Photographs by Katherine Bish
It’s summer. Time to pack up the roadster and follow that rambling ribbon of asphalt. And though you might not want us plotting your course—did we ever tell you about the time we went looking for a friend’s ancestral home in Ste. Genevieve and ended up on the wrong side of the Mississippi?—if we were along for the trip, here’s where we’d take you for a bite to eat.
Old Brick House
Ste. Genevieve is crawling with history—the French actually come here to study it—and we don’t make nearly as big a deal out of the place as we should. But far and away the best reason for eating in Ste. Genevieve is the liver spätzle at the Old Brick House. “Old” here is literal—this is the oldest brick home west of the Mississippi. For decades it’s been a family-style restaurant. There’s a regular menu, with salty country ham and prime rib and steaks. The sandwiches are excellent. The draw, though, is a Sunday buffet. Mounds of fried chicken, the skin crackly and crisp, are at the center of things. Sides—green beans, mashed potatoes, fresh steamed vegetables, hot rolls—all make a meal here feel like dinner at Grandma’s, minus all the glass knickknacks you can’t play with afterward. Chances are, though, Grandma never made liver spätzle, little dough-buds of tastiness, boiled to steamy perfection, piled on a plate, begging to be blanketed in rich gravy. The liver taste isn’t overwhelming; there’s just enough to give the spätzle a pleasant earthiness. If it’s possible to eat too many of these, made by the expert kitchen at the Old Brick House, we haven’t found out how.
90 S. Third, Ste. Genevieve, Mo., 573-883-2724
Arthur Bryant’s
There isn’t much in life that lives up to its hype, except for maybe Linda Ronstadt’s Greatest Hits, Super Glue and Arthur Bryant’s. Celebrated by Calvin Trillin as the best restaurant in the world, it is actually damned close, beaten only by Woodman’s of Essex, in Massachusetts, and Calarco’s Restaurant, in Westfield, N.Y. Forget Texas, North Carolina and Memphis: Kansas City’s Arthur Bryant’s is the sun of the BBQ universe. The rusty-red, smoky, gritty, vinegary sauce is as unforgettable as your first love, but it’s the meat—slabs of brisket, pink slices of ham, ribs that would feed the Flintstones—that will cause you to awaken in the middle of the night, thinking, “It’s only 200 miles away, not that far to go for dinner.” Here, a beef-and-pork combo sandwich with fries and a cup of red cream soda is among the earth’s most transcendent eating experiences. Baked beans are chunky with bits of roasty pork. Formica-topped tables, plastic plates and flimsy dinnerware give the place that tony atmosphere that can only be matched in a correctional facility. Service is, uh, casual. Line up at the counter and give your order to one of the aproned magicians, who will conjure up glistening racks of ribs and layers of pork or beef—all perfumed with smoke from those glowing ovens—and plop them on Bunny Bread. The barbecue here is ethereal, but a lot of AB’s charm comes from the cross-section of customers. Blue jeans mingle with Armani suits, and tourists and locals from every stratum of society—including a few you never guessed existed outside a William Burroughs novel—know what you do now: Arthur Bryant’s is worth the trip, no matter how far you have to go to get there.
1727 Brooklyn, Kansas City, Mo., 816-231-1123, arthurbryantsbbq.com
The Vineyards
Our nominee for “Worst-Luck Town in the Country” has always been Weston, Mo. Lewis and Clark raved about the soil and scenery, and settlers came running. By the early 19th century, only St. Louis was larger in the state. A bend in the Missouri River made a natural harbor, and hundreds of riverboats docked there. Then, just after the Civil War, a flood altered the river’s course. Ports two miles from the water tend not to flourish. Weston shrank but hung tough—and in the past two decades it’s emerged as one of the state’s most enjoyable destinations. Home of the oldest continuously operating whiskey distillery in the country, Weston has streets filled with gift and antiques shops, bed-and-breakfasts and spectacular antebellum homes. Only 25 miles north of Kansas City, there are few places more relaxing or romantic for a weekend stay. While you’re there, try The Vineyards. It’s a thoroughly upscale linens-and-candlelight place with a menu full of tempting options: Sautéed medallions of veal get bathed in a Marsala sauce chunky with shrimp and chanterelles. A sauce of caramelized apples, onions and fennel is drizzled over thick French-cut pork chops. Fat, sweet blackberries play off the smoky richness of a duck breast. Puff pastry swaddles a chicken breast stuffed with artichokes and red peppers. And desserts—among them a white-chocolate crème brûlée and a chocolate, walnut and pecan torte—and a wine list featuring vintages from the local Pirtle Winery make this one of the best restaurants in the state.
