Cooking lessons and a market crawl with Silvio Campos, who was featured on one of Rick Bayliss' PBS shows are the focus of the trip. But there are always Mayan ruins, salsa lessons and perhaps a mojito or margarita. Or three. August 4 through 11; contact Carrie at houkcast@me.com. Or Carrie's facebook page. No, I'm not going. There's a family wedding or I would.
I know Joe would have been thrilled about this, and for those of you who had the privilege of knowing his marvelous mother, Hannah would, I think, have been even more excited.
This being Virginia, there's an historical anecdote about every couple of feet, of course - I thought about Bill McClellan, whose possible ancestor, the general, gave his farewell speech here, as a number of plaques and signs pointed out. It's near the Virginia wine country, and the countryside itself - well, it's easy to understand why the English settlers felt at home here; the drive from I-66 and Manassas has spots that look like the West Country of England.
The World's Greatest Daughter-in-Law and I had slipped out of preparation for family festivities and aimed for a spot Marian Burros had written about in the New York Times. Alas: We reached the Red Truck Bakery after every sandwich in the place had sold out. Clearly this was one of those occasions when the tough get going. The vegan sweet potato-plantain-coconut soup was velvet, a hit of Thai red curry in it, rich and wondrous. Foccacia alongside had fresh rosemary and a glaze that looked like sugar but was sea salt. And the house coffee was splendid. We ate at a communal table next to the old service station's sales room - one bay is for dining and the other is where owner Brian Noyes bakes his magic - said table being made from timbers of a barn that General Sheridan set afire as he marched through the Shenandoah Valley.
Lots of local ingredients including local eggs for the egg salads and housemade pickles for it, too. Check the website, where the soup of the day is also announced. We left with an armful of bakery goods, including some caramel and peanut cookies, a loaf of bread with oatmeal, cranberries and walnuts and - fanfare, if you please, maestro - a moonshine cake. Noyes is using real, legal, 'shine in this, and while it makes things distinctive, it's not so deeply alcoholic that kids go "oh, yuck!" Lightly sweet, and a little spicy, it's a ring cake with a drizzle of chocolate ganache on it. Much polite argument over the last piece.
They also do mail order, including pies made with their own mincemeat when that season arrives. Not far from the Blue Ridge Parkway, and Luray Caverns as well, so lots of excuses to go visit. And yes, there's breakfast, too.
22 Waterloo Street at the Courthouse
Warrenton, VA
540-347-2224
Breakfast and Lunch Mon.-Sat.
Credit cards: Yes
It's a cafeteria with lots of additional help to bring guests their drinks, help with trays, and offer carryout boxes, because, yes, St. Louis, these are generous portions. Lines can be long, but the interior is so roomy, it's not because folks are waiting for a seat. After church on Sunday, for instance, the line rums out the door. (But on any visit, there always are folks getting take-out, also easing the demand for seats.) There's also a room for private functions and a nice patio adjacent to that.
The stars of the line, not surprisingly in this cuisine with its rural American roots, are the vegetables. Other items glow, but it's the side dishes that stand out in memory. It makes the habit of some traditional Southern restaurants of offering a plate of nothing but three, four or five vegetables quite understandable. Not that these are vegetarian, at least not the great majority of them. But the macaroni and cheese is. A far cry from anything Kraft produced, the consistency is a little iregular, the top chewy-cheesish, all properly comfort food-esque. The greens are definitely, defiantly, not vegetarian. Generous shards of ham run throughout the greens, whose flavor is so deeply complex, smoky and peppery, that it's easy to see how people could make an entire meal of them. It's the sort of dish I'd like to set before a French chef and see his reaction.
For those of us who grew up on dense, caramelized sweet potatoes, Robbie's are amazing. Light and tender, sweet and slightly citrusy, there's also some cinnamon swooping around. And dumplings, as in chicken-and-, are clearly homemade, again with numerous pieces of chicken in the surrounding gravy, all richly chicken-savory, a little celery chiming in. (If you order it as a main course, it comes with a piece of either light or dark chicken, pan roasted.) Not up to those high standards are the cornbread dressing, dark and moist and tasting mostly of celery, and the potato salad, surprisingly underseasoned.
Main courses headline a rocking fried chicken, including huge wings, available solo, dipped in a crunchy, garlicky/oniony batter and absolutely greaseless, the best fried chicken in town until someone feeds me a superior bird. Hot braised wings, almost as large, are meaty but the braising sauce is closer to sweet-and-sour than spicy. A reliable, sturdy meatloaf that's not loaded with filler seems very Mom-ish. Some days there's liver, and ox tails as well. Alas, I never caught either of those, being particularly fond of ox tail, a meat that will charm anyone who likes osso bucco or pork shank. Catfish and jack salmon on Fridays. (Why wait for Lent?)
Corn bread, of course, surprisingly tender and barely sweet at all, and rolls on Sunday. The dessert case is full of options, but most folks opt for one of the two cobblers sitting on the steam table. The peach is a constant, although my editor at St. Louis Magazine moans over a pear version he encountered a while back. I grew up on blackberry cobbler, the empress of all cobblers, and have a tendency to look down on the peach, but this is sublime, seasoned with what seems to be a pas de deux of nutmeg and cinnamon. And it's a real cobbler, with pastry crust top and bottom, not the cake-batter-poured-over-fruit thing that's reared its ugly head in recent years. Caramel cake features a brown sugar-y icing on a close-grained pale yellow cake with a slight hit of almond in it.
If your idea of a soul food restaurant is frugal surroundings and a $5 dinner check, this will change your mind. It comes close to lavish. Service? Help carrying trays if needed, and sometimes even if it isn't, and refills of iced tea ad infinitum. Lots of smiles and lots of happy folks eating. A little post-prandial stroll to your seat at the Fox won't take more than 5 minutes.
Sweetie Pie's Upper Crust
3643 Delmar Blvd.
314-371-0304
Credit cards: Yes (for over $10)
Wheelchair access: Very good
Smoking: No
Entrees: $11 - $14 (including vegetables)
Yes, thanks, we'll have some of that excellent coffee to kick things off. Mimosa choices? Classic, grapefruit or mimosa du jour, which on this visit was a berry-based combination. And the juices are freshly-squeezed; it's particularly apparent with grapefruit juice, whose frozen iteration is alwayswretched. The grapefruit mimosa (or maybe it's actually a wisteria?) was perfect, the juices' light bitterness riding the house prosecco perfectly. The berry version, sweeter, of course, was also a happy discovery.
Just to tide us over until the main courses came, we tried the beignets, six fat, irregular deepfried blobs, showered lightly with powdered sugar and served with a spiced berry preserve, tasting of cloves. Even without the preserves, they're good, and one of my pals tried buttering them to gild the lily.
How can one brunch without eggs Benedict? The menu calls them classic, and that's exactly what arrived. The English muffins were fresh, the eggs perfectly cooked, a generous piece of ham rather than Canadian bacon, and a fine hollandaise sauce, rich and lemony, very nice indeed.
Carr's French training shows with that hollandaise, but pancakes were granny, rather than French, thick, fluffy pillows, in this case cradling slices of banana and pieces of crunchy pecans. The bacon alongside seemed artisanal, the slices irregular, a little chewy, not heavily salty but nicely smoked. Even better was a daily special of chicken-apple sausage, a moist, irregular patty full of flavor. And potatoes? I thought you'd never ask. Red potatoes, cooked to tenderness, and nicely seasoned, the sort of thing that would serve with a couple of over-easy eggs as a complete and satisfying entree.
More proof of the granny influence comes with the biscuits and gravy. The biscuits, which are also available a la carte, are square, fluffy, and probably would crumble immediately if someone tried to butter then with cold butter. Plenty of sausage and black pepper in the gravy, too, enough to convert the unbeliever, not that there were any around.
Calm, pleasant service and, obviously, good food.
Atlas
5513 Pershing Ave.
314-367-6800
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Good
Smoking: No
Brunch entrees: $6-$11
Manners in Steubenville, O, in 1967? And yet this avoids the tv sitcom possibilities that evokes. Much of this is due to Donna Weinsting, playing the Woman With a Past who's taught ettiquette classes to generations of youngsters in town. Neither a termagant nor a woman who has always depended on the kindness of strangers, her version of Mrs. Mannerly always keeps us wondering who is she, anyway? While she begins rather like Margaret Thatcher, the character evolves from there.
And how does a playwright, or an actor, balance out a character like her? The playwright is Jeffrey Hatcher, and here the actor is Charlie Ingram, who plays the other seven characters. But primarily he's Jeffrey - that name's no accident - a precocious 10-year-old who's been sentenced to the class after an episode at the Presbyterian Church. Ingram, who's a senior at Webster University, is amazingly believable as the boy, perhaps because the character breaks the fourth wall and speaks directly to the audience as the adult Jeffrey, so his becoming the kid who dreams of becoming a suave guy like James Bond or Bruce Wayne ("Not Batman, just Bruce Wayne.") or Bert Parks is not such a far stretch for us.
David Hemsley Caldwell keeps things moving with his direction and Christopher M. Waller's set is simple and feels right.
Good fun and a very witty play.
Max & Louie Productions
Black Box at COCA
524 Trinity Ave., University City
through June 2, 2013
It looks right, although less crowded than its Left Coast siblings - San Francisco real estate is as pricey as New York, and the restaurants nearly as wont to cram in as many seats as feasible and then add another two-top. Very casual, a large mural on one wall, a decor that invites shorts and flip-flops. It's quite loud when it gets busy, not surprisingly.
Inviting stuff on the menu, to be sure, but one of the baseline tests for Mexican restaurants has to be guacamole. Creamy-tasting but nicely chunky, and topped with a small spoonful of pico de gallo and a shower of queso fresco, its texture is so nice that it takes a couple of bites before the mouth realizes that the seasoning is coming from the cheese and a light hit from the pico de gallo. The guacamole seems nothing more than mashed avocado. Each table sports a bottle of green habanero sauce, fortunately. Sadly, the warm chips were nevertheless stale.
Tacos, of course, utilizing house-made corn tortillas, according to the menu. Interestingly, they only use one per taco, which means it's easy for the masa to disintegrate into the hand before the diner's done. (Most of the Cherokee Street-type spots use two.) Duck tacos sounded like a good idea; the shreds of duck meat is paired up with pork belly, giving the potential for a real grease bomb. Happily, it wasn't remarkably so, but there was a disappointing lack of duck flavor.
The Cowboy burrito is not, quite, the size of the cowboy's forearm, but it's mighty big. Knife and fork are necessary, even if the optional tomato-ancho sauce and melted cheese are skipped. Large slices of pretty tender brisket, some smoky black beans, a little rice and corn. The results were flavorful, nice notes of cumin and Mexican oregano, but only that ancho sauce, which was just a polite covering, barely masking most of the tortilla, gave any heat.
The most interesting find was the ahogado. It's a torta, or sandwich on a large, fat bun. The word ahogado translates to something like "smother"; the torta of that name is always covered in sauce. At Mission Taco Joint, the sandwich is made of pork carnitas, smashed black beans, Chihuahua cheese, and chipotle bacon, the whole thing anointed in a properly generous manner with an ancho sauce. Good stuff, but it was the ancho sauce that made it outstanding, not fiery hot at all, but a fine example of how chiles can have a slightly sweet fruit flavor to balance out the salty-spicy notes. Chili-crusted fries, which come with all the tortas, looked more seasoned than what they actually tasted life.
Not surprisingly, there's a good selection of draft beer and often-tempting house cocktails. Pleasant service, although erratic at times, with frequent checking interspersed with the thousand-yard stare.
A challenging mix of tasty and hesitant when it comes to seasoning. Your call.
