So long, Uncle Bill's Pancakes on Kingshighway: Where generations of St. Louisans found comfort of all kinds

Thanks for the memories, sixty plus years worth.

When you go out for a meal, it’s not just about the food. The experience plays a big part. It’s about giving the kitchen and your nerves a rest, finding comfort in foreign walls and an open will to have a team of cooks armed to cook four lists of food at your order. In the process, you give back to the community, especially if you choose local. Uncle Bill’s Pancakes was the choice for thousands of families over the years in south city St. Louis. Kingshighway between Fyler and Pernod. A cornerstone breakfast, lunch and dinner spot, it fits the “eat out” allure to a tee.

It started when you walked in the front door, where a customer was greeted by history and special Uncle Bill’s memorabilia like the original menu and pictures from earlier years. The transportation continued into the lobby waiting area. The smell of food and people didn’t reach your nostrils until the next door was open, and it was a signature one. Think of anything cooked on a grill mixed with coffee and the smell of original interior furniture. Familiarity struck you each time you walked in and sat at a table, and flipped the coffee mug over for your first pour. The fits behind those tables were on the snug side, like Bill wanted you to be extra close as the chewing began.

The menu was a murderer’s row of breakfast items with some surprise dinner choices, including a combo plate that offered a little of everything sexy about morning eating. Called the 2x2x2, a customer received two eggs, two bacon or sausage, and two pancakes. I’d always order it with four pieces of bacon instead, and add hash browns. When consuming guilty pleasure food with some protein included, it’s best to lean into it and not half-ass it. Don’t be the guy who eats half a bagel.

The country fried steak could fill up the Rock on one of his cheat days (or two of them), and the fried chicken dinner platter packed a punch. You’d have to wait extra long to get the chicken, so that meant seeing the rest of the table eat about half of their food before your first bite. The coffee ranged from classic diner coffee to sometimes less, but you slurped it down anyway. Hey, when in Rome, if you know what I mean.

Uncle Bill’s looked like a bed and breakfast dining room with its separate rooms and architecture, but the room next to Kingshighway was the best spot. You could see cars zip by, turn back for a drink of coffee, and then spy the rest of the room before seeing a few more vehicles fly by, knowing you’re eating at the spot while they merely glimpsed the special on the outside sign.

Pro Tip: If you weren’t far from the coffee machine, you could lean out of the booth and fill your own cup. That is if you somehow didn’t get caught by one of the fierce women who took your orders and served the food, swiped your credit card, and bid you farewell until next time.

The waitress staff was composed of all women, which is the way I like it. Look, there’s a mood boost to having a strong woman that you don’t know directly calling you “honey” while placing your plate on the table. Those kinds of brief yet vital interactions can easily pull you out of your own head. Reset our Wi-Fi. It was all the little things about the place that took your mind off any idea racing through your head.

Uncle Bill’s was also the spot where I watched my dad, Rich, become a comedian. Fresh off a long shift taking X-rays and caring for a big ass house on Tholozan, he could unleash story-blended zingers that made you belly laugh. Being piled into a booth with my Uncle Curt and dad was a delight, because their best jokes and stories would come out in between those walls and make the time between ordering and eating fly by. Unlike most kids, I was never bored being around my family, because they would entertain like few working entertainers could. It also helped that I didn’t have to pay to see them do their thing.

My dad would crack jokes, ones that would make the table next to us laugh and get other tables looking at us in bewilderment. Buffas are loud, but it was always tolerated in Uncle Bill’s. According to my dad, he was the only customer who was allowed to write a check there. When he was young and got off work from Barnes Hospital down the street, he’d stop there and eat with his cousin, Billy. All of those visits accrued over the years allowed him to receive special treatment. If you eat locally consistently, they’ll scratch your back too.

Heck, if they had allowed it, my dad could have done 15 minutes of stand up comedy. A kid, teenager, and grown man was always entertained. Imagine seeing a comedy show at a breakfast shop, and then going to a movie with the comedian. That was at least once a week up until I was 11 and moved to Brentwood. Still, we make the trek down to the city spot to attain the experience.

Uncle Bill’s is also where I took my son to breakfast many times. If you tracked down the pictures on Facebook or Twitter, you could literally watch him grow up. First, a kid who spent the entire meal in a stroller. Eventually, he’d learn how to climb into the booth, and not fall off under the table or into the aisle. Children are basically amateur stunt performers. Vinny and I would go there after school, and unwind with a meal. There weren’t always a ton of words spoken, because your happy place doesn’t require dialogue.

The experience was enough. Tonight, the Kingshighway location will close its doors for good. While the south county location will stay open-it’s quite good, I eat there just about weekly-the city location will finish service tonight, Oct. 8, and call it.

There will no longer be the option when strolling down Thunder Road, aka Kingshighway, to stop in for a good meal and some coffee. Something else will go there. I place early bets on a gas station or fried chicken fast food restaurant, but it could stay vacant like the lot a little more south down the road that used to be the Avalon Theater. The classics don’t play or stick around forever.

A sad fact of getting old is seeing those childhood favorites disappear. The dollar bill isn’t what it used to be, and times have gotten tough for many local restaurants. Including Uncle Bill’s, at least four other establishments are calling it quits. The economy is climbing in the rankings of biggest adulting asshole, right behind cancer and Father Time. It’s hard on mom and pop shops.

What won’t disappear are the memories from when we were younger, or even younger. A big plate of comfort food delivered more satisfaction than a three-day vacation. That’s breakfast food done right at a place that felt like a home away from home.

Those pancakes are worth fighting for. They were like my wife’s curves; perfect, and diabolical with even the mind. One could sit there and watch my dad prepare to do battle with a three stack of cakes. That was Netflix before they started flixing.

The butter was spread across each cake while the other hand used a fork to hold the other two up. Hey, only one buttery maple syrup waterboarding at a time! The syrup drip amount varied depending on mood and level of hunger. Sometimes, you just couldn’t wait and did a three-second downpour instead of a sophisticated drip for double the time. Those things could stop a fight, cure an hangry lady, and just about bring a smile to the strongest cynic.

Wash U. Students

Thanks for the memories, Uncle Bill’s Pancake House. Experiences I won’t soon forget. I’d lay cold, hard cash on thousands of others sharing a similar sentiment.

Eat local, and thanks for reading.