505 Spring, Weston, Mo., 816-640-5588, thevineyardsrestaurant.com
Didley’s Car Hop
For Mallory, it was the summit of Everest that beckoned him to his personal destiny. For Roebling, it was a suspension span across the East River. For Bob Kennel, it was roller-skating carhops. Fueled by a passion for the ’50s, Kennel built a monument to the Eisenhower-era drive-in on a few acres of soybean field 30 minutes east of Peoria that were withering in the big drought of ’95. The skates are inline now, but otherwise it’s a nostalgic trip back to the time of polio scares, the threat of nuclear holocaust—and really fabulous milkshakes, served right in your car! Along with the shakes (and malts and sundaes and floats), it’s burgers, chili-cheese dogs and onion rings—all the drive-in faves. 1919 Draft Root Beer, the world’s best, is served here. The grape float is a local legend. The other side of Peoria might seem a tad far to go for an old-fashioned tamale slathered in chili and cheese, but food’s only part of the draw. Didley’s has its own miniature golf course and an outdoor theater, along with weekend hot-rod exhibitions in the parking lot. The place has become a gathering spot for the community and is starting to get nationwide acclaim. So get there early, order your corn dog and frosty mug of 1919 and get a good parking spot, ’cause as soon as the moon rises, it’s your only chance, outside of the Sundance Film Festival, to see Chainsaw Cheerleaders.
920 N. Niles, Metamora, Ill., 309-367-2108, didleys.com
Kyoto
Here’s the story: The mother of a professor at the University of Missouri–Rolla leaves Osaka to come live with him. She gets restless, opens a Japanese restaurant. The chances of a Japanese restaurant succeeding in Rolla are, one suspects, about the same as those of an “everything’s a buck” place on Rodeo Drive. But it works—so well that within a few years, they open a new and bigger place. It is consistently packed. And in a town where the best-known restaurant’s called The Feed Lot, locals are eating slices of raw yellowtail, grilled eel and delicate ohitashi spinach at Kyoto. There are a couple of nods to the neophyte: Stars on the menu indicate items that are “fully cooked.” And there’s a note that when you order sashimi, you do so with the expectation it’ll be really, really rare. Otherwise Kyoto could be located in any cosmopolitan city in the country, with a range of Japanese cuisine: mackerel flanks salted and roasted until the skin crisps and oozes its luscious oils, light and crunchy tempura. Nobody’s going to confuse Rolla with Shitamachi, but the sushi is creditable, the rice expertly prepared, the toppings numerous, fresh and attractively presented. The staff didn’t think our suggestion of catfish sashimi was funny—no one else does, either—but when we asked for the Osaka take on noodle-soup broth, it came from the kitchen light, sweet and briny with kelp, just as it should have. It’s as close as you can get to Kansai without leaving the Ozarks.
1002 N. Bishop, Rolla, Mo., 573-341-2939
New York Pizzeria
You’ve got the kid off at college in Springfield, Mo. It’s far enough to give him some much-needed experience in independence, close enough to pop in for the weekend to see just what he’s up to and with whom he is—this semester at least—cohabiting. Springfield, gateway to Branson and Andy Williams’ Moon River Theatre, has about 869 restaurants, approximately two-thirds of which are devoted to Springfield-style cashew chicken, which is another story in itself. The product of the New York Pizzeria there, though, is a brawny, eat-off-the-paper-plate slice of heaven, Brooklyn-style. This is the real thing: crunchy, lightly charred crust; glossy gossamer layer of tomato sauce; and, as God intended, firm, luscious, toasty-brown mozzarella. The only elements in the place that are cheesier than the pizza are the framed paeans to Italian-American cinematic gangsters hanging on the walls. Toppings are an afterthought with pizza this good, but try the fresh tomato-and-garlic pie, a near-perfect combination of flavors. Pay a visit to this gem when you’re in Springfield, and you’ll have another reason to go back to that town more often—aside from the fact that your little collegiate scholar there has now proposed to “drift on pre-med for a while” and play backup harmonica in a band called the Patricidal Junkies.