Mission Taco Joint
6235 Delmar Blvd., University City
314-932-5430
Lunch and Dinner daily
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Tight at the entrance
Smoking: No
Entrees: $8-$10
But Schlemiel is about far more than blintzes. Director Ed Coffield has pulled together a group of fine comedic actors, headed by the marvelous Terry Meddows, who's the schlemiel in question. He's the beadle at his synagogue, a sort of handyman/gopher/janitor who helps Todd Schaefer, the aforementioned rabbi. While the rabbi and the town's leading wise men, who include a couple of sock puppets, think the rabbi really smart, we know otherwise - who wouldn't like those blintzes? Schaefer, the glistening I'm-so-swell, and Meddows, the woebegone, make for a wonderful contrast.
The rabbi and his wise guys decide to send Schlemiel out on a world tour touting the rabbi's wisdom. Mrs. Schlemiel, played by Emily Baker, is none too happy about this - not that he's that great a husband, but still.... Need I say hilarity ensues?
Baker heads up the rest of the cast, as an island of calm in the midst of farce. Antonio Rodriguez moustache-twirls, metaphorically speaking, as Rascal. And watch for Mike Dowdy, who, like several of the cast, has multiple roles. His tricycle-riding kid is fine, but he peaks as a skipping, dancing wife in the village.
This is, of course, a musical, klezmer music, the clarinet-laced stuff that, to the untrained ear, still shows how it influenced people like George Gershwin. Henry Palkes, the music director, does right by the score and his musicians, with riffs off into other familiar tunes. A little choreography is fine and casual-seeming, just right for the setting, but extra points for Schaefer's exuberant prancing.
A fine night, even for those who didn't get exposed to the Borscht-Belt comedians of late-night television (and thus Yiddish) in the Fifties.
The New Jewish Theatre
Jewish Community Center
through June 9
It's breakfast and lunch and early dinner, closing at 8, focusing mainly on sandwiches and casual baked goods, cookies, muffins, that sort of thing. Some beverages are in a cooler, some come from behind a counter, and coffee, except the espresso-based drinks, is serve-yourself. Stroll around and inspect the oils and vinegars, ceramics and cleaing products and alcoholic beverages available. I pondered a beautiful teak salad bowl for an upcoming wedding present - are they $135 friends? Or perhaps a St. Louis-based cookbook.
The best thing I ate was a breakfast sandwich of bacon, egg, pepperjack cheese and avocado. It was on a multigrain toast, the whole thing a fabulous combination of crunchy and creamy. Alas, they've turned it into a wrap. Maybe if you ask. But that bacon was The Best Ever, thick and smoky, crunchy here and chewy there, quite distinctive. A steak and egg sandwich sounded promising, but the roasted chuck steak was, essentially pot roast meat, tender enough to have been shredded rather than sliced., with a fried egg white and cheddar cheese on some ciabatta. I'm a big fan of pot roast, but the meat lacked savor and the sandwich was lackluster. Technical execution was good, but it needed pizaaz. Horseradish? Harissa? Even salt and pepper?
Lunch sandwiches come with Billy Goat chips or fresh fruit, and credit must go to the quality of at least the apples, fresh, polished, crisp and unbruised. Tarragona chicken, described as having an olive tapenade and almonds on it, is on a grilled sourdough. The chicken is shredded coarsely rather than sliced. No almonds, whether nubbles or slices, were apparent, nor olives, although the flavor was intermittently present. It was hard to tell whether the soft pieces of red vegetable were cooked tomato or red pepper. (And there was no flavor of tarragon at all. Perhaps the name refers to the city in Catalonia.) A very moist sandwich, and decent enough but not what was expected. A cheese danish serving as dessert was lightly sweet, fresh and with an interesting, almost fluffy filling.
Serious coffee, bottled soft drinks, newspapers to read, especially at the long table on the breakfast side of the market, which is on your left as you enter through the red door. And nice morning light there. But not quite up to the mark, at least not yet.
Parking? There's been plenty of discussion about that since the restaurants at The Cheshire opened. Enter from that little block of Clayton Avenue that goes by the Hi-Pointe Theatre. No valets to be seen.
The Market at The Cheshire
7036 Clayton Ave.
314-932-7840
Breakfast, Lunch and early Dinner
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Tight
Smoking: No
Sandwiches: $6-$9
In old Carondelet, now re-styled the Patch, at the corner where Michigan turns into Ivory sits Schoemehl's South Side Grill. It's a corner tavern, the decor updated some but not obnoxiously we're-so-hip so. The sun pours in through large windows, but the bar somehow still has that tantalizing dark air of quiet noonday drinking. And they've begun to refer to the area in the back as the beer garden rather than the patio, a fine touch of The Real Thing.
Still, in the old days, the taverns that operated here wouldn't have had salads beyond perhaps potato salad, or, in later years, slaw. And they surely wouldn't have had a house dressing made of avocados. It adorns the Signature Salad, a tower of greens, chicken, a bit of black bean-corn relish and a little tomato, and absolutely charms with its jade-green mysteries.
Then there are the wings. It was a surprise to see a casual place like this with an actual Presentation of chicken wings. And then we thought, "Eight bucks for four wings?" But they're huge and they're delicious. Smoked a little and then flash-fried and glazed, they look almost lacquered in their glossiness. Still moist despite all this attention, they're faintly sweet, and a drizzle of what seems to be Asian chile sauce, spicy but not dangerous, just offers a little bit of contrast. They're not Buffalo wings at all, but they're darn good. The dill-laced dip is unnecessary, but hold onto it if there are house-made chips or fries coming, because it's pretty darn tasty, too.
The only sub-par thing we tried was the South of the Border burger, with queso jack cheese (their phrase) and pickled jalapenos. Ordered medium-rare, it was cooked beyond pink all the way through. Still, it was pretty juicy and cheese and jalapenos pump up almost anything this side of sponge cake.
Amiable service appropriate to a spot with plenty of televisions, which means casual but not distracted. That beer garden is looking pretty good once the rain stops. And, oh, yes, there's live music sometimes.
Schoemehl's South Side Grill
7529 Michigan Ave.
314-932-7774
Lunch Tues.-Sun, Dinner daily
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Poor
Smoking: No
Sandwiches: $7-$9
Because the competition was held at the South Beach Wine and Food Festival in Miami, Miami became the theme for the cupcakes. The winning entry's four cupcakes were Cuban Coffee, Miami Spice, Cruising Down Collins (Avenue, a main drag in South Beach) and SOBE Wine Fest. (You can see them on Jilly's website.)
I'm hard pressed to choose a favorite, but Miami Spice, a passionfruit cake with raspberry jam filling, and a frosting of mango whipped cream, a bite of passionfruit candy, and a hit of ghost chile salt certainly pushed all the right buttons for those of us who love a little heat in unexpected places. Cruising Down Collins is a tropical cocktail in a fluted paper cup, so to speak, coconut, rum, pineapple, orange and tangelo flavors doing a rhumba. Cuban Coffee is happily, seriously coffee, between the cake, the buttercream, andthe coffee syrup to add at the last moment, plus a toffee dulce de leche filling. And the SOBE Wine Fest has cabernet in the chocolate cake, a zinfandel chocolate ganache and more cab in the buttercream grapes and vine. What a group.l
Yes, they're sweet. If that's a problem, move along, nothing to see here. They're cupcakes, they're going to be sweet. (Actually, the judges allowed for the possibility of savory ones, but the single entry, one with shrimp, didn't make it to the next round.)
Do not even attempt to eat these without a cold jug of milk. Not coffee, not with these complex flavors. You need milk, which really ought to be offered along with other end-of-meal beverages like brandies and espresso and port on restaurant menus, come to think of it.
Available through the end of June. Hurry up.
Jilly's Cupcake Bar and Cafe
8509 Delmar Blvd., University City
314-993-5455
Jilly's Cupcake Bar a-Go-Go
1131 Colonnade Center, Des Peres
314-821-5455
This is a beautiful place. Elaia is dark and its decor seems very simple, but Olio with its huge west and south windows allows guests to appreciate its aesthetics far more. The old, beat up tile, the wild light fixture, the interesting chairs - the whole look is deeply contemporary without being spare.
It's essentially, a bar, one with an excellent wine list and an extensive array of aperitifs and liqueurs. And its food is noshing food, small plates, sharable platters and sandwiches.
When I ordered the chickpea, edamame and octopus salad, I didn't realize quite how much it had been written about locally. It deserves the ink. It really is much more about the vegetables than the tender bits of cephalopod. And while the chickpeas aren't overcooked and the edamame glisten, even more fascinating is the dressing, a drizzle of olive oil, brilliant in color and flavor, and seasoned yogurt, tart and mysterious. I wonder if perhaps Poremba hasn't punched it up a bit with some zataar, the Middle Eastern spice mixture, or perhaps just some sumac, one of zataar's usual ingredients, to make it tarter yet. Wonderful stuff.
This is - at this writing - a menu with both a tartine and a bruschetta on it, the latter varying each day. The tartines, inch-thick slices of fresh baguette, are crowned with Grandma's egg salad. Very different from most egg salads around, here they're minced finely and bound with something beyond mayonnaise. Poremba says it's onions browned and pureed. It's mild and soft, slightly sweet abd very comfort food-y, but with the optional marinated white anchovy on top, the added vinegar and salt changed things considerably and brought it into a definitely adult realm.
Sunday brunch, despite the online menu, is mostly lunch-y stuff, sandwiches (including a tempting roast pork left over from Saturday's roast of the day) and such. But a few morning-food choices are evident. The bacon produced by Poremba's Salame Beddu is available, rustic-looking and satisfying. And shakshuka, the eggs-in-tomato-sauce dish found around the Southern half of the Mediterranean coast, is a frequent offering. The kitchen's take on biscuits and gravy, another item that apparently varies from week to week was lamb sausage gravy over slices of baguette, all topped with a pair of very gently poached eggs. The gravy, pink-y orange from the seasoning of the sausage, cumin and red pepper, was savory and rich, a light tracery of that same green olive oil more for the eye than the palate. The dish's solitary flaw was that it was on a cold plate that had chilled everything but the eggs down to room temperature.
Staff here ranges from knowledgeable to vigorously charming. One young hostess was on the phone more than ten minutes with someone who was really unfamiliar with the restaurant and unsure of whether it was the right choice for the evening's meal. No eye rolls, no silent sighs, frequent pleasant repetitions of what she'd explained earlier, reading some of the menu to the person on the other end. Service above and beyond.
No reservations at Olio, outdoor seating as the weather allows, and that fine wine list.
Olio
1634 Tower Grove Ave.
314-932-1088
Lunch and Dinner daily, Brunch Sun.
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Good
Smoking: No
Bar menu:$6-$18
They open Wednesday, May 1, for dinner, but there's been action for the past few nights as guests culled from their Facebook followers have gone in by reservation for soft-opening dinners. I dropped by on one of those nights at the invitation of Matt McGuire, who's running things. Matt was at the helm of the much-missed King Louie's on Chouteau, and, in the interests of full disclosure, his father John, the late Post-Dispatch writer, and my late husband Joe were close friends. Joe knew Matt and his brothers from infancy.
As at Louie's, it's easy to eat at the large bar, often a really good idea for solo diners. I nibbled around and had a glass of lambrusco. Wait, wait, it's not the sweet stuff of our misspent youths. This is dry and fruity and with maybe just a hint of fizz, very nice and works with lots of different foods. The star of the evening was gnocchi with bacon and clams and tomato. They've brought in some guys from Roberta's, a restaurant in Brooklyn, and one of them is their pasta and pizza maker. The gnocchi are amazingly light. One can't really talk about a "sauce" with them, just some pan juices, but it was a great dish. Taken alone, the juices are quite salty, but with a bite of the pasta, fabulous.
The single dessert available - remember, these were training nights - was a strawberry soup. Very thick and creamy, like a pudding, really, but calling it strawberry pudding somehow doesn't work to the ear. Topped with a wee scoop of lime granita, rose petals, a dab of cotton candy and three wee meringues that had been toasted, it was excellent. And, by the way, an example of modern dessert construction, with four separate things that required creating before combining them.
