Road Eats: Mr. Gilberti's Place in Hollister, MO.

Let me start off by saying that I appreciate Branson. It's just over the border, and it's one of the few places I can go and not be recognized. I've seen some pretty good shows there, my daughter loves Silver Dollar City, and my mom and I dig on the Veterans' Day sales most years.

Thing is, Branson has a lot of things, but classic, non-chain eateries aren't among those things. There are a few places downtown that have been around a while, and restaurants that are either at Silver Dollar City or attached to attractions, that have made it past the 20 year point... but by its very clientele, the city is beleaguered by a much higher local operation to chain operation basis than any other place I've ever visited. Folks coming in from all over the world are accustomed to their Cracker Barrels, Red Lobsters and McDonald's and want the comforting food of their regular diet to go along with the comforting nostalgia of their youth. I get that.

But for epicures like myself, the challenge to find a good restaurant to talk about is significant. Indeed, I've been looking for a place for over a decade that I can really, truly call my favorite. There are some I have revisited and a few I'd recommend here and there. But none compare to Mr. Gilberti's Place.

Now, first off, Mr. Gilberti's is not in Branson. It's actually on the outskirts of Hollister, set in the middle of a neighborhood. Unless you happened to come across it while driving around or found a sign, it might as well be in Timbuktu. The restaurant has no advertising and relies on

word-of-mouth -- which is saying something, since it's been around ten years now. There are a lot of return visitors here, including a whole wall-full of celebrities of all sorts... and me, my mom and my daughter.

This is Wayne Gilberti. He and his wife Susan started this place in 2005. Mr. Gilberti says his grandmother ran Uno's... yes, that Uno's, up in Chicago, before it became Uno's. The recipes for that famous Chicago-style pizza are the same, though locals who have visited both say Mr. Gilberti's is better. Since he started in the business when he was seven, and since he has all this amazing experience, I can believe it.

When casting the net for recommendations for the area last year, I had someone send me a private email about this little Italian joint. So when my mom, daughter and I took a well-deserved break and hid out in Branson for the better part of a week last September, I insisted we had to find this place.

Our first visit, it was dark -- it took me a while to find the way from Indian Point out over Table Rock Dam and through the zigzagging route at the top of the ridge below Branson. We thought we'd missed the place a few times, and then sped past it not realizing it was there. But when we got

in, we were warmly welcomed by a lovely lady in a fedora and vest, who told us to sit where we liked.

Having heard about the Uno's connection, I knew we had to have a pizza. But would that be enough for three of us? Maybe, maybe not. We decided to

get a few other items, and started out with the toasted ravioli. I've been a big fan of T-Ravs since a visit to St. Louis back in 2008, and these were not disappointing -- a dozen ravioli, half cheese and half beef. The cheese ones had a flavor of a different sort of cheese, maybe some St. Louis style

Provel, maybe not. The meat ones were spicy. The ravioli were served up with a very thick, chunky, herb-saturated marinara that I could have just eaten on bread, just very, very good.

We started with this with beverages - lemon lime soda for Hunter, unsweet tea for me and a small bottle of wine for my mom... which was so very, very cute, a Dago Red Chianti in a vessel that would hold about two normal sized glasses of wine. You can also bring your own beverage, for what that's worth.

We also ordered the Andy Williams Salad for Two. On this first visit, I thought maybe it was named in honor of the crooner who called Branson his home in later years... but as I was later told, this was one of the fine tanned man's favorites. Pepperoni and pepperoncini, black olives, artichokes, red onion, tomatoes, mozzarella cheese... a lot of different items, all with perhaps one of the best vinaigrettes I have ever tried in my life. A big salad, worthy of its $9.25 price, amply portioned.

