Gallatin, Missouri: The Corner Café

My notes about Gallatin can’t be complete without a small restaurant review. By now, I hope you know that Sue and I do appreciate high-class, artistic, and even healthy food as well as down-home food. The latter isn’t usually the most excellent food you can consume, but there are still reasons to celebrate it and enjoy it now and then. And in small towns, it’s pretty hard to escape. In France, you eat snails. In diners, you eat burgers.

With the Corner Café, there are definitely pros and cons. First, the cons. Numbers 1 through, like, 54 are: It’s smoky in there. Cigarettes, cigarettes, cigarettes. I mean, I can handle some smoke, but my eyes started really burning. There was no designated smoking section. The ceiling fans were all spinning like crazy, too. Amazingly, there were no ashtrays on the tables. But I think anyone who wants one can have one.

We went in there about an hour after the Tour of Missouri passed through; the place wasn’t particularly crowded, but MAN did it smell of smoke.

Here is another con: The restroom had a big sign saying something like, “Don’t put toilet paper in stool.” . . . Um, say what? . . . Does that mean what I think it means? When I washed my hands and pushed the paper towel into the trash can, it looked like others had interpreted the sign the way I feared it meant. Oh my gosh, don’t they have plumbing here? (I mean: Quick! Call a plumber!)

Okay: Maybe by now, a week after we were there, that little problem has been fixed. And no, it didn’t smell like doodie in there. It didn’t smell bad in there at all. It just smelled like . . . cigarettes.

Are you completely grossed out by now? Okay, hold on. One more “con.”

It really took a while for our food to appear. I think it was a kitchen thing and not a waiter thing. I know this isn’t fast food, but then it wasn’t very busy when we were there. We had a copy of the St. Joe newspaper at our table, and we read that. But we were starting to get kind of annoyed.

Just when we were about to say “enough,” the food appeared on white oval plates. Hmmm.

Hey, it was actually pretty good! Sue got a Southwest-style chicken sandwich, and I got a burger that came with pepper jack cheese, bacon, ranch dressing (to the side, thank you), actual green leaf lettuce, actual ripe red tomato, and fries. A ripe tomato! This little café has achieved something that eludes all the corporate-ass buying power of Chili’s, Rubee Tewsdee’s, and all those types of places: Red, ripe, in-season tomatoes!




Hallelujah!

And the bacon on the burger? The real deal, thick cut, and juicy. Mmm.

Nahhh, this isn’t “art cooking,” but there is a way to make burgers be good, and this little café did the burger right.

Other stuff on the menu included various other diner foods, plus some kind of chain-brand pizza. I mean, it’s a pretty typical small-town diner, you know? Relaxed. And an excellent place to hang out if you’re a smoker.

And the place does have a reputation for its smokiness—we got that from two different sources while we were exploring the town. When we told one lady we had eaten at the Corner Café, she immediately chirped back: “Oh, I’m sorry!”

You’re probably wondering what to make of this review, and frankly, so am I. Is it thumbs up, or thumbs down?

Well, it depends. If you’re a smoker, then it’s a definite thumbs up—freedom to enjoy a cigarette before, during, and after your meal! If you can’t stand cigarette smoke, it’s a definite thumbs down; you will hate-hate-hate it. If you’re flexible when it comes to air quality, and you appreciate small-town diners, then you’ll probably enjoy the place. I was favorably impressed by the burger and by Sue’s chicken sandwich. The prices were reasonable, the people were friendly enough. And yeah, we were there in part to support a locally owned business, the backbone of America.

It is what it is.




One more comment. Next to the cash register was a basket of cookies—apparently homemade, packed in threes in plastic wrap. Chocolate chip; white chocolate and macadamia nut . . . Mmm. Okay, when I was paying the bill, I bought a three-pack of the latter to eat while we were driving home.

A few hours later, when we got back on the highway as we were leaving Adam-ondi-Ahman, we opened them. And guess what.

The cookies were delicious. But even after removing them from the plastic wrap, we could taste the cigarette smoke right in the cookies. And I think that sums it all up pretty well.

