Missouri's state capitol punches above its weight, and is just one of a list of reasons to see Jeff City

Europeans are regularly baffled by the seeming insignificance of American state capitals. They come from a world where capital cities have evolved naturally with history, almost inevitably becoming the biggest, most exciting place in their country, full of palaces and museums, corporate headquarters and sky-high housing prices. That American state capitals are often so little-known they become the stuff of pub quizes is perplexing.

As a case in point I give you my home state’s administrative HQ: Jefferson City, Missouri. Its population is 42,772. That’s roughly the same size as Harlow, Essex (England) or Chalon-sur-Saône in Burgundy (France). The people who live there … including my father … are almost all here because of state government, whether that’s to do it, or to serve the people who do. Not much besides government goes on here. The state’s biggest university is an hour north. Missouri’s two biggest cities are two hours in either direction. But, critically, Jefferson City is almost exactly in the middle of the state. It sits beside the massive Missouri River, which formed a navigable east/west highway long before paved roads were possible. Like so many American state capitals, it was purpose built for legislative convenience. Cosmopolitan culture and business evolved elsewhere.

That doesn’t mean there’s no reason to visit. Even though you’d be hard pressed to find a European who’s set a tourist foot here in decades. (One notable exception is former British politician and train spotter Michael Portillo, who came through while filming his Great American Railway Journeys.) In fact, it’s quite a charming little town with some interesting architecture, fascinating history, good and affordable restaurants (see my last article), and gorgeous countryside spreading along the river valley. It also has quite a remarkable capitol building, punching far above its weight compared to the significance of the state in just about any league table. I’ve been inside palaces of government across much of Europe and I can honestly say that Missouri’s magnificent capitol building can hold its own against any of them.  

 In the unlikely event you’re a foreign tourist in Mid-Missouri, start here. (And if you’re a Missourian who hasn’t toured this masterpiece, shame on you! Book your visit immediately.) Tours are free but must be pre-booked at least 24 hours in advance. 

Just like the nation’s capitol, Missouri’s is dominated by an enormous dome springing from a rectangular block channelling Ancient Rome with its columns, porches and decorative detail. It is bigger and brighter than anything else in town, entirely gleaming white Missouri marble except for a few delicate pink lozenges set into the dome. The pleasant park around it is studded with memorials, most notably to the Lewis and Clark expedition that came through here while exploring routes west in Thomas Jefferson’s recently acquired Louisiana Purchase.

Posing amongst the explorers is probably the best photo opp in town. Sadly there are no women to share the fame as Sacagawea didn’t join the expedition until further up river. Locals tell me that Seaman the Newfoundland, the only animal to complete the 3-year journey, is the favourite to get your photo snapped with. Get close enough and you’ll spot the sculptor Sabra Tull Meyer’s brilliant touch of a dead mallard the dog has just laid at Merriweather Lewis’ feet.

The other “must shoot” external photo is the enormous statue of Thomas Jefferson, looking sagely to the

west below a pediment emblazoned (in Latin) with Cicero’s noble principle: Let the welfare of the people be the supreme law. It’s the dream of American democracy realised in bronze and stone. The third president’s reputation might have taken a knock in the musical Hamilton, but his popularity remains high here in a state that his policy literally created, and one that comes down hard on his side of the states rights v. Federalism debate. (And if you think that got resolved by the Founding Fathers, you have a lot to learn about America.)

Inside, the resemblance to the national capitol goes on with an impressively decorated rotunda beneath that dome. British visitors … were there any besides me and Portillo … might think the murals look a bit familiar, and they’d be right. Though he’s faded from general awareness, Welshman Sir Frank Brangwyn was an apprentice of William Morris. He became one of the most famous muralists of the early 20th century and sent canvases around the world to decorate grand buildings like this one. 

Missouri’s Capitol would have shared an artistic link with the British House of Lords had the peers … a third of the way through their commission … not decided to fire Brangwyn because his work was “too colourful and lively for the location”. Swansea Council bought and installed the panels. Learning this finally gives me a reason to stop rather than driving past on the way to Britain’s best beaches. 

