The poem, which all school children had to learn when I was a child, is by William Ernest Henley, and it begins, "Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be, For my unconquerable soul." Later, it notes, "My head is bloody but unbowed," and it concludes, "I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul."

Given those lines and Eastwood as director and a masterly performance by Morgan Freeman as Nelson Mandela, we immediately see the arc of the film. And, of course, there is a sports connection, tied into the winning of the World Rugby Cup by South Africa in 1995. The Springboks, the national champs, had been a white-only team, pointed in their policies of exclusion. But Mandela, a new president, convinced Francois Pienaar (Matt Damon, very hunky) that the team could do wonders for the country if it won the world title.

That neatly turns "Invictus" into a sports movie, with hours (or so it seemed) of scrums and kicks and players running with a ball. And then, of course, there is the title match between the Springboks and the New Zealand Blacks, and that takes a long time, too. But you already have enough information to decide who won the match.

Along the way, there are heart-warming scenes of the Springboks conducting a rugby clinic for little South African kids from the shanty towns, and the incumbent white bodyguards of the former president learning to work with the incoming black bodyguards of the Mandela administration.

Freeman is wonderful; he inhabits Mandela, and if he had been blessed with a better script than the one Tony Peckham wrote, he might have been even better. But for someone who likes rugby and adores heart-warming, here's a holiday treat.

Opens today at multiple theaters.

-Joe

On the other hand, a Vietnamese pancake, or bah xeo, seemed greasy and its filling consisted mostly of bean sprouts with an occasional bit of shrimp and slightly more chicken. The promised lemon sauce turned out to be nuoc cham, the usual tart-sweet-salty dipping sauce. The outside of the pancake was crisper than we've usually come across, a pleast touch but not enough to save it from forgettability.

From the entree list of rice platters came lemongrass shrimp. Most dishes in this category, incidentally, are offered as rice platters or dinners, the latter being about $3 more. The difference? “They're bigger,” said our server with a shrug. Our shrimp were small but sweet, not overcooked, and were accompanied by green and white onions and a few carrots. The flavor was predominantly lemongrass, with a very light hit of chilies, and the sauce had plenty of tiny bits of minced lemongrass itself, whose texture reminds one of a very chewy coconut, quite fibrous.

In several dishes, the menu speaks of something mysteriously described as brown sauce. Pork with mushrooms and baby corn in brown sauce proved to be a winner, with first-rate pork, tender and full of pigalicious flavor, baby straw mushrooms (which don't, of course, look like straws, but more like wee dwarf caps) and pieces of corn in a sweet-and-tangy brown gravy that put the pork flavor even more in the foreground. Altogether, a first-rate dish.

No time for our usual Vietnamese coffee or the desserts Lemongrass offers, like sweet potato flan or bananas, either broiled or in a pudding, since we were off to a theater in the neighborhood. Next time.

Lemongrass

3161 S. Grand Blvd.

314-664-6702

www.lemongrass-rest.com

Lunch & Dinner, Tues.-Sun

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Fair

Smoking: No

Entrees: $6-$11

The struggle set up by More's reaction to the actions of Henry and Cranmer is the basic tale of "A Man for All Seasons," Robert Bolt's wonderful play that opened over the weekend as a production of the St. Louis Actors Theatre, on stage at the History Museum to run through Dec. 20.

Bolt, an English writer, first dealt with the topic in a television tale for the BBC, then wrote it as a play that ran 18 months on Broadway starting in 1961. He did it again as the screenplay for a 1966 movie. He and the play earned both a Tony and an Oscar, as did Paul Scofield, who was More on Broadway and in Hollywood. The film, directed by Fred Zinneman, had a cast that included Wendy Hiller, Leo McKern, Robert Shaw, Orson Welles, Susannah York, John Hurt, Corin Redgrave and Colin Blakely.

The Actors Studio production, directed with grace and power by Milton Zoth, who battled some difficult problems with the theater's layout and design, but made it work on Patrick Huber's simple, understated set which proves that less can be more. Huber also designed the lighting, which suffered because of the conditions of the theater. Michele Siler's costumes also proved the value of simplicity, but went all out in several cases, using the clothing's flash and filigree almost as set decorations.

William Roth was a most effective Thomas More, showing his idealism and his legalism, which clashed often along the way. It's a long, tough role which demands he show dominance in most of his scenes, and he does it well. Theresa Doggett was a splendid match as his wife, understanding her husband's choices but resisting them, wishing he would go along with the king to give them a happy, well-designed life. Charlie Barron, as the Common Man and as several Uncommon Men, delivered beautifully, finding the differences to distinguish one personality from another, trying to show feelings for More, but always having to hide them.

