Loose Meat Loses Me

Nu Way Cafe
7301 W. Central Ave.
Wichita, KS




One of the cool things about traveling around this country of ours is trying those quirky local culinary traditions that help give each region or town its own sense of place.

The things you can order that go beyond the homogenized anywhere and everywhere fast food menu boards that litter our American landscape.

The food items that say, “Welcome to Wichita.”

Unfortunately, some of these local specialties stay local for a reason.

They just aren’t that interesting.

As much as it pains me to say it, I’d have to put Nu Way’s “loose meat” sandwich in that category.

For 82 years now, Nu Way Café has been serving hungry Wichita diners a quirky twist on the traditional burger.

Instead of mashing the ground beef into a patty, Nu Way browns the ground beef crumbled and serves the meat that way on standard buns with mustard, onions and pickles.

To get the full loose meat experience, you are really discouraged from deviating from that traditional presentation.

No lettuce, tomato or ketchup.

You don’t want to detract from the subtle flavor of the seasoned meat.

Emphasis on subtle.

I guess I just don’t get it. It’s kind of like eating mom’s Sloppy Joe – if she forgot to add the Manwich sauce.

Nu Way’s sandwich just tasted like some browned mustardy, oniony ground beef on a bun.

The homemade onion rings left me uninspired too. Crumbly, thin and dry, they didn’t provide much oniony flavor.

The highlight of my meal was the Frito Pie – another culinary tradition of the Southwest.

But then again, how could a bag of Fritos smothered in chili and molten cheese be anything but good?

To drink, I ordered another Nu Way staple, their homemade root beer.

Served on draft in a big mug, this root beer tastes a little creamier than the high fructose corn syrup-laden stuff in the can at your local convenience store.

I liked it, but frankly, I’d have preferred a non-root beer. If you know what I mean.

Maybe my problem is I have too high expectations for the mild-mannered tastes of friendly Midwesterners.

Bland, crumbly ground beef, boring onion rings and homemade root beer might get folks in Wichita all excited, but I’m glad I’m moving on.

Luckily for Suit757, there’s always a new place and another quirky local culinary specialty to move on to.

Rating: Would Wear a Free Shirt.

Still Spoiling Kids Rotten at Jack’s North Hi

Jack’s North Hi Carryout
603 West 13th St. N.
Wichita, KS



Kids these days.

They just don’t know how good they’ve got it.

I slipped into grumpy old man mode momentarily as I glanced out the windows of Jack’s North Hi Carryout at the formidable façade of Wichita North High School directly across the street.

How I’d kill to have some awesome greasy burger joint adjacent to my school when I was growing up!

But no such luck for young Suit757.

Nope. Peanut butter and jelly on wheat in a brown paper bag. Every single day for eight years in grade school.

High school wasn’t much better.

Oh, sure we had a real cafeteria with lunch ladies slinging unidentified slop in various shapes and sizes.

I almost always opted for the “pizza”.

I put the word in quotes because it resembled pizza only in the sense that it was flat and purported to contain a few of the traditional pizza ingredients – stale dough, a paper thin smear of tomato sauce and one or two sprinkles of industrial cheese.

That was my lunch every day for four years.

Is it any wonder I developed such an obsession with top notch road side junk food, given the culinary depravity I suffered through during my formative Suit757 years?

Jack’s North Hi Carryout has been mobbed by hungry Wichita North High School students every day at the lunch bell for the better part of 60 years.

That’s why I wisely chose to get here early.

What I want to know is, where do these kids get the dough for such luxuries?

Heck, I was lucky if I saved my allowance up to afford a McDonald’s cheeseburger and piece of fried dough once or twice per summer for our occasional excursions to the beach. It was either that or endure my mother’s sand-filled peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the beach blanket.

Uh, no thanks, mom. I’ll buy my own lunch.

But if I had a place like Jack’s nearby, I might have gotten a second part-time job. Or put my bike up for collateral and gotten a payday loan.

Jack’s has undergone several ownership changes in recent years.

This latest incarnation is bright and clean, with an industrial -- dare I say – school cafeteria atmosphere.

The only tie to the past is the old hand-painted menu board behind the counter with 1950s era prices. Unfortunately it’s merely a decoration. You can thank Ben Bernanke and Alan Greenspan for the fact that the real prices are about ten to fifteen times higher today.

The décor could definitely use a touch more nostalgia befitting a six decade old burger joint.

But the kids don’t care. Most business here is carryout anyway. Hence the name.

My quarter pound burger came with bacon, grilled onions, an unmelted slice of American cheese, lettuce and a slather of mustard (even though I asked for ketchup instead). The standard issue buns were livened up a bit by being toasted on the grease-infused burger griddle.

It was a good burger. Not great. But good.

It would need to be a bit juicier for great.