But we were really there for the pizza, and we were going large -- with a Mama Gilberti. That's right -- we chose a large, 14" Chicago style all-vegetable pizza. The combination of marinated green peppers with tomatoes, mushrooms, spinach, onions and black olives works very well -- I didn't miss the meat. The chunky tomato sauce on top was more tomato than sauce, more of a marinated melange than a proper sauce. The crust was tan and crunchy around the edges. It was marvelous - and it came to the table in about 15 minutes, rather than the 25 our waitress had warned.

We were happy. It was good. In fact, it was the best dinner we'd had in town that week. Think that's the only time we went? Think again. The pizza was so good the next morning, we made a special trip to go out that evening. This time, we changed it up... and arrived before the sun

went down. There were some things on the menu that had us curious, so off we went.

For Hunter, it was time for her own pie. Yes, she was into the T-Ravs and salad and even had a slice of the thick Chicago-style pie the night before, but she wanted more than that. So we got her a small cheese Chicago style pizza all her own. Yeah, she was all about that. It was very cute, too... with tiny little pieces but still just as good as the Mama Gilberti we had the night before.

Mom went for the Tony Orlando's Favorite. Now, this, like the meal I chose, came complete. It's a side salad and six meatballs covered in marinara sauce, served with bread (the cheese is extra). I'm thinking this is an excellent choice, especially for my gluten-free friends (who can skip the bread) looking for something good to eat here. The meatballs did very well in that same stand-up chunky marinara.

Now, I should be going on more about that... after all, if it's Tony Orlando's favorite meal, maybe I needed to wait around for Tony Orlando to return to order it? But you know that's not how I roll.

I had noticed the previous visit the Mama Gilberti's Seafood Ravioli. I'm not usually the sort of person to gravitate towards the most expensive item on a menu, but I was intrigued (the largest pizzas cost a little more, but they were meant for more than one person). I love seafood, and with the promise of homemade pasta I just couldn't resist.

It was decadent.

We're talking handmade ravioli stuffed with shredded lobster, shrimp and scallops. Drowned in a pink Alfredo and crabmeat sauce. With big fat shrimp on top, artichoke hearts, and more crabmeat.

Pardon me while I wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth. I want this dish again.

It was remarkable, delicious, and just downright tasty. I'd already had a side salad with the housemade blue cheese dressing, but that was forgotten. This plate of pasta was wipe-up-the-sauce-with-bread good. Lick the plate good.

And best of all, it came with spumoni for dessert. No, really, it's included in the price. Yeah, Hunter had to get on this action.

So, two great meals at Mr. Gilberti's. Were we done yet? Oh no we weren't. We had obligations to take care of back in Arkansas, and knew our time was

growing short, but planned our Missouri exit for lunchtime so we could enjoy some good Chicago-style Italian one more time.

This being a Friday, we took advantage of the special and let Hunter get

another pizza, this time a one topping thin crust black olive pizza. That's right, Hunter prefers black olives to most meats. It came swamped in cheese on a very crisp crust.

Mom and I went with sandwiches. She went for a chicken breast

sandwich. Now, this isn't like most chicken breast sandwiches. The breast is marinated and then baked, served on a French bread roll that's then dipped in olive oil and Parmesan cheese, served with the lettuce and tomato on the side. Mom got hers with the mozzarella cheese. It was a pretty ample sandwich.

And I chose an Italian beef. Now, me and the Italian beef sandwich, we usually have a gripe. The different places I tried it in Chicago, it was usually a little greasy and undersalted (which is saying a LOT, coming from never-add-salt me). But it's nice and thin-sliced and hearty here. It's

usually served with hot or mild peppers (I had the mild) and mine came with grilled onions and smothered in mozzarella. Fries came with it, and they were all right, but what I was really digging was the rich, brothy jus that came with the sandwich (you have to request it, but it's no additional charge). Yes, I'll be having that one again.

So, why haven't I talked about this place before? Well, I wanted Grav to try it. He spent four years in Chicago and considers himself an expert. Also, we were on the road a LOT around that time, and it got pushed to the backburner. So on our latest visit to Eureka Springs, we took a day to

drive up to the Branson area... only to discover the place was closed for a much-needed vacation. Well dangit.