Gallatin, Missouri, Part 3

Gallatin, Missouri, has some serious history. For one thing, Gallatin is where Frank James (brother of Jesse) was put on trial for an 1881 train robbery during which two individuals were killed. Former Confederate General Joseph Shelby testified on his behalf, and in this trial James was acquitted. Which was no big shocker, given the Civil War politics of this part of the state.

Gallatin is also famous for having one of the few remaining, operational rotary jails—called “squirrel cage jails”—a rotating cylinder with a pie-shaped cell for each inmate. National Register of Historic Places.

But the biggest historical significance attached to Gallatin is that it is the second official address for the human race! It turns out the Garden of Eden, the very birthplace of our species, wasn’t far from here (it was in present-day Independence, in Jackson County); and in fact an area just north of Gallatin, called Adam-ondi-Ahman, is where Adam and Eve resided after their expulsion from the Garden.




Well, that is what the Mormons believe. With their prophet Joseph Smith’s direction, they settled in the area in 1838, and their numbers grew rapidly. On August 6, they attempted to vote in the town of Gallatin but were confronted by about 200 non-Mormons. The ensuing brawl and skirmish is seen as the event that started the Mormon War in Missouri.

I think we can all agree that this was not exactly one of Missouri’s proudest moments. But I guess you can see why the non-Mormons were worried: The Mormons were starting to outnumber them, and they were wanting to vote. They kept to themselves and didn’t mix very well with the non-Mormons. They had different political ideas, came from a different part of the country. Not to mention how downright weird their religious beliefs must have seemed. Frankly, they were viewed as a cult.

So the Latter-Day Saints were driven out of the state and ultimately found their homeland out West, in Utah. But they still believe that Adam-ondi-Ahman is where Adam, the first human, lived and died and where he will appear again to meet with humanity at the end of time.

So it’s a big deal, and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints owns the land in this area. It is clear that bus tours come here. And there are fences preventing you from traipsing through this sacred ground, but well-marked gravel roads lead to clean picnic areas, parking spots, and viewpoints that have interpretive signs telling about the history of the area and the Mormon settlement.




It’s an incredibly peaceful place, and there is very little trash about. I suspect someone from the church comes out regularly and picks up litter, just like you would pick up trash from the grounds of a church. It’s that clean.




And yeah, when you see a place, and you know that it is holy ground to somebody, you can’t help but be awed by it. It is a large, beautiful valley bordered by the Grand River and by hills sacred to the Mormons.




Once the Mormons were expelled, the Missourians who disliked them renamed the area “Cravensville.” And certainly the Mormons do take a lot of ribbing about their beliefs. Even Robert Ramsay, in his scholarly, neutral-toned book Our Storehouse of Missouri Place Names, writes amusedly about it, recalling Mark Twain’s quest throughout the Holy Land in Innocents Abroad to locate the tomb of Adam: “Had he known all the treasures of his native State, he might have spared himself the labor of journeying so far to weep over the sepulchre of his earliest ancestor. Apparently he was quite unaware that the historic spot had already been identified and located in his own Missouri.”

One of the people I spoke to in Gallatin (a non-Mormon) had told us that the Mormons who take care of the Adam-ondi-Ahman property might make us feel “watched,” and we got the idea that we might be made to feel like undesirables—but we didn’t experience anything that made us feel uncomfortable.

I’m sure that the Mormons do keep a close eye on people who look like they might be visiting the site to make fun of it (or worse). I mean, if you had the history that they do in this area, wouldn’t you keep watch, too?

But if you’re in the area, I encourage you to visit Adam-ondi-Ahman and reflect on its history; among the many themes to contemplate here are the expulsion of Adam and Eve from their Garden, and the expulsion of Latter-Day Saints from the many settlements they built, and from the state, here in this nation where we cherish our Freedom of Religion.

