Dar-E-Kreme

7070 State Rd. BB
Cedar Hill, Mo.
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This was an ad-hoc plan B. We'd planned to go to Sorelli's in Cedar Hill, pizza, pasta, sandwiches, etc. As soon as we got there I had a memory flash. While looking up the menu earlier in the day, I had noticed a mention of a benefit auction for something. The parking lot was full. Ambulances in full show car mode, more than a dozen parked Harley's, many pickups and SUV's. They had quite the turnout. All three of us shy (run) away from crowds, so we didn't even need to take a vote, we were out of there.
We don't get to Cedar Hill often, it's not a very big town and it's not really on the way to anything we can get to on much less curvy, shoulder-less and narrow roads. This was highway BB, built to 1940's standards. A farm road built around farm property lines, streams, hills and creeks.
I'd been through Cedar Hill several times this year though, looking for churches. (long story) I knew there were other places in town, so did Angel. We had, in fact, just passed one. We went there.
The Place:
The Dar-E-Kreme is in a standalone, one-story, wood frame building, 1940's or 50's vintage. It does not have a drive-thru, but it does have a walk-up window. there were a few picnic tables scattered around.
As the name implies this was an old-school Ice Cream/Burger joint. Those of us in my generation, especially those more rural of us, will fondly recall places like this. This is what constituted fast-food when I was a kid. Before McD's or any of the rest of the plastic clones of McD's. During long, hot summers people would line up for some soft-serve or a sundae. Dad might get a burger, a feast for the whole family. Ahh, memories.
We walked in and I realized that they'd clung to that nostalgic notion. They hadn't copied it, this was it.
The back wall was mostly menu, bright, colorful and in the very style of the old 'Dairy-Dips' of my long-ago youth.
The yellow and beige checker pattern linoleum tile floor showed its age, but was clean and wax-shiny. The floor sagged a little in the middle as is quite common in 50 year old buildings. The sag was almost not noticeable except for the big spinning, stainless steel ice cream machine behind the counter. the squared top of the machine was parallel to nothing. Also behind the counter, scattered around on every available top, were colorful, gallon sized jugs of various syrups for the sno-cones and other frozen treats.

The walls themselves were painted a 50's shade of pale pink and almost hidden by the hundreds of photos and mini posters of The Three Stooges, 'I love Lucy' and 'The Andy Griffith Show' etc. Above the booths were yellow and orange Tiffany style hanging lamps, featuring a smiling ice cream cone. These fixtures were hardly vintage, they looked fairly new, but they fit the place like a glove. Behind the counter were a few black tee-shirted crew members, busy, sweating a little, but behaving quite professionally.

The Food:
This I knew to be a place for a quick, satisfying burger and fries. I knew that's what Adam and Angel would order, so I went out on a limb and asked for a fish sandwich and onion rings. I had a sneaky suspicion that the fish patty would be fast food square, not a filet as you may find in more upscale places. The fish patties of my youth, like the school cafeteria served. I didn't even ask, I just knew. Adam also showed some sense of familiarity when he ordered a double burger. He just knew that the meat patties would be small and thin. It was just so obviously that kind of place.
Angel made the order, I found us a booth in the back. The place was busy.
It wasn't very long before one of the crew members brought our tray with a smile.