Lots of things going on here, sushi, a raw bar, a coffee bar, which will provide morning sustenance even before they open for lunch, and, not surprisingly, a good and interesting wine list. Watch the website or Facebook for the lunch opening day. For now, hang on until Wednesday night.
Valet parking ($4) at night, or a freebie in the Barnes garage just to the west of the building, also only at night. BJC is, after all, the landlord.
23 S. Euclid
314-932-5595
Wheelchair access: Good
Smoking: No
Entrees: Not available at this tim
Based on the legendary Sun Records in Memphis and its creator Sam Phillips, the musical gives the rousing music of our mostly-sadly-unmisspent youth a fine showcase with performers in the roles of Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis and Carl Perkins. Unlike other shows is we've seen in recent years that attempt to re-create the music of, for instance, the Rat Pack, this one has scarcely a misstep.
Part of it is due to the respect shown to the music, arrangements close to the original, courtesy of Chuck Mead. But it's the actor-musicians that bring it home. Elvis impersonators, of course, are as common as houseflies, but Cody Slaughter not only looks right, when he opens his mouth, one could almost swear it's the young Elvis. David Elkins plays - and more significantly, sings - Johnny Cash; he, too, is amazingly correct and makes for some satisfying music. James Barry does well as Carl Perkins, and makes the point that "Blue Suede Shoes" was his song, written and recorded by him, before Presley recorded it in what's known as a "cover", and sang it on the Ed Sullivan Show. (Apparently, it took Perkins, perhaps not unreasonably, a long time to get over that.) Do be aware that Slaughter will only play the role through April 28; after that, Billy Woodward takes over.
And then there's Jerry Lee Lewis. He was always a favorite of mine - that piano, that piano! And this was before I saw him actually perform, flailing his arms, legs jerking, hair flying. Then I discovered that he was marrying his 13-year-old cousin, which put a considerable crimp in my adolescent admiration. But the music is irresistible still, and Ben Goddard knows his way around a keyboard, and a piano bench, for that matter. He plays the newcomer to the group, a rascal of a wild child with an ego that could stand up to any of the other three, but not Sam Phillips. Even when backing the others, it's hard to keep your eyes off Goddard's pianna-playin style.
Vince Nappo carries Phillips' strength well; he, too, is due for a replacement after April 28, and it'll be Scott Moreau. The bass player, who was Perkins' brother Jay, is Corey Kaiser, and keep an eye on him as well; Fluke, the drummer, is Billy Shaffer.
No intermission in a show that runs for right at 2 hours. Don't be fooled by the house darkening after the famous photo of the four is taken by Phillips; this is not the end of the show. (We lost at least one couple from our aisle.) There's more to come onstage; the studio in Memphis is replaced by Las Vegas glitz - the show is currently playing there at Harrah's, by the way - and it's still worthwhile. However, once Goddard/Lewis dons the sequined jacket and sits down again at the piano, one notices a certain resemblance to Elton John, but that's probably just the spangles prancing around.
Good lighting, and excellent sound that's loud but not ear-splittingly so, a relief to us all. But a big thumbs-down to the opening night audience who listened to "Brown Eyed Handsome Man" and the following conversation about Chuck Berry with nary a handclap after the discussion of his significance to rock and roll.
Rock and roll is here to stay, indeed. But Million Dollar Quartet is not, and if this is your music, by birth or by appreciation of retro, get a move on. It only runs through May 5.
Million Dollar Quartet
Fox Theatre
through May 5
It's easy and doesn't require any cooking. It benefits from being made in advance. It's flexible - would you rather make thin carrot coins instead of shredding them? and other options shown in the recipe. No meat, no dairy, no eggs. It's simple enough that it's a good recipe for utilizing your fledgling kitchen elves as they start to learn how to cook. Oh, and it tastes good.
The recipe is from Gil Marks, in his book about vegetarian Jewish cooking Olive Trees and Honey. I include my own seasoning changes and mark them as such.
Moroccan Carrot Salad
1 lb. raw carrots, coarsely grated [Kitchen elves like to peel carrots, you will find. I grated them with my processor's medium shredding blade.]
1/4 c. vegetable or olive oil [I used less.]
3-4 Tbs. fresh lemon juice [I used a little less than 3.]
2-4 cloves garlic, finely chopped [I used 2.]
1 tsp. ground cumin or 1/2 tsp ground cumin and 1/4 tsp. ground cinnamon [I did the latter but after tasting, add a little more of each.]
1 tsp. sweet [that is to say, not hot] paprika
pinch of salt
1/4 cup chopped parsley or cilantro [ used about half parsley and cilantro, and more than was called for]
Optional: 1 Tbs. minced green chile, 1/4 to 1/2 tsp. cayenne pepper or 1/2 tsp. harissa, the North African chile paste [I didn't use these but will for a different meal.]
Mix together and refrigerate. Serves 5-6.
Lots of ways to play with this. Cut thin coins of carrot and blanch them. Use fresh mint with or instead of the parsley and/or cilantro. Orange peel and juice instead of the lemon, and maybe some honey? Yogurt instead of the oil and lemon juice?
The one serious adjustment I did was to add a small packet of Splenda (to equal 2 teaspoons of sugar) about an hour before serving when I did a final check on seasoning. The dish was a perfect match to the warm, spicy comfort-food texture of the couscous.
The neighborhood clearly goes back to the days before Florissant was a suburb of St. Louis, the streets narrow, the hills a reminder of the rivers' activities over millennia, and many modest homes of a certain age. And while people park on the street in an easy small-town style, there's a parking lot behind the restaurant; the entrance is there, too.
Inside the 19th century store, the windows across the front and the interior decor bring to mind an equivalent establishment in rural Virginia, tasteful and genteel. There's a covered patio, and an open one in the back, centered around an immense tree. It was the first truly warm night of the year, and impossible to resist.
An order of calimari, arriving with a spicy, citrusy aioli, kept us company while we considered entrees. The breading was light and just a little crunchy, with no excessive oiliness. Housemade rolls topped with cheese before they went in the oven arrived warm, giving even more distraction from the task at hand.
Entrees come with a salad or soup, and a house salad wore the signature lemon-poppy seed dressing. Alas, another sugary dressing but the greens were fresh and crisp, although swimming in said dressing. The evening's butternut squash soup was an absolute winner. Very thick, just a little lumpy, piping hot and seasoned with curry, it surprised and pleased.
Cajun carbonara pasta used spaghetti to go with shrimp and andouille sausage, a few chunks of tomato thrown in along the way. On a technical level, there were quibbles - no apparent cheese in the carbonara, way too generously sauced - but the fact is,it tasted really good, the spiciness of the cream sauce vigorous, the shrimp not overcooked.
The same could be said of the salmon. It was cooked all the way through. But the Asian-esque glaze on it was tasty, the asparagus alongside (offered as a substitute when the still-damnably-ubiquitous vegetable medley was declined) was perfectly cooked, and it, too, arrived properly hot. The orzo pasta underneath wasn't overcooked, either.
Four dessert options, including a chocolate cupcake with a ruffle around it, and a cheesecake, which the server pointed out was from de.lish Cheesecake Bakery nearby (and points for that unprompted bit of openness), but it was lemon meringue pie that won. Good crust that had survived what was obviously not more than a few hours in the fridge, tall, elegant meringue, and a illing that was properly tart and at the right point between sloppy and Jello.
Good service from a young but quick-witted guy who didn't blink an eye when his offer of vegetable medley was met with, "Couldn't I get a Beatles medley instead?" (We used to ask for a Cole Porter medley, but got too many blank stares from nextgen servers.) And as we left, up through the tree branches, beyond the roofline, there was a church steeple and the moon. A pretty nice evening.
Hendel's Market Cafe
599 St. Denis St., Florissant
314-837-2304
Lunch & Dinner Tues.-Sat., Brunch Sun.
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Tricky
Smoking: No
Entrees: $11-$30
This review may well turn out to be in chapters. While the menu is, indeed, relatively short, there's plenty of things about which I'm curious. and we've only just begun. So read on and stay tuned.
FSP's reputation in town has been that it's the home of some serious spicing. We ordered medium and didn't find it sending steam out the ears, but close to it. The kitchen uses both red chiles and szechuan peppercorns, the latter producing a sort of buzzy numbness, at least when they reach a certain point. They're in the house spicy noodle, a dish that probably is considered a soup, but the bowl is full of both noodles and broth. "Stir it up," said the server, because the peppercorns sink to the bottom and the red chiles float in their oil on top. The essential broth is quite mildly chicken-y, but seasonings giving the reason for the pleasing.
Yet more noodles with the chicken dandan noodles. Not a whole lot of noodles but slippery, slithery noodles with sesame and chile, seemingly a little less torrid than the other noodle dish, above. Not a great deal of chicken, admittedly
The menu lists "Noodles" first, and that's followed by "Appetizer". The items we had from that section - both $5.99 each - were certainly smaller servings than a main course at the other Asian restaurants up and down the street. But both were very worthwhile. Vegetarian chicken isn't chicken, of course, it's tofu skin. That sounds, uh, sort of strange, right? But it's just slices of firm, tan, slightly chewy tofu that, as is tofu's wont, picks up lots of flavors with the slices of green pepper and some celery, a little ginger, we thought, and quite excellent.
It was, however, exceeded by the yu shan pork, strips of pork with plenty of green onion, garlic and ginger, all slightly sweet, absolutely delicious.
One of the things that made the food so good was that it was clearly cooked and rushed to the table in blazing fast time. Particularly with the pork, that made a difference. The owner's son waited on us. His English is heavily accented, so be prepared. This place is an adventure.
Famous Szechuan Pavilion
8615 Olive Blvd, University City
314-685-0888
Lunch & Dinner Tues.-Sun.
Credit cards: Yes, but cash preferred
Wheelchair access: Fair
Smoking: No
Prices: $4-$15
Led by Deborah Sharn as Rose, Queen of Chutzpah and stage mother of nightmares, the cast sparkles and stumbles, both at the right time. The band, for instance, sounds wonderfully rocky sometimes, just the way a pit band would in a second-rate burlesque house, and deliberately bad choreography works just as it should. Scharn, physically small, seems to enlarge herself with Rose's drive and demands. And who knew she could belt songs so well? If she can make a generation that heard Ethel Merman sing this score forget Merman even for a little while, that's compliment enough.
Herbie, their agent who quickly becomes Rose's boyfriend is played by Ken Haller, giving Herbie strength and warmth and dignity. Rose's put-upon and dragged-around daughters were June, who grew up to be actress June Havoc, and Louise, who became Gypsy Rose Lee, exotic dancer, author, and mother of a son by director Otto Preminger. The younger versions of the girls, played respectively by Lily McDonald and Isabella Koster, are quite good. But it's the women they grow into, despite Rose's self-delusion, that intrigue. Jennifer Theby-Quinn, as Dainty June, even looks a little like Havoc as she simply flees her mother's increasing demands and delusions. Sabra Sellers, who plays Louise, eventually begins to glow as she finds her own strength and way in the world. Her dance number with Tulsa, Zach Wachter, is impressive.
Yes, Rose is at best a pain in the gluteus, and at worst quite bonkers, but Gary Bell's direction shows the sadness and fear behind all this rather than the anger and pain It all works wonderfully. Strong suggestion that tickets be ordered in advance; this is going to be selling very well in quiet south St. Louis. Neighbors will hear folks leaving, whistling the tunes.
Gypsy
Stray Dog Theatre
Tower Grove Abbey
2336 Tennessee Avenue
314-865-1995
Thurs.-Sat. through April 20
This, of course, was before the proliferation of the drive-through and fast food, and folks who sold washing machines and venetian blinds or answered telephones and used typewriters might need an option besides the brown bag. Thus, the merchant lunch, usually a smallish steam table full of home-style food - this, sometimes, in addition to the burgers and whatnot the saloons might sell later in the day. So it was Swiss steak, liver and onions, chicken and dumplings, that sort of thing. This may have been my introduction to mostaccioli, in fact. Oh, and green beans; I believe there was some sort of city statute that said green beans had to be sold at any steam table in St. Louis.
