IHOP

110 Kate G Lane 

Fenton, Mo.

It was Angel's first family sit-down meal at a restaurant in nearly six weeks, so she picked the place. 

Oh, haven't I mentioned Angel's situation?   She's been whining for a year or more about aches and pains everywhere from her back, to her hip, to her toes. Constant, shrill whining. Test after expensive test revealed nothing conclusive. Finally she came across a doctor that figured it all out.  Her foot was damaged internally, causing her to sub-conscientiously compensate with other body parts to maintain balance while walking/standing upright. This is why the pain moved from place to place. 

It turns out that she had a ruptured ligament/tendon, a torn ligament/tendon, topped off with some bone shrapnel inflaming a foot joint. 

Wow! Right? I bet that did hurt!

Back in July she went in for surgery. It only took a couple of hours, but she came out with a massive splint/cast. That was replaced a couple of weeks later with a slightly smaller cast. Then finally, last week, she had that one removed and was sent packing with a complicated, but removable  'boot'. 

So for several weeks, she was basically confined to her recliner, or wherever else she could move about on her knee scooter. 

On the day of her cast removal, I took her to a Chinese Buffet on the way home. She was still scooting, I had to fill her plate as she rolled down the line.

By Sunday she was taking a few very slow steps, with and without the use of a standard crutch. She also took her SUV out for a spin earlier in the day. Progress. Slow but, certainly tangible progress.

IHOP it was. Adam happily joined us at Gravois Bluffs in Fenton. Gravois Bluffs is a multi-acre shopping center, surrounded by other shopping centers. Big box, medium box, most every department and discount store you've heard of is located either in or around Gravois Bluffs.  I drove the SUV, Angel wasn't quite ready for a longer drive herself. That booted leg doesn't have a lot of wiggle room under the dashboard, so it gets cramped up in no time.

The Place:

I didn't bother looking at a menu ahead of time, with a name like 'International House of Pancakes', even an idiot could probably surmise the potential offerings.

On the way to the bluffs I asked Angel if he thought IHOP offered hot dogs. She just looked at me with that adoring, down her nose, squinting glare that she uses frequently when I am talking.

Adam was already there. We hobbled into the joint, Adam and I took turns opening the doors for Angel. We're both old school gentlemen that way.

The place, like other 'breakfast' venues, smelled heavily of maple syrup. I find that aroma quite sickening.  It was not overpowering at IHOP, but it was definitely there. My brain responds to the smell of maple syrup much the same way it responds to that of decaying flesh, rotting eggs, or children in general. Revulsion.

The place was certainly bigger than a Waffle House. Tables and booths all over the place, a full sized restaurant. It was neat and clean and appeared to be well staffed. It wasn't crowded either. 

The multi-page laminated menu was all about pancakes, waffles, eggs, toast and powdered sugar.  I don't get that last item. They put it on pancakes, waffles, French toast, crepes, etc. They also seem to push breakfast food as dessert. I don't even add a pinch of sugar to the batter for pancakes, waffles, or French toast when I make them at home.  I prefer savory, not pastry.

I asked the young man for coffee, Angel wanted sweet tea, Adam, of course, wanted a Pepsi. We asked for and were allowed a little more time to make our selections. A lot of it looked good, it was a tough choice narrowing it down.

That extra time lured me into making a rookie mistake.  Idle time conjured up the will to stretch, experiment, order something I would not normally ask for.

The Food:

I scanned the entire menu, sure enough, no hot dogs.  They had burgers and fried chicken but no hot

dogs. 

Angel predictably ordered the Country Fried Steak. The server asked if she wanted gravy on it. . . we laughed and laughed. The young man got the message and smiled. "Would you like some mashed potato on your gravy?" 

I'd thought about ordering the same thing, but the only veggie side option was broccoli. You know about me and broccoli, don't you? I could have asked them to leave the nasty greenery off the plate, but then there would be that void, the place where broccoli would have been, and that's too much like actually being served broccoli.

Adam was also predictable, chicken and waffles. Adam only eats like seven or eight things, those are two of them.

Now to mix it up.

Two eggs, over medium, crispy bacon, hash-browns and French toast.  

The shock and gasps were palpable.  My family knows I like French toast, the way I make it anyhow, but that I can recall, I've never ordered it at a restaurant.

