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Hennepin and Bootleg’s Great River Road Adventure- Part Deux
by Hennepin and Bootleg
Saturday, December 06, 2008
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We arrived in Quincy with one thing in mind: Coffee. Just after crossing the Mississippi River for the fourth time and an hour's drive through nothing but obscurity, we were ready to stretch our legs and perk ourselves up with a steaming cup of Joe, preferably at a local independent café. Our hopes were dashed like the road kill on the highway as we drove endlessly from one side of town to the other without any sign of either a local coffee shop or even a nationwide chain. Being used to the idea of having a Starbuck's on every corner, Hennepin and Bootleg figured at least there would be the comfort of having one available at the first crossroads encountered. Our Quincy brochures promised us one, but it appeared to be tucked away somewhere where even the savviest of coffee drinkers could not find it. In a final desperate attempt, we resigned ourselves to pulling into the local mall, with the idea in mind that if anything, we could find it in a random food court saturated with Midwestern teenagers eating greasy pizza. Just as we were making our escape from the mall parking lot, the car came to a screeching halt and Hen almost plowed through the windshield. "Oh my God, there it is!" Bootleg cried. A halo of green light beamed down on us from a drive-thru Starbuck's at a mere ten feet to our right. Starbuck's never tasted so good. Ahhh, sweet nectar...
Once properly caffeinated, we felt the urge to explore the historic downtown including the beautiful Washington Park located at the center. Although we were not able to see too much of Quincy's famed architecture in the dark, the park itself was lit up like Christmas, each tree wrapped in glowing strands.
It was a memorable scene, complete with a dead squirrel frozen to the grass, his fur illuminated. We felt a sense of nostalgia for his family left behind, but comforted ourselves with the thought that Mrs. Squirrel had explained to his children that their Papa had gone off to live the good life at the zoo, continuing out his days happily cracking nuts for strangers.
Not wanting to end up frozen to the grass ourselves, we decided to turn in for the night at a comfortable, yet reasonably priced motel. Along the way, we discovered a local Pepsi bottling plant, almost blinded by the luminescent red retro sign, a sight for road weary eyes after plummeting down dark roads in search of lodging.
Following our guides, we had taken to the outer roads of Quincy and came across a variety of establishments, none of which met Hennepin and Bootleg's Roach Motel bible of standards: Unlimited smoking, second floor or higher, two beds, and a functioning toilet. Had we set the proverbial bar too low? After a couple dark railroad tracks, blinking fluorescent signs, and a creepy lady with her daughter in a bathrobe, we opted for a good rate at a chain called America's Best Value Inn on the river, with free Wi-Fi. Settling down to a feast of wine, cheese, grapes, and olives, we toasted our successful first day on the road and looked forward to the next chapter in our book of adventures.
The morning came early, and with it a breathtaking view of the river in our own backyard, complete with a glare off its waters to remind us of the full bottle of wine consumed the night before.
In need of coffee and sweets to satiate the hangover monsters, we turned back into the park square to investigate a local bakery we were particularly excited about. My Koog is a French and German artifact located on Hampshire Street around the corner from the park.
Hen and Boots were not to be disappointed. We were greeted with provincial French music, a showcase of pastries, and a Frenchman smiling ear to ear with a steaming pot of coffee. The café is named for the German artisan bread known as Kougelhof, which the showcase boasted along with assortments of homemade miniature pies, croissants, brioche, and coconut rochers. After making our selections we were ushered by our pleasant manager, Frederic, to a cozy window table, where he poured our coffees into glass Irish mugs. The coconut rocher was a sticky sweet delicacy, much like a macaroon and drizzled with chocolate. The brioche was fresh and light, with chocolate pieces woven into the dough that melted in the mouth. Hennepin and Bootleg had brought the farm fresh honey along to sample with the pastries, but the treats were complete in flavor without adding a touch of anything else. While a bit shy, having come from Alsace, France to Quincy only a year ago, Frederic's curiosity brought him repeatedly to our table with refills. We engaged in lighthearted conversation with him about our food loving endeavors in Chicago, whereupon he insisted on writing his website down on a guest check so that we could connect with him in the future should he visit our neck of the woods. After picking up a can of Café Du Monde, New Orleans French coffee with chicory, and a bag of pastries to go, we bid goodbye to our jolly host and set out for our next destination.
The shops along the edge of the park offered a medley of local crafts, including jewelry, candles, and the necessary Christmas ornaments marked up enough to put Hallmark to shame. One such boutique, The Park Bench, also doubled as a coffee and tea house, with a lovely second floor offering balcony seating. After picking up a couple of small items within our budget, including a penguin keychain and a ceramic polka dotted rooster, we moved on to the Villa Kathrine overlooking the river for a self-guided tour. The small villa was built in 1900 in the style of a Moroccan castle, complete with a harem room on one side of the roof that has yet to be completed for visitor access.