All this to explain that I had a real throwback moment at lunch at the Hilltop Inn. Just south of the intersection of Morgan Ford and Loughborough Roads, it's an anonymous looking little spot. Parking is in the back, if you're lucky enough to find a spot, and so is the entrance. At night, the focus is on conversation (loud conversation, from reports) and drinking; the Hilltop fits the modern definition of dive bar. (Note: Once upon a time, a dive bar was the place you didn't want your mother's best friend to see you leaving, dirty and sinful and probably scandalous.)
But at lunch, there's lunch. There's always soup, of course, and hamburgers and ham sandwiches, but beyond that, it depends on the day of the week. On this Wednesday, there were breaded pork chops, roast beef and sausage with peppers and onions. The roast top round of beef was cooked through, the kind of stuff that makes me think of open-face beef sandwiches, and alongside were steamed red potatoes, among other things. The BFF went for sausage with onions and peppers, showing a chicken sausage with what we're pretty sure was cheese among the ingredients, which prevented dryness. The seasoning was Italian, including fennel and pepper. Her side dish was some creamed spinach, not what we might have seen on our particular mom's supper tables, but still, a decent, serviceable dish.
And then there was the hamburger. This is, speaking of her, a momburger, very much the home-style fat-ish burger cooked through, but still very juicy, although we acknowledge the cheese and grilled onions added mightily to the pleasure and moisture. They're fairly small in diameter, so an order of two might be called for, but the flavor is marvelous, the kind of thing that causes little grunts of pleasure. A salad, mentioned among the possible sides for the sausage dish, turned out to be a bowl of iceberg lettuce , dressed very much in the Pasta House style, a vinaigrette with garlic and oregano. But the dressing didn't puddle in the bottom, and there wasn't a smidge of browned edges on the lettuce, another mom-ish point.
The single waitress was flying about, so we didn't get a chance to ask who supplied the sausage, but she was pleasant and un-rushed when she got a chance to take our order. Plenty of obvious regulars, tables of working guys and older couples meeting for lunch, and a decor that makes multiple color televisions seem a little startling. Surely the eye expects a slightly fuzzy black-and-white telecast of the Friday night fights and a Stag commercial, or maybe a young Joe Garagiola doing play-by-play for Wrestling at the Chase.
Cash only; there's an ATM. And, yes, no smoking, the REAL proof of what decade we're actually in. And at night, they only serve burgers.
Hillton Inn
6902 Morgan Ford Rd.
314-481-9191
Lunch Mon.-Fri., burgers at night., Mon.-Sat.
Credit cards: No
Wheelchair access: Poor
Smoking: No
Entrees: $4-$7
There's a fairly elaborate cocktail menu, and a brief wine list. To go with either of these, there's absolutely no excuse to pass up the bread basket. A full basket includes 6 different items. Clear winners are remarkable hush puppies, fluffy angel biscuits and cayenne-enriched cheese sticks, the latter served in a glass. As to the cornbread, my Kentucky-bred pal nodded approvingly. "Real Southern cornbread. Not the sweet stuff." Indeed, it was grannyesque, firm and a little chewy with a good crust. Sorghum butter, apple butter and smoked orange marmalade came alongside.
For those who wonder about country ham, here's a rare chance to explore. A plank holds three hams, sliced and served like prosciutto, but better, showing products from Burger's of Missouri, and Broadbent and Father's of Kentucky, a nice chance to compare and contrast. Simple and wonderful.
Salads didn't work quite as well. The wedge bore great bacon and blue cheese but the dressing was wan. A kale salad with slices of braised, sliced and breaded pig's ear was another chance to try something different. The pig's ear is gelatinously chewy, the sort of texture sometimes found in Chinese cuisine, although cooked farther towards tenderness than might be thought possible. A light dressing on the kale was faintly sweet, the menu mentioning apple butter, although the notes were indiscernible.
A completely new iteration of pork and beans began with a square of pork belly, unctuous on the inside and perfectly crisped on the outside. The beans were Sea Island reds, related to blackeyed peas, small and creamy-rich, and braised greens, which seemed to be a mixture of several kinds, finished things up. And then there was the quail, a bird that has always seems like the ultimate Southern game bird. A light lacquer-glaze of sorghum, not the least bit overcooked, the mild but distinctive flavor waltzing across the tongue. Alongside was rice with the pan juices and some very old-fashioned dried hominy. The hominy cooks up to resemble corn and it's easy to be fooled into thinking it's just chewy corn, but no, not at all. Good stuff and a fine plate of food.
Midwesterners usually don't know much about buckles - basically they're fruit-filled simple one-layer cakes with streusel on top. Made here with plenty of blueberries and served hot in a skillet with a caramel sauce, the flavors were good, but the cake was dry. We should've taken the offered buttermilk ice cream.
Still, a good set of work, with some excellent service and enthusiasm about the food that, happily, was only on display when questions were asked.
Open through May 4. Reservations strongly encouraged.
A Good Man Is Hard To Find
360 N. Boyle Ave.
314-632-6754
Dinner Wed.-Sat.
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Fair
Smoking: No
http://www.stlmag.com/St-Louis-Magazine/January-2013/The-Well-Seasoned-Life-Sweet-Success/
It's April of 1865, the Civil War has just ended, of course, and it's Richmond, Virginia. There's the slavery Americans tend to think about, over, at least legally, at last. And here's a Jewish family who have owned slaves for generations, their house barely standing and its denizens scattered.
The son of the house, wounded, drags himself home, a haggard example of the horrors of America's worst war. Two of the former slaves remain on the premises. They, like their parents before them, have been raised as observant Jews, and that, at least, remains unchanged despite their newfound status as freedmen. But the power has shifted dramatically, and how does one treat the person who once owned them the way he owned his hunting dogs?
And in this spring with green shoots of burgeoning hope and dramatic developments comes Passover, the celebration of being delivered from slavery. Yes, that was Egypt and the masters then were pharaonic, but since Moses had there ever been a Passover when the celebration was more vivid and heartfelt - even if the bitter herbs and shank bone were not quite the traditional ones?
Good casting in all three roles, but it's led by the Black Rep's own Ron Himes as Simon, who in prewar days must have carried sufficient gravitas in his household position to make Downton Abbey's Carson look like Woody Allen. The challenges of the war and the emancipation have given him knowledge and strength beyond that role, and Himes shows it all with great control. As the son, Justin Ivan Brown carries off things with the disadvantage of being immobile for nearly the entire show. Ron Conner played Martin Luther King earlier this year in "Mountaintop" on this same stage. It's hard to believe this is the same Ron Conner playing the younger ex-slave, John, the role is so different, but it seems no stretch for him at all.
In the first act, in particular, this is a difficult play for the squeamish. Audible gasps came from a number of audience members the night I saw it. But persevere. This is a carefully lit, tightly directed piece of work with plenty of new, disturbing things to ponder.
The Whipping Man
The St. Louis Black Repertory
314-534-3810
through April 13, 2013
The basic menu, though, has a wider choice of fish than most, with jack and catfish fillets, as well as tilapia and buffalo. Dinners include spaghetti and coleslaw, onions pickle, bread and a wee slice of pound cake. The mac and cheese and greens with cornbread are each an extra dollar. (Do it.) No beer, just soda and water.
This is generally a pretty quiet fish fry, but Soul Food Friday is always the busiest of the year. I waited 24 minutes from walking in the door to the nice ladies calling my name saying my fish was ready. The soul food extras are served up at a separate station, so diners can get them and then find seats or find seats and fetch them when the fish arrives. I opted for the former, and was hungry enough that the greens served as a first course.
And I'm glad they did. No matter how long they're cooked a mess of greens will never become spinach-soft, but these were very tender and utterly delicious, probably the best I've ever had. No meat in them, of course, but nevertheless well-seasoned, a little oniony, a judicious amount of vinegar, and hot sauce on the tables if that's your style. I found they didn't need it. The cornbread is the real southern stuff, pale and unsweet, a little coarse, a far cry from the delicate restaurant stuff.
Most St. Louisans don't know buffalo fish. It's certainly a local product, a freshwater fish that's found in the Mississippi and Illinois Rivers, and therefore almost certainly in the Missouri as well. Driving up toward Grafton and beyond, the fish sandwich options nearly always include buffalo. To me, it has more character than catfish, and that's what I chose for lunch. Four large pieces of fish in a cornmeal batter awaited the slow, careful process of eating them. That's because buffalo is extremely bony with long, flexible sewing-pin-sized bones that remain despite the spine and larger bones being removed. Definitely not something to give a rookie eater. (There's a way to make it more-or-less boneless for sandwiches, which can be found in Illinois River taverns and eateries.) Spaghetti wears a tomato sauce with a generous note of green pepper, reminding me of years of potluck dinners, very American homestyle. Coleslaw has a vinegar and oil dressing.
And then there was the remarkable macaroni and cheese. Very cheesy, almost sharp in its cheesiness and nuggets of black pepper bumping things up a notch. Between the greens and the macaroni and cheese, these are the best sides I've found on Cod Squad 2013.
Not expecting the wee slice of pound cake, I'd gotten dessert, and chose a loaf cake, chocolate with a little German-chocolate-style coconut frosting, and then a creamy coconut layer near the bottom of the loaf, very moist. If it's from a commercial bakery, you could have fooled me.
Generous servings - all this and a soda set me back $12. Sorry my Cod Squad partner Martha couldn't join me for this one. She won't be able to do it next year, either. But you should.
St. Alphonsus Liquori Roman Catholic Church
1118 North Grand
314-533-0304
I don't know when or how I ended up in the faux-Tudor building that first time, but I remember the food line and how incredibly dark it was inside. That, of course, added to the drama, the lights on the food line like spotlights on a darkened stage. But I don't remember the food at all except the prime rib being carved and a big pan of scrambled eggs which were, as expected, not at all what I made at home using MFK Fisher's method. (My personal food awakening really hadn't begun then, so I was only slightly better than gastronomically tone-deaf, in all honesty.)
So the return was quite different and yet the same. It's a lot lighter than I recall it being, but it's definitively the same room, despite the immense red light fixtures. And there's no buffet, which makes the morning meal a more relaxed experience.
Good coffee, hooray, and attentive service, including being patient with slow decision-makers when it came to ordering. But while we hummed and hawed, we did get far enough to ask for an order of the beignets. To my mind, beignets should be pillowy in texture, and these little guys were either tough or crisp, depending on who's talking. But they were hot and fresh and came with a marvelous sauce, probably egg-based, deeply apple-flavored with a strong note of cardamom that made my pal, who grew up with a kitchen where it was used with abandon, beam.
The bananas Foster waffle was immense, and omitted the ice cream that traditionally serves as the base for the traditional New Orleans dish. That way the pecan butter and the warm syrup that tasted of pralines and cinnamon could melt in without disturbing the waffle's crispness as much, and allow it to stay hot as long as feasible. The menu says that same syrup is used on the whole-grain pancakes, incidentally.
And then there was the shrimp and butternut squash bread pudding. Savory, of course, not sweet except for the innate sweetness of the chunks of squash, it was moist and complex and fascinating, the sort of dish it's impossible to stop eating. Nestled next to it was some sauteed spinach with a little bacon and a couple of poached eggs, the latter generously sauced with a particularly notable hollandaise. If a hollandaise is good, there is no such thing as too much of it, but this was just generous, enough to perhaps dip a little of the spinach in, as well. Altogether an absolutely first-rate plate of morning food, if not traditional.
One other thing lingers with me, though. The shrimp/butternut squash bread pudding was $15. It represents good value for money to me, and not just because it's tasty. It's interesting, it's complex, and is the product of more labor by the kitchen staff. The waffle, no bacon, and its only garnish a sprig of mint, was $13. That's a fair amount of change for a waffle. This happens, to some degree, all the time on menus; some dishes have a higher profit margin than others. but it somehow seems particularly striking.
