In South Saint Louis, there is a gem of late night dining called Uncle Bill’s Pancake House. It wouldn’t rank all that high on Zagat’s, but it is my own personal mecca. The staff is clad in tapered white denim and enough electric blue eyeshadow to put any lady of the night to shame, and my own unfounded theory is that it’s the veritable Genco Olive Oil Company to the Korean Mafia of Greater Saint Louis. But more importantly, there is the food. Biscuits and gravy, bacon and eggs, pancakes topped with a heart-stopping amount of whipped butter.
During my second year of school, me and J. Valentine ate at Uncle Bill’s somewhere around three times a week. Physical fitness activities for the duration included roller-skating, dancing up and down the aisles on late night trips to Walmart, and attempting the top-rock while watching break dancing videos. That’s about it. But somehow, by years end we were decidedly slimmer. A friend asked us if we’d been doing anything different, and after looking at each other for a confused minute, I offered “thick cut bacon”. She wasn’t convinced.
There’s no explaining it. The logic behind it confounds me to this day. But if you feel like you’re starving yourself on a diet of beet root and lettuce, I whole-heartedly endorse Uncle Bill’s. Partly because I feel as though mentioning the Korean Mafia might get me whacked, but more so because of how much I love bacon.