The good, thick bacon piled on top was the real highlight. There’s nothing like the combination of dead cow and pig on a bun.

It would beat the heck out of mom’s peanut butter and jelly – every day of the week.

Not that the kids at Wichita North High would know anything about that.

Kids these days.

Rating: Would Wear a Free Shirt.

Spicing Things Up in Kansas

Porubsky’s Grocery
508 NE Sardou
Topeka, KS



Porubsky’s Grocery is the kind of place that makes being a Suit in a Strange place such a cool gig.

Located literally on the wrong side of the tracks, next to a rail yard, in a decidedly blue collar long-forgotten section of Topeka, Kansas, no self-respecting person would ever venture into this dive – unless there was something really special going on here.

And that, there is, my friend.

Homemade chili!

In fact, plenty of self-respecting folks do venture here every day to chow down on chili, freshly sliced cold cut sandwiches and Porubsky’s famous spicy pickles.

Porubsky’s is still a working grocery and deli where blue collar Topekans have been coming since 1947 to buy bologna, chips and pop – as they call it here in Kansas.

But on weekdays during lunch time, folks crowd into the bar/dining room next door where multiple generations of the Porubsky family serve multiple generations of loyal customers.

Fortunately, Suits in Strange Places like me are welcome too, especially after Porubsky’s has virtually gone Hollywood, with a locally produced PBS documentary being filmed about the joint. (On sale at the cash register, in case you’re interested.)

Yep. Porubsky’s lunch rush this day was a good mix of blue collar, white collar, regulars and out-of-towners. All looking for a steaming bowl of that famous chili.

Only available from October to March, Porubsky’s chili perfectly reflects its well-balanced Midwestern heritage. The beef, beans and spice are prudently balanced.

Just enough spice to perk up your taste buds but not enough to offend any delicate fly-over-country palates.

And the chili enjoys the ideal ratio of meat to beans. Just the right amount of everything. In every bite.

While there is nothing exotic or outlandish about it, I can see why Porubsky’s chili earns such wide-ranging accolades.

My pastrami and Swiss on rye was notable for its mammoth size. More than a fist full of paper thin sliced meat piled high, the sandwich was mercifully cut into halves.

Served cold, this pastrami sandwich isn’t going to make any New Yorker reminisce about Carnegie Deli or Katz’s, but it has a nice freshly sliced taste to it. And at $3.50, it’s about the best lunch bargain I’ve had in a month!

Piled high in the middle of my paper plate between my two towers of pastrami sandwich halves was a mound of Porubsky’s world renowned spicy pickles.

Marinated in horseradish, mustard and hot peppers, these pickles packed a wallop.

I’m not really a pickle guy, but I was a good sport about it and downed a few – just for you, my loyal Suits in Strange Places readers.

Considering this was the only meal I was going to get today amidst three meetings and eight hours of driving across the Kansas countryside, I considered myself lucky to have stumbled into such a genuine old fashioned outpost of good eats.

World famous chili and pickles. And enough pastrami to cater a small Jewish wedding. All for seven bucks.

Yep. This is a pretty cool gig.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Diners, Drive-Ins and the Downside to High Expectations

Bobo’s Drive In
2300 SW 10th Ave.
Topeka, KS



Not to get all Dr. Phil on you, but what do you think is the key to happiness?

Low expectations.

That’s right. Think about it.

Whether it’s relationships or lunch.

If you want a happy marriage, pick someone with low expectations.

You know what they say. Behind every successful man is a pleasantly surprised mother-in-law.

I guess that explains my disappointment in the world famous Bobo’s Drive In here in Topeka, Kansas.

Smack in the middle of a typical ridiculous Suit757 itinerary, I was desperately looking forward to the one and only meal of my trip through Florida, Georgia, Arkansas, Missouri, Oklahoma, Kansas, Illinois and Michigan.

All in 24 hours.

Eight states. Six airports.

One meal.

In 24 hours.

Yeah, this better be a damn good lunch.

My research led me here. Around for six decades, the Bobo has consistently been voted one of the top burger joints in America. It’s even been visited by that annoying guy with the spiky hair on the Food Network.

The place certainly looks the part of an all-American roadside classic with car hops and a vintage neon sign out front beckoning hungry travelers.

But for my only meal on my eight state journey, I sure as heck wasn’t going to eat it sitting in my rental car. Besides, that always spells trouble for my dry cleaning bill.

So I ventured into the tiny cramped dining room and grabbed a booth by the door because the eight stools at the lunch counter were all occupied.

To be honest, the cheeseburger wasn’t bad.

Pretty thin and small, but, hey, people weren’t such fat pigs 60 years ago, so tiny thin burgers can be cool in a retro kind of way.

The cheese was even thicker than the meat and kind out drowned out the flavor of the burger. Probably should have gone with the double meat.