We had nailed it. The burger patties were small and thin, spatula smashed on the grill, rough, crispy edged. Just a simple bun, exactly like those you pick up from the supermarket. The fries were perfectly sized and exactly the shade of brown that a fry should be. I took one of Angel's, it was exactly what I expected, crispy and salty. A perfect fry.
My onion rings as well looked exactly as you would expect from a joint like this. Crispy brown, all the rings intact. The fish patty, oh that lovely fish patty met my hopes and exceeded my expectations. It was crispy, the fish itself flaky and it actually tasted like fish, not burnt cooking oil. Because there was nothing else on the sandwich, like lettuce or cheese, it was just the fish, a light dollop of creamy tartar sauce and my taste buds. What a delight. The onion rings were as good as they looked. Steamy real onions encased in a crispy batter. No flash, no added heat. Simple, nostalgic, not too heavy, not crowded with extras.
Angel and Adam were truly enjoying their baskets as well. The 'Double' was the perfect call, size-wise.
Both of them were quite happy with their meals, for the same reasons I loved mine. Dar-E-Kreme pulled it off, a simple, excellent meal.
Since we were surrounded by people coming and going with frozen treats, we were tempted. Quite uncharacteristically, we succumbed to that temptation. I decided to splurge and go for an ice cream sandwich. Not just any ice cream sandwich though. Here I had the option of a Dad's Original Scotch Oatmeal Cookie. I don't recall the other options, I knew Dad's. It's a St. Louis thing. Many eateries in the area have Dad's jars on the counter. These are old style cookies, the recipe for the Scotch Oatmeal is nearly a hundred years old.
We would be eating our treats in the car, it was pretty hot out, once again reminding me of the sweet and very sticky summer trips to the lake of my youth. Two-three inch cookies with nearly an inch if hard frozen soft-serve vanilla between them. Angel and Adam stuck with their favorites, a root beer float and a chocolate malt, respectively. I assumed they enjoyed them, I was too busy trying to catch the melting ice cream before it coated my arm and lap. I proudly and bravely hosted a small bout of brain freeze. Well worth it.
Summary:
As you can probably tell by now, we loved the place. Simple, inexpensive (dinner minus the ice cream was just over twenty five bucks) and friendly. I was kind of glad Sorelli's was packed, otherwise we might have skipped around this small place yet again.
Sure, Cedar Hill is hardly on the way to much, but if you do find yourself in that area and want to hark back to the good old days, the real thing, not some plastic, industrialized imitation, this is the joint.

Fountain City Grille

302 N. Main
DeSoto, Mo.
On the Web.

The Place:
This place is easily among our favorites. We've been there several times, never been disappointed. It has a lovely Main Street location and on the inside it is just the right size. Large enough, but still cozy and intimate. It has a black and white motif, throughout.  The walls are decorated with large framed photos, also black and white, of some of the old fountains in the Fountain City, DeSoto, Mo.
We were shown to a table near the front window, a four top. The menus looked new and different. Colorful, pretty, laminated pages easily navigated. We were asked about drinks by Josh, a charming and friendly young man. Tea, sweet tea and coke. Angel asked for two appetizers, the fish tacos (3) and the toasted ravioli, once again because St. Louis.
Lots of things looked good, heck, nearly everything did. Sandwiches, burgers, steaks, pastas and seafood. No salmon tonight though. Josh had apologized for being out of that. I threw down my napkin and threatened to leave.
The place was half or more full, families friends, all seeming to be enjoying themselves.
The tea was delivered, we asked for a few more minutes.
The Food:
I flip-flopped between three or four things as did everyone else. Finally we tabled our menus.
Me: A Trio of Minis. Three sliders based on the 'Fountain City Burger, and a side of fries.
Angel: Deep Sea Fish Sandwich and fries.
Adam: Three different chicken sliders, called Tre Pollos Locos.  Also a side of fries.
I wasn't really looking for a burger, the fish sandwich sounded heavy, so the sliders were a lighter alternative.

We ordered. Our appetizers arrived fairly soon after that. The tacos looked pretty good. I decided to try one. We'd been looking for a decent fish taco. The fish was breaded and fried dark. It was mixed into a bed of cabbage in slaw form, with a cilantro sauce. There were small tomato chunks as well. Angel mentioned not seeing cabbage in a fish taco before. I knew this was not necessarily a problem, since we both love slaw and have it at home fairly often. The tortilla was very soft, baby buttocks soft. It stretched and wrapped around the ingredients superbly.
I bit in and concentrated. Yeah, this was quite possibly the best fish taco I'd ever had. Granted I haven't had that many, but of all those we've tried, this had easily just shot to number one. The slaw was sweet and sour, like a good coleslaw, very fresh and the extra crunch was appreciated. Lettuce can get lost in a taco, hardly noticeable. This didn't hide behind the other ingredients, it harmonized with it, added perfectly wonderful new notes. Angel was equally impressed. Throughout the evening she repeated that she could have had those tacos, some fries and called it a night.

