so I motioned for her to quiet down. I was hugely embarrassed, but she didn’t seem to care. She can be so rude sometimes.

The breads arrived, I’m a biscuit guy myself, so I slathered a tub of fake butter on a warm one. It seemed  a bit salty, but otherwise it was flaky and good. Angel prefers rolls so we swapped to where she had two rolls and I had two biscuits. Adam likes both so he kept one of each. I only ate one biscuit since they are a bit filling.

The food arrived shortly and I noticed a problem.

What do you think of when you think of meatloaf?

I know the attached photo is not of great quality, but draw your attention to the bowl of green beans. Notice that brown lump? That’s a chunk of the meatloaf. It’s a dull brown lump. It was not meaty looking, it was not capped with ketchup, It looked to me, and there’s no other way I can describe it, like a dog dropping. Dog food is mostly grains or starches. When it goes into the dog it looks not unlike what comes out of the dog later, dull, grayish brown, bready and maybe a little lumpy. That’s exactly what this bit in my beans looked like. Not very appetizing.

I cut through the brown-gravy covered slice on my plate. It came apart unnaturally, not like a meat patty, more like tofu. To the tongue that was the texture as well. The actual taste was hard to discern since the brown gravy was overpowering. It looked like regular brown gravy but it was so strong that I got the impression that it might be made from concentrate and not diluted enough, or if it was rendered down or reduced, it had been reduced too much. It was very, very strong. If the meatloaf itself  actually had flavor, it could not be detected. The combination of the icky texture, the odd appearance and the too-strong gravy turned a simple, home-style staple into something I can only describe as completely disgusting. I had three bites and gave up. I did tunnel into the mashed potatoes, it was covered with the same gravy. That took about four bites. The beans, well, they had their own problems. Overcooked, a bit slimy and greasy, and there was the issue of that small turd sitting in the middle of it. I pushed it all aside. Angel tried a bit of the alleged meatloaf and wrinkled up her nose. “It’s mushy.” She declared, I think she was being generous. I picked at my second biscuit and sipped my tasteless tea.

As for their meals, Angel said:  “Normal, under-spiced food.” She said, her sausage gravy lacked any real flavor. Adam said his noodle bowl could have been more soupy. Not enough broth, a bit dry.

I spent the rest of the meal griping about the meatloaf. Angel knew I was not going to stay quiet about it, but was surprised when I didn’t mention my displeasure to the waitress when she came by and took away my mostly untouched plate.

“It’s not her fault.” I explained. “It’s not even the cooking staff’s fault. This wasn’t a mis-step with the recipe, this was the recipe. It’s an institutional problem, their recipe is simply crap.”

She then knew that there was going to be more than just a light, timid blog entry, and she was right.

When we got home, I fired off a comment to the ‘contact us’ page of the Bob Evans web site. It was strong, yet articulate.

“Your special recipe meat loaf is disgusting. I grew up in the south and I’ve had hundreds of meatloaf meals from all over the country.  Without exception it’s always ground meat, some form of binder, topped with ketchup and baked. It looks and tastes much like a hamburger patty, with ketchup. How hard is that? What’s wrong with that?  When I go into a country-style restaurant and order meatloaf I expect and usually get meatloaf much like it has been prepared everywhere my entire life. I don’t know if this is some sort of cruel and pointless experiment on your part, or if you’re trying (and failing) to outsmart a simple, classic dish, but you have completely ruined it. I don’t go to Bob Evans to try something edgy or daring, I go to Bob Evans to get a good, solid, classic meal. . .”

And so forth. Yes I was upset. It was like going into McDonald’s and ordering a Big Mac and fries and coming out with a eggplant burger with boiled carrot sticks. Am I wrong on this?

Summary:

The price was fair, just under thirty two dollars. The wait staff was attentive and available, the place was clean and efficient. However, did I mention that the food, at least my meal, was disgusting? I simply can’t get past this point.

I am really curious though. Does anyone out there disagree? Is there something I’m missing or simply don’t understand? Am I being too mean and snooty? Let me know, I won’t strike you, I’m genuinely curious . . .

Bistro at the Square

48 Jefferson Square

DeSoto, Mo.

http://www.bistroatthesquare.com

We were looking for one place we’d found a listing for online, but couldn’t find it. Not knowing how old the listing was and considering the volatile nature of the retail food business, we assumed it was now defunct. We were in the general area though of a place we’d tried, liked, and had not revisited in quite a while. So it was settled, Bistro at the Square.