The more interesting “Spanish Burger”, was covered in an oniony tomato sauce with no cheese at all. The powerful flavor was so familiar to me, but I just couldn’t place it.

I know I’ve had this before. But when? And where?

It took me all the way to my very last bite before it dawned on me.

Manwich.

Yes. Mom’s Sloppy Joes.

You know. You brown some ground beef and then dump a can of Manwich on it. Instant dinner. Quick. Easy. And so unhealthy, it’s now probably a violation of federal child endangerment laws.

I haven’t had that since my college days.

But that is definitely the taste of Bobo’s famous “Spanish Burger.” Good ol’ Sloppy Joe.

The highlight of the meal was the homemade root beer and excellent onion rings.

Perfectly fried and seasoned, these rings weren’t so much rings, as a mass of twisted, gnarled fried goodness. Onion rings don’t get much better.

Of course no visit to Bobo’s is complete without trying their world renowned apple pie. It’s a Topeka institution. This is so good, folks from all over Kansas flock here just to sink their fork into Bobo’s sweet goodness.

At least those were my expectations in those breathless moments before my warm slice was brought out to my booth. (See above about my theory on the relationship between expectations and happiness.)

Frankly, Bobo’s apple pie was kind of a dud.

A thick, flaky crust on top and on the bottom, the apples in this apple pie are diced up into small pieces. It needs more apples, more sugar, less crust. Maybe I should have gotten it ala mode. I don’t know. It just didn’t live up to the hype.

It just ain’t like mom’s.

(Okay, my mom may have lacked some culinary creativity when it came to Sloppy Joes, but she makes one mean apple pie.)

It had been 24 hours, six states and three airports since my last meal. It would be another 24 hours, two states and three airports before I’d get another. But I left Bobo’s just a bit disappointed.

I mean, it wasn’t a bad lunch. It just didn’t meet my over-heightened expectations.

If Bobo’s was some smoky dive sports bar that I just happened to stumble into next door to my Comfort Inn, I’d probably give it a higher rating.

But Bobo’s is world famous. It’s been on national TV.

Bobo’s Drive In should serve as a warning to all hungry travelers – and mothers-in-law – keep your expectations in check.

Rating: Would Wear A Free Shirt.

Ribs in Strange Places

Pizza Parlor
1919 NE Seward Avenue

Topeka, KS
Visited July 27, 2010

Beer selection: Classic dive bar options

Food: Unfortunately, also typical dive bar options

OK. I admit it. My bad.

You don’t order ribs at a place called the Pizza Parlor.

But my research told me that there were good ribs with an excellent homemade BBQ sauce to be had at this dive sport bar in this decidedly blue collar section of Topeka.

An adventurous eating destination is one of the few joys of modern day travel. I’ll give anything a try. Once.

To be honest, the ribs weren’t terrible. Just not the epic t-shirt buying variety.

The ribs were tender, but lacked any evidence being smoked. No tell-tale red smoke ring. No smoky flavor.

Folks, boiled ribs ain’t BBQ.

The baked beans were from industrial-sized store-bought cans of Bush’s – the evidence readily visible on the journey through the kitchen to the men’s room.

The coleslaw was at least unusual in a strange vinegary sort of way.

The highlight was the globs of thick red BBQ sauce on the ribs.

I know some BBQ snobs would be absolutely aghast at the sight of a half inch thick mound of ketchup-looking sauce covering their ribs. But I can be open-minded when I want to be – at least when it comes to BBQ sauce.

In eastern North Carolina, I’ll gladly sprinkle on the vinegar sauce. In Columbia, I’ll pour on the golden mustard sauce. In Memphis, I’m happy to indulge in dry ribs with no sauce at all.

In the Midwest, folks like thick, sweet tomatoey BBQ sauces.

Deal with it.

You can’t tell me a deliciously molasses-sweet sauce like the Pizza Parlor’s wouldn’t make cardboard taste good.

But that’s the problem with the Pizza Parlor ribs. It’s the sauce alone that salvages the meal.

Then again, maybe I was just grumpy over the fact that at noon on a Tuesday I was the only one in the joint wearing a suit – and the only one not drinking beer. The scene was straight out of a Sheryl Crow song.

The Pizza Parlor is a classic blue collar neighborhood dive bar, complete with $1 drafts of Pabst Blue Ribbon. And, no, it wasn’t happy hour.

That’s the regular every day price.

Of course, if you are a big spender, you can get Busch Light cans for $1.50. Busch-freakin-Light in a can! It doesn’t get any more divey than that!

So I made a promise to myself.

Next time I’ll be prepared. When I’m in Topeka, I’m changing into Wranglers and coming after work to drink $1 PBRs with the locals.

And next time, I’m ordering the pizza.

Rating: Would Wear Shirt If It Were Free