After a brief, but tasty few moments, the entrees arrived.
The sliders were encased in a roll that appeared a bit larger than needed. The beef, etc. didn't quite reach any of the edges. If I'd ordered a full size burger that wasn't as wide as the bun, I think I'd be a little irritated. I don't know the exact rules for sliders though. The fries were thick, but not crispy. They were well cooked, just a bit on the limp side. More of a home fry than a thin, crispy fry that you get from fast food places.
I squished my first slider and bit into it, getting mostly bun. It wasn't bad, but the thickness and mouthful of bread pretty much obscured the innards. I finally took the top off and set it aside, I finished two of the three sliders like that. Adam even said about his chicken sliders: "The buns were wrong."  The rolls/buns were quite good, fresh, tasty, but simply too much for a tablespoon of beef.

Angel loved her fish sandwich. It was the same fish that was in the taco. Breaded and fried a deep, crispy brown. As she was telling me
this I noticed her fries. She had drizzled it over the taters in a haphazard, lacy pattern, Jackson Pollock style. I'm a dipper myself. Pour a puddle off to one side then  treat each fry individually, never too much, never too little. It amazes me that we've stayed together so long with such chasm-like differences of core philosophy.
That's pretty much all I can say about the meal. the tastes were very good. However the taco nearly ruined that. The sliders were okay, but that fish taco had simply stolen the show.
When Chef Tremayne stopped by, which is just something he does, Angel mentioned to him that the tacos should be an entree rather than an appetizer. He let out a deep baritone laugh, as that is also just something he does. I like the man. I've met very few chefs as attentive, respectful  and proud of his work as Chef Tremayne.
Summary:
If you go there for nothing else, go for those fish tacos. Yes, they were that good. Not that the other options at Fountain City are bad, not at all. Yeah, the buns were too thick, that's easily fixed by not ordering sliders. The fries, well, not my favorite style, but they were fresh and fully cooked. I've had lots of different things at FCG,  steaks, pasta, burgers, etc. and can recommend it all. The chef is talented and meticulous, the wait staff is friendly and competent, Josh did a smashing job.
But definitely do try those fish tacos!

Arby's

690 S. Truman Blvd.

Festus, Mo.

Yeah, I know, a fast food joint. The reason we decided on this rather than one of the many, many nicer places was simple. Arby’s has been pushing some new sandwiches. We thought we’d give them a try.

The Place:

 Best described as the entrance to the Walmart parking lot in Festus. It’s at the northeast corner of  the termination of Highway A and Truman Blvd. (also known as 61/67)

We’d been noticing their annoying commercials featuring the self-aggrandizing thick,

New-York accented Bo Dietl (Getoutahere!) trying to get to the bottom of the claim that

Waffle fries

Arby’s Reuben is as crave-able as an authentic New York Reuben.

Also, I’d noticed signs around touting their new fish sandwich. I like a good fish sandwich.

The building is nice, not just a box, it offers vaulted ceilings, shiney tables and a large glass block partition. There were tables and booths and a couple of kiosks for drinks and condiments.

We stepped up to the counter, I ordered first.

The Food:

Like I said, I like a good fish sandwich. I also like waffle fries. Angel ordered the Reuben and Adam really went out on the edge and asked for chicken tenders.  They also both got waffle fries.

We paid, filled our drinks, tea, Diet Dr. Pepper (with no ice) and Pepsi. Angel doesn’t like ice in her pop.

We found a booth near the highway and spread out. Adam filled up some condiment cups with ketchup and what I think was mustard. We discussed entertainment options and decided to visit Blockbuster after we finished.