The reason is quite simple. Go to one of these places. Order French toast without further description. What you'll probably get is barely battered toast, glopped with cinnamon, powdered sugar and maybe even syrup.

I thought I'd be clever though. "Is the French toast sweet?" I asked the dashing young man.

"I don't think so." He replied. Here's my mistake. I assumed that meant it wouldn't be coated in a cloud of powdered sugar.

But it was. Sure I thumped most of it off, but by the time it hit the table, the golf ball sized butter ball was already melting and acting as contact adhesive to the dusty stuff.  I spent a few minutes knocking off as much as I could. Then I re-piled the stack and dived in. The first bite was even more disappointing. There was indeed a residual sweetness, but the real abomination was the cinnamon. Almost enough to qualify as a sticky bun. I don't mind a little, but the sugar and the spice had turned the thing into a thing just short of a bear claw.

This was not IHOP's error, it was entirely my own. 

When I make French toast at home, a thing I learned to do as a kid, I use exactly three ingredients, bread, egg, milk, and not very much of the latter. Then I top it off with. . .  nothing. If I want a sweet pastry, I'll make donuts. Yeah I can do that too. I hardly ever make donuts, I hardly ever eat cake.  I'm just not a big sweet pastry guy. I'd make a lousy cop I guess. I can walk right past a sheet cake or pile of free donuts at work with no more temptation than if they were a golf course, fabric store, or fitness center. 

What I want when I want French toast is simply egg drenched bread, fried in butter. I've even taken the resulting toast and made grilled cheese sandwiches with it.  Boy howdy, that's good eats!

But that's just me.

The origin of French toast is a little murky. There are versions of the egg-soaked bread going back to the days of the Roman Empire, which, as I recall, was a very long time ago, perhaps dozens of years. What we do know for sure is that it did not originate in France. We are also pretty sure that extravagances like cinnamon, sugar and maple syrup were not part of the original design. "Pain perdu", or 'lost bread' is what the French call it. Named so since the idea was that it was a way to rehydrate and thus extend the lifespan of leftover bread that was a day away from being tossed out. The British call it 'eggy bread' since they lack imagination, they also tend to top it with ketchup since they, as a culture, also have no discernible food dignity.  A 14th century German recipe calls it 'Arme Ritter' or 'poor knights' because. . . well, who the hell knows why the Germans do anything the way they do.

The bottom line is, as far as French toast goes, IHOP made it their way, not my way. I knew better. I cannot criticize them for this.

As far as the rest of the meal, the two eggs, over medium were cooked perfectly, the bacon was indeed crispy and the hash browns, as they are supposed to be, crispy golden on the edges. No complaints, at all. 

Adam ate all his chicken and waffles, he must have really liked them a lot since when asked about it he replied "Fine". 

It was Angel that proved to be the chief complainant this time. I looked down on her plate when we were finished. Remarkably there was still a third of the CFS remaining. Her fork was down. "Too salty." she said. "Except for the broccoli, I had to add salt to that."

Ouch.

Summary.

Discounting my mistake in ordering, I'd have to say I was quite satisfied with my food. Adam's cryptic, one word response was a little less clear. Angel was a slight thumbs down.

In other words, 'Meh'. 

We can get just as good at a couple of places closer than Fenton. Waffle House, Huddle Hut, etc. So for us there's no wow factor at IHOP. Nothing pulling at us to go back very often. Of course it specializes not in fancy food, but comfort food. People don't go there to be wowed, they go to get good breakfast type meals. Simple, predictable, cozy comfort food.

It's a fine place for what it is, with a deeper menu than Waffle House. So go ahead, enjoy!

 

Waffle House

1304 Veterans Blvd.
Festus, Mo.

On the Web
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Sure, I've reviewed Waffle House before. In my mind, a good place deserves mention and a great place deserves frequent mention.
I'll keep it short.