A House and Senate chamber take up the bulk of the building on each side. Some sort of tiff between the tour guides and the senators has taken the Senate Chamber off the tour. A shame, since the gorgeous room is probably the closest you’ll get to a grand Roman bath complex in the Midwest. A glass dome, enormous Diocletian windows and column-bedecked loggias look down on 34 senator’s desks, rather than on the jolly tepidarium the architecture was originally designed for. You could have a robust debate on whether the desks or the pool would facilitate getting more work done. With a membership almost four times the size of the house, it’s unsurprising that the House Chamber is an even grander room of epic proportions. There’s lots more neoclassical architecture here, mixed up with some lovely Arts and Crafts windows and a vast mural of Missouri regiments in WWI that’s an unusual nod to American participation in that conflict. (Given that this capitol was built in the 1920s, the scene would have been depicting almost-current events.) 

Long hallways running around the debating chambers hold legislators’ offices, and I remember from my school days that it’s as easy to get an appointment here as with your local MP in England. This is the friendly, accessible face of government. Paintings along the hallways aren’t as luscious as Brangwyn’s work, but will hold more interest to locals in their depiction of the history of the state.

If you really want to dive into Missouri lore, however, you’ll need to devote at least an hour to the grand hallways that run off each side of the rotunda and beneath the debating chambers. These now hold a museum of Missouri state history.

There’s a little bit of everything here, from geology to displays on Missouri’s key industries to a diorama of the river with detailed models of all the craft that would have used it in the 19th century. Fans of innovative engineering will be fascinated by the snag boat purpose-built to pull treacherous branches out of the water. The labels next to the Civil War era portraits of governors tell a story like Game of Thrones … Coups! Duelling claimants! Scandal! … but they all look like Victorian church fathers. Which just proves you can’t judge a book by its cover. I particularly enjoyed the section on German immigration, and that community’s role in the Civil War, something that reflects my own family history. There’s an excellent timeline of the history of the whole state from dinosaurs to today, perfect except for its decision to highlight The Civil Rights Act for 1964 rather than my birth. Let’s get priorities straight, people! (Just kidding, obviously.)

The governor has the best real estate in the building. Right in the centre, behind the rotunda, his office gives him beautiful views out over the Missouri, the sprawling farmlands of its flood plain and the distant limestone cliffs that mark the other side of the river valley. It’s not open to the public; I know the room because last time I was here my dad was still in state government and he got us into the boss’ office. I even got a photo sitting behind his desk. Sadly, because this was the world before digital photography, that’s lost to history.

The most culturally significant thing in the building, and indeed in Mid Missouri, is Thomas Hart Benton’s Social History of Missouri mural covering the walls of the House Lounge with exuberant colour and movement. It’s an adventure story, from the early explorers to brave farmers and striving industrialists. But urban life in St. Louis and Kansas City takes a back seat here to Huck Finn and Jim, hound dogs and hogs, family farms and towering stalks of corn. Painted in the 1930s, Hart Benton gives a wonderfully louche Jazz Age feel to these Missourians, yet the faces and the topics are timeless. While you can wander around the building on your own, you can only get into the House Lounge with a tour guide, so signing up for the tour is a must. 

  As magnificent as that room is, my favourite part of the capitol is the Hall of Famous Missourians. In the centre of the building, a round balcony looks down on the rotunda, and stands in the centre of a cathedral-like space beneath the dome. All along its walls are plinths topped with busts of the state’s great and good. With a population of about 6 million (similar to Denmark) there are only a few degrees of separation between most of those commemorated here and the population wandering amongst them. I contemplated those who’d had a major impact on my life. Rose Philippine Duchesne, the sainted nun whose legacy gave birth to my high school. Stan Musial, one of the greatest baseball players of all time and one of the dads at school. Walter Cronkite, inspirer of early career ambitions and someone I was lucky enough to share a dining table with in journalism school. It was like meeting God. Walt Disney, author of so much childhood joy. I doubt I’ll ever have a bust here. If T.S. Elliott, another St. Louisan who moved to England and took British citizenship, isn't here, I'm doomed. But I love how wandering amongst these familiar faces reminds me how profound my Missouri roots are. 