They called our order and Adam fetched it. Shiny wrapped sandwiches and golden brown waffle fries.

Geometrically awkward fish sandwich.

The first thing I noticed about my fish sandwich was how flat and boring it looked. The fish though was not just some square, barely filling the bun, in fact the portion was quite large, sticking out of the bun by a half inch or more on two sides. For some reason the fish was somewhat pie-shaped, a triangle with blunted points, that was too long for the bun on north/south ends and short on the east/west.

Inside the sandwich was a fading beige tartar sauce and a skimpy scattering of lettuce shards. No cheese. That was okay with me, I can go either way as for cheese on a fish sandwich.

I took a bite, there was a wooshing in my brain as I was instantly harked back to a very familiar taste sensation. I had this thing nailed at the first bite.

Back in my more rushed and poorer days I would take two slices of white bread, five frozen fish sticks, nuked,  top the fish with ketchup and call it a meal.

The Reuben

This fish tasted exactly like those long-ago, cheap(est) frozen fish sticks. The breading was thicker than I normally care for, but inside the filet-ish offering was moist and flaky. I couldn’t get that memory of those generic-brand fish sticks out of my  head though.

Don’t get me wrong, I liked those fish stick sandwiches. All I’m saying here is that this is what the sandwich was almost exactly like.

Angel offered me a bite of her Reuben. It was definitely pastrami, perhaps not the best cut I’d ever had, but the peppery taste was definitely pastrami. I didn’t notice the kraut, and most definitely didn’t notice the Swiss cheese. The bread was a little odd looking, it was swirled with a dark marbling. I guess it was supposed to be rye, but a timid one if at all.

Chicken Nuggets

As she ate it Angel tore off large chunks of the bread and tossed them into a pile. The meat was piled high in the center of the sandwich but the outer quarter inch or so all around was just bread. The 'just bread' was what she was discarding. She mentioned that she couldn’t detect the vinegar in the kraut much, and maybe that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Pastrami is a strong flavor, so is kraut. In this sandwich they emphasized the meat more than fetid cabbage.

My fish, aside from the harking back it was causing was otherwise quite boring. Not bad, just not crave-worthy. I can say the same for the Reuben, not bad, but hardly a must-have. I suspect Bo Dietl sold out. I can’t imagine a card-carrying New Yorker claiming that this was better than those found in the hundred-year-old ethnic family deli’s along the steamy, grimy streets of the Big Apple.

Adam rated his chicken tenders as being better, lighter than DQ’s, but that was about it.

Molten Lava Cake

Upon finishing up Angel and Adam decided to top the meal off with a much, in-the-store touted ‘Molten Lava Cake’

Spoiler alert, much to my disappointment it’s not really made from molten lava.

For two bucks you get what Angel described as a chocolate cupcake that didn’t get baked long enough.

I tasted it, it tasted exactly like generic chocolate cake. It wasn’t even as hot as molten lava, in fact it was barely above room temperature.

Summary:

Meh.

The meal, without the molten lava, came in at twenty one dollars. The service, well, it’s a fast food place, the minimum wage staff is hardly motivated to go above and beyond, and here they did not. The place was clean enough, the food and condiments seemed fresh. The offerings were okay, but hardly lived up to the hype. We don’t go to Arby’s very often, and these new sandwiches are probably not going to get us there any more frequently. The waffle fries, offered hardly anywhere else, are pretty good. I still don’t know how they get the potatoes in the waffle iron though, I’ve tried it, and failed miserably. They must know a trick.

Hot Shots

12664 Dorsett Rd.
Maryland Heights, MO
http://www.hotshotsnet.com/

Doug and Rob, posing.

Once again, a last minute invite to go out for lunch with Rob and Doug. A beautiful, unseasonably warm, March day. Rob drove again, Doug sat in the front seat and I in the back. I am not quite as altitude-privileged as Doug or Rob, so for me it’s not about who sits up front with whom, it’s merely a matter of physics and anatomy. I fit better in back seats than grotesquely tall (over 5’10”) people. It doesn’t bother me; I’m still waiting for my promised growth spurt, some guys are just late bloomers. Once that finally happens, all bets are off.