You'll find Mr. Gilberti's on Acacia Club Road in Hollister. There's a map here... you may just need it. It's open every day (when there's no vacation involved) at 11 a.m., except on Sundays when it opens at noon. Enjoy yourself.

Oh, here's the website.

Mr. Gilberti's Place
1451 Acacia Club Road
Hollister, MO 65672
(417) 334-9332
Menu

Surprisingly Large Burgers at Red River Cafe in Fulton.

The rain came down in sheets.  Outside, the green sky oozed over the windshield.  We were doing our best to get the hell out of Arkansas before the storm came, but we couldn't beat the rain.  The rain was beating us.

I'd been squinting through the wipers for two hours straight, and the strain was enough.  Other motorists who either couldn't deal with the rain or who thought they needn't drop their speed jockeyed past each other on Interstate 30.  We missed the Hope exit, our intended put-in, and white-knuckled on, hungry and already tired with five more hours of drive-time to go.

I spotted the big blue sign right before the Fulton exit, saw something red and white under the heading of FOOD and decided to take the exit.  Following the signs, we pulled up outside a long red bricked building next door to an austere old gas station.  I tried to dodge the deeper puddles for a spot where we could drag the least of the storm inside with us.  And then I shot this image with my phone, marveling at what appeared to be a still-working payphone on the outside wall.

Rushing in, cameras tucked under our arms, we stepped inside and found ourselves a table next to the window.  Thinking we were actually going to make it to Texarkana or further along before we actually had a full meal, we looked over the little wrinkled menus on the table for something quick to eat.

Now, I've been a little bit of everywhere, and I am used to burgers being flat from a griddle or round from a fancier restaurant... there was no indication one way or another here.  We both talked about what to order, and decided if we had leftovers, we'd take them with us.  I went for a simple double cheeseburger, and Grav

chose the Fulton Mafia Combo -- essentially the same thing with bacon, seasoned fries and a beverage.  Sounded good enough to me.

The rain continued to smother the lot outside the door.  A trio of kids, likely related to a member of the staff, played an old game console on the other

side of the restaurant, something that sounded remarkably like Galaga.  When a big wrecker truck came onto the lot, one of them shouted, and the three of them went to the glass-paned door and waved, eliciting a honk from the incoming vehicle.  Another wrecker passed on its way out.

I overheard our waitress talking with the cook a bit about the pie.  She'd come out, pull a pie from the case next to the register, cut a slice and put it in a clamshell box and take it to the back.  She did this again, and then a third time, this with the final admonition "well why don't you just bring the pan back here?"  I wasn't sure if the pie was being packaged for customers to come, or what, but I did note it was a chocolate meringue pie, and once that was gone there was a single pie left in the case.

The rain kept flowing on and on, pressing waves towards the building.  Grav reached across and touched my hand as we stared out into the gray.  A UPS truck pulled up, first with its passenger door to the cafe, then turning around and placing same doorway under the eve for the gas station next door.  A pair of tandem-trailer trucks performed a pas de deux in the mud by the road, carefully lining up where the drivers could converse through open windows without having to brave the soaking waters.

There was giggling in the back, that grew louder.  We sipped on our beverages, which had been provided to us in car holder-friendly 32 ounce Styrofoam cups, and kept looking out the window, until our waitress got our attention by setting plates down in front of us.

Well, golly.

Here were two burgers, each enough for two, standing tall on steak knives.  The patties were fat and moist, with bits of char on their flat faces.  Mine sat between its seedless buns, a ring of pickles and a single slice of tomato evident under

its cap.  A leaf of iceberg lettuce had been glued to the top bun with mustard, while mayo oozed from underneath the bottom patty. Those patties wore deep yellow slices of American cheese like tight trousers, all melty together.