BEYOND THE CAPITOL BUILDING 
While it’s the obvious blockbuster, the capitol building isn’t the only thing to give Jefferson City street cred on the sightseeing front. Here are some other things that could make a day or two in town worth while.

Immediately to the southeast of the capitol building you’ll find Jefferson Landing and the governor’s

mansion. There’s not a great deal of 19th century Jefferson City left, but here you get four excellent buildings (one currently closed for renovation). This is also where you get off and on the train to town, though the mobile-home-turned-waiting-room rather lets its neighbouring architecture down. There’s a museum inside the biggest of the riverside buildings but it wasn’t open when I visited. The governor’s mansion is, according to the web site, one of the few in the U.S. regularly open to the public and you can book free tours here. I didn’t get inside this time but a previous visit allows me to say that it’s a triumph of tasteful Second Empire style with a memorable flying staircase. The Christmas decorations are a real treat if you can get here in December.

There are a couple of blocks along High Street that make you wonder why local government isn’t pitching the town as a perfect location to film anything set in pre-1920s America. There are a handful of local restaurants and a few properly local shops. OK, you’d be hard pressed to while away more than a couple of hours here without eating or sitting down with a sketchbook, but it’s a charming bit of Americana that deserves to be enjoyed.

Locals tell me that the Old State Penitentiary is now the most popular attraction in town. Forget government, go for crime! I suppose I can see the appeal of this crumbling Victorian-era ruin. It certainly looks like the ghosts of gangsters and train robbers would be stalking its halls. But it’s not really my cup of tea. If you’re more interested in culture than criminals, skip the jail and head to Prison Brews for lunch instead.

Lincoln University is one of a handful of academically prestigious, historically-black colleges in the United States. (Howard in Washington DC is the one people are likely to have heard of.) The hilltop campus is pretty, if not spectacular, but it’s worth driving through to see the beautiful Civil War memorial on its central quadrangle. The 62nd and 65th Coloured Infantry Regiments were comprised heavily of Missourians and when they stood down after the war the soldiers raised money to start the school. The monument features life-size soldiers walking across the square towards a plinth on which the leaders of the regiments stand. Behind them, one soldier is helping another clamber up onto his higher ground, a beautiful metaphor for education. It is beautiful and moving in equal measures. 

In better weather, there are several lovely state parks with excellent hiking trails in easy striking distance. And the German immigrant tradition of wineries flourishes here. Neither are really appropriate for a January visit when the nation is having a record cold snap.

While English tourists aren’t thick on the ground these days, the most famous Englishman of the 20th century swung through in the 1940s and if you take a short trip to Fulton, you’ll find a shrine to him and his visit. Built beneath a re-constructed Christopher Wren church moved here stone by stone from London, the Churchill museum might be a bit underwhelming if you’ve been to Churchill’s house at Chartwell or to the excellent museum in the Imperial War Rooms. But this is a remarkable collection, thoughtfully presented, to exist outside of the UK. It’s here to mark the spot where Churchill gave his “iron curtain” speech while visiting his fellow wartime leader, Missourian Harry Truman. The addition of St. Mary Aldermanbury will feel like some strange alternative universe to anyone who knows London churches. Assembled here from ruins left by the Luftwaffe in London, the church is now in far better shape than any of its fellows in The City, is sparklingly clean, has sunshine rather than the shadows of office towers flowing through its windows, and completely devoid of homeless people sleeping in its porch. Londoners won’t know what to make of it.

Barbecue is the taste, and the culinary star, of my Midwestern roots

The restaurant scene in and around Jefferson City, Missouri

Brits often ask me if I miss anything about the States. My usual answer is “a can-do attitude, decent service in shops, tumble dryers and cheap petrol.” But here on the ground in mid-Missouri, a more basic, visceral answer rises to the top of the list. Great barbecue.