Oh, yes, the much-discussed parking. I entered the lot from the east end, near the Hi-Pointe Theatre, and parked myself. There were valets at the door and on this rainy morning, one rushed to greet me with an open umbrella and held the door. No implied guilt, either. They get points for that, as well as the bread pudding.
The Restaurant at the Cheshire
7036 Clayton Ave.
314-932-7818
Dinner Tues.-Sun., Brunch Sun.
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Good
Smoking: No
Brunch Entrees: $11-$15
And while I admit to nostalgia for the brownies and warm doughnuts served at the old Barnes cafeteria - and this goes back to the years of bouffant hairdos - it's mostly been not such a great experience. Finally, things are beginning to change. I went out to Mercy Hospital, what most of St. Louis still calls St. John's Mercy, not long ago, ate fish tacos, toured the cafeteria and looked at menus. It's a brave new world.
http://www.stlmag.com/Blogs/Relish/March-2013/Hospital-Food-On-the-Mend/
Ordering at the counter seems a pretty simple act. But the paper menus at the entrance confuse, needing further explanation of the routine at the restaurant. Cini (say CHEE-nee) are indeed an appetizer, except they won't arrive first, but rather go onto your tray as your order is put together in front of you. The main courses are create-your-own, starting with pasta, salad, and/or a piadina. The latter is a flatbread similar to a large flour tortilla. Then it's mix-and-match on the chosen base, with almost everything displayed on the tray line to ponder.
The results? The cini, about the size of a ping-pong ball, were hot and tasted fresh despite the steam table, but it was hard to tell one filling from another, except the four-cheese with its characteristically stretchy mozzarella. Two orders, asking for one of each of the three fillings, came out garbled, with only one specimen each of the cheese and of the sausage. Of the offered dipping sauces, the tomato was sparkly with flavor, very slightly sweet but with a little zing of heat and acidity; the other, Parmesan, was thin and lacked much cheesiness.
Perfectly al dente penne pasta was almost room temperature on one visit. On the next, most of it came from a bowl on the steam table, and the rest arrived steaming hot from the back. Investigation revealed that the steaming hot portion and the sauce brought things to almost warm enough. Diavolo sauce was as red and spicy as Old Scratch himself. There was also a lot higher sauce-to-pasta ratio than expected, with some of it pooling in the bottom. But wasn't the same sauce with the cini; they're using two different tomato sauces, which is nice. Little meatballs tasted good, firm but not rubbery, a little garlic and lots of beefy taste. Slices of steak were chewy but not impossibly so and had good flavor They were the best of the meats we tried. Don't choose any of the extras offered, unless you're prepared for cold ingredients like mushrooms and onions piled on top of the bowl of pasta.
Piadini are warmed quickly in a closed grill, although not cooked until browned, as they are in Italy. Then the fillings are arranged. Chicken fritti turned out to be chopped fried chicken on top of the piadina, topped with a little more of the diavolo sauce, some fresh baby spinach and a spoonful of a fresh tomato-onion-basil relish. They offered pasta to put it as well, although that seems superfluous. It would have been the equivalent of rice on a burrito, because the whole thing was carefully rolled up and wrapped just like a burrito, although this one was the size of a coed's forearm. The result was nothing more than okay. A side of fried calamari with slices of pepperoncini showed expertise, the breading light and dry, the squid nicely tender.
Dessert cini feature the rice wrapped around a bit of chocolate that's hazelnut-flavored, then rolled into crumbs of vanilla wafers or Oreo cookies before they're deep-fried and showered with powdered sugar. They arrived fairly hot, but the insides were merely warm, and chocolate gooeyness thereby significantly reduced, unfortunately. Done correctly, these could be a signature dish, like Herbie's chocolate fritters, but tinkering is needed.
Employees are remarkably pleasant, and it's nice to see a large refrigerated case of fresh ingredients handsomely arranged behind the kitchen. But attention to details and a clearer explanation of the concept are in order for Cini to grow.
Cini
374 S. Grand Ave.
314-531-4433
Lunch and Dinner daily
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Good
Smoking: No
Entrees: $6-$9
You can find it at www.chefalexsleuth.com. It's up to you to see if there's anyone you think you can identify.
And then, Food 52, a great foodish website, brought me this. Food historians would probably argue that this isn't technically a posset, which was milk curdled with wine or other fermented beverage in the days of Merrie England. But it's close, and my guess is it's tastier.
In fact, this is wonderful. Despite its elegantly pale color, this is a big-flavor dessert, creamy and tart. Not low calorie, of course, although I often make it with Splenda, calculating how much I need for the equivalent amount of sugar. It works just fine, by the way. Because I like my lemon desserts pretty tart, I tend to put in slightly less than the official amount of sugar, perhaps one or two tablespoons less. Do not, however, try this with anything but the full-fat cream. It doesn't set well. And when you're buying the cream, try to find the kind that is not marked "ultra-pasteurized". It ups the wow factor considerably.
A few berries on top, or perhaps a few grains of cinnamon can be a garnish, or whipped cream with a strip of candied lemon peel. But it'll look fine sitting unadorned in those bright-colored espresso cups you got for a wedding present.
LEMON POSSET
2 cups heavy cream
2/3 cup sugar (or Splenda equivalent see above)
5 Tablespoons lemon juice
Using a small saucepan over high heat, stir together the cream and sugar until sugar is dissolved. Bring the cream to a boil, drop the heat a little so the mixture doesn't boil over, and let it boil or at least cook at a high simmer for 5 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat and stir in the lemon juice. Let stand to cool about 5 minutes.
Pour into four ramekins. Refrigerate at least 2 hours or until set.
Serves 4.
One of the levels is literal. It, too, is on the second floor of an elderly building hidden in an unprepossessing neighborhood. Between I-64 and I-44, the hidden entrance is indicated only by seeing the valet parking sign. The decor is spare, much white and gray and plenty of candles, modern and luxe without being overwhelming.
There's an a la carte menu, but in a moment of weakness, we fortunately succumbed to the tasting menu. It's $100 per person for eleven courses. Wine, a different one with each course, doubles the price. The pairings actually go beyond wine; one course this particular night partnered with a cider, another with Madeira.
Things began promptly with a wee aperitif, a cocktail with Byrrh and a little gin. Byrrh is French, a red wine that's marinated with quinine and herbs, sweet with a nice bitterness, and the combination did pleasantly inflame the appetite. That was followed by crudo, a slice of scallop dressed with sour orange, a dab of meyer lemon granita and just a little hit of Thai chili. The presentation was such that the chili would probably hit only one bite of the dish, allowing for more variety of sensations, and smart that was.
Carpaccio should be cut so thinly one could almost read the menu through it. So it was with the escolar, topped with a gremolata, of white anchovy, mint, preserved lemon and minced Marcona almonds, all chopped together, light and savory, and a fine example of seemingly incongruous ingredients (mint and anchovy?) playing well together. Cross-slices of finger-sized Iranian cucumbers hung out with chickpeas and fava beans, lightly dressed with a blood orange vinaigrette.
And then there were the beets. Among the most memorable of the dishes, it was a few small chunks of roasted beets dressed with a rich yogurt, crumbled feta cheese and nuggets of pistachios - but then, it had been placed on a bed of roasted, dehydrated and crushed beets with a sandy-to-crunchy texture. The flavor was amazing, the concentration of the roasted beet changing and magnifying things. Yes, that texture was part of it, too, perhaps off-putting to some, but if the diner is among those who like their toasted marshmallows slightly burnt at the edges, it's bliss.
Soup of sweet potatoes baked in salt was satisfying, particularly with the creme fraiche dollop somehow rounding things out, but the following dish left it far behind. I'm rather neutral on sweetbreads, they're subtle and inoffensive, but there's often something else on a menu that lures me more. Here they arrived to hang out with potato gnocchi smaller than the first joint on an index finger, cooked tart apple and salsify. Salsify is sometimes known as "oyster plant", because it is said to taste a little like oysters, but there's much argument in the back rooms of Foodie Central over the taste being more like oysters or artichoke hearts. In this presentation, I'd vote for the latter, The combination came together with the deglazing liquid from the sweetbreads, the acidity of the apple providing a nice bounce to the savor of he salsify but not running wildly past the sweetbreads. Excellent, indeed.
And speaking of carbohydrates, it was time to cue the risotto. By now, it was obvious that the menu's announcement of chicken and creamed cabbage was going to be an elaborate understatement, and that, of course, was right. Whoever knew cooked cabbage could be so subtle?
A perfectly seared sea scallop was sided with two pieces of grilled topinambour, or sunchoke, another uncommon vegetable that can evoke an artichoke heart. The texture was a good contrast and the flavor bounced off the mollusc perfectly. And slices of duck breast so exquisitely seasoned and cooked that saucing was superfluous, were accompanied by beluga lentils and a half-handful of shredded raw carrot and tatsoi greens in what seemed like just a little lemon juice.
The official dessert was titled "Chocolate and Coffee", the only quotation marks on the menu. Not, of course, a bonbon and cuppa java. The photo is not entirely accurate; the collection of confection was nibbled on the far side before I remembered the camera. The brownie-looking creation was densely mousse-ish over a firm, dark chocolate base, the ice cream was coffee, and then there were little chocolate-chip-looking bits that turned out to be coffee that had been used to dissolve gelatin to produce wee jujube-like charmers. Coarse salt sprinkled very lightly on top garnished the cake.
Mignardises are the small sweets that close dinners at fine restaurants. An almond macaron, an orange-fennel biscotti, a candied rose petal, and more appeared on the table. Despite the portions being perfectly sized, satiety pulled up a chair and settled in.
Wine? Don't be put off by there not being a by-the-glass list in the large and very interesting wine list. There are a lot of bottles open and they'll pour out of any of them. I began with a Lucien Albrecht cremant rose of pinot noir from Alsace, perhaps not quite cool enough, and that was the evening's sole misstep. But it worked well with the early courses. And then a large, old-fashioned red from Venge Vineyards in Napa, a blend of zinfandel, syrah and charbono took the last three courses on a ride. Plenty of fruit, quite intense, and very rich. It was a 2011, a little tight at first but it relaxed quickly.
Service was darn near flawless, knowledgeable, polite, attentive but relaxed, and not hovering. Knowledgeable is important when a menu changes as often as this one does, and food lovers and fans of dining out appreciate it. And that, plus the innovative food and quiet self-confidence, is what reminds me of the Jefferson Avenue Boarding House.
Expensive? Yes. Think about the labor that went into creating the components of each of the dishes. Worth it? Yes. Think about the pleasure and the tickling of the palate's creative juices.
Elaia
1634 Tower Grove Ave.
314-932-1088
Dinner Tues.-Sat.
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Nope
Smoking: No
Entrees: $26-$30
Prix Fixe: $100
The gymnasium is large, things are organized efficiently, and the traffic flows smoothly. At least it does inside. They're trying drive-thru for the first time this year, with a limited menu, and by the time we left, the parking lot was full, although all the drivers were patient and polite. (The church website has the layout for drive-thru lanes.)
The cod is the star here, big loins carefully breaded with cornmeal and not overcooked. The results are outstanding, tasty and moist. Putting it in one of the tacos is not the best place for it; this is not a lily requiring any gilding. The sides aren't as excellent as the cod; slaw is fresh but nothing exciting. No potato salad on the menu but pasta with a garlicky tomato sauce is nice. The fish and chips here, by the way, mean American chips, not french fries, sprinkled with parmesan cheese.
Homemade desserts, things like gooey butter cake, brownies, and a sort of s'mores bar, a layer of brownie, then marshmallow, chocolate chips and a piece of graham cracker. They're included with the dinners, as are water or coffee.