I’d not heard of Hot Shots, but learned quickly that it was one of the many sports bars in the area, within a metaphorical stone’s throw of Maryland Yards.

It sits in an upscale strip mall, blending in quietly with its retail neighbors. Another thing Rob and Doug have become accustomed to is the delay for me to take a picture of the storefront, this time they even pseudo-posed at the door.

The Place:

As soon as we opened the door we were met with a sonic storm. This wasn’t background music, it was well into the foreground. It was turned up happy-hour loud which I found distracting, especially since the music selection wobbled between twangy country and what I believe the kids today refer to as hippity-hop. I’m not a big fan of most music, these two genres in particular, I was not impressed.

The place was only sparsely populated with fellow cubicle drones, and we were told to find our own seating. The main floor around the bar was equipped by tall tables and stools, and each tall table sported a condiment rack as well as an ashtray. I didn’t actually need to see the ashtrays to know it was a smoking-allowed place, the ambience, the aroma had already given that away.

The walls were lined primarily with large, bright, flashing flat screen TV’s all showing sporting events and channels. On the largest screen, as well as a few of those on the sides, a Hockey game was starting up, the local Blues playing against the Chicago Blackhawks. Every time I looked up at the screen, it seemed yet another fist fight had broken out. Why they pretend to be about ice skating and sportsmanship I can’t imagine. Why not just dress up in bright, stupidly-fitting clothes and swing big sticks at each other and be done with it.

We’d already started the sports talk in the car. “So should we get the sports out of the way now or wait until we get there?” Doug had asked. I was ready this time.

“As a matter of fact I’m sort of into this March Madness thing, have you heard about it?” I asked the front seat.

They both looked a bit startled, so I explained.

“My grandmother, my mother, and my sister all graduated from Murray State, in fact my beloved, yet dreadfully homely sister recently retired from there as the Registrar.”

They seemed impressed.

“And my older brother attended Western Kentucky.” Whose team I knew to be wild-carding their way into the tournament.

“And of course I’ve got all kinds of ties to U.K., My saintly mother even listens to their games on the radio. In Kentucky, where there are only one or two huge schools, and several smaller ones, it’s not unusual for a person to root for two or more at a time. You can be a fan of Murray and U.K., or Louisville and Western, it’s not seen as a contradiction there.” I was making this part up, I never attended college in Kentucky myself. “So I even filled out one of those bracket-y things I saw on Yahoo, picked U.K to take it all.”

That was the extent of my contribution to the sports talk, as I’d hoped, they didn’t pop follow-up questions regarding scores, players, stats or team mascots.

The menu was a simple two sided affair the typical sports-bar offerings. Burgers, sandwiches, pizza, etc. They obviously served alcoholic drinks as well, squeezed between the TV’s were a plethora of beer banners and neon signs, mostly touting Budweiser products. The bar looked well stocked as did the petite bartender. I couldn’t see any further down on her than her neck, though the taller Doug pointed out that she was wearing a tight tube top.

The servers were all wearing referee-like black and white striped shirts and black spandex short-short-short-shorts, all clothing three sizes too small.

It’s a sports bar thing. I could go on for pages about the sociology, psychology, and anthropology of scantily clad, fetching waitresses at sports bars, but I won’t. Suffice it to say if I were to open an eatery next door, tuned to the  Lifetime Channel on big TV’s, played gospel music on zithers and accordions in the background and clad the wait-staff in Amish midwife apparel, who do you think would go out of business first? I don’t try to rationalize or defend the business model, it’s cheap and tawdry, and it works$$.

The Food:

I asked what on the menu was good, my two pals shrugged their shoulders. They mentioned the Royale, a big sloppy burger that included a fried egg and bacon. Though that sounded really good, I could almost hear the Lipitor pills begging for mercy from their bottle.

