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Tio Wally Eats America: Mr. Fuel

I’m happy to have Tio Wally (long-time Me So Hungry reader) aboard to send in his eating adventures from across America. Here he is in Foristell, Missouri.

Greetings from Foristell, Missouri
N 38° 49.093’ W 090° 57.262’ Elev. 667 ft.

I was sailing east on I-70 near St. Louis, Missouri one day and wanted a cup of coffee. Knowing I had to stop before I got into “town,” I ended up at Mr. Fuel.

I went into Mr. Fuel for the caffeine but I came out with one of the best Meat Loaf sandwiches I’d ever had. I’d love to show you a picture of it but this happened BC (Before Camera).

Mr. Fuel is a small chain of truck stops. I would tell you more about them but I’ve only been to this one (11 Highway W, Foristell, MO; I-70 Exit 203) and the one in Pevely (south of St. Louis). It turns out that Mr. Fuels have nice little delis inside. And every month Mr. Fuel features one hell of a sandwich special for $2.99. (Mr. Sandwich?) The special consists of a very respectable sandwich, a small bag of chips and a 32-ounce fountain drink; curiously, you can get iced tea but not coffee with the special.

For the month of March Mr. Fuel’s Mr. Sandwich is a Rueben. In Foristell it was made up of really great, high-quality Pastrami, Swiss cheese and sauerkraut, served warm on a really decent, thick-sliced rye bread. When I was here before the sandwich special came with a bag of Lay’s potato chips. This time, however, they were giving away Uncle Ray’s brand chips, which, according to the package, are “Beyond Good!” They’re “Not bad.”

A couple of weeks later I ran across the Mr. Fuel in Pevely. I stopped to get a couple of Mr. Rueben Sandwiches and was surprised; they were making the Rueben with Corned Beef. Personally, I think the Pastrami is more fun but, hey, it’s all good. But the Pevely Mr. Fuel also bummed me out. They were selling Sloppy Joe’s on Tuesdays for 79¢! I was there on a Wednesday, of course.

Another great thing about Mr. Fuel’s Mr. Sandwich special is that they will dress it up anyway you like for free, with the exception of adding cheese which costs 50¢, I think. Moreover, they have real lettuce — Green Leaf! For the Mr. Rueben Mr. Sandwich I just had them add 1,000 Island Dressing.

Mr. Fuel’s Mr. Sandwiches are so good and such a great deal that I’ve actually taken to calling them if I’m passing by to find out what that month’s Mr. Sandwich special is. Seriously. For the ridiculously low price of $2.99 you simply can’t possibly go wrong. Did I mention Mr. Fuel’s Mr. Sandwiches are delicious?

By the way, I apologize for not getting a proper picture of the Foristell Mr. Fuel, but there were too many damn semi-trucks in the way. Gawd how I hate ‘em! Those damn trucks are always getting in my way, taking up my road, parking in my space, screwing up my photographic efforts, and on and on. Freakin’ trucks!

And so we roll.

Mr. Fuel, locations in Foristell, Villa Ridge and Pevely, Missouri; Indianapolis, IN; Girard, OH; and Ruther Glen, VA (and possibly elsewhere).

Tio Wally pilots the 75-foot, 40-ton(max) land yacht SS Me So Hungry. He reports on road food from around the country whenever parking and InterTube connections permit.

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tio wally travel

Tio Wally Eats America: Arbuckle Mountain Fried Pies

I’m happy to have Tio Wally (long-time Me So Hungry reader) aboard to send in his eating adventures from across America. Here he is in Davis, Oklahoma.

Greetings from Davis, Oklahoma
N 34° 26.851’ W 097° 08.123’ Elev. 815 ft.

There is a great, great band called The String Cheese Incident. I want to recommend that you experience them instead of experiencing what I’m calling: The Fried Pie Disaster.

I was on my way to a pathetic, fetid little burg in Texas called Houston, a truly odious swamp of a place with no redeeming qualities. Indeed, it is one of those places that is in much need of — deserves! — a massive petrochemical explosion that would, if all went well, leave no trace that it ever existed. But that’s just my humble, yet well-reasoned, opinion.

Although there’s a Flying Fishhook (Flying J truck stop) there that sells tasty meat Fried Pies (2/$3), that alone should in no way be construed as a redeeming quality nor a reason to prevent or diminish the aforementioned explosion. Jeezus, it’s freakin’ Houston for cris’sake.

Having had the fried pies at the Flying Fishhook, I was wanting to try some from a real fried pie place.

On the way to There-Is-No-There-There I stopped for coffee in Fairfield, Texas. Across the street was a place called Cooper Farms (Exit 198, I-45 & Hwy. 27) that advertised Fried Pies. I walked over hoping to get a meat fried pie, but they didn’t make them. I did, however, buy a Coconut Fried Pie ($3.50); I love coconut cream pie and figured it would be similar. How could I go wrong? Well, by leaving it on the passenger seat until it molded before I could eat it for starters. Talk about harbingers.