St. Mary Magdalen Catholic Church
2618 Brentwood Blvd. at Manchester, Brentwood
314-961-8400
It's the musical - no, certainly not a musical comedy - about bipolar disease, although the script certainly softens many of the very sharp edges of the diagnosis. Kimi Short, playing Diana, the woman with the diagnosis, is restrained in all but the most over-the-top moments, almost too flat under these conditions. Jeffrey M. Wright, her husband, whose world has surely altered considerably over the years of their marriage because of her illness reminds one of the saying"We marry at the level of our mental health - or lack thereof". Wright carries the weight well. Both psychiatrists fall into the capable hands of Zachary Allen Farmer. The second one, Dr. Madden, described to the couple as a rock star of psychiatrists, calls to mind both Gene Simmons in his KISS persona and MASH's gentle Sidney Freedman, not an easy duo to pair, but Farmer is flawless.
It's a show with a fine score. The voices are good, and the house band has been amped up with a violin and cello to add to the sound. And "amped up" might be a little too accurate; the sound balance, especially in the first act, was off, muffling the words to songs where lyrics are part of the fun, especially in "My Psychopharmacologist and I" which features a long list of psychotropic drugs. But it was difficult, often impossible to make out exactly what was being sung.
How much leeway artistic license can give (or take) with details on something as soul-searing as mental illness was the subject of a considerable amount of post-show discussion. Maybe for some, this is like the folks who don't like a movie because the soldiers are wearing shoulder patches of a unit that was actually stationed on another continent at the time the battle took place. It's an interesting question with no firm answers. But the softening of illness symptoms, the severity of electroconvulsive therapy's sequelae, and perhaps an inference that all this is just due to unresolved grief does require a considerable amount of the old willing suspension of disbelief for many.
Still, a strong cast and a good score win out. Runs through March 23.
Next to Normal
New LIne Theater
Washington University South Campus Theatre
314-534-1111
A friend had muttered about the kitchen being over-vigorous with their seasoning, and when this guy says food is too hot, it's hot. That's intriguing. No dampening-down of the seasoning? Time to investigate.
A little sushi to start out, fresh, a generous cut of fish on the yellowtail, some moist eel. And on to the tom kha soup. What the menu calls rich and creamy is a chicken broth with coconut milk, making it opaque, but was really surprisingly light, full of lemongrass flavor and chunky with lots of straw mushrooms, tofu and rings of green onion for color. Spicing was mild to moderate.
Vegetable puffs from the Thai Appetizers section of the menu brought two pastries, crisp and light with a vegetable mixture inside held together, seemingly, with mashed potato. Seasoning was mild, gentle hits of fish sauce, garlic, probably a little galangal, in these fried dumpling-ish charmers.
The only inquiry of "how hot" was for the seafood hot pot, the dish that had astounded my friend. He'd said hot. My order was my usual "somewhere between medium and hot", and that's how it arrived, far calmer than what the pal, who was sitting across the table, had previously tasted. The clear broth was a good temperature, sitting over a small burner, steaming and full of squid, shrimp, mussels, a couple of small clams,some fish and, oh, yes, the near-inevitable faux-krab sticks. The broth was so good it made even the krab taste good, and the seafood wasn't overcooked. The broth showed evidence of the almost licorice-like Thai basil as well as lemongrass and cilantro.
An order of tempura , appetizer sized but used as an entree, brought a shrimp, slices of sweet potato, an onion ring and some broccoli. It had been allowed to cool too much before arriving at the table, and while lightly battered, was greasier than it should have been. But mussels, breaded and fried with a different coating, were excellent, lots of flavor, with bean sprouts for crunch, onion to add sweetness, and a small dish of a sweet and sour sauce that was mostly superfluous.
At the end of the meal on Saturday evenings, something very different can be ordered. Made to order using rice flour, small, round sweets are cooked on a griddle with indentations, much like that used for the Danish ebelskever. Some of them contained a sesame filling, some have the sweet red bean paste are plain. The batter browns here and there, caramelizing the sugars in the batter a little, the rice flour leaving an interior that's a little gooey, a little chewy, very different, quite good.
The nice lady that cooks the little cakes has less English than the waitstaff we had, who were happy to help and mostly very easy to understand.
Ocha Thai & Japanese Cuisine
12967 Olive Blvd., Creve Coeur
314-434-3455
Lunch & Dinner daily
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Fair
Entrees: $9 - $17
http://www.stlmag.com/St-Louis-Magazine/December-2012/In-the-Zone-Sauce-on-the-Side/
Popular is an understatement. This is a big, busy operation that's well organized. Besides the gym, they use two other classrooms for dining, and they're a little quieter, if offering less opportunity for people-watching, our second favorite thing about fish fries. There's a long line, but it moves surprisingly quickly, considering.
Yes, if you have any tolerance for spicy, you do want the chips and pico de gallo available to tide you over between ordering and getting your fish. Even at this time of year with its wan tomatoes, this freshly chopped relish of tomato, onion and pepper, sings. It's not incendiary, but it's definitely hot. One of my dining companions could have eaten it like a cold soup.
The chiles are stuffed with cheese, lightly battered and sit in a thin, spicy sauce that also has a bit of a kick to it. The chiles have clearly been cleaned out to remove much of the seeds and membrane that carry the heat-causing capsaicin, so it's relatively mild. Jack salmon, that old St. Louis standby (newcomers: it's actually whiting), is seasoned and dredged in cornmeal, a tad soggy from the sauce under the chile relleno, unfortunately, but more interesting than many other versions. Cod is in square filets, pretty unremarkable, but a bean tostada was fresh, crisp, and too tasty to be so healthy. Alongside came a little cup of fresh salsa that wasn't quite as spicy as the pico. Slaw is clearly made that day, a mayo-type dressing that's slightly sweet and sour. Macaroni and cheese is good but much like the guys from Kraft.
Dessert appears in the gym on a cart, but it's also sold in one of the small dining/classrooms, the proceeds benefiting the school's athletics. $2 and worth it for the best tres leches cake I've ever had. It's white cake, rather than the more common yellow, and very tender. My dining pals, who had never even heard of the milk-soaked dessert were blown away, too. There are other options, brownies, flan, and various sweet rolls, the latter, I suspect, from one of the Cherokee Street bakeries.
Domestic beer in the gym, Mexican beer in the room with the desserts. And, yes, there are Mexican dancers, including some of the cutest toddlers you've ever seen. Also t-shirts and caps for sale!
St. Cecilia Catholic Church
906 Eichelberger
314-351-1318
Our heroes, Elder Price (the Mitt Romney-jawed Mark Evans) and the delightfully schlubby Elder Cunningham (Christopher John O'Neill) are sent out to do their two-year stint as missionaries. Price, the kind of guy Sweet Polly Purebred would swoon over, has been dreaming of Orlando as a base, since it seems so perfect, just like him. There's an old Yiddish proverb that translates roughly as "Man plans. God laughs." Not only does Price get science-fiction geek Cunningham as a partner, they send him to Uganda. And off we go.
Sly and not so sly references to elsewhere on Broadway slip in - not surprisingly, there's a fair amount of "Lion King", for instance. And bursts of Bob Fosse-style choreography performed by men dressed like managers at Steak 'n Shake is nothing short of fabulous. In fact, the dancing is one of the forgotten highlights of this show.
Alas, another highlight, the lyrics, sometimes succumb to the still occasionally fragile temperament of the sound system at the Fox. Much better than a few years ago, but for a show like this where half the zing is in the zingers, it's a shame.
Don't go if you're easily offended by caricatures and jokes about AIDS, defecation, Starbucks and gloves that don't fit. It's hard to imagine a musical that talks about infundibulation, too. Artists since the beginning of time have set out to make people think, and one of the main ways they do that is to push the boundaries. (How old were you when you learned art wasn't just about what was beautiful?) The creators of "Mormon" are Trey Parker and Matt Stone, the "South Park" dudes, and Robert Lopez, who's a co-creator of "Avenue Q". Lopez and his wife write songs for Disney musicals - how ironic is that? Whether or not they, particularly Parker and Stone, considered themselves artists early in their career, that's what they've done.
And extra credit to the entire cast who've learned the book well enough not to break up the entire show. I can only imagine what early rehearsals must have been like. I'm not sure if the New York Times was correct in calling it the best musical of the century - come on, we've got a couple of years yet to go - but it's remarkable.
The Fox Theatre
through March 3, 2013
Located in the MX building, with entrances both on Washington and via the lobby of the Embassy Suites on 7th, Robust offers its sit-down brunch on both Saturday and Sunday The menu seems to lean rather more toward lunch than breakfast, until you notice the profusion of eggs, often in spots where they wouldn't have been a few years ago. For example, consider the tartines.
Tartines, when I first visited France - that would have been during the reign of Clovis I, I think - were lengths of bread split, perhaps toasted, and spread with butter or jam or, for a bit of luxury, topped with cheese, served with breakfast coffee at budget-priced establishments. In the last decade or so, they've evolved (over there, too) to open-faced sandwiches that serve as a light entree for lunch. Two of the three tartines on the menu are topped with a fried egg. A lightly grilled slab of sourdough was the base for several thick pieces of moist, beefy brisket, which was topped with caramelized onions, arugula and a fried egg, and to up the ante, the bread had been anointed with some of the meat juices. A hearty knife-and-fork sandwich, it was a great combination, full of flavor and textures.
Forget the cliches about quiche. The spinach and gruyere one was remarkable, even the bottom of the crust crispy-tender, the balance of spinach and cheese in good harmony, a fine specimen of the dish. Alongside, a green salad wore a light tickle of a feta-laced vinaigrette, a good contrast to the creamy quiche.
Still, the star of the table was a side dish. What the menu terms baked potato hash turned out to be a tangle of thick potato shreds, at least partly pan-fried with the resultant occasional browned bits, mixed with a generous amount of more caramelized onions, the whole topped with sour cream, chopped green onions, and bacon - which we requested on the side, as my pal is vegetarian. Yes, good, thick lardons of bacon, but the dish was absolutely complete without them. Finally, breakfast potatoes with enough onions. This plus a couple of fried eggs would be simple and perfect. I can't imagine ever having brunch here without these guys.
Good coffee, reasonably strong and showing evidence that the elves that scour coffee pots have been hard at work. Untried but alluring is a flight of brunch drinks, the way Robust offers flights of wine for trying. In this case, the small servings are of the house bloody Mary and mimosa, and a michelada, a beer cocktail. next time.
Service managed to be both attentive and easy-going, exactly what is needed at brunch.
But be warned: Street parking this close to the Convention Center and Dome is practically nonexistent. The easiest thing to do is to use the valet parking at the Embassy Suites and be sure, emphasis, be absolutely positive to give the restaurant waitstaff your parking ticket. It'll cost $3. If you pay the hotel rates, it's $14. Even with the tip, you're way ahead of the game, especially if you order the potatoes.
Robust
635 Washington Ave.
314-287-6300
Brunch Sat.-Sun.
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Fair
Smoking: No
Entrees:$8-$13
So when I saw Antojeria La Popular, walked in the front door and down a few steps, I couldn't help but smile. No travel posters, and a modern bar, but cozy and lit like a scene from one of those old movies. The food is Mexican, but it's like few Mexican restaurants around. They're doing, to mix Spanish metaphors, Mexican tapas. No cliches, including no margaritas, but plenty of interesting cocktails. Sangria, too, red and white, as well as limited wine and beer.
Some of the dishes work well for sharing. Others, well, not so much except for close personal friends. But all of them we tried were delectable. By chance, the only ones that had semi-serious heat were the first two that arrived, which are shown in the picture. (Note the sign on the table.) Four different ceviches are available; our Distrito Federal contained sirloin slices as well as shrimp, tilapia, serrano chile and red onion in a slightly thickened sauce described only as a Triblin sauce. Not particularly handsome but tasty. Alongside was the creamy, warm corn dish Tabasco, named for the state in Mexico, not the sauce. It was almost a pudding in consistency, with strips of roasted poblano in it, giving it a slow-growing kick, but that was partly offset by plenty of Chihuahua cheese.
