D & G Restaurant Coupons
- D & G Restaurant Coupons
- Cuisine: American
- Accepts Credit Card: Yes
- Parking : N/A
- Atmosphere: N/A
- Take Reservations: Yes
- Serves Alcohol: N/A
- Smoking Allowed: No
D & G Restaurant is a American restaurant. It's located at 1918 Frederick Ave in St Joseph, MO 66024.
There are places near D & G Restaurant giving great discounts. . This discounts range from $ to $. The discount ought to provide you with a total of $.
People online claim that D & G Restaurant is . D & G Restaurant also provides American cuisine, accepts credit card, and no parking . FriendsEAT Members have given the restaurant a rating 8.5 out 10 based on 2 total reviews.
This implies the restaurant is pretty well liked.
This place is still pretty good. I'm partial to the steak subs. Pizza is great and they actually will cook it well done, if asked. Other places forget or just don't do it. The steak sub doesn't have near the meat it did when they opened, not really worth the 5 bucks for a half sub anymore. Food is good but nothing to get freaked out about.
Some of my best dining memories from childhood are from the D G. When my great grandmother used to come into town, she loved to eat here. We'd get fried cauliflower and with cheesy sauce. My grandmother would order a Simon burger. My sister and I would get grilled cheese and mounds of fries. My grandfather would get a Ruben, heaping with pastrami and home-made sauerkraut and cole slaw right on the sandwich. My little cousins and my sister and I would play Tetris at the scratched Pac Man table while we were waiting for food. Piles of shiny quarters and steaming golden french fries were all it took to make the D G one of my favorite places.
The interior was covered, floor to ceiling, with pictures, fliers, trinkets, newpaper clippings: all in mismatched frames screwed to the wall. The tables were lacquered over ads. The whole place was garish. Old yellow lamps light the walls, long scarred by cigarette and cigar smoke: it was hazy, dark and cheap, with the smell of fried food, old perfume, and whiskey.
Shadowy old men with high-ballers of bourbon blow smoke at grainy TV screens and grunt beneath moustaches. Their elbows made circles in the crumbs and peanut shells on the bar. The bar was covered with rings from condensating drink glasses. Waitresses short haircuts, neon blue eye-shadow and fake eyelashes and frames that gravity has long-since reclaimed, shuffle greasy-papered red plastic baskets and crinkled dollar bills.
The cheap wood-paneling bows and warps in the middle, as lazy as the folks leisurely playing rummy in a halo of smoke in the corner. The mirror behind the bar is cracked and discolored, with grey lines of peeled away reflective paper that makes it look like TV static. The bar stock is ample with dusty bottles of amber-colored liquids and a dusty bartender that you never see with a cleaning cloth in hand. I used to love all the huge commemorative glass booze bottles above the bar.
The D G is exactly the dive your great grandmother would go to, as it was mine.