Doug ordered one anyhow, along with a side of horseradish. Oddly enough, though the actual origin of the name 'horseradish' is unknown, one thing that is known about that particular root is that it is poisonous to horses.

Rob went with the ‘Upper Deck’, a turkey club sandwich with a little bacon. Both the boys asked for the Hot Shots house chips.

I’d had a burger recently and a beef sandwich the day before at a Panera-catered meeting. So I decided to pretend to be concerned about my red-meat intake and ordered 'The Fisherman', a beer-battered cod filet topped with cheese and served with lettuce, tomato and tartar sauce, and a side of traditional fries. Not that a battered, deep fried cod filet is that much healthier than a burger, it just sounds like it. Rob and I cheaply asked for nothing more than water, Doug asked for tea.

They continued sports talk, I glanced around the joint. I noticed an upper deck, a loft area with regular tables and chairs that was unoccupied. The place was bigger than it seemed from the outside, more beer banners and neon. I’d heard the place gets pretty packed during its happy hours, but for a Wednesday lunch, not bad at all.

The food arrived rather quickly, nothing splashy or fancy, just baskets of lunch. My filet was brown and crispy, the fish well cooked, moist and flaky. The fries were okay, nothing special. Rob handed me one of his chips, eager to know how they would fare in my review. They were actually pretty good, though it did seem to be a bit soft in the middle.

Our waters got refreshed, Doug wolfed down his horseradish-laden Royale in near record time, as expected. He was panting and red-faced, a state he seems to enjoy. Rob and I didn’t even try to compete, there’s simply no point.

When polled, they seemed quite content with their meals, as was I. I told them that in places where fish was not a main item that it’s easy to screw it up. Breaded fish filets, usually frozen, don’t fry up like burgers or fries. They have to be nursed through the process to avoid cold spots or over-doneness. They did just fine here.

Summary:

Not bad, not bad at all. I finished my sandwich, left some fries, the other guys cleaned up. The service, aside from being scantily clad was efficient and professional. The bill for all three of us came in at just over twenty four dollars, well below the ten dollar lunch barrier. I picked up the tab since somebody else did the last time, the boys thanked me like it was a big deal. For all their other flaws, and there are quite a few, Doug and Rod are genuinely nice guys. That is unless you bring up politics, then Doug goes all zealously scorched-earth.

I can’t speak for Hot Shots at prime-time, but for a working day lunch it was pretty good, except for the ashtray smell and the too-loud music. Given those two things I’d prefer Maryland Yards just across the street.

Wendy's

Herculaneum, Mo.

Friday, Good Friday to be exact, except in retrospect it really wasn’t all that good. It started out with a gully washer early, about five A.M. By the time I got out of bed around seven the rain had stopped but the sky was gray and heavy. I had the day off and had made no specific plans. I had a few things that I wanted to do over the three day weekend, but on this drippy, drafty, cool morning I wasn’t exactly motivated to jump in to any of them at full speed.

I did make a morning run to Walmart to pick up some essentials, that’s when the problems began. The car behaved badly. The engine would over-rev then slam into each gear. I shrugged it off at first thinking the driving rain had gotten into something. The problem didn’t clear though and the ‘check engine’ light popped on. As I looked at it I noticed the speedometer was sitting on zero even though I was easily doing thirty-five mph or more.

I picked up what I needed at Wally-World and the car behaved the same on the way home. I found my little scanner that reads the engine codes, I bought it a few years back. The mighty Alero is eleven years old and has over a hundred fifty thousand miles on it. I don’t know / completely trust the local mechanics so I always pre-scan before taking the car in, to keep them honest. This code told me that the speed sensor circuit was 'low'. A cross-check revealed that the speed sensor talks to both the speedometer and the transmission. It made sense, so I thumped all the way to Festus to get it looked at. An hour later I was told the bad news. Squirrels had eaten the wiring harness and spark plug wires.