The Place:
West of I-55 just off Highway A. Just look for the big yellow sign.
Diner style, booths along the wall, stools at the counter. Clean, bright and seemingly always staffed by cheerful and hard working people. In this case, the crew consisted of three young folks, Kelsey, CJ and Josh.
Josh was the grill master, the ladies deftly worked the tables and counter. They all wore matching gray shirts, black pants, black apron and black caps. Our primary server was Kelsey, whose pony tail was pulled through the adjusting gap in her cap.
I cannot recall coming across a bad crew at a Waffle House. Always friendly, always busy, occasionally breaking out in song, though not too loudly. Always welcoming and sincere, always helpful. This trio was no exception.
The Food:
Me: Hash browns, smothered and covered (onions and cheese). Add some bacon, two eggs, over medium, a biscuit, and of course, coffee please.
Angel: Hash browns, smothered, covered, chunked and country. (ham, gravy) add sausage, scrambled eggs, skip the toast, with ice tea.
Adam: All American Breakfast, eggs, bacon, scrambled eggs, toast and hash browns (plain) instead of grits, with soda pop.
Yeah, we all got pretty much the same thing. But that's why we like it there, this is what we want when we go to WH, and  WH is our preferred place when we want breakfast for dinner.
The food didn't take very long, but why should it? It's a pretty simple menu. Not a lot of fancy seasonings and sauces to fuss over.
At one point, KC came out from behind the counter and poked the jukebox. This concerned me at first, I'm not much of a listener to music, especially the kind of music most people poke in a jukebox. But she impressed me with Otis Redding's 'Sittin' on the dock of the bay.' We're good.
She seemed surprised when I complimented her on her selections.
As I said, the food came in good time. I looked over at Angel's blasphemic hash brown concoction. Not that I could actually see any hash browns, they were completely covered by an epic mudslide portion of brown gravy. Angel was quite pleased though. Angel likes gravy, I might have mentioned that before. (That night, she posted on FB:"Went out for gravy tonight. Yeah there was other stuff on the plate too, but who cares when there's GRAVY on the plate.")
The real problem, for me, was the ham. I understand the gravy, but the ham corrupts the subtle purity of hash browns. It's like adding a bunch of exclamation points to a paragraph were they simply don't belong.

The last thing to arrive was Adam's waffle. They make a pretty good waffle here. Don't just take my word for it though:
"Whoa, that's good, that's good! . . . this is better than The French Laundry!" -Anthony Bourdain-
I suppose I should explain a few things about that.
I'll assume you know who Anthony Bourdain is. He's all over TV, all over the world. He's been everywhere, tried everything and isn't afraid to call a dud, a dud, he even does so quite profanely. He's worked in some of the finest restaurants in the country, top tier. Among Restaurant Magazine's Top 50 Restaurants in the World, frequently listed is The French Laundry, located in the Napa Valley in California. Bourdain himself once called that high end eatery: "The best restaurant in the world."
That was before he'd ever been to a Waffle House.
Summary:
The food, every bit of it, was great. Perfectly prepared, cleanly and promptly served.That almost goes without saying. The service was simply outstanding. Every member of that young three person crew checked on us during our visit. They all cheerfully greeted us when we arrived and all three wished us a good evening when we left. My coffee cup never saw the halfway point.
The bill for all that comfy yummy-ness was a modest thirty two dollars. I tipped large.
This is how diners and restaurants should work. Limited menus, simple, fresh ingredients, a crew that truly works as a team. Casual, friendly, relaxed. Dining as it should be.

Waffle House

#1163
Festus, Mo.


You know where it is, just off the Interstate.
The one in Festus, overlooking I-55 is pretty much just like the other 2100 locations in 25, mostly southern, states.
The Place:

There's something quite laudable about consistency, simplicity and efficiency. Also, another Boy Scout-like quality, preparedness.
"The ability of a Waffle House to remain open after a severe storm, possibly with a limited menu, is used by FEMA as a measure of disaster recovery known as the Waffle House Index."
Yeah, they're ready for it. Portable generators, a stockpile of food, and a healthy Disaster Preparedness plan.
The same can be said about the food, simple, clean, unfettered by sparkles and bling.
Open 24/7/365, fair weather or foul, they've got what you want, when you want it.
The place is small, cozy, friendly. The diner-like layout encourages interaction with the crew, and the crews I've come across are always willing to chat, a little or a lot.
Angel had a craving, a hankering for hash browns this week. I don't try to understand or explain these things, I just go along for the ride. I can enjoy breakfast for dinner, lunch, or even breakfast, just about any time.
It wasn't very busy this warm but pleasant Saturday night. Someone said that everyone was at the fair, the Jefferson County Fair, in Hillsboro.
The fair was exactly why we decided to not go to a place in Hillsboro. Whenever and wherever a throng of people are gathering, we can be found going the other way.
I was of limited mind. For two nights in a row my ankle collar, rather, my work phone, had interrupted my precious nights' sleep multiple times. Functional, but listing off task quite a bit.
We stepped in and picked from several open booths.
The Food.