On the way back from the Execrable Armpit of Texas I stopped at Arbuckle Mountain Fried Pies in Davis, Oklahoma. They claim to be The Original Fried Pie, a curious boast as Baker’s Ribs in Caddo Mills, Texas makes the same claim. I’m sure there are more than a few others.

Walking up to the place I was delighted to see an obviously narcissitic rooster admiring at his reflection in the glass of one of the front doors. That’s a good sign, I thought. The not particularly friendly fried-pie lady explained that the cock lived nearby and liked to strut over and visit occasionally. Quaint.

I perused the menu and ordered three expensive ($3.99 each) Fried Pies: a Spinach, Mushroom and Potato; a Beef and Vegetable; and a Polish Sausage and Potato, which they billed as the “Comfort Food.”

The half moon-shaped pies were fairly large, about 7 inches in length at the base, with great crust but sort of thin. I was pretty excited, especially about the spinach. Then I took a bite.

It was so salty it should’ve come with a Surgeon General’s Warning so that people with heart conditions taking statins didn’t bleed to death from their follicles, if not every pore on their body, after a single bite. In a word: YUK!

I would’ve thrown it out the window but I’m sure that that much salt would’ve attracted a herd of deer or cows or horses within minutes, effectively shutting down I-35 in both directions. No doubt, the pie would’ve then been traced back to me through an anonymous tipster and I’d get a ticket for … lord knows what.

Then I tried the “Comfort Food” pie. It was full of pureed potatoes that tasted faintly of chicken broth. Not bad. However, it contained only (approximately) 1.376 grams of Polish sausage; two measly pieces to be exact. While the pie wasn’t offensive it offered absolutely no “comfort.”

The Beef and Vegetable was the best of the three, although a visual examination didn’t reveal any beef or vegetables. I never figured out what it tasted like, really. It was something familiar yet undefinable, sort of like a Swanson’s® Salisbury Steak nukerowavable delight … or something. Mostly something.

Was I disappointed? Yes. Pissed? Not completely because I liked seeing the local Cock o’ the Walk. But overall I hated, HATED the pies. What a rip-off! Would I recommend avoiding the place? Yes, at all cost. Unless, of course, you’re a big, big fan of handheld salt licks and random barnyard fowl.

In all, the whole adventure ended up being pure kismet: The pies sucked; I ended up losing their menu as well as everything else with Arbuckle Mountain Fried Pies’ address on it; and all but one of the close-up photos of the pies were so blurry they were unusable, much like the pies themselves. Pretty poetic, I’d say.

Since I’m talking about avoiding places, here’s another one: Betty’s Truck Stop on I-44 at Highway YY (Exit 74) in Missouri. Here’s why: I was dead tired, starving, wanting just to eat and then sleep. I went into Betty’s — I’d been wanting to try it even though it never seemed busy even though it has acres of parking — and was greeted by a waitress that could only be described as, to be kind, icey.

I was looking at the menu and was thrilled to see they had tomato soup, as well as “homemade” vegetable beef and chicken noodle soups, as permanent menu items. I love tomato soup. Moreover it’s rare for a restaurant to have any “named” soup as a regular menu item unless it’s good and it sells.

As I always do, I asked if they had any specials. “Sloppy Joe and fries,” she said. Hmm, a Sloppy Joe sounds good. What can I substitute for fries, I asked? I was thinking a cup of tomato soup would be great. “You can’t,” said Icee. Huh? “You can’t substitute on the special. It’s the rules.” But what if someone can’t eat potatoes, what then? “It doesn’t matter. No substitutions on the special,” she said haughtily, robotically. Screw you, I thought. And Betty, too.

A basic rule of commerce: If a business won’t take care of its customers, its customers shouldn’t take care of them. I observed the rule. (Note: Never ever take shit from anyone who’s trying to sell you something. Your money talks. They need you, not vice versa.)

So I walked back to the yacht, fuming. Never had I run into such blind obstinacy in a restaurant, especially one that supposedly caters to drivers. I then enjoyed a delicious chicken salad (from Braum’s) sandwich on wheat with green leaf lettuce, followed by a sound sleep.

And so we roll.

Flying J Travel Centers, nationwide
Cooper Farms, Exit 198, I-45 & Hwy. 27, Fairfield, Texas
Arbuckle Mountain Fried Pies, I-35 at Exit 51, Davis, Oklahoma
Betty’s Truck Stop, Exit 74, I-44 & Hwy. YY, Sweet Springs, Missouri

Tio Wally pilots the 75-foot, 40-ton(max) land yacht SS Me So Hungry. He reports on road food from around the country whenever parking and InterTube connections permit.

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tio wally travel

Tio Wally Eats America: Galena, Missouri II

I’m happy to have Tio Wally (long-time Me So Hungry reader) aboard to send in his eating adventures from across America. Here he is in Galena, Missouri.

Greetings from Galena, Missouri!
N 36° 47.079’  W 093° 30.350’  Elev. 885 ft.

The crew of the SS Me So Hungry took a few days off and, once again, took great pleasure in abusing the gracious hospitality of the Duke of Earl, his über-cool wife, 14-year-old grandson and, of course, the dogs. The weather was picture-postcard perfect, balmy days with negligible humidity and cool nights. As always, the crew had a very cool time and I got to do some cool things.