Gallatin, Missouri, Part 2

So Saturday we were in Gallatin to see the Tour of Missouri racers whoosh by, and after the race, we were getting a load of the town square. Not too much shakin’, to be honest, but we were jazzed up by what Sheryl Warren was doing with her restaurant, Seasons on the Square.

Since it was midafternoon, and that restaurant wasn’t open yet, we decided to check out the nearby joint called “The Corner Café.” Definitely one of those “local color” establishments. But I’ll do a proper review of it in another post.

After eating there, we continued our stroll around the square and got sucked into a shop called Elbert’s Department Store (“Big and Tall Men’s Clothing”) (660-663-3541).

Look, we couldn’t resist—they had handmade signs on the windows advertising Levi’s for $29.99, and you can’t beat that with a stick. We were sucked in.

And we had a blast! Realize: I usually hate clothing shopping. But I sensed something different here: A complete lack of pretentiousness. Oh, no, I’m not a stick-figure skinny heroin-chic anorexic model type? . . . That’s okay!

Here is something else: The two women working there were actually helpful and friendly. Afterwards Sue and I were trying to remember the last time we were in a department store and actually had a clerk help us find our sizes among all the clothes on the racks, provide tips on shrinkage of one brand versus another, offer opinions on how clothes were fitting, present other sized garments to try. . . . And here we had two nice ladies helping us find clothing.

So we did buy, indeed. And more than just Levi’s . . . Sue got her first-ever pair of Carhartt jeans (ooh-la-la), and I got . . . well . . .




Yeahhhhh . . . they’re genuine Big Smiths. (And no, I don’t intend to wear these to client meetings!)

I should also mention that we were indeed a pair of women in a men’s clothing store, and the women helping us didn’t bat an eye. Sure, jeans are jeans and it’s not unusual for women to buy men’s Levi’s, especially in rural areas where people are more practical when it comes to rugged clothes for gardening and farming.

But even when it became clear that Sue and I were “together,” there was no difference in how we were treated. I know a lot of my friends in bigger cities would think it is outright dangerous to “come out” in a small town, but you know what? Sometimes the small town is incredibly tolerant—even appreciative—and welcoming of good folks who are eccentric, or different, or have different views.

And we simply enjoyed our afternoon there in Gallatin; in retrospect I’m so glad we were too late to see the cyclists start in Chillicothe, because if we hadn’t been forced to hopscotch ahead of the pedaling peloton, we would have missed this fine small town.

Gallatin, Missouri, Part 1

While the fastest cyclists in the world were touring Missouri this week, we did our own mini Tour of Missouri ourselves. Nooo, silly, not on bikes, but with my car. And this is why I haven’t been posting as often as usual. Plus, now that we spent a week out driving the wheels off my car, I’m behind with work, with groceries and other errands, with mowing the yard, well . . . with darn near everything. So I hope you’ll bear with some lateness and lameness.

We really did follow the cyclists, seeing them every day except for Tuesday and Wednesday. Thursday, they rode into Jeff City for a finish. Friday was the time trial in Sedalia (yes, and it was fascinating to watch). Yesterday was the final race, in Kansas City, and we saw them ride repeatedly around the curvy and hilly Liberty Memorial area as they rode circuits all the way to the river downtown and back.

But I want to talk about Saturday. We tried to make it to Chillicothe in time to see them start, but we underestimated how long it would take to drive there. We were still en route at 1 p.m., when the race started. So with Sue looking at the map and performing mental calculations of our route, mileage still to go, and speed, and those same projections for the riders, we determined that we should be able to make it to Gallatin before they arrived in that small town.

And we just barely made it!

And like the racers do, once our rushing and speeding was over, the kickin’ back and enjoyin’-the-day began.

Gallatin, Missouri: The seat of beautiful Daviess County; a town with a four-way stop.

The scene on the town square was already set up when we arrived: A forest of U.S. flags planted in the earth by the courthouse swayed in the breeze, and the sun blazed on the dusty downtown as kids, their folks, and the older folks all gathered along plastic police tape to see the spectacle.