The menus were two sides of a legal-paper sized, colorful, laminated card. Limited options, sure, but everything you need. A young lady name-tagged 'Rebequa' stopped by and asked about drinks. Coffee, sweet tea and Coke. We flipped the menus several times, as if we didn't know what we wanted.
Actually, I was taking a risk. I was not going to order two eggs, over medium, bacon, hash browns (with onions) and toast, which is my normal order for places like this. I decided to go off the map. I knew they could whip together a good breakfast, time to push the envelope, live on the edge.
I finally picked the 'Texas Bacon Cheesesteak Melt, a sandwich. It came with hashbrowns, I 'smothered' mine, onions.
Angel asked 'Rebequa' about the portion sizes of the hash brown meals. She pulled out the stops. She went for the large, adding onions, ham and sausage gravy (smothered, chunked and country.) She added two scrambled eggs on the side, said no thanks to toast because that just seemed excessive.
Adam picked his go-to plate, the two egg (scrambled) All-Star special, toast, hash browns (plain), bacon and a waffle.

Smothered, Chunked, Country.

I announced my choice and got stares from the family.
'Becca' as her crew members called her, scurried off. I was going to ask her about the spelling of her name, but decided against it, that's exactly what she wanted people to do.
The food came pretty fast, I'd only made it through one Angry Bird level. Angel and Adam had not made it very far into whatever they were e-devicing either. No complaints though.
The plates came out and looked perfect. The scrambled eggs were all bright and moist, not overcooked. The hash browns looked crunchy. As her plate appeared before her, Angel moaned, the moan of a woman about to be perfectly satisfied.
Adam's took more than one plate, three to be exact, the waffle and the bacon each got their own. I personally don't care too much for WH's waffles, too cake-y and sweet. Adam immediately blasphemed and covered his with syrup (blech!).

Why so many pickles?

My sandwich looked simple. Not over stuffed, not pouring out of the edges. Many places go overboard with sandwiches, I prefer that they don't. I was worried about it a little though. In my mind I had accepted the fact that the steak would be tough and dry. I didn't know where that premonition came from, but it was a risk I was willing to take. It was accompanied by a squeeze pouch of 'real mayonnaise' and more pickles than were necessary. I shoved a few into the sammich though, squeezed in a little mayo.
Adam sorted his all out, keeping it all on separate plates. I would have

mushed everything together, but he's his own man.
Across from us, sitting at the counter, a husky, middle aged man continued bantering with the crew. He seemed familiar to them, calling them each by name. Then they started discussing schedules, covering shifts and I got the impression that we might be in the presence of the owner/manager.
They were discussing how light the traffic flow in the diner had been, he chalked it up to the fair.
"But they'll come here when afterwards won't they?" One of the young ladies asked him.
"Nah, they'll be too hot and tired and filled with deep fried carnival food." He answered.
"What about the drunks?" Another asked.
"They'll go to White Castle." He chuckled.
At another point they were discussing being nice to difficult customers. He had wisdom for that as well. "If they want bad service they can go to Huddle House." Everyone laughed at that as well. I liked this guy.
My sandwich surprised me. I was all ready  to be harsh, but it turned out to be pretty good! The steak was thin and moist, tender and tasty. It was no original Philly cheese steak, but for a local hash house, not bad, not bad at all.
The food disappeared rather quickly. Angel's moan turned into soft grunts and occasional single word essays. "Crunchy". "Gravy.", "Mmm." and "Perfect"
Summary:
Rebequa laid the check down ($28.52) on our table as we were wrapping up. She took the empty plates away. I noticed she'd written her name on the check, not Rebequa, but rather Rebecca. Actually she spelled it out ReBecca. A real identity crisis going on with this one. I couldn't tell whether when the crew talked to her they were saying Becca or Bequa. Maybe she's on the run from the cops.
She was good though. Kept us refilled and cleaned off, got the orders exactly right. It was a fun meal, Waffle House is a happy place, even with all the drunks going to White Castle instead. I'd have to be very liquored up myself to ever step foot into that disgusting place.
The food was, as expected, fast and quite good, even the off-the-norm sandwich.
As I said at the top, there's something to be said for simplicity, quality and consistency. It is as dependable a place as you'll find. No fake pink meat slop, no added flavorings or preservatives, just good, hearty food, cooked quite well.