And completely impossible to eat, due to the sheer height of the creations.

Grav's burger was much the same, except under his bottom patty was a layer of curly bacon, adding even more height to his creation.

After our round of photos and astonishment, I attempted to smush my burger flat enough to manage into my mouth.  This wasn't happening.  I pressed hard, but only succeeded in pushing some of the moisture out of the patties and imprinting my fingers into the bun top.  Our waitress provided us with forks.

And I'll tell you, rainy day blues

aside, these were awesome burgers with a nice flavor of black pepper and a little seasoning, some onion in there as well.  Our waitress claimed the patties weren't measured but they were easily half a pound each, leaving us with hefty amounts of beef to make it through.  We did not succeed.  

I might have, and I likely would have put myself at risk for rupture, had I not got to thinking about that pie.  So a slice was ordered, and we shot the pie before we closed the lid and slid it into the offered sack along with our leftovers.

Our beverages topped off and capped, we left, me going and jumping in the car and unlocking the doors for Grav to rush out and slide in.

That pie I ate about six hours later in a hotel room in Livingston, TX, exhausted from the trip and needing sugar in my system before we were to venture to our next destination, a restaurant called the Blue Duck.  The custard of the pie was rich, a dark chocolate custard with substantial heft, and the meringue was caramelized and sweet.

The Red River Cafe was a surprise to us, and that's a good thing.  We don't get a whole lot of surprises these days, so being able to pull out of the rain and into a table in a friendly restaurant is a real blessing.  We'll be back for breakfast at some point.

Red River Cafe

5279 Highway 67 West (I-30 Exit 18)
Fulton, AR 71838
(870) 896-2590

How Do You Roll? That's How We Roll... in Conway.

If you've been reading Tie Dye Travels any length of time, you've probably picked up on the fact that my daughter is a sushi fanatic.  We're not talking California rolls and tempura shrimp... we're talking octopus salad, seaweed and eel.  Hunter Robinson is a sushi freak and has been since her first bite of solid food (which was, not intentionally, wasabi paste).

She sings the praises of her favorite sushi spots, Tokyo House in Little Rock and Umami in Conway, constantly.  The former offers her the luxury of pieces of a dozen different rolls in a sitting.  The latter has a Black Dragon roll they don't even need to ask if she wants when she goes.  She has become such a familiar at both places that they welcome her by name.

Sure, we have other sushi haunts, such as Igibon and Mt. Fuji and Sushi Cafe... but we have been pretty regular about hitting just those joints as of late.  So, on a recommendation, we decided to try Conway's hip, chic How Do You Roll? on a Saturday lunchtime.

Like many of the Hendrix-area eateries that have popped up in recent years, How Do You Roll? is incredibly hip and trendy, with all the straight clean lines you'd expect from a 2010s era hotspot.  Its menu is formidable, but not in the average sushi list sort of way.  Instead, you pick up your menu and make your decision before you ever make it to the register.

That, in itself, could be troublesome to newcomers, since the place's big draw is choose-your-own sushi.  As in, pick your protein and three vegetables (which includes cream cheese, tofu and seasonal fruit) and a topping to go on the top.  Or inside, if you're getting a hand roll, er, CONE as they put it.  There are, in fact, so many items on the menu that for a first-time visitor, I found myself staring dumbfounded at the menu while Hunter debated her own choices.  No Black Dragon roll here, she soon discovered.

This lead to the possibility of, well, anything.  Which, if you know exactly what you want, is a great thing.  Or, if you're like me on a Saturday where V8 has been the only thing consumed since five in the morning, you stare dumbly and hope the hipsters and college students who slide by to the register don't think you're too much of a square.  Is the term "square" still used that way?  I haven't a clue.

