Courtesy of tripadvisor.com
For the most part, I pass on spending my money with chains, whether that means buying music, dish towels, or tires. This means, though, that a decent chunk of the world’s restaurants have been semi-unknown to me, though you can often guess what a place is about from the usual indicators: the cut of the servers’ tops, the radio stations they advertise on, even the logo.
With a shift to a vegan regimen upcoming, I decided to hit a handful of chain restaurant/bars around the St. Louis region, all of them outside of my usual stomping grounds. The results were somewhat as anticipated, really. No dining critic, I’ll let the moments of food intake pretty much go by without comment; that’s probably for the best in most cases, as the meals at some suburban chains are a clear third choice for why you’re there. But the drinking experience, I can cover.
My guess is that in most of cases, these were my first and possibly my last and only visits to these spots, so here’s a recap. In chronological order. (And, for those concerned, I also visited Sasha’s on Shaw and JJ’s Clubhouse for first-time visits during the same timespan. That, folks, is called “having range.”)
HotShots Sports Bar & Grill
14051 Manchester
636-230-8806, hotshotsnet.com
A couple weeks back, this space detailed a visit to Zombie Road, which was a little less intense than anticipated. The walk, though, was a lot longer than planned; sustenance was desired on the long ride home. Turns out the HotShots was the closest chain and it was pretty much a nuthouse, in terms of pure volume and general buzz. A Missouri football game was dominating most TVs, with the PA’s sound dedicated to that game, the eventual, last-second loss to South Carolina. Visually, though, a lot of other stuff was happening; more games were on TV, darts were being thrown, cooks ran around the kitchen.
The mood, though, was probably not as active as it would be later, as the World Series-bound Cardinals were set to take over the room’s attention within an hour, or so, of our arrival. And on a pre-Halloween weekend, there was also a touch of holiday action; a group of 10, or so, 20-somethings walked in wearing full costumes, quickly fortifying themselves with buckets of beer. The venue, overall, was bigger than expected, with a large, U-shaped bar offering the best chance to witness all the goings-on.
There with noted Salt Lake City hip-hop researcher Munny-B, we requested “blue drinks” and our upbeat, energetic bartender suggested an “Adios MF.” She was a little unclear on all the ingredients, but once she got working on it the drink came out plenty blue, armed with serious fruitiness. As people around us sipped on Bud longnecks, yelling at TVs, we figured that we’d caught the place in pretty standard operating mode. Our meals aside, the downing of two Adios MF’s were enjoyed, just enough inspiration for a long ride back to the City.
Joe’s Crab Shack
51 Ludwig, Fairview Heights, Ill.
618-398-9993, joescrabshack.com
Located just across the street from one of the region’s remaining discount movie houses, the St. Clair 10, Joe’s Crab Shack beckons with colorful signage and that modified, roadside diner vibe that a variety of chains tend to strike. Of course, affordable seafood’s also part of the pitch, and we ordered the sampler platter of fried delights just for kicks. Topped, perhaps not smartly, by hurricanes.
Priced at $2, the hurricane option seemed a perfectly reasonable drinking option, even after having had a dinner, of sorts, followed by a plate of battered fish-and-such. The hurricanes were served up with the kind of zing you might get from a liquidized version of SweeTarts, even leaving a bit of that “red smile” on the lips, there with each few sips. After two of these charmers and the majority of a plate of a fried foods, the need for anything more on the evening was completely sated.
The vibe of this visit was “Tuesday night chill,” with a small handful of the bartenders’ friends enjoying themselves, as they planned out a biker bonfire party; this was a big event and they discussed their attire, their rides, their need for shifts off, the works. It was an entertaining eavesdropping experience. And maybe the best part of the trip.
Bandana’s
4608 N. Illinois, Fairview Heights, Ill
618-222-2060, bandanasbbq.com
While the visit to Joe’s Crab Shack was a stand-alone event, with no chaser, the visit to Fairview Heights revealed that virtually every chain with a presence in the Midwest was located along Route 159 and its offshoot roads. This trip to Bandana’s was unscheduled, the result of completely bypassing the intended target, Show-Me’s. Bandana’s seemed a good spot to unwind after being lost for a bit; the extra inducement to go in was Game Six of the World Series, which was playing to a mostly empty restaurant.
The Bandana’s bar was small, just a couple barstools across. The sense gotten was this is the type of place where you sit while waiting for takeout, rather than making a night of it. Sitting with me was another solo drinker; we commiserated as Boston’s Shane Victorino essentially ended the Cards’ season with an early-game blast off of the Green Monster. My single Blue Moon was now being tossed back at double speed, the game all but determined.
Off to one side, a military group met in a banquet room. Managers were shutting down the dining room while taking some phone orders. My bartender couldn’t offer me a drink; she was underage. But she was able to take my $6.62 for the draft beer, a bit more than expected. Sometimes, you roll into a mistake and go with it, the kismet working for you. This time out, it didn’t. Unable to find my proverbial “place” in this micro-world, I headed back out onto the teeming 159 for the final destination of the Fairview Heights trilogy.
Show-Me’s Restaurant & Bar
200 Lincoln Hwy., Fairview Heights, Ill.
618-628-1625, showmes.com
If the Cards had cast a negative vibe on Bandana’s, where the few customers were audibly sighing with every stranded baserunner and strikeout, the mood at this locale of Show-Me’s was bordering on surly. Walking up to the bar, I was shooshed away, banned to the next row of tables, due to drinkers who would never, ever return to the bar during my 45-minute stay. Oh, well. Even from 10 feet away, I was able to hear the bartender, a saucy lass with a shock of red-dyed hair and a tongue that knew its way around a variety of words unspoken in church. Listening to her, if nothing else, was vaguely entertaining.
The game, though, was not. Lance Lynn came in, was promptly lit up, and now the mood was turning positively hostile. The TVs were cursed by all in between bites of wings and sips of Bud. The bartender’s curse meter spiked into the red. I ate my fries, nipped at my second Blue Moon of the night, and kept an eye on the exit.
I’d always assumed that Show-Me’s, a midwestern chain, had the same feel and approach of Hooter’s. And, yo!, that’s exactly what I found. Sometimes, the journey’s about the destination; sometimes, it’s about the journey. If there’s a mom-and-pop restaurant in Fairview Heights worth a visit, someone let know. I’m there.
Buffalo Wild Wings Grill & Bar
1244 S. Kirkwood
314-821-9464, buffalowildwings.com
From the outside, this location of B-Dubs doesn’t seem the size of an aircraft carrier. But on the inside, it’s got the feel of one. This place is huge! And it’s loud, especially on an NFL Sunday, when all the late afternoon games are being broadcast on the wall behind the bar (as well as most others). A single, solitary Raiders fan wailed and moaned as his team was being disassembled by Philadelphia; the tragedy in his voice almost filled the restaurant, as did his joy when Oakland scored a garbage time TD.
On Sundays, football is king at Buffalo Wild Wings, not surprising when you consider the amount of ad dollars they pour into sports programming. Interestingly, the bar at this spot was relatively light in attendance; the biggest bubble of attendees were actually families, five and six kids deep, huddled around big tables in the expansive, main dining room. A small squadron of young women, aged 21-24, buzzed throughout the space, clad in Rams gear, all of them named a version of Katie.
It’s possible that by this point in the week-and-change chain experience, my defenses were starting to crack. My last bit of seafood for a while would wind up being the fish tacos at Buffalo Wild Wings, eaten while watching the Patriots run up the score on the Steelers. Well, that was different! An utterly mundane scene to some, no doubt, rare and exotic to me. Maybe I’ll enjoy the same in a few years when the novelty’s returned.