Farmer's Kitchen & Concord Grill

Farmer's Kitchen
4660 Yeager Rd.
Hillsboro, Mo.
On Facebook

Concord Grill
11427 Concord Village Ave.
Affton, Mo.
On the Interwebs
On Facebook
Previous review

Yeah, this one's a little different, especially since I didn't even get to go to Concord Grill this weekend. But there's a story here, bear with me.
Saturday was to be a busy day. I had been personally invited to attend a gathering at Valley View Glade held by the Missouri Department of Conservation. The reason? My enviable wit, my lady-killer charm, my tenacious journalistic style? No, it was because property records for the area indicated I might own some glade or former glade land.
A glade is an area of very shallow soil. In Jefferson County they are classified as dolomite (a type of rock) glades, because of the large number of exposed and protruding outcroppings. In other areas, such as the Ozarks, these areas frequent hillsides and are also known as barrens, or bald knobs. Vegetation does grow there, just not very tall. Glades depend on wildfires to eliminate intrusive tree species, such as red cedar, and to rejuvenate the birth and growth of the hundreds of indigenous plants.
I have hiked a few of these protected areas in the county, and also discovered that there is a glade area on the unoccupied acreage below my house. My five acres used to be part of that larger land mass, but was split off to expedite the sale of the house. The land, very shallow soil, very hilly and rocky, full of crags and ravines is pretty much agriculturally and commercially useless. Sparse, stunted hardwoods, shallow soil, short, spindly grasses.
I wanted to attend so I got myself put on the list.
I got a late start though.
I stopped off in Hillsboro for a quick breakfast at:
The Place:

The Farmers Kitchen.
I've eaten breakfast there a half dozen or so times recently, I've grown to like it fine. Closer to home than Huddle House, my previous weekend breakfast favorite.
It's just off the main drag near Queens, the local supermarket.
I haven't given the place a formal review yet, for reasons that are a little complicated, but I do go there and have thoroughly enjoyed the food and service. Well, most of the time.
The place just recently opened under new ownership, they're still finding their stride, so I can't be too critical.
The Food:
That being said though, I always get the same, non-complicated thing. Basically the same breakfast I used to get at HH.
Two eggs, over medium, bacon, hash browns and a waffle.

What it usually looks like.

I must say, even at this last visit, they make a waffle that is far superior to HH, Waffle House, Denny's or IHOP. Farmer's Kitchen doesn't sweeten theirs so much.
If I were not already running late, I would have sent this day's plate back. The eggs were fine, the bacon was crispy, the waffle melted the big pile of butter beautifully. However, the hash browns were swimming in grease. They even lost their shape, appearing to be globs of greasy shredded potato than firm, crispy ribbons. I was really, really disappointed. I knew they could make hash browns, I've had them several times without complaint.
Against my better judgment, I ate most of them anyhow, choosing to absorb myself in my book rather than
obsess about it. I would pay for this bad decision later.
I didn't stay long, the service was kind of spotty and the book wasn't very good, so I thought I'd better try to get out of there before I missed the seminar altogether.
The service was indeed spotty, but I knew why. The ladies that waited on my table were new to me. Previously I'd always been tended to by a young, very pregnant lady. She's quite good, so I assumed on this morning that she must be about to pop and these were fill-in's or newbies. This is a rather new place, so I excused that.
I paid up and jumped into my car. I knew the way to the glade, I'd been there several times.
Well, sort of. Actually I knew the way to both big preserved glades just outside of Hillsboro. Naturally I went to the wrong one first, I was having that kind of day. Valley View is managed by the Dept of Conservation, the other, Victoria, by the Nature Conservancy.

Valley View Glade

They look a lot alike but they are several miles apart. As soon as I realized my mistake, which was not soon at all, I turned around and sped (at a safe, legal speed) to the other one, I was now twenty minutes late to a two hour event.
There were several cars in the lot, something that doesn't happen often. Most of my hikes had been solitary, as if I had the 220+ acres to myself. I knew that I was in the right place this time by the number of cars and trucks. I couldn't see or hear anyone, but I knew the trail only went in two directions. I could see about a half mile down one direction, nothing, they must have gone the other way, along the tree line, toward the creek
It's all down hill from the parking lot. About halfway a big, colorful, probably poisonous insect jumped on me. I pulled and twisted at my polo shirt to rid myself of the toxic beastie. Then I noticed how big a hurry I had been getting out of the house. My shirt was on inside out. No wonder the people in the restaurant had stared at me like a hobo.
I looked around, could see no one. I could hear them in the distance though. So I immodestly flipped my shirt right side out and checked the pit area for deodorant traces. All good.