Having nearly fallen to ruins, the villa was reconstructed as a historical landmark, where $3.00 will grant you a quick walk through. While the view from the top floor was well worth the time, many of the rooms are now occupied as staff offices. It felt a bit strange to Hen and Boots to practically stumble across someone's desk and disrupt their fundraising phone calls in an effort to peek out the window of the master bedroom. In spite of this, the villa holds promise, and we were happy to think that perhaps our $6.00 will be well spent purchasing faux Middle Eastern embroidered cushions for the harem room once its reconstruction is complete.
Our fifth journey over the Mississippi brought us to the birthplace of Mark Twain, Hannibal Missouri. Finding our progress hindered somewhat by a surge of senior drivers in this quaint little town, we took this time to slow down and take in the scenery. The hills and forests were a welcome change after driving through endless plains, and the historical town center itself made for antiquated eye candy. We anxiously set out on foot down Main Street in search of good eatin'. We had our heart set on the Jumpin' Frog Café, which our brochures promised would load us up with homemade sandwiches and pies. The café was of course nowhere to be found, but we did not allow our outdated brochures (picked up at the Villa Kathrine no less) to set us back. We settled for the Ole' Planter's restaurant instead, where we were greeted with "You're not from around these parts" glances all ‘round and antique kitchen gadgets pegged up on the walls.
Our menu offered a listing of daily specials and home style choices that could be served up either as a dinner plate or a sandwich. The dinner plates included a selection of three vegetables and "French bread with butter", but to our dismay, there were only three vegetables available according to our server anyway. We had no choice but to accept the corn, sweet and sour green beans, and roasted red skin potatoes with our meals. Bootleg ordered the barbecue beef and Hennepin the Bratwurst with sauerkraut. Sixty seconds later, we do not exaggerate, the food was on our table.
The couple dining next to us received theirs in half the amount of time. Visions of steam tables danced in our heads as we picked through our plates, our suspicions confirmed by the fact that the Bratwurst was smoked, most likely to cover up any off flavors. It took Hen awhile to find the sausage under her mountain of sauerkraut, during which time Boots declared the sweet and sour beans to be comprised of vinegar and sugar. We were both thankful for the Flying Boxer hot sauce to douse over our beans for an extra kick. The potatoes were irresistibly buttery, and the barbecue sauce was genius despite the fact that the beef was a bit dry and stringy. We avoided the "French bread" altogether, as it was nothing but a soft stale roll accompanied by a pat of yellow margarine that was about as thick as a credit card.
In spite of the shortcomings with the food, the ambience was charming with the lace curtains and the antique oil lamps set up on the tables. Hennepin was delighted to find an old wooden paddle menu from the Rusty Skupper, a favorite crab restaurant located in the inner Harbor of Baltimore, Maryland, tucked away in the corner by the piano, while Bootleg noted a hot air balloon skirting the ceiling by the window. Overall, a cozy joint. We recommend the 8 ounce burgers, apparently the only items cooked to order as they take up to 20 minutes.
After a round of antiquing, we stopped by Puddn' Heads for our second daily dose of crafts. The homemade bric a brac including candle jars, quilts, and various holiday delights, offered sentimental appeal as a train chugging by set them to rattling on the walls. For $2.00 apiece, Christmas ornaments fashioned out of antiques bells into different animals were a tourists' dream after the $50.00 insanity offered in Quincy. Hennepin stocked up and we moved on down the road to Dough Dough, an old fashioned ice cream parlor and soda fountain. Apparently we were the only folks crazy enough to consider ice cream on a twenty degree day as the store had closed down for the winter. We pictured its owners rambling down to Florida in a rusted out RV and turned our attention to a much needed caffeine fix almost as desperate as the Holy Grail quest for Starbuck's in Quincy.
Fortunately, we did not have to ramble far to Java Jive on Main Street, where we ducked in for a couple of capps to go. It was almost too bad we didn't have time to stay. The hodgepodge of mismatched couches and armchairs called our names, along with the old timer's piano in the corner. We ordered our coffees at a long antique bar while a visitor tinkled out a few tunes on the ivory keys. Although we had a choice of candy flavored syrup, which offered an enticing rainbow laced over clouds of whipped cream, we opted to savor our coffees as they were. The beans needed no dressing up, it was simply good the way it was with a thick cake of foam. The steam fogged up the car windows as we embarked on the next leg of our trip and we waved goodbye to the little town of Hannibal and the state of Missouri.