Continuing, came next tostadas, one called Michoacan, with chicken in a mole sauce topped with lettuce and a toasted sesame crema, and another, Zacatecas, with pieces of sirloin and a green sauce. Tucked into a pita was a combination of shrimp, bacon, avocado, and a little poblano chile, lightly dressed in a smoky mayonnaise, particularly remarkable. And then a real surprise, raw tuna diced with mango, just a little hit of habanero pepper (don't be frightened - this really sings) and again just a little binding with mayo, all on a large, thin slice of jicama to provide crunch. Practically brilliant.
Yes, flan is a cliche of a dessert. But that was what was available. This is probably the best flan I've ever eaten, exquisitely silky and rich but not rubbery, and somehow managing to be delicate. Like the seviche, not remarkably beautiful but worth pursuing.
A few blocks below Houston Street, it's possible for pre-theater dining for some of the tiny off--off Broadway spots, or to finish off a day of shopping in the neighborhood. (And the Spring Street subway station is at the other end of the block for tired feet.) Very small, very cozy, good people-watching. And they offer different kinds of chilaquiles, a sort of scrambled egg with tortilla dish, on weekends, and of Mexican chocolate, so it's a brunch option, too. Plenty of vegetarian and gluten-free choices are noted on the menu.
La Antojeria Popular
50 Spring Street, New York City
646-476-3567
Lunch and Dinner daily
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: No
Smoking: No
Tapas: $4-$7
I'd wanted to do a Friday Lent fish fry for some years. This week, I went to St. Pius V on South Grand. And I had both a good time and a good meal. The slab of fried cob, the macaroni and cheese, the potato salad and the slaw, none of them tasted mass-produced. They were carefully cooked, the fish crisp and not greasy, and the tartar sauce tart. Everything was better-seasoned than the mass-produced stuff put out at many of the so-called "dinner house" chains. And while the chocolate bundt cake may possibly have been one of those pudding-in-the mixes, it was moist and tender.
And it's crazy cheap. $8 for an adult - catfish or cod, three sides, bread and butter, dessert, tea, coffee or water. Beer and soda for an extra charge. (And music for part of the evening.)
It's been decades since I lived south of Highway Farty, in several parts of the south side. I had my share of neighbors complaining I parked in front of their house, and once I even got a nasty anonymous note because I was daring enough to take a fast spin on my 7-year-old son's banana bike. (I was guilty of being undignified.) But this is the epitome of the best of South St. Louis, nice people, pleasant conversation, unaggrieved helpers, just like something out of a movie.
Every Friday through March 22, from 4 p.m. until 7:30, kids' plates and carryout available. Enter on the north side of the building, on Utah.
Go.
St. Pius V Roman Catholic Church
3310 S. Grand Ave.
It can be made in a tube pan, the kind angel food cakes use, or a couple of loaf pans. If you do that, bake it for less time. I lined my tube pan with a circle of parchment paper, just to be careful; use your own judgment on that. The cake begins with making some fig preserves, much thicker than the commercial kind, and the Post warns that commercial ones won't work. You can do that in advance. To me, part of the magic of this cake is the black walnuts with their distinctive notes. Originally, the recipe called for 2 cups of black walnuts or pecans. All I had available was about a cup and a half of the black walnuts and the balance was just right. I also added a heaping teaspoon of freshly ground black pepper, a good addition to many spice cakes.
The batter is too thick to use a mixer. Begin with a sturdy wooden spoon and switch to one or both hands when you need to. That's also how you'll put the batter in the pan or pans.
ARKANSAS FIG CAKE
3 c. (about 14 oz.) dried figs, stemmed and coarsely chopped
6 Tbs. sugar plus 2 c. sugar
2 c. water plus 1 /2 c. water
2 c. peeled and finely chopped apple
15 oz. box raisins
2 c. black walnuts or pecans, coarsely chopped (see notes above)
4 c. flour
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
1 tsp. ground cloves
1 tsp. fresh-ground black pepper
1 tsp. salt
4 tsp. baking soda
Combine the figs, 6 tablespoons of sugar, and 2 cups water in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat to medium-low and cook until the figs are tender, 45 minutes to 1 hour. If you are losing too much liquid, you can partially cover the pan, but this should be thick.
Remove from the heat and let stand at least 10 minutes. Using an immersion blender or food processor, chop the mixture further, to produce a chunky puree. You will need 2 cups of puree; if you need more liquid, you may stir it in. Set mixture aside.
Preheat the oven to 300 degrees. Use oil-and-flour baking spray to coat a tube pan, preferably one with a removable center, or two standard loaf pans. (If you use paper to line the pans, spray that, too, once it's in the pan.)
Measure 2 cups of the fig puree into a very large mixing bowl. Add the apples, raisins, and nuts and stir to mix well. Extra puree can be refrigerated and used as jam.
In another bowl, whisk together the flour, cinnamon, cloves, pepper and salt, until they're well combined. You'll see bits of the spices evenly distributed through the mixture.
And in a small bowl, mix the baking soda into 1/2 cup water. Stir until dissolved and then stir this into the fruit mixture.
Add the flour and seasonings to the fruit mixture. This will be very dense and heavy, so it may be easier to use your hands. If necessary, you may add another tablespoon or two of water to make sure all the dry ingredients are moistened.
Transfer batter to the prepared pan, pressing it down to fit the pan. Moisten your hands and pat the top of the batter to smooth it out.
Bake for 1 3/4 to 2 hours, until a tester inserted near the center of the cake batter comes out clean. Cool for at least 30 minutes before removing from the pan, and if using the 2-piece tube pan, you may leave it on the base as it cools.
Wrap tightly; keeps for at least 2 weeks. Yields at least 12 slices.
After Caleco's expired, other places, all rather nondescript, came and went. And then the guys from the Tavern on Dougherty Ferry Road decided to open The Shack in that spot. Over the years, the original building expanded, so it's difficult to visualize what it was, but in some areas, the old vibes still murmur. It's large, generously but not excessively televisioned, with several dining rooms, lots of big tables, and, for what comes suspiciously close to a college bar, well and politely staffed. Still, there's a kids' menu, but after 9 p.m., announces a sign at the door, no one under 21 will be admitted.
The menu is large and interesting, although it may be advisable to step carefully around too much lily-gilding. Nachos come with beef or pulled pork toppings. The pulled pork seems like a good idea, with a chipotle barbecue sauce and some green chile salsa, too. A little hit of smokiness in the nacho cheese sauceworks well. But the pork itself is quite sweet, enough that it overwhelms the peppers and demands a good hit of the Cholula sauce at the tables. (Interestingly, the leftovers made for a surprisingly tasty batch of chilaquiles.) On the other hand, the wings flew, so to speak, the 7-spice Buffalo sauce vinegary, hot and laced with wee bits of garlic. (Other options are kung pao and the chipotle barbecue sauces.) And they hadn't been breaded, always a plus.
Burgers, of course, but it seems there's a reason they're not listed until the diner flips over the menu for the reverse side. A Shack burger, flat-grilled style, comes with lettuce, tomato, onion and Shack Sauce, pinkish and slightly sweet-sour. I hope the dryness of the burger was an aberration, because it was so acute the vegetables and sauce didn't save things. Flat-grilled burgers can be great, but this one wasn't.
Where there are burgers, there also shall be fries. And these are absolutely first-rate fries, fresh and hot and clearly hand-cut. That said, here too be cautious with add-ons. There are several offerings of what the menu calls loaded french fries, going well beyond the traditional-ish chili fries. The problem with all these is that they wet down the excellent potatoes, losing their crispness, their heat and their charm. A version called green eggs and ham started off with creamed spinach, added lardons of pork belly, some green onion and a soft-fried egg. Certainly it sounded good, but it was just Too Much Stuff. Fries sans toppings are on the reverse side of the menu.
Tacos? Here? Curious eaters want to know. Well, it's not Cherokee Street, and it's not fair to judge by those standards, but these were surprisingly good. Served on flour tortillas, the fish taco was hot and crisp and topped with the proper cabbage, cilantro and onion. But the pork belly taco, with a pineapple salsa absolutely swung, a great combination of flavors and textures, no need for additional seasoning - its heat was mild but pleasant - and bursting with fun. They really should serve more than one eensy bartender's cut of lime with two tacos, though.
It's not quite within walking distance, at least at night, of the Grand Center attractions. But service is mostly rapid and parking is easy.
The Shack Pubgrub
3818 Laclede Ave.
314-533-7000
Lunch & Dinner daily
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Fair
Smoking: No
Sandwiches, etc.:$5-$8
Daniel Boulud traded his whites for a suit and tie, and now has a group of carefully planned outposts, including three bearing his name across the street from Lincoln Center. One is a bakery/retail/seafood bar, called Epicerie Bolud, flanked to the east by Boulud Sud, which focuses on Mediterranean food, and to the south is Bar Bolud, where I ended up with friends.
In a storefront whose large windows frame the glittering Metropolitan Opera across Dante Park, the arched ceiling somehow manages to hold the noise to a manageable din, notable these days. With only slight effort, we could hear each other across the table. We opted for a series of small bites rather than having entrees, and no one gave us a fish eye over that choice; indeed, service was as good as you'd expect from a high-end New York restaurant that was jumping. And jumping it was; don't try this without a reservation unless you have a secure backup plan.
An amuse of gougeres, still warm, arrived and met with universal acclaim. My pals hadn't come across them before - they're a choux paste dough, what cream puffs are made of, that has cheese beaten into it. No filling required; the interior is soft and slightly chewy, the outside crisp. These were perhaps an inch in diameter, and we could probably have eaten a dozen of them.
The house version of a salade lyonnaise is close to traditional, a lovely tangle of curly, crisp endive, lightly dressed with vinaigrette, thick chunks of bacon, and a perfectly poached egg. What makes it distinctive is not just the sourdough croutons, but quickly sauteed lobes of chicken liver, giving another layer of savory flavor and a creamy texture to the mixture.
Soups should be superb at a restaurant with French bloodlines, and both ours were. The mini-tureens are heavy enough to keep them properly hot, and while a celery and chestnut soup was lush, velvety and as rich as the dress circle across the street at the opera house, its balance of flavors and cream didn't mutter, "Too much, too much." Fish soup featured on the pre-theater menu was a cream version, too, equally smooth and punctuated by brunoise of potato and several mussels barely poached. Brunoise? Beautiful word. It's chef-talk for dice about an eighth of an inch across.
From the charcuterie list came a slice of terrine made with leg of lamb, with some eggplant and sweet potato added in for texture as well as taste, little hits of garlic and pepper and one of the sweet spices singing along. The single letdown in the meal was the beef tartare, good quality beef, to be sure, but topped with what seemed to be a mayonnaise type of sauce, rather than the traditional egg yolk. Who knows if Health Department regulations or a caution in this age of immunodeficiencies and lawsuits helped this come to pass? It seemed to be part of a texture problem that surprised, a gooeyness that was unexpected.
But the dessert....ah, the dessert. Called le lion (and pronounced like the cat, not the city in France), it was held in shape by a shallow cup-shaped chocolate cookie that floated in a cloud of passion fruit- and yuzu-flavored whipped cream. Inside the cup, was a denser chocolate cream, more whipped cream on top, and then a scoop of chocolate-passion fruit ice cream, and yes, those are a few gold flakes on there. Why gild the lily when you can gild chocolate? Sheer bliss. Who knew passion fruit and chocolate could make such wow together?
There's a late-night menu, a pre-theater special, and they do brunch. But call ahead, even if it's only a half-hour's lead time. Restaurants in this neighborhood get very busy, even the so-so ones. And this is far beyond that.
Bar Boulud
1900 Broadway, New York City
212-595-0303
Lunch Mon.-Fri., Dinner nightly, Brunch Sat.-Sun.
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Fair
Smoking: No
Entrees: $28-$40
But it looks like things are calming down, and I'm thinking we're going to be able to get cranking again with a few days and real-time coverage of St. Louis restaurants within a week or 10 days. So bear with me, and in the meantime, here's the word on Pomme in Clayton:
Our old friend, the Old China Hand and the ever-delightful Mrs. Hand have had us join them for New Years Eve at the St. Louis Symphony and then at Tony's for several years, and they continued that invitation this year. I am happy to report it was one of the best meals we've had there in some time, both in terms of food and service. (Hard to imagine in these walls but on a previous visit, a glass of water remained un-refilled for the whole meal, for instance. Glad that's past.)