Professional Conservationists.

I continued down the hill about a quarter mile or so and came up on the small group of fifteen or so. Jennifer and Justin from the conservation department were already in deep with the flora and fauna details, I hadn't missed much. I'd studied up on that back during my hiking days. Low, colorful flowering grasses dotted the almost barren landscape. I even spotted some Fremont's Leather Leaf, about ready to bloom. This particular species of the small plant only grows in glades, and only around Jefferson county. It's not a brilliant or beautiful plant, even with its small, subtle lavender blooms. I just always thought it was cool that the things only existed here.
They soon started discussing management, burning, tree clearing, which nature used to take care of all by herself. Nowadays of course, if a wildfire starts up anywhere near houses, we throw legions of firefighters at the perfectly natural and ultimately environmentally necessary event.
By NOT allowing the burn off,  small trees can actually grow and create a canopy, which prevents indigenous plants from growing. Deer, turkey and probably Sasquatches and whatever else lurks in these barren environs thrive on those small buds, grasses and seeds. Some of the plants will not even sprout in the modest shade created by a single scraggly cedar.
I knew this as well to, but I enjoyed being around other folks that cared. Justin pointed to a small, thick

100 years old?

shrub, about ten feet tall and half that big around. It looked spindly and  puny. They said what it was, but I didn't write it down. I said I had researched the flora and fauna, not memorized it.
Anyway that puny, sickly looking tree, in Justin's estimation, was probably over a hundred years old. Things do grow in the hot, dry, thin-soiled glades, just not very quickly.
Jennifer said that we also would be discussing the woodland areas around the glade. So we walked downhill another quarter mile or so. My tummy started making noises. A bloaty, uncomfortable feeling came over me. The greasy potatoes were demanding their due.
There are no restroom facilities in the glades, unless you count nature itself.  It's one thing if you are alone, quite another when you are in a group. I had not planned well. The second half of the talk I was too biologically distracted to participate or pay attention much. As soon as one of the conservationists mentioned heading back, I took the lead.
All up hill.
On a loose and muddy path.
I reached the parking lot first and drove away as quickly as I could.
For most of the rest of the day that pile of greasy potatoes haunted me. I got home before noon and just 'relaxed' for a while.
I even tried to take a nap. I was almost asleep when my work phone chirped.
Oh yeah, on-call.
When my phone chirps on a weeknight or weekend on my turn in the on-call schedule, it's never just a friendly greeting.
I checked the cryptic, robot generated messages, another message came in, then another, then another. . .  Not good.
Our system, one of those who's job it is to monitor other systems, was spitting out a litany of complaints.
I'll not bore you with the technical details, other than to say the internal network was acting up. Our systems, and there are hundreds of them, all talk to one another. A diagram of the network paths would less resemble a road map than a huge bowl of spaghetti. When one of the several systems that keeps track of how to reach the other systems throws a fit, communication stalls, users panic, guys like me say b-bye to the rest of the day.
It was only 1:30 P.M. but I knew that I would not be going out for dinner as planned.
I told Angel as much, she was okay with that, her day was quite busy taking care of the fifteen dogs she'd taken in boarding and training. She's used to this, I've always been on an on-call schedule. She knows that an plan-killing IT event can and will occur at all hours, most of them unpleasant. We would either have take out or make something ourselves.
This was very, very disappointing this time since I'd planned all week to return to:
The Place:
Concord Grill.
We were just there a month back, on the day I upgraded cars. We thoroughly enjoyed it and I said as much

