It’s your choice entirely, of course. You’ve got a Saturday afternoon stretching in front of you like a ribbon of gently flowing river made for a lazy float, interrupted only by a few stops to take care of the usual weekend shopping chores.
Let’s see, what’s on the gatherer list this fine day? Hmm. Need to get:
• Fifty pounds of peanuts. In the shell.
• A heavy duty No. 1 wire muskrat fur stretcher. (Note: Not the No. 5, which is for raccoon, which you got last time you were shopping because you got distracted and didn’t have your list with you. It’ll be a while before you live that one down.)
• A goat halter.
OK, doable, definitely doable. But it’s going to eat up a whole lot of that lovely Saturday afternoon steering yourself all over creation to check off such a list.
Or you can just go to Rural King.
We became enchanted with Rural King many years ago, when we were traveling to Waterloo, Illinois, to check out the wonderful JFires' Market Bistro. The trip took less time than we expected, and Rural King was right across the street from the restaurant. With time to kill, we investigated.
The first thing we spotted was a big poster board. We knew from the messages that this was some kind of special place. There were ads, mostly hand-written, for alfalfa, used tractor parts, “hand-dugged garlic,” and services like horseshoeing and “shoat ringing.” We are accustomed to shopping in places with ad boards offering services for babysitting or piano lessons. We had not recently shopped in any store that advertised offers for shoat ringing.
Think of Rural King as a shopping mall devoted entirely to country and farm life. It has pretty much everything you would ever need if your address was somewhere on Walton’s Mountain.
A couple years ago, we were talking with some people who live near Wentzville, complaining about the fact that we in St. Louis County do not have any Rural Kings close by. A woman from Troy asked if we’d ever tried Rural King’s tortilla chips.
“Come on,” we said. “You’re joshing us.”
We were sure she was playing us as gullible, big-city simpleton. After all, we’d wandered the aisles of Rural King on more than one occasion. We knew there were some fairly remarkable things for sale there. Right next to the counters is a popcorn machine where you can help yourself; it sort of sets the stage for what awaits you. Rural King is entertainment.
We’ve seen the underwire Mossy Oak camouflaged Wilderness Dream bras (for $17.98, though matching panties will set you back $11.99. But can you really put a price on quality, camouflaged undergarments?)
We’ve seen—and been tempted to buy—Rural King’s Simone Chickenbone Chicken Poop Lip Junk Balm, which to our relief, upon inspecting the tube, is made of avocado oil, jojoba, lavender oils, and beeswax. It guarantees a “smooth application and therapeutic aroma.”
Then there was the submersible stock tank deicer that we contemplated buying just because it seemed like something you’d want around.
But tortilla chips? On our next visit, we set out to find them.
It’s easy to get distracted at Rural King. You’re searching for tortilla chips, and all of a sudden there’s a chicken swing. (If you have visited a Rural King and not said to yourself at least once, “This must be a joke,” you have not looked long enough.)
Cowbells. Need more? They have ya covered, with five different models.
And sure, you’ve got calf pullers. Hell, who doesn’t these days? But do you have ratchet-style calf pullers? Rural King can take care of that need, my friend.
We had come across a whole range of poultry products from the Coop ‘n Compost company, including a bottle of coop odor neutralizer, and we were contemplating picking it up because this time of year the ol’ coop starts getting a little, you know, stuffy.
Then we looked up, and there they were: tortilla chips, El Milagro brand.
Holy cow, are they good, just lightly dusted with sal de mar. They're crispy and thin enough to have a beautiful, light crackly crunch but thick enough to provide shovel support for any kind of dip or salsa. This being Rural King, which doesn’t do anything in a small way, they come in a box the size of a 50-pound Champion’s Choice Trace Mineral Salt Block (a total steal, by the way, at $5.99).
If you think this might be a few more chips than even your family—and your whole block—can consume at any one time, rest assured the bag is closeable. We were serving these chips for about six months, and they never got even the slightest bit stale. And the same price as that trace mineral block: $5.99.
Think about it. For less than $12, you can walk out of one place with a 50-pound block of mineral salts and enough delicious tortilla chips as tasty—even better—than most local Mexican eateries—to last you from your Super Bowl party until your Fourth of July soirée.
The baled bags of peanut shells, the muskrat fur stretcher, and the goat halter, of course, are going to cost you a little more.
740 N. Market, Waterloo, Illinois
618-939-0011
Hours: 7 a.m.–9 p.m.