The Place:

Inside a shopping center/hotel ‘Jefferson Square’ just north of DeSoto on Highway 21. The serving area is split between a small dining area, a large banquet room and in between, in the enclosed courtyard, the ‘atrium’. White linen cloths covered the tables, green paper placemats in place, an unlit candle on each table. We were greeted and seated in the empty atrium, the standard dining area held a dozen or so patrons. Ahead of us a middle-age gentleman was setting up racks of amplifiers, mixers, effects boxes and speakers. All the cables ran to another stand, where sat an expensive and rather large electronic keyboard. Live music was certain to ensue this night. Behind the equipment and facing the tables was a banner board boasting ‘Dave Blum.’ I recognized the name from a visit to Taytro’s in Festus, he was to play there once as well. We dine too early for the shows, blame it on the dogs and their peculiar schedule. Someday I’d actually like to hear Dave perform, we seem to frequent the same places.

The menus were delivered, the drinks ordered, Tea, Diet Dr. Pepper, and Pepsi. Why Angel likes Dr. P, I’m not sure, in my mind the only thing worse in this class of soft drink than Dr. Pepper, is Diet Dr. Pepper. But perhaps I shouldn’t worry too much about Angel’s odd choices and likes.

There was a lot to choose from, not too much, nothing odd or fussy, just a simple menu with simple offerings. The appetizers were a little tempting, but also a little pricey.

The Food:

We didn’t take long to pick. I ordered the Catfish Filet and ‘Cowboy Potatoes’ Though I had to ask what they were. Angel went for a heavy breakfast, country fried steak, eggs and hash browns. Adam decided on the Buffalo Chicken sandwich and standard fries. Within moments the bread basket arrived with warm, soft bread along with a basket of condiment-cup butters. Or rather butter-ish condiments. Mostly Country Crock, but one or two actually contained actual butter. Packets of mostly grape and strawberry jelly were also provided.

The bread was soft. In my mind maybe a bit too rubbery, but Adam and Angel didn’t think so. The butter-ish stuff wasn’t hard-frozen, but almost. It took friction and effort to get it to melt.

The man setting up the equipment, perhaps Dave himself, tested the sound with a CD, or IPod, or some other form of music device. Kenny G. swooned through with a saucy, oozing sound. “Bring on the porn music!” Adam called out. How he knows about porn music I have no idea, I mean I’ve only read about it myself. I wouldn’t know porn music if a giggly, blond, cleavage-intense and flirtatious French maid sat in my lap and sang it to me. It may be time for Adam and I to have that little talk.

         The food arrived soon enough. It was everything it was advertised to be. My filet was large, crispy on the outside and tender and moist on the inside. The potatoes were, on first test and taste, delightful. Cowboy fries are nothing more than quarter-inch thick potato slices, pan fried with onions and pepper. Some of the diced onion and/or pepper was burnt, I didn’t mind that though. A few charred ashes among tender chunks gives depth to the flavor.

I reported to the family that I was quite pleased. They applauded that as my personal satisfaction is uppermost on their list of priorities in life. They even offered up opinions on their own choices. “The steak is really good, crispy on the outside, moist and tender on the inside.” Barked Angel, in her soft, soothing voice.

“The chicken is good.” Adam added. “Crispy on the outside and . . .”  In unison we finished the sentence for him:  “. . . tender on the inside!” He also boastingly showed us the inside of the toasted and buttered bun which in itself was crispy on the outside, etc.

Okay, so we like a certain type of food preparation. I never claimed that we were complicated.

All would have been well had it not been for my sensitivity to that earthen mineral, the only rock fit for human consumption, salt. The potatoes had just a smidgen too much. It was not immediately noticeable but it built up  over time. Once I realized it I stopped eating them, about halfway through.

Summary:

Except for the saltiness of my potatoes, the meal was exceptional. Simple, well prepared, crispy on the outside. . .

The bill only came to thirty two dollars and change, much better than the sports bars and suburban chains. The atmosphere was quiet, cool and relaxing, the wait staff dressed in crisp white shirts and black pants and aprons were polite, dutiful and timely. The young blonde that waited on us got flustered at first when I accused her if rushing me, but like any good young blond, she soon figured me out for the sorry old fart that I am and started joking back.

On the way home, after a short trip through Orscheln’s, the attached farm and home supply store, we chatted up the Bistro and decided it was now one of our favorite places. So we will go back, and we can highly recommend it. Casual, neat, affordable, simple, yet a little classy. It’s great place for a serious date or business lunch, or just for a nice meal for the whole family, even with the alleged porn music.

Bon Appetit! 

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.