3624 E. Sunshine, Springfield, Mo., 417-799-0992
Lambert’s
If you’ve traveled more than 20 miles on any highway in Missouri, you have been alerted to the possibility of “throwed rolls.” Improper grammar aside, Lambert’s, “Home of Throwed Rolls,” is, like the Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls and a night in the Cook County Jail, something you need to experience at least once. Lambert’s—the original’s in Sikeston, and its offspring are found in Ozark, Mo., and Foley, Ala., near Gulf Shores—is home cooking, old-fashioned road food presented in country-corny style. The interior is a salute to hillbilly kitsch, furnished in an early–Hee Haw motif. Nobody comes for the atmosphere, though. We want to see what the hell throwed rolls are. The menu’s simple but mouthwatering: chicken and dumplings, fried catfish fillets, ribeye steak, liver and onions and barbecued pork steaks (from a “real nice ole hog”), sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, sliced beets, fried apples and greens. As you eat, servers come by with big buckets of black-eyed peas, fried okra and fried onions and potatoes, ladling them out until you beg them to stop. So what about the rolls? They are thrown. Hard. Servers wing these big, hot, yeasty beauties as if Pujols were at the table and ready to swing for the fences. It’s amazing, and it gives a whole new meaning to “fast food.” Catch one, and you’ve got fresh apple butter and warm sorghum to spread on it. The folks from Michelin aren’t going to be debating the number of stars for Lambert’s, but for home cooking and a chance to see inattentive diners get beaned with the bread course, it’s a tough place to beat.
2305 E. Malone, Sikeston, Mo., 573-471-7563
Z Bistro
Like you, we’ve often been driving across the lush and enchanted land of dreams that is middle Illinois and found ourselves thinking, “Why, this trip would be absolutely perfect if only we could have a good fondue.” Unlike yours, our trip ends up being perfect, because we know about Z Bistro, “Central Illinois’ Only Fondue Dining Experience.” Founded by Springfield’s own Abraham Lincoln—that’s what someone told us, anyway—Z Bistro is an ordinary sandwich shop by day, but by night it is transformed into a classic dunk-and-dine fondue palace. Cheese—either Gruyère and Swiss with just a hint of cherry brandy or cheddar—and hot oil are delivered to your table, complete with platters of the dippable: beef, scallops and shrimp, accompanied by vegetables and chunky cubes of French bread. For dessert there’s another pot, filled with melted caramel or chocolate spiked with a splash of orange liqueur to receive slices of fruit and pound cake. For those who have had fondue before, it probably isn’t worth driving all the way to Springfield to get it. But sooner or later, you will be there—maybe as a chaperone on your child’s field trip to the Lincoln Museum (“Kids, did you know that Lincoln was not only among our greatest presidents, but also a big fan of fondue?”). And while the less-informed are dining at some lousy chain, you’ll be swirling meat in crackling oil, dipping mushrooms into a creamy pot of cheese and thanking us. You’re welcome.
220 S. Sixth, Springfield, Ill., 217-522-4049
Starved Rock Lodge
You’ll find several interesting diversions at Starved Rock State Park, but starving won’t be among them. The lodge here is in the middle of nowhere—and if you’ve been to northern Illinois, you know just how nowhere that can be. It is also utterly grand, probably the closest the Midwest has to the great lodges of the Adirondacks. The architecture is all log and timber-frame, from the 72 rooms in the lodge to a couple dozen separate cabins. You could fit our editor’s office in the foyer’s fireplace. Miles of hiking trails lead through bizarre sandstone canyons, and you’ll need the exercise to work off the blandishments of the lodge’s dining room. Local specialties are exceptional—a pair of roasted quail stuffed with corn bread and kielbasa, sautéed walleye fillet, buttermilk-fried chicken, wild mushrooms and smoked pheasant—but the Sunday buffet makes a stay here a dining extravaganza. The spread is opulent, with carving, waffle and omelet stations and a 12-foot table of desserts. Chicago’s only about 60 miles away, and natives there book reservations at Starved Rock a year in advance. Score a weekend here and sample that incredible Sunday buffet, and you’ll see why.
