It is often said that there is no middle ground when it comes to In-A-Tub, a fast-casual restaurant in the Northland. You either love it or you hate it. It’s notable for serving the KC taco, stuffed with ground beef and deep fried but sprinkled with an unusually bright-orange cheese powder, similar to the kind one might find in a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese. The taco is perplexing and polarizing. I, a Kansas City native, just tried it for the first time. I didn’t love it or hate it, but I did get it.
One thing is for sure: In-A-Tub is most beloved by those who grew up with it. Having opened in the early 1950s, the drive-in has catered to several generations of Northlanders. It wasn’t always known for its tacos, however. In-A-Tub was originally an ice cream shop named 50 Flavors In A Tub. Over the years, more and more savory menu items were added, like tostadas, burritos and loose meat burgers (known as pocket burgers), and the name was eventually shortened. Despite the opening and closing of several locations throughout the years, owner Aaron Beeman’s In-A-Tub restaurant off North Oak (4000 N. Oak Trafficway, KCMO) still stands today, along with another location on N.W. Prairie View Road (8174 N.W. Prairie View Road, KCMO) just off of 1-29, which is owned by Beeman’s sister Andrea LaMunion.
Beeman’s location is a standalone squat structure built in ’86 with arched atrium windows on one side and black and white pictures of In-A-Tubs from the ’50s and ’60s adorning the walls. When I was there, it felt like I was in a portal taking me back in time. It’s no wonder Beeman says that some days, being the owner of In-A-Tub feels like being the curator of a museum.
I asked Beeman how his restaurant has managed to survive throughout the years, especially with the proliferation of national fast food chains in the ’80s and ’90s. He credits it to In-A-Tub, or “The Tub,” as he often refers to it, being “just different.”
“Everyone else serves cheddar cheese on their tacos,” Beeman says. “Not us.”
The tacos with powdered cheese are In-A-Tub’s best seller (the second is the pocket burger). They’re a unique take on the KC taco, which is traditionally filled with seasoned ground beef, dipped, dunked in the fryer and topped with lettuce, salsa and, usually, Parmesan cheese. In-A-Tub’s orange powdered cheese is similar to the kind used to coat, say, popcorn or chips, and, yes, Beeman bought it from Kraft for many years until Kraft merged with General Foods in 1989. He then switched to a cheese that is similar, but better, in his opinion, and buys 5,000 pounds of it at a time.
I’m no stranger to the KC taco. I grew up north of the river, and my family went to the late Claycomo Mexican joint El Sombrero for our KC taco fix (it’s still too soon for me to talk about its closing). I’m partial to Parmesan cheese as my topping. When I snagged my taco order from In-A-Tub’s front counter, grease had permeated the paper lining the basket—a good sign, I thought. I liked it just fine. But maybe even more importantly, I understood it.
Beeman once dreamt about opening In-A-Tubs throughout the Midwest, but he feels a responsibility to not jeopardize the restaurant’s reputation as a Northland tradition. That means not turning to the business model other fast food restaurant franchises employ.
As opposed to the machine-automated kitchens in many fast food chains, In-A-Tub still rocks the human element. With cooks in the kitchen, actually cooking and making food to order, customer service is better and the diner’s experience is more authentic, Beeman says. According to him, the real secret recipe to his restaurant’s success is “the staff and the longevity in which people work here.” Multiple employees have been working there for years, some close to 20. Beeman still works in the kitchen four days a week. Opening other locations would mean he would be less hands-on, which could jeopardize the consistency that In-A-Tub is known for.
I’m reminded of the article I wrote on Winstead’s last year in which I examined why so many of its locations were closing. Toward the end of the article, I surmised that a change in ownership and lack of hands-on leadership was the possible culprit for Winstead’s demise, despite, like In-A-Tub, being a KC institution.
While I dined at In-A-Tub, a man sitting at the booth next to me told me he was from out of town and was visiting at the recommendation of a friend. He ordered everything on the menu and devoured it by himself. Later, Beeman joined me. An older gentleman, overhearing our interview, couldn’t help but interrupt.
“I have to send a picture to my brother in Amsterdam to show him that I met the owner of In-A-Tub!”
Beeman laughs when he thinks back to his younger self buying In-A-Tub at 28 years old. He was naive then, he says. But in an ironic twist of fate, I, a food critic, now consider myself naive for not realizing how treasured his restaurant is to many in our city. As I ate through the menu, I enjoyed some things, and others not so much, but this really doesn’t matter. Beeman isn’t even the original owner, and yet he’s managed to keep a certain magic alive. For many, his restaurant doesn’t just serve tacos; it serves nostalgia in a paper-lined basket.
“My most heavily prioritized goal is to keep it alive for the next generation,” says Beeman. “If I can keep this place open for 100 years, that’s an exceptional feat. We’re already closing on around 75 years. That’s 75 years of business serving the Northland.”