in that week's review. The owner, Deb, even contacted me saying some very nice things about the review.
On the restaurant's web page she had a note that she's always looking to expand her arsenal of burgers. I dutifully submitted a suggestion. In her note to me she'd said that they were going to work on mine and would let me know when it would be available. She contacted me again earlier this week, they were going to offer it as a Saturday special.
That is why we had planned to go back on this day.
I had recommended a Shrimp Alfredo Burger.
Don't gag, think about it.
Basically surf and turf, grilled shrimp on a beautifully cooked burger, with a thick, creamy, buttery cheese sauce topping. What's not to love?
But no, I couldn't go. I explained as much in a short note to Deb. I felt really bad, but such is the life of an on-call IT guy. IT administration has many rules, methods and guiding principles, the most commonly cited one is of course, Murphy's law. If a thing can go wrong, it will, especially, according to one of the many corollaries, at the most inopportune time.
It would have been good, probably outstanding. Concord Grill makes the best thick burgers in my broad reviewing area, by a long shot.
A while later, while I was watching the systems and waiting for the all-clear call from the network guys, Angel announced "Comfort food, we need comfort food!"
I knew exactly what she meant.
Back in olden days, in the 'salad days' (Which , ironically rarely, if ever, included a salad) we prepared and ate mostly heavy, starchy midwestern food. Meat, potatoes, bread, etc. Lots of potatoes.
Not anymore. We don't even keep potatoes in the house now. I love potatoes, really, really love potatoes, but for the past year I only have one or two servings per week, if that many, usually on Saturday, when we eat out. My main food problem has always been the starches. When the doctor showed me a chart and wagged his finger at me last year, I knew what I needed to do.
But this was Saturday night.

Angel made a list and headed out to Queens. We were pretty low on several things anyhow.
That evening I peeled four or five spuds then chopped them up into 1/4 inch, roughly, cubes. She heated up the oil, something else we don't have much of in our pantry anymore. I then sliced and diced part of an onion. Then I had to talk on the phone for a while to the tired and frantic network guys.
We used to make this meal a lot.
Fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, biscuits, bacon, maybe some ham, and definitely a big, thick, steamy pile of sausage gravy.
I knew the potatoes would be better than those that I'd had that morning, Angel knows what she's doing.
It worked, it all came together beautifully. The gravy, which out of newly acquired habit, I applied sparingly, going for the taste, not the quantity. The eggs were fluffy, the biscuits, canned, since neither of us makes biscuits from scratch often enough to be very good at it, were golden brown. The bacon was crispy and plentiful. We couldn't eat it all, but we knew that. This stuff reheats just fine on Sunday morning.
Summary:
The morning's meal was unfortunate. I know Farmer's Kitchen can do better than this. I'm counting on it. I will be back, probably in the next weekend or two. Out of a half dozen breakfasts there I've enjoyed them all just fine except for this one. I'll cut them some slack, this one time. I like that they are locally owned and so close to home. I want them to succeed. I know they can.
Concord Grill will be fine as well. I am truly disappointed that I was unable to go there this weekend. I had my review mostly, mentally, already written, the photos already framed.
Alas.
Home cooked comfort food is always a sure-fire hit. That's exactly why we can't have it very often. This stuff is all wrong nutritionally speaking, unless you are able to routinely burn off thousands of heavy calories per day. For some of us though, it's now a rare and precious treat.
I'm on call next weekend too, so, who knows.

Denny's

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

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

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

Caramel Coffee

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

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

Iced Coffee

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

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

Grand Slamwich

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

CF Steak, extra gravy.

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

Pancake Poppers, er, Puppies.

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

Huddle House

13002 Highway 21
Desoto, Mo
On the Wide World of Web

Angel's choice, Adam shrugged his shoulders at the suggestion, I grinned.
I like Huddle House, I even stop in occasionally when I have weekend business in the Fountain City.
Like I did that very morning. Sometimes it's just coffee, that morning I went full plate, 2 eggs, hash browns, bacon and toast. I even took my book in with me and enjoyed a brief respite from the arctic air blast our area had been under for a couple of days.