Routes 178 & 71, Utica, Ill., 815-667-4211, starvedrocklodge.com
Shapiro’s Deli
Exit I-70 in the heart of Indianapolis and you’re mere blocks away from the best deli in the Midwest and certainly the best reason to go to Indiana. Shapiro’s has been feeding hungry Hoosiers (amusingly, they take no offense to this moniker) since 1905. Louis Shapiro’s grandfather supplied food to the czar’s navy, but by the beginning of the century, Russia wasn’t exactly Six Flags for Jews. So Louis immigrated, landing in Indianapolis. The rest is history, and his descendants are still running the place. Egg-and-onion buns, kaiser rolls—the bread alone makes this a dining destination. Fragrant, steaming piles of corned beef and pastrami are loaded on house-made rye in proportions that make those of famed Carnegie Deli in NYC look like a dieter’s special. There are sardine sandwiches, short ribs, meatloaf and stuffed cabbage, potato pancakes and German potato salad. A corned-beef omelet with home fries and enormous bricks of toasted sourdough makes for a breakfast that’ll get you to Pennsylvania before you think about eating again. And desserts—from Arlene’s carrot cake to Ann’s strawberry cheesecake—are just the finish needed to transform a meal here into a full-blown cardiac event.
808 S. Meridian, Indianapolis, 317-631-3958, shapiros.com
The Pear Tree
Sure, to you Bevier is just a “kinda on the way to Kirksville” little town. Ask any of the coal miners you know, however, and they’ll tell you that it was once the biggest and busiest coal-mining camp in the state. Things have cooled off since those days of bituminous bounty. Bevier is one of hundreds of tiny burgs all over the state where the living is blessedly slow, but among Midwestern dining cognoscenti it’s a special place. It is home of The Pear Tree, often cited as the favorite restaurant of Missourians. The attraction here is—well, let’s put it this way: They don’t give out the Missouri Beef Backer Award to many vegan joints. A month-long in-house aging process (wet and dry) produces incredible, juicy, grilled filets, Kansas City strips and meaty chunks of prime rib. It’s a shrine to bovine-based protein, but there are other offerings. From fried lobster tails and broiled roughy to baked salmon, The Pear Tree has the best fish and seafood selection in any town with the same number of residents as Katie Couric has viewers. Sautéed Dijonnaise mushrooms, onion-fried potatoes and a towering stack of onion rings are necessities for the full experience. And don’t forget the turtle pie, Key-lime pie or chocolate éclair for two. Nobody leaves The Pear Tree—where they regularly feed more than 400 on a weekend night—hungry.
222 N. Macon, Bevier, Mo., 660-773-6666, thepeartreerestaurant.com
Mary Lou’s Grill
Boy, remember all those leisurely break-fasts during your college years? Stacks of flapjacks, crispy bacon and biscuits and gravy at the cozy, just-off-campus diner that served bottomless cups of coffee for us undergrads who started the day debating Kant’s epistemology? We don’t, either. We spent breakfast money on that six-pound Modern American Lit text, only the first of many poor financial decisions. Thanks to Mary Lou’s Grill, in Carbondale, Ill., though, you can re-create those heady, romantic college days. Mary Lou and her husband opened the original grill, just off Southern Illinois University’s Carbondale campus, in 1962, and except for a change of location in ’76, things are still the same: The biscuits are as fluffy-light as Sean Penn’s political thoughts; milk gravy flows like white, pepper-speckled lava; plump brown links of sausage and strips of bacon come out of the kitchen still sizzling on the plate; and crunchy hash browns are served in haystack heaps. Coffee is always, just like a summer’s drive across Illinois, hot and endless. This place is a Carbondale institution. (Several SIU students have actually majored in Mary Lou’s coconut pie.) Mary Lou died last year after running the place for more than 40 years; her descendants have promised to keep it all just as it was, right down to the picture of Tony Orlando that shares wall space with photos of half of the population of Illinois.
114 S. Illinois, Carbondale, Ill., 618-457-5084