No photos - I really hadn't thought I'd be writing about it. But good food, like the Prince Edward Island oysters with an icy mignonette sauce, the oysters briny and exquisitely fresh, the mignonette showing more body than usual, from what I think may have been malt vinegar. And pate from duck and chicken livers with a little veal showed more style, creamy and rich but also a little heat, some sweet-tart notes and a surprising use of rosemary that worked well. The pickled red onions alongside were a good idea, too.
Grilled scampi and lobster brought three monster-sized shrimp and a lobster tail split the long way, each grilled but not overcooked. They were dressed with what the menu calls a mustard sauce, but the sauce went well beyond a nice bit of Dijon. Ruddy, the color of a very serious lobster bisque and clearly containing a reduction of seafood stock, perhaps a dab of tomato and definitely that tang of dried mustard, complex and gratifying.
Equally fit for a gala night was the slice of tenderloin grilled with some foie gras and another fine sauce, this one velvety from a fine roux, rich from the pan juice reduction and touched with a bit of a very dry port, the whole thing a rich chestnut brown, and so delectable that bread to mop up the last of it was simply mandatory. Would the house version of creamed spinach be too rich to go with this? Surprisingly, no. Hard to imagine but this is an amazingly light-on-the-tongue version, tasting like the vegetable itself melted almost into unctuousness, a light hit of nutmeg sashaying along.
And was a plate of linguini with lobster and shrimp perhaps a bit mundane on a night of festivities? Well, no, as it turned out. Not surprisingly, plenty of chunks of seafood mixed with the al dente pasta, all swathed in a sauce that was texturally light, consisting of olive oil and seafood broth, but big, big on flavor, lots of shellfishy savor with light notes of garlic and some red pepper, plus some lemon, an absolutely fabulous pasta dish and the sort of thing that lingers in the memory the rest of the year. Leftovers will make a fine fritatta.
Helen Fletcher, the gifted baker who's become the Bommarito family restaurant's in-house dessert chef, has a new book out, European Tarts, whose contents overlap with many of the newer offerings on Tony's menu. A butter tart whose filling may evoke our gooey butter cake, pairs up with a caramel ice cream, the wonderful crust a fine contrast with the slightly chewy filling and the ice cream. The combination of dark chocolate and coconut brings a chocolate-crusted tart with a chocolate ganache filling with coconut in it, and housemade coconut ice cream, again the textures playing against each other, and a good pairing of flavors. Those are both great, but I continue to have a deep soft spot for the chocolate layer cake filled with chocolate mousse and paired with banana ice cream. Both Joe and I always felt this to be one of the area's best desserts, and it continues to reign.
Service attentive, of course, with no loose ends and a little less of the hovering feeling that some folks find overwhelming. (The younger members of the family who we've brought there over the years have been taught that the way to handle this is to imagine they're a prince or princess, remembering that such grand folks are always and forever deeply polite to the people who take care of them. It's worked well, and even the generation that still wants chicken nuggets elsewhere remember happily their visits here.) And frankly, there are few places in town that are better for people watching. Near us were three string players from the symphony, having a particularly fine post-gig meal.
Not cheap and at these prices, to quote Pollack's First Law, restaurants set their standards by the way they price themselves. But a grand meal and well worth it.
Tony's
410 Market St.
314-231-7007
Dinner Tues.-Sat.
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: via lobby of Equitable Building (entrance for sibling restaurant Anthony's Bar)
Smoking: No
Entrees: $28-$43
Almost unnoticeably connected to its sibling Niche, newly moved in one door west, it luxuriates in a feeling of space, mainly due to its immense two-story ceiling. Somehow, this manages to swallow a surprising amount of din when the place is rocking, as it commonly is. Because Pastaria is hot, no question about it, and not just with the usual gotta-go-to-the-newest-spot crowd. Craft said he wanted it to be family-friendly, and so it is. No, there are no placemats and crayons, but there are high chairs and a children's menu. On a Sunday evening, almost half the tables had junior diners and a remarkably well-contained group they were, too, all sitting in seats, high chairs or laps, having a good time. One young lady carefully held up a looooong piece of macaroni and nibbled from the bottom, several faces bore clear evidence of enjoying the pasta sauces and none of this felt inappropriate, so casual was the atmo. Not a soul the whole evening had a meltdown, not even any adults. Wondrous.
No reservations. Period. But chairs and a bar at which to wait, a chance to watch fresh pasta being made and to inspect the gelato case. And to read the menu, speeding things once seated.
"Sorta close to Italy" is the motto, and that's reasonably accurate. Italian restaurants wouldn't have pasta as their main course at dinner, for instance. The pasta there would not be the consistency of Beef-a-roni, and I promise you Pastaria's certainly isn't. For those who couldn't make sense of al dente pasta, here is the classroom. This is fresh pasta, and it remains a little chewy, no dry core at the center, but definitely something the mouth must concentrate on more than St. Louisans, and most Americans, are accustomed to. These really are dishes that are as much about the pastas as about the sauces.
First courses are plentiful, and it would be easy to make a meal just of them. Crispy risotto balls are small versions of suppli, risotto wrapped around a piece of cheese, breaded and fried. Perhaps the size of a shooter marble, deeply tender and creamy inside, it's hard to decide if the two sauces served with them gild the lily or not. What looks like ranch dressing turns out to be tarragon sauce, absolutely delicious; the other sauce is tomato based, thinnish, and at first a little ho hum. But then there's something unexpected, a little more acidic than ordinary and perhaps a little coolness - have they slipped some mint in it? Good with either sauce, good without, too.
Craft offers kale, the vegetable of the year, in a new guise. It is not quite so thinly sliced as to be called shaved, but the salad with it is carefully shredded to increase its tooth-friendly qualities. He then dresses it in true Caesar-style and tops it with big crumbs of toasted bread and pecorino cheese. Brutus would be green with envy. Kale is so strong-willed it doesn't wilt even after being dressed, meaning the generous serving's leftovers will wait unaffected until tomorrow's smile-inducing lunch.
Bruschetta, slices of grilled bread toasted in the wood-burning oven, is topped with slices of red radishes pan roasted with lemon and garlic. The color is amazing - sitting at the counter by the kitchen, it looked like a pan of sliced strawberries. The crunch is softened considerably, the characteristic sharpness mellowed, but the lemon and garlic round things off nicely.
Pizza, whether for a main or for a shared first course, arrives quickly. That wood-burning oven, so hot that a pizza placed on its metal floor begins to steam immediately, is watched carefully, the pies pivoted this way and that to bake evenly. These are medium-thick, about 10 inches across, a tender but chewy crust. The Roman carries tomato, serious garlic, small chunks of smoky bacon, mozzarella and pecorino cheeses and a little chili oil, a fine melange of contrasts. It was indeed much like what I ate in Rome three months ago, although the crust is thicker. Pizza provincialism is Out. There are lots of ways to make good pizza. Get used to it.
As to the pasta, be prepared for some new shapes. Garganelli, shaped like what we used to call banana curls, shares a bowl with tender wine-braised beef, green olives, and a shower of lemon peel, garlic and parsley. Strozzapreti, which translates as "priest stranglers", referring, apparently, to greedy clerics, SHAPE wears the house Bolognese sauce, a meaty tribute that seems to include some of the red sauce for the risotto balls, and a little cream as well, a common addition in Bologna.
Pappardelle, a wide, flat noodles often used with game and other hearty meats, here pairs up with smoked pork, a little apple and some mascarpone cheese. The effect is almost barbecued, with the smokiness and the sweetness of the apple, and adds up to a dish that makes a (happy) pig of the diner. And then there's the cacio e pepe using a canestri pasta. Canstri are large, ridged and u-shaped, new to me. Cacio e pepe translates as cheese and pepper, an old Roman pasta, and what I had my last night in Rome. The version here, using Grana Padano and pecorino cheeses along with a generous amount of black pepper, is as good as that one was. It's not a handsome dish, the cheese being about the same color as the pasta, with just the flecks of pepper. But it's incredibly satisfying, one of those proofs that good, simple ingredients can blow you away. There are three non-pasta entrees, by the way.
They're making their own gelato, from simple (chocolate from Springfield, MO's Askinosie's chocolate) to elaborate (Meyer lemon curd); our pal's vanilla and chocolate was first-rate. The delightful surprise was the panna cotta, normally a snoozer of a dessert. Made with yogurt that had to be the rich Greek sort, it was nicely unctuous, not at all rubbery, and topped with a tart cherry compote and toasted, salted sliced almonds, a fab combination. The only glitch in things was the dessert just referred to as birthday cake. It looks like fun with sprinkles and meringue "marshmallows". But the yellow cake was overbeaten, making it tough and unappealing despite the generous lashings of frosting. There are plenty of better choices.
Really nice service, warm and casually knowledgeable, especially for folks curious about what they're about to consume. And good value overall. This spot is going to stick around for a while, is my guess.
Pastaria
7734 Forsyth Blvd., Clayton
314-862-6603
Lunch Mon.-Fri., Dinner nightly
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Good
Smoking: No
Pastas and pizzas: $10-$16
Waldorf salad or not? (Yes, if there were guests.) and
What about a green vegetable?
My schoolteacher mother didn't study nutrition in college, but there were small leaflet-like books put out during the Depression to educate citizens on proper nutrition for their children, and my mother dutifully absorbed them, or so she said. Her views were pretty reasonable and accurate given what we now know about such things, her mantra being A Balanced Meal. Thanksgiving did not meet her criteria for ABM, and mostly she didn't try to impose on the menu. But no mashed potatoes. (There's enough starch there," meaning sweet potatoes were a starch and not a yellow vegetable, dressing was certainly a starch, and then the brown 'n serve rolls and blackberry jam, the cranberry sauce and the pumpkin pie.) And there needed to be a green vegetable on the plate. Nothing exciting ever appeared. Canned peas or green beans. Frozen broccoli. Yawn.
Things improved several years after I married and had kids. For a long time, there was a spinach casserole that, mirabile dictu, came from a hospital cafeteria. (Thank you, Shriners!) Hard-cooked egg, a sharp cheese sauce and croutons over a layer of cooked spinach were the answer. And then in the Pollack years, other things came into play. Roasted brussels sprouts had a good run, especially with a little balsamic sprinkled over as they came out of the oven. And then there was this that made a picky 6-year-old diva beg for more. I think it was probably the tarragon.
There are plenty of recipes for similar things all over the internet, most of them more overtly Italian than this. I'm thinking whoever came up with this one, an old New York Times recipe that more or less pre-dates the internet, and probably is from Jack Bishop. Tarragon, unusual in Italian cooking, is mostly found around Siena, which is where the onetime picky eater spent a semester of college and really learned about serious eating.
2 Tbs. olive oil
1 medium onion, diced
1 c. chopped or diced canned tomatoes with liquid
1 lb. green beans, ends trimmed (I also break them up)
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. dried tarragon (or 1 Tbs. fresh, added at the end of the cooking)
Freshly ground black pepper
In a large saute pan or dutch oven, heat the oil over medium heat. Saute the onion until translucent, about 5 minutes. If it browns a little because you forget to stir, that's okay. Add the tomatoes and simmer until the juices thicken a little, about another 5 minutes.
Add the green beans, salt and a little pepper to the skiller. Crumble the tarragon between your fingers or in the palm of your hand over the pan and add it all. Give the mixture a good stir, drop the heat to medium-low and cover the pan. Cook, stirring occasionally until the beans are tender but still a little resistant to the bite, about 30-35 minutes. You may go longer if you desire. If you're using the fresh tarragon, add it now, and taste to see if it needs more salt or pepper.
Serves 4, perhaps.