Tomorrow we will update our captivated readers how trying to find the biggest bottle of catsup in the dark is like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
All our love,
Hen and Boots
Average Rating: 4 - Post a Comment on this Blog
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by Hennepin and Bootleg
Saturday, December 06, 2008
« Go Back
We arrived in Quincy with one thing in mind: Coffee. Just after crossing the Mississippi River for the fourth time and an hour's drive through nothing but obscurity, we were ready to stretch our legs and perk ourselves up with a steaming cup of Joe, preferably at a local independent café. Our hopes were dashed like the road kill on the highway as we drove endlessly from one side of town to the other without any sign of either a local coffee shop or even a nationwide chain. Being used to the idea of having a Starbuck's on every corner, Hennepin and Bootleg figured at least there would be the comfort of having one available at the first crossroads encountered. Our Quincy brochures promised us one, but it appeared to be tucked away somewhere where even the savviest of coffee drinkers could not find it. In a final desperate attempt, we resigned ourselves to pulling into the local mall, with the idea in mind that if anything, we could find it in a random food court saturated with Midwestern teenagers eating greasy pizza. Just as we were making our escape from the mall parking lot, the car came to a screeching halt and Hen almost plowed through the windshield. "Oh my God, there it is!" Bootleg cried. A halo of green light beamed down on us from a drive-thru Starbuck's at a mere ten feet to our right. Starbuck's never tasted so good. Ahhh, sweet nectar...
Once properly caffeinated, we felt the urge to explore the historic downtown including the beautiful Washington Park located at the center. Although we were not able to see too much of Quincy's famed architecture in the dark, the park itself was lit up like Christmas, each tree wrapped in glowing strands.
It was a memorable scene, complete with a dead squirrel frozen to the grass, his fur illuminated. We felt a sense of nostalgia for his family left behind, but comforted ourselves with the thought that Mrs. Squirrel had explained to his children that their Papa had gone off to live the good life at the zoo, continuing out his days happily cracking nuts for strangers.
Not wanting to end up frozen to the grass ourselves, we decided to turn in for the night at a comfortable, yet reasonably priced motel. Along the way, we discovered a local Pepsi bottling plant, almost blinded by the luminescent red retro sign, a sight for road weary eyes after plummeting down dark roads in search of lodging.
Following our guides, we had taken to the outer roads of Quincy and came across a variety of establishments, none of which met Hennepin and Bootleg's Roach Motel bible of standards: Unlimited smoking, second floor or higher, two beds, and a functioning toilet. Had we set the proverbial bar too low? After a couple dark railroad tracks, blinking fluorescent signs, and a creepy lady with her daughter in a bathrobe, we opted for a good rate at a chain called America's Best Value Inn on the river, with free Wi-Fi. Settling down to a feast of wine, cheese, grapes, and olives, we toasted our successful first day on the road and looked forward to the next chapter in our book of adventures.
The morning came early, and with it a breathtaking view of the river in our own backyard, complete with a glare off its waters to remind us of the full bottle of wine consumed the night before.
In need of coffee and sweets to satiate the hangover monsters, we turned back into the park square to investigate a local bakery we were particularly excited about. My Koog is a French and German artifact located on Hampshire Street around the corner from the park.
Hen and Boots were not to be disappointed. We were greeted with provincial French music, a showcase of pastries, and a Frenchman smiling ear to ear with a steaming pot of coffee. The café is named for the German artisan bread known as Kougelhof, which the showcase boasted along with assortments of homemade miniature pies, croissants, brioche, and coconut rochers. After making our selections we were ushered by our pleasant manager, Frederic, to a cozy window table, where he poured our coffees into glass Irish mugs. The coconut rocher was a sticky sweet delicacy, much like a macaroon and drizzled with chocolate. The brioche was fresh and light, with chocolate pieces woven into the dough that melted in the mouth. Hennepin and Bootleg had brought the farm fresh honey along to sample with the pastries, but the treats were complete in flavor without adding a touch of anything else. While a bit shy, having come from Alsace, France to Quincy only a year ago, Frederic's curiosity brought him repeatedly to our table with refills. We engaged in lighthearted conversation with him about our food loving endeavors in Chicago, whereupon he insisted on writing his website down on a guest check so that we could connect with him in the future should he visit our neck of the woods. After picking up a can of Café Du Monde, New Orleans French coffee with chicory, and a bag of pastries to go, we bid goodbye to our jolly host and set out for our next destination.The shops along the edge of the park offered a medley of local crafts, including jewelry, candles, and the necessary Christmas ornaments marked up enough to put Hallmark to shame. One such boutique, The Park Bench, also doubled as a coffee and tea house, with a lovely second floor offering balcony seating. After picking up a couple of small items within our budget, including a penguin keychain and a ceramic polka dotted rooster, we moved on to the Villa Kathrine overlooking the river for a self-guided tour. The small villa was built in 1900 in the style of a Moroccan castle, complete with a harem room on one side of the roof that has yet to be completed for visitor access.