The first thing I did was go visit Bob. Bob is the local egg man, goo goo ga joob. The last time I was here Bob didn’t have any eggs because it was too damn hot and the chickens were molting. At first I thought he said they were melting. “No,” said Bob, “they’re molting. Chickens don’t lay when they’re molting.” Thankfully this time he had eggs.

Bob sells a dozen farm-fresh organic eggs for $1.50. A buck fifty! That ain’t cool. They used to be a buck. Using my eighth-grade “new” math, that’s a 50% price hike — over 4¢ per egg!! Goo goo ga jeez, Bob. Do I look like I’m made of money?

Since the farm-fresh organic eggs were so pricey, I had Bob give me a free tour of his operation. Bob not only keeps (what I suspect to be) designer chickens (that lay grossly overpriced organic designer eggs), he breeds pheasants, ducks, parakeets, finches, cockatiels and the occasional turkey, which he mostly sells at the swap meet.

Bob knows birds. One of the pheasants he breeds requires a special license because it’s not native to Missouri; they ain’t no Hillbilly birds. Still, they are very beautiful, very cool, but I can’t remember what they’re called. I do know they are not of the Ring-necked variety, though he raises those, too.

While there, Bob told me so much cool stuff about the birds that I wished I’d had a tape recorder. I’m one of those “The art of memory is knowing what to forget” guys, so I forget everything. I did remember a couple of things that were pretty cool though:

For instance, Bob wants to know whenever somebody gets a red spot on a yolk. “Because they’re fertile?” No, says Bob, it has nothing to do with it being fertile. The red spot is created before the egg is fully formed, a result of the chicken being frightened by something. Thus, if a lot of red spots start showing up in the expensive yolks of his grossly overpriced farm-fresh organic eggs, it means there’s a predator he doesn’t know about scaring the crap out of the hens. Cool, huh?

He also taught me how to sex a chicken. I thought you looked at their rear end or something. No, says Bob, the easy way to do it is to look at the shape of their wing. A rooster’s feathers will be long all the way out the wing, whereas a hen’s will look almost like a cutaway. This allows the rooster to almost take flight, moving fast to protect his territory and, hopefully take on all comers. Too cool, huh?

The other cool to-do hereabouts was the Grand Opening — which I missed (not cool) — of my friend Debbi Cool’s cool restaurant in downtown Galena. It’s called The Cool Place Cafe, and is located so downtown that you can hit every major government building and notable Stone County institution with a rock … if you had a Ernest T. Bass-worthy hillbilly arm and the requisite inclination.

It’s open 7 a.m.-2 p.m. weekdays, with a daily special. The Duke and I went and I ordered biscuits and gravy. I happen to know Deb makes really great biscuits. “No!” she said. “We quit serving breakfast at 11.” Not cool. Despite my arguing time zones with her she failed to budge. However, she did give me a to-go container of gravy she had saved for me, which was pretty cool.

We ended up having the day’s special, Chili and Grill Cheese ($5.25), and that was pretty cool. Great chili (“I was gonna call it Butch’s chili because I got the recipe from him,” Debbi said) and a pepper jack grilled cheese on (I think) rye bread. Really good and a cool deal, too.

The next day I went in and got that days’ special — Chicken and Homemade Noodles w/roll and cake ($5.50) — and it was really, really good, too. Plus, I learned a couple of cool things: Debbi will serve you seconds if you’re still hungry, and you get a free piece of cake on Wednesdays and Fridays with the special.

She had some other really cool touches, I thought. I loved the glass plates and such, mostly because they look cool and I don’t have to carry them. Also, a super-cool touch was that she had whole black pepper and, especially cool, sea salt with garlic grinders at the table. Cool.

I’ve known Deb for over 40 years and she pisses me off. First, she refuses to age properly, which ain’t cool. She makes me look older than I am. Secondly, in 40 years I have won — and I’ve tallied them with exacting measure — exactly 0 [zero] arguments with her during that time. And that’s cool, but she doesn’t have to remind me. I mean, that ain’t cool.

I’ve also known her husband forever. He is the son of Jack and Jo Cool. Dig that: His mom was Jo Cool! He tells a cool story about asking his dad about being harangued about his last name when he was a kid. Evidently, Jack never heard any jokes or puns about his last name because “cool” hadn’t yet taken on the meaning it has since, I suspect, the late ‘50s. The punch line is that a classmate of Jack Cool’s was named Jack Frost, and it was Jack Frost who took the ribbing.

All in all the land yacht’s crew had a pretty cool shore leave in Galena … despite the extraordinarily high cost of farm-fresh organic eggs. Ah, but what the hell, it’s all cool. Heck, a gaggle of Canada Geese even made a backyard visit. And that, too, is always cool.

And so we roll.

The Cool Place Cafe, 107 Main Street, Galena, MO  417.357.0440

Tio Wally pilots the 75-foot, 40-ton(max) land yacht SS Me So Hungry. He reports on road food from around the country whenever parking and InterTube connections permit.