To be fair, Brits have come a long way on the BBQ front since I moved to a country that only fired up the grill for a few summer parties and proceeded to incinerate sausages. There are now top chefs who take outdoor grilling seriously. Trendy food trucks. BBQ classes at cooking schools. You can buy Webers and Green Eggs and their full range of accessories, including several varieties of wood chips for smoking. But for some reason I still can’t explain, no British attempt I’ve ever tasted can compare to the succulent perfection of your average BBQ joint in my home state. And certainly not to the price.

As a proof point I give you Sweet Smoke BBQ in Jefferson City, Missouri. Succulent rib meat collapsing off the bone; you wouldn’t need teeth if it weren’t for the chewy, smoky bark. Exactly the right balance of spices to bring depth of flavour while still letting the pork shine through. Bottles of four kinds of sauces on the table to allow you to drench your meat with the additional flavours of your choice. Enough meat on each single rib to probably qualify as a full portion of meat in a Weight Watchers’ allocation. Bowls of pickles to help yourself to; balancing sweet and vinegar in a way that European varieties rarely do since they tip more to the latter. A beguiling number of sides ticking comfort food boxes, including jalapeno grits that walk a perfect line between spicy and soothing and beans that have baked for hours with a range of additional ingredients. (It’s hard to fully express my shock the first time I watched a Brit eat so called “baked beans” directly out of a tin. More than 30 years later, I still can’t accept this culinary sin.) And then, naturally, there’s the mac and cheese. if you’re looking for something green, go somewhere else.

I have had ribs that come close to this in the UK, but only at higher-end restaurants charging a fortune. We simply don’t have informal, reasonably priced places in the UK. Nor does any place in my experience have the range of options. Sweet Smoke offers pork (ribs and pulled), beef brisket and chicken. You can have the meats as they come off the grill, or you can indulge in one of a variety of sandwiches that pile them with additional elements for sloppy indulgence. Even though it appears to be a simple place with menus on chalk boards, there’s a full bar dishing up cocktails and an impressive range of beers.

Given the absence of this level of smoky perfection in my English life, I insisted on dining here twice during my Jefferson City visit, trying both outlets. The one closer to the capitol building is in a shop front in the charming, early-20th century town high street. It’s a bit more basic, with almost a warehouse feel, yet packed with suit-wearing legislators and lobbyists at lunch time. The branch in the western suburbs is a free standing restaurant bringing in more of a family crowd. Both made me very happy. 

Why is there still this difference in quality between the UK and the American Midwest? It’s certainly not the quality of the meat; our local Hampshire hogs are justifiably famous as some of the best pork available in Europe. I suspect a combination of tradition and cut. On the tradition front, while BBQ has been establishing itself as a serious culinary option for only a couple of decades in the UK, it’s been a part of American life for generations. My people take it as seriously as Brits do their curries, pies or fish and chips. There’s also an almost sacred social ritual that comes with its preparation that makes it something more than just food; it’s part of the regional identity. But I suspect, at least on the ribs front, it’s more about cut. Traditionally, British butchers have cut meat off one side of the bone for bacon and off the other for pork belly, leaving as little meat behind as possible and considering the rib cage waste. Though that’s changing, and I have a great local butcher who will cut meat to my request, the “St. Louis style” rib cut that produces the meat-heavy ribs of Midwestern BBQ is unknown in England, where options all seem slimmed down.

This English style of butchery also produces very different cuts of bacon from the American. What most people in my adopted homeland put on their breakfast plate is what Americans consider “Canadian bacon” but with even more meat; not just the medallion but additional streaks of pork and fat to one side. From the other side of the rib comes what Americans would consider their standard meat but what the Brits categorise as “streaky” and tend only to use for cooking. Brits, in general, don’t think Americans can produce decent bacon.

To win that argument for the USA I’d direct people to a restaurant called The Barred Owl in Columbia, Missouri, which dishes up the best bacon I’ve had in either country. In cut it’s classically American or “streaky”, but each slice is a quarter inch thick, shining with a maple cure that adds sweetness while enhancing the essential piggy-ness of the taste.