Six hundred dollars worth. No more slowing down for the little beasts.

This effort took up most of the afternoon. By the time dinner time rolled around we decided to keep it simple.

The Place:

There are not many Wendy’s in the St. Louis area. The area’s largest franchise owner was, at last check, still in court fighting for bankruptcy. This one in Herculaneum is apparently owned by someone else. It sits in a shared parking lot alongside a large gas station.

Nothing fancy or unique about it, just a Wendy’s.

The Food:

I wanted Chili. I love Wendy’s chili and have for twenty or more years. Back in the early 90’s I’d occasionally volunteer some weekends to judge high school debate tournaments in Springfield. Local establishments were guilt-tripped into donating food for the all-day events. Wendy’s was always generous with a couple of large pots of chili. I kept going to these things even after I became jaded and frustrated with the declining quality of debates these kids were presenting. We'll build a giant dome over the country to guard against missile attacks and we'll pay for it by eliminating government waste! Yeah, that bad. I loved the chili though.

I didn’t want just chili though, so I ordered a small bowl along with something I’d never had from Wendy’s before, the fish sandwich. I’m a big fan of Burger King’s fish, and don’t care at all for McD’s. I also ordered fries (small) and tea.

Angel had the chicken nugget combo along with a small chili, she wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Adam ordered the spicy chicken sandwich combo. We ordered, Angel waited at the counter while I found a table and filled up some tiny paper cups with ketchup. When she finally brought the tray it was laden with a pile of saltines as well, two per packet.

I slammed into the chili first. Beef, two kinds of beans, peppers, onions with a light tomato stock, just as I’d remembered it. Angel enjoyed it as well, though she wasn’t quite as happy with her chicken nuggets. She found them dry and bland. She gave most of them to Adam who had quickly chewed through his sandwich like a table-saw through a kitten.

The fish was pretty good. It had more breading than BK’s and it wasn’t overcooked. The tartar sauce was light and not too spicy. The fries were made in a newer style than Wendy’s original method. They were okay but not quite as good as BK or McD’s (I genuinely despise McD’s but still have to acknowledge their superior fries.)

We chatted for a few minutes, Angel and Adam had finished well before I did. Angel excused herself and left, saying she was going to fuel up the gas-hungry truckster.

Summary:

Not bad. The Chili makes up for a lot of other weaknesses. Other than that we were only mildly impressed, but not totally dissatisfied. The three combos plus sides cost twenty two dollars and change.

After we got home there was an incident with the dogs. Deedee and Pip have always been a little aggressive toward each other. That’s not been a big problem as our home and lifestyle revolve around letting dogs in, out and around in small groups according to compatibility. Well, this night the sliding door between the living room and the deck wasn’t completely closed. When Deedee, who was outside, saw Pip go by inside she lunged, Pip reciprocated and the door popped open and it was game-on. It took about five minutes, one bucket of water, several sprays of Fabreze up snouts and finally a mop handle to pry the dogs apart. There was blood, but no serious damage. Angel treated them and initiated strict no-princess polices for both the girls for a while. Angel’s suspicion is that these two are trying to proclaim mastery of the house. Angel will now spend some time showing them both who it is that actually runs the place. It’s very clear to Adam and me, and shortly will be to them as well. No violence, just no privileges, no unsupervised activity or free run of the place.

About this time is when the TV reported tornado warnings for St. Louis County.

We sat nearly speechless during the next two hours’ reports as the storms moved east along the I-70 corridor and straight into the airport. As for us, about thirty-five miles south, nothing. It didn’t rain (until much later) no high winds. There was lightening off to the northeast, but we could just barely hear the thunder. It was surreal watching footage of very serious damage so close to us, yet if we didn’t just happen to be watching a local channel at the time, we would probably not have even noticed.

So it wasn’t such a good Friday at all. But the chili was excellent. Gotta go, I think I see a squirrel heading towards the car.