I'd done quite a bit of shivering and shoveling since then though, I didn't mind going back at all. besides, HH has stuff other than breakfast fare.
The Place:
It wasn't very crowded, the ample, red-shirted staff was bustling, the half dozen, family filled tables were chowing down, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.
We were told to seat ourselves and we did, sort of in the middle of things at a table. The massive menus were in their place at the side. I passed them around while our server asked about drinks, tea, sweet tea and Pepsi. She offered to serve our tea with lemon, we said sure.
I looked at the non-breakfast items but the sandwiches sounded too bread-y, and other than the chicken fried steak, nothing jumped out at me. In the end I decided on the Philly Cheese Steak omelette. Kind of breakfasty, kind of not.
Our drinks were delivered and the server asked if we needed another minute to decide, I said "Yeah give us a couple of minutes."
She stepped away and disappeared for over ten minutes. Behind the counter seven or eight staff members chatted and chuckled, they indeed seemed to be enjoying themselves not serving us.
In the meantime we'd all decided and were waiting patiently. I noticed the Christmas tree, a cheap, modest thing, but tasteful. Under it were two Piso Mojado (Wet Floor) signs, the big yellow ones you see in restrooms. Somebody was going to be a little disappointed on Christmas morning.
Finally our server showed up and immediately apologized, she said she been pull aside. More on this later.
We placed our orders.
Me: Phiily Cheese Steak Omelette, hash browns(with cheddar cheese) and wheat toast.
Angel: Prime Rib Tip Stuffed Hash Browns, withe a side of gravy and raisin toast.
Adam: French Toast Platter with bacon and two scrambled eggs.
As we waited Adam and Angel played mahjong on her smart-ass phone. I listened to the music. Country Music. I've said before that I don't care for country music, but I knew what the alternative would be, Christmas music. If there is one thing I dislike more than country music it's that. So I sighed in futility and resigned myself to the brutal aural assault.
The Food:
It was delivered in good time. It was quite pretty, as pretty as the pictures in the menu.

Philly Cheese Steak Omelette

The only problem I could see was the cheese on the hash browns. I could tell it had melted, then hardened, turning the browns into a singular entity. I could tell the browns were well made though, golden brown charred ends meant they'd been allowed to become crispy. The omelette was fresh, bright and fluffy. The toast was. . .  toast.
Our server was pleased to see me snapping the pictures, she even said she was. "I like it when people take pictures of our food, it usually means they like what they see."
I carved up the hash brown brick before it hardened any more. I also carved up half the omelette, juicy thin meat, peppers and onions spilled out. Mmmm, it looked good. The table went quiet as we devoured.

Stuffed Hash Browns

Angel handed me a chunk of her rib tip, it too was juicy and tender. Adam offered up some of his French toast, but he'd already put syrup on it, ruining it for me.It was very pretty though.

French Toast

There were absolutely no complaints from around the table. Well, I had one, but it wasn't worth making a big deal out of. It was, of course, the tea. Cloudy, weak, almost bitter. A minus three if I were to be generous. They make a very good cup of coffee, but somehow the advanced chemistry required to make ice tea was too much for them. A common problem.
Summary:
Very good food, simple, fresh, well prepared. None of it was especially complicated but it was all very good. The service.
Ah, the service.
If you are a regular reader then you know I've ranted a few times about service issues. I've been reading some books by Anthony Bourdain and feel emboldened pointing this stuff out.
I can make breakfast stuff. Omelettes, hash browns, bacon, eggs, even a pretty mean waffle. I don't need to go to HH or the Waffle House, or anywhere else, to enjoy a good breakfast any time of day. When I go out to eat I want to be fed good food, that's a given, but I also want it served. The food industry is, after all, a service industry.
That our server was pulled aside was a little troubling. More so since I knew what she was doing instead of taking our order. She was washing dishes. I saw her. If what she said was true, that she'd been pulled aside to do that while active tables awaited, then we have a problem. There were a lot of staff people there, there were not that many customers. I assume it was the manager that pulled her aside, so it makes me wonder what he/she was thinking.
To pull someone out of the front to help out is certainly normal business, but while they've got active tables in progress?  There was no hand-off, no notice, she'd simply disappeared from our perspective.
It's a small thing but a telling thing. If this was a management call, it was fumbled. Nobody died, nobody got rushed to the hospital, but the obvious message was that we were less important to the business than that stack of dirty dishes.
Like I said though I like HH. The servers are always friendly and polite and eager to please. I only ask that management think about this particular incident and evaluate its priorities.
The bill came to a modest twenty nine dollars, less than ten bucks per meal. Certainly  reasonable for very good, well made food.
I'll definitely go back, I really like this place.

Note to loyal fans:
Next weekend Angel is heading down to Springfield for an early holiday celebration with her family. Also, I'm on call that weekend. What that means is that I'm not sure there will be a review next week, so don't call 9-1-1 if nothing posts.

Huddle House

13002 Highway 21
DeSoto, Mo.


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

What I wanted

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

What I got

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

Huddle House

13002 Hwy 21
Desoto Mo.

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

Stuffed Hash Browns

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

Country fried steak, with sides

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

Waffle

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