This was a side to my Sunday brunch dish of shrimp and grits, accompanied by a Bloody Mary made with Parmesan vodka. Yes, Parmesan. Made by infusing vodka over Parmesan rinds. I’d adds a distinctive and highly pleasing cheesiness to the classic cocktail recipe.

The Barred Owl offers a proof point that even flyover country can offer up serious foodie destinations if you know where to look. It’s an unabashedly upscale, trendy concept restaurant in this university town. The decor is industrial warehouse with modern art, a massive bar dominating one end of the room. The Owl’s differentiator, however, is that it shares its space and name with an artisan butcher. While still fairly common in the UK, old-fashioned butchers have almost disappeared in the U.S., where almost all meat is sold in shrink wrapped packages in massive grocery store chains. The Owl bucks that trend, and its sister restaurant celebrates the meat that comes from its butcher’s counter.

My companions were delighted with the butcher’s breakfast (adding home-made sausage to those slabs of bacon, accompanied by eggs and sourdough) and the home fry poutine (elevated with locally made cheese curds and wagyu beef bacon). The quality and innovation here will convince even the most resistant European that Americans can do more than quantity-over-quality fast food.

While Sweet Smoke was fantastic, you can find similar quality at BBQ places throughout the Midwest. The Barred Owl is a destination restaurant worth making a special trip to try.

Three other destinations in Jefferson City deserve a mention:

El Espolon: Cheerful Mexican place in an industrial park not far from the Missouri state capitol. The food is good (if not great). The star for me was the chile relleno, and the quantities are obscenely enormous. My “little bit of everything” combo plate, priced around $17, not only provided me dinner, but lunch for the next two days. Excellent value for money, even before you opt in to the 88 ounce (roughly 2.5 litres) on-table margarita dispenser. Someone needs to import this gizmo to the UK. 

Prison Brews: One of Jefferson City’s main tourist attractions is the now defunct Victorian era state penitentiary. While I skipped that highlight, I was delighted when my dad introduced me to this jail-themed pub a stone’s throw from the site. (Fittingly, it’s a hang out for lawyers and cops. I bet there are some disreputable beat reporters, too.) Fabulous burgers, a wood-fired pizza oven and a tempting variety of loaded sandwiches served in a building decorated with bars, prison stripes and photos of the old penitentiary at work. The booths are placed inside prison cells. Best of all, this is also a microbrewery with a range of excellent seasonal brews. I enjoyed a peach-flavoured lager with a delicate and sophisticated flavour profile, though I almost ordered the “Misdemeanor Mailbock” just to honour the marketing brilliance of its name. 

Das Stein Haus: An alpine chalet tucked incongruously behind the modern gas stations and suburban retail sprawl along the highway heading west from town, Helmut’s place aims to bring some old world charm while connecting the region to its German immigrant roots. The interior is dark and candlelit, with long communal tables in the centre and old-fashioned leather-covered booths to one side. The menu features “fancy restaurant” classics of my youth: steaks, lobster, oysters, chicken cordon bleu. There’s even bananas foster and cherries jubilee. It’s like time travel to my 10th birthday. Though the atmosphere is still more casual roadhouse than fine dining, the food is amongst the most upscale in this town. As you’d expect, there’s a core of German classics including schnitzel, pork roast and Bratwurst. (My jaeger schnitzel special, with red cabbage and fried potatoes, was indistinguishable from the classics hitting tables in front of me in Munich last month.) The German beer menu doesn’t feature any of the usuals we’d expect to see in Europe, but there are a range of lesser-known imports including the tough-to-find smoked beer of Bamberg. There’s no wine list but the waitress produces German-produced bottles from behind the bar. There’s live music and dancing on the weekends which probably deserves a return visit when next I go to my dad’s place. Sadly, no dirndls or lederhosen in sight. Maybe I should wear mine to shake up the place a bit.