Any time I have cash in pocket and a big menu, I tend to over-order, and this indeed was the case.  Hunter had finally picked out her create-your-own roll, and stumped the lovely young lady at the cash register by asking for Ramune, which she could see in the cooler behind the register (the young lady said they just referred to it as Japanese soda) and ordered an eel-avocado-carrot-cucumber roll with tempura bits.  I went for a Bento, which at first seemed a bit high at $13.  Seemed.  We were given a card with a number on it to put on a stand wherever we sat.  It had trivia on it.

Hunter got her beverage and I went and filled my glass with tea.  She decided we needed to sit at the lower tables by the couch... I suppose that makes much more sense to her, having shorter legs than mine.  I watched as she attempted to pop the marble into her Ramune before smashing it down in myself.  The lychee flavored beverage is all right, but I'm perfectly happy with iced tea, thank you very much.

As we waited, we chatted.  Hunter got excited when she heard the music overhead switch to the new Fall Out Boy's tune called Centuries, which

samples Suzanne Vega's Tom's Diner.  I regaled Hunter with the information that Tom's Diner was a hit when I was in high school.  She seemed interested in that fact, but I wondered if she once again realized just how old I am.  Probably not.  She's six.  She has about a decade to get cynical on me.

Our food was soon delivered.  Hunter's plate was simple -- a rice-sided roll sliced into eight bite-sized pieces, covered in a mountain of tempura bits.  She eyed the mess as she struggled to pop her chopsticks apart,  I don't think that's what she had expected, but as I reminded her, she hadn't asked about eel sauce.  I did make sure that what she had on top wasn't French's fried onions (yes, that's happened before) and helped her sweep some of the tempura off the top.  Once she dove in, though, she happily consumed most of it.  As I said, she's six.

This was a pretty long roll.  The custom rolls, by the way, are
$8.

The Bento I'd ordered was.... well, the portions were larger than I thought.  How Do You Roll?  offers their bentos as a roll, a hand roll -- er, I'm sorry, cone (they call it), and two appetizers.

I wanted a good ginger side salad and a little seaweed salad.  I got a LOT of seaweed salad and some lovely dark green lettuce topped with a sweet but clear ginger dressing completely unlike what I was expecting.  I am not complaining in the slightest.  This ginger dressing, though rather

sweet, wasn't a puddle of pink watery emulsion like is often experienced when a Japanese restaurant lacks care in preparation.  It was thicker than it looked and it clung to the leaves, and I liked it.

Hunter, of course, was all about my seaweed salad and helped herself to plenty of it.  And still, between the two of us, there was just too much.

Now, I was trying whatever came along, so I chose the Beefinator for my roll.  I guess I was expecting something more similar to The Cowboy at Sushi Cafe or the Beef Roll

at Igibon.  This was neither.  While it did have a nice teriyaki sauce to it, it had a rather overcooked piece of beef within, which gave me the rather odd sensation of having a very solid, very chewy version of southern-style beef and rice with some sweet stuff on top.  I really didn't get much of the avocado and cucumber, but I sure got a LOT of Japanese mayo and sesame seeds.  I think I'll order something different next time.

I got the Rockin' Shrimp for my... sushi cone... okay, yes, that's REALLY bothering me because I am a handroll enthusiast... egads... but this was pretty good. Couldn't really tell a difference between "yum yum" sauce and Japanese mayo, but the tempura shrimp was ample and the cucumber was crunchy.  I was completely not interested in one of the other... cone... options that consisted of chicken and waffles, but I may have also been pretty off that day, too.  After all, I'd just come off the epic 2100 mile nine day roadtrip (which you'll be hearing more about next week) and I was pretty beat.

We ended up taking half my roll, a piece of Hunter's roll and the seaweed salad home for later, which made a great late afternoon snack for her while I was getting laundry done.  I think we're going to go back soon, to try some of the other rolls on a day when I'm not fall-down tired.

So, when we left, I pulled out my phone and played Tom's Diner on it.  I haven't listened to it in about a decade or more.  Strangely, it struck me as maybe more my writing style.  I mean, after all, she doesn't really talk about the food.