Having nearly fallen to ruins, the villa was reconstructed as a historical landmark, where $3.00 will grant you a quick walk through. While the view from the top floor was well worth the time, many of the rooms are now occupied as staff offices. It felt a bit strange to Hen and Boots to practically stumble across someone's desk and disrupt their fundraising phone calls in an effort to peek out the window of the master bedroom. In spite of this, the villa holds promise, and we were happy to think that perhaps our $6.00 will be well spent purchasing faux Middle Eastern embroidered cushions for the harem room once its reconstruction is complete.
Our fifth journey over the Mississippi brought us to the birthplace of Mark Twain, Hannibal Missouri. Finding our progress hindered somewhat by a surge of senior drivers in this quaint little town, we took this time to slow down and take in the scenery. The hills and forests were a welcome change after driving through endless plains, and the historical town center itself made for antiquated eye candy. We anxiously set out on foot down Main Street in search of good eatin'. We had our heart set on the Jumpin' Frog Café, which our brochures promised would load us up with homemade sandwiches and pies. The café was of course nowhere to be found, but we did not allow our outdated brochures (picked up at the Villa Kathrine no less) to set us back. We settled for the Ole' Planter's restaurant instead, where we were greeted with "You're not from around these parts" glances all ‘round and antique kitchen gadgets pegged up on the walls.
Our menu offered a listing of daily specials and home style choices that could be served up either as a dinner plate or a sandwich. The dinner plates included a selection of three vegetables and "French bread with butter", but to our dismay, there were only three vegetables available according to our server anyway. We had no choice but to accept the corn, sweet and sour green beans, and roasted red skin potatoes with our meals. Bootleg ordered the barbecue beef and Hennepin the Bratwurst with sauerkraut. Sixty seconds later, we do not exaggerate, the food was on our table.
The couple dining next to us received theirs in half the amount of time. Visions of steam tables danced in our heads as we picked through our plates, our suspicions confirmed by the fact that the Bratwurst was smoked, most likely to cover up any off flavors. It took Hen awhile to find the sausage under her mountain of sauerkraut, during which time Boots declared the sweet and sour beans to be comprised of vinegar and sugar. We were both thankful for the Flying Boxer hot sauce to douse over our beans for an extra kick. The potatoes were irresistibly buttery, and the barbecue sauce was genius despite the fact that the beef was a bit dry and stringy. We avoided the "French bread" altogether, as it was nothing but a soft stale roll accompanied by a pat of yellow margarine that was about as thick as a credit card.
In spite of the shortcomings with the food, the ambience was charming with the lace curtains and the antique oil lamps set up on the tables. Hennepin was delighted to find an old wooden paddle menu from the Rusty Skupper, a favorite crab restaurant located in the inner Harbor of Baltimore, Maryland, tucked away in the corner by the piano, while Bootleg noted a hot air balloon skirting the ceiling by the window. Overall, a cozy joint. We recommend the 8 ounce burgers, apparently the only items cooked to order as they take up to 20 minutes.
After a round of antiquing, we stopped by Puddn' Heads for our second daily dose of crafts. The homemade bric a brac including candle jars, quilts, and various holiday delights, offered sentimental appeal as a train chugging by set them to rattling on the walls. For $2.00 apiece, Christmas ornaments fashioned out of antiques bells into different animals were a tourists' dream after the $50.00 insanity offered in Quincy. Hennepin stocked up and we moved on down the road to Dough Dough, an old fashioned ice cream parlor and soda fountain. Apparently we were the only folks crazy enough to consider ice cream on a twenty degree day as the store had closed down for the winter. We pictured its owners rambling down to Florida in a rusted out RV and turned our attention to a much needed caffeine fix almost as desperate as the Holy Grail quest for Starbuck's in Quincy.
Fortunately, we did not have to ramble far to Java Jive on Main Street, where we ducked in for a couple of capps to go. It was almost too bad we didn't have time to stay. The hodgepodge of mismatched couches and armchairs called our names, along with the old timer's piano in the corner. We ordered our coffees at a long antique bar while a visitor tinkled out a few tunes on the ivory keys. Although we had a choice of candy flavored syrup, which offered an enticing rainbow laced over clouds of whipped cream, we opted to savor our coffees as they were. The beans needed no dressing up, it was simply good the way it was with a thick cake of foam. The steam fogged up the car windows as we embarked on the next leg of our trip and we waved goodbye to the little town of Hannibal and the state of Missouri.
Tomorrow we will update our captivated readers how trying to find the biggest bottle of catsup in the dark is like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
All our love,
Hen and Boots
Average Rating: 4 - Post a Comment on this Blog
Posted Comments:
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