A van with loudspeakers preceded the racers along with the early contingent of cop cars and motorcycles. The van hesitated while one of the occupants announced what was going to happen. “I want everyone here to say ‘whoosh’ on the count of three: One, two, three . . .”




And everyone dutifully called out “Whoosh!”

The announcer then explained: “Okay, that’s just about the same time it will take for the riders to go through here!” (He then reminded everyone to stay out of the street, and so on.)

And then the racers came through, smooth like quicksilver but made of all muscles, tendons, bones, their sunglasses and helmets, their jerseys, their bikes, their tanned skin all shining.

Of course, it was amazing to see them; it always is. Their average speed that day was about 28 or 30 mph, I think.

But I’m sorry that I didn’t skip the view of the racers this time and focus on the faces of the people—like ol’ farmer Clem over there next to a vacant storefront. Or the three kids we saw later on, as they pedaled their bikes around the quiet sidewalks of the town square, their bike-enthusiasm switched completely on by the race.




It didn’t take much time for the streets and sidewalks to empty; the true cycling fanatics sped off to catch the stage finish in St. Joseph. And the locals stopped at the Farm Bureau tent for free hot dogs and watermelon slices or else just went straight back to whatever they were doing.




The whole place just cleared out. Saturday afternoon.

We wandered around, though. Plenty of beautiful, stately buildings down there, now vacant, needing attention, capital, a business, a market. It made me sad to see what looked like dilapidation in progress.




But as we walked and took pictures, we did feel a steady pulse, and I want to share that with you.

The first person we spoke to was standing in front of a striking mustard-yellow storefront, which appeared to hold the town’s only fine dining establishment, Seasons on the Square. We chatted about the bike race and about Gallatin in general, and about how the Tour of Missouri is great for tourism, particularly in shining the spotlight on smaller towns that could really use some publicity.

Or as I put it, “St. Louis and Kansas City are used to hosting national and world-class sporting events; but when was the last time Belle, Missouri, had the opportunity to be seen by a worldwide crowd of any type?”




We ended up going inside the restaurant to continue our conversation—the lady, Sheryl Warren, is the owner of Seasons, and she explained that she’s a nineteen-year resident of the area. She’s also a schoolteacher. (How about that! Two jobs!)

The restaurant wasn’t near opening yet (they would open at five), but I did get a chance to tell her I was impressed by her menu and wine list. Seasons offers a nice variety of Missouri-made wines as well as some other types for people who . . . just haven’t met the right Missouri wine for them yet.

The menu features appetizers of bruschetta, artichoke and white cheese dip, and something called a “portabella boat,” which is a grilled portabella cap topped with their signature artichoke and white cheese dip.

The entrees include chicken breasts stuffed with sun-dried tomatoes and basil and topped with marinara; grilled portabellas; smoked, grilled pork chops; flank steak; ribeye; grilled sea bass with a honey-lime glaze served on a vegetable mélange; sautéed, herbed shrimp tossed with angel hair pasta; and an ahi tuna steak.

Each entree comes with fresh-baked bread, a choice of dinner salad or soup, and a choice of one side. The entree prices range from ten to twenty dollars.

Sides include baked sweet or Irish potato, garlic mashed potatoes, baked steak fries, and a vegetable of the day. You can get a grilled chicken salad with chicken that’s been marinated in a Cabernet vinaigrette.

There’s a chicken sandwich and a half-pound sirloin burger, plus a children’s menu, too.

There’s a nice view of the lovely courthouse, and in case you haven’t picked up on it yet, the owner is friendly and great to talk to. Even before it was open for customers, the place had a good vibe because of her enthusiasm and sincerety.

Since I haven’t eaten a single bite at this restaurant, I can’t do any real kind of review of it, but I can tell you that the place looks great, comfortable, upscale without being snooty, and I guarantee you that the next time we’re in that neck of the woods, we’ll give it a try. And I encourage you to do the same.


Seasons on the Square
105 North Main
Gallatin, Mo. 64640
660-663-4264


PS: I’m not the only one who’s noticed Seasons on the Square. See here for more information!