That has very little to do with anything, but there you go. Go see what you think about How Do You Roll? and share your thoughts.

How Do You Roll?
1700 Altus Street Suite 105
Conway, AR 72032
(501) 504-6989
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Say, Have You Tried The Uncle Roman at Steffey's Pizza?

Not to retread followed paths again, but I have to come back to my favorite pizza in Arkansas. More beloved to me than ZaZa's Forager, Damgoode's Artie or even Rod's Lil Heifer, comes the Uncle Roman at Steffey's Pizza, a double-crusted stuffed pie baked in a 12” cast iron skillet. And though I've written about it before, by gum I'm going to write about it again, because it's been nearly four years, and because you should know the history of the place.

Yes, I already shared that history in my second book, Classic Eateries of the Ozarks and Arkansas River Valley. In case you missed it there, here 'tis again.

Back in the 1950s, Glen Steffey was stationed at Fort Chaffee, where he was assigned the position of baker. Between Fort Smith and Delmont, PA he developed his very own crust and sauce recipes, and he opened the first Steffey’s with his wife Ruth there in 1963. After a few years she decided to be a stay-at-home mom and he decided to pursue a career as a truck driver, so they shut the place down. But Glen really enjoyed making pizza, and within a few years they were making and selling pizza out of their basement a couple of nights a week.

The trucking business started slowing down in the area in 1980, and Glen went to Stiegler, OK to work. He went one day over to Lavaca to visit his friend Don Ray, and something about the area convinced him he was meant to be there. So he moved the whole family down – and in 1981 opened Steffey’s Pizza. Glen eventually taught his daughter LeAnn the recipes he’d developed, and today she operates the place with her husband Shayne and daughter Briar.

Steffey’s Pizza started out in a location west of the current store before being moved downtown where it thrived for a couple of decades. The new store opened in 2008. It’s clean and homey with four big pizza ovens exposed in the kitchen that’s right in front of you when you walk in the door. There’s a game room with a pool table, an old fashion Horwitzer jukebox (that plays for free) and arcade to the left, and a dining room featuring tables lit with lights ensconced in cheese graters to the right.

There are many pizzas available at Steffey’s with all sorts of toppings. There are sandwiches, big sub sandwiches baked in the ovens. There are nachos and breadsticks and salads. But all these pale compared to that one specially featured pie in the middle of the menu.

The Uncle Roman hasn't always been on the menu — it was something that was put out on the buffet early in the week on Monday through Wednesday that caught on. Because it takes an extra 15 minutes to cook, the folks who run the restaurant were afraid it wouldn't catch on. But people are understanding when they see that direction on the menu to expect a longer cook time. There’s just one size for the Uncle Roman, and you choose the toppings. It’s cooked in a cast iron skillet between two parmesan-dusted crusts, sauce and cheese gluing the whole mess together.

Since my first visit there four years ago, we've dropped in -- Grav more often than I, since his family's in the Fort Smith area and it's close by. Has it changed? Well, today Steffey's sells some really cool tie dye shirts advertising the place, but it's still pretty much the same -- an arcade room to

the left when you walk in, a giant dining room to the right.

This time around, we decided to change up our Uncle Roman order, going for a filling of beef, mushrooms and green olives. It was a hit. It was such a hit that neither of us could eat more than a slice and a half. But that works -- because a visit to Steffey's always means breakfast is taken care of for the next morning. Sometimes lunch, too.

One thing I don't think I mentioned before is that ranch dressing accompanies the Uncle Roman. This is a little unusual, but with that cornmeal-

dusted crust, it totally works.

Lavaca may not be on your direct line to get from anywhere to anywhere else, but it is a great place to visit and this is a pizza you really have to try. The recipe may be in the book, but the real experience is in downtown Lavaca, and you owe yourself a trip.

Steffey's Pizza
627 West Main
Lavaca, AR 72941
(479) 674-2300
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