Christopher Hickey, as the weaselly, sneaky Richard Rich, made his thinking a little too obvious from time to time, but mostly was very effective. Kevin Beyer, as Thomas Cromwell, the king's prosecutor and fighter for the break with Rome and the Pope, is devilishly clever and a man who understands entrapment and coercion in the style made famous by Sen. Joseph McCarthy in his witch-hunts of the 1940s. "Your loss of innocence," he sneers to Rich, "If you just noticed it, it could not be important." It's a solid performance, and he pairs very well with Larry Dell, who is absolutely splendid, doing outstanding work as the Duke of Norfolk, loyal friend and supporter of More.

But More violently rejects compromise, as we know he will.

Accents vary here and there; some actors use them well, some not so well and some wisely decided not to bother.

Bolt's story of passion and loyalty, of idealism and truth, is a superior play with numerous parallels to what it is going on here and in other places in the world, and while it is set in the 16th century, it's as new as tomorrow morning. I was mesmerized as I have not been for a long time, and though the play runs two hours and 45 minutes, it just zipped by for me.

A production of the St. Louis Actors Theatre at the Missouri History Museum, through Dec. 20.

-Joe

But space was found, and the late, lamented Theatre Project Company, led by Fontaine Syer and Bobby Miller, mounted the production. The sun rose the next day. No one's life was ruined, and no proof ever was offered that a single ticket buyer ended up in Heaven or Hell because of attending or decling to attend.

The play has returned. "Sister Mary Ignatius Explains it All for You" opened a three-weekend run on Friday in Tower Grove Abbey -- once a church -- and St. Louisans barely noticed. The Stray Dog Theatre production was certainly satisfactory, though the play itself remains a poor example of Christopher Durang's writing talent. More important, the earth of South St. Louis did not open up and swallow a cast and audience of obvious sinners. And some people actually laughed when Catholic doctrine and dogma were the subject of satire and mockery, if not downright ridicule.

Durang, author of "The Marriage of Bette and Boo" and many other plays, has admitted he wrote about Sister Mary as a response to some of his own Catholic school experiences, and high school resonated in some of the writing. It's a lot harsher than "Late Night Catechism," for example, but at least Sister Mary didn't castigate a critic (not I, thank you) for chewing gum while walking down the aisle and point out to another (guilty, your honor) that his middle name clearly indicated that he was not a Catholic.

Margeau Baue Steinau did nice work as Sister; she showed excellent timing, the proper anger and talk show hostess-level animosity, single-mindedness and casual acceptance of truth. It's a good performance.

The former students who invade the classroom in the later going, first to put on a funny Nativity "pageant," involving Joseph, Mary and a camel, then to finally complete a plan to embarrass a teacher they've hated for several decades, have been created as two-dimensional characters, each providing Guare with an opportunity to vent his spleen, and vent it he does.

Jenn Bock is Diane, who has had two abortions; Stephen Peirick is Gary, who is gay; Colleen M. Backer is Phillomena, a single mother and B. Weller is Aloysius, who has been suffering from bladder problems ever since Sister refused to excuse him from class. Young Adam Steinau was a young pupil well-trained in his responses to catechism, a touch too fast in his delivery from time to time, but as obedient and well-mannered as if he were responding not just to a nun, but to a superior mother which, in truth, he was.

The play has weakness, but it has laughs, and an audience of obvious heathens, obviously destined to spent eternity in a dark and fiery place, enjoyed the production, nicely directed by Gary F. Bell.

A Stray Dog Theatre production at Tower Grove Abbey, through Dec. 19

-Joe

Shepherd's most famous tale, "A Christmas Story," has been on paper, on radio, on small screen, on big screen and on stage, and the rich, charming, delightful show, written by Philip Grecian but based on the 1983 movie opened at the Repertory Theatre of St. Louis last night to run through Dec. 27.

Interestingly, a musical version billed as a world premiere opened at the Kansas City Rep last weekend and the run already has been extended. Kansas City critics praised the show, which has a book by Joseph Robinette, music and lyrics by Scott Davenport Richards, and mentioned that there are plans -- or at least hope -- for a Broadway engagement next year.

The St. Louis version focuses on the story, of Ralphie Parker's yearning for a Red Ryder air rifle for Christmas and his plotting to win over his parents. Of course, he has all the requisite adventures, struggles in school, dealing with parents, a younger brother and a pretty blonde who is so attracted to him she cheerfully accepts a toy spider as a gift. Ralphie even has a fight with the neighborhood bully and while he suffers adversity, he also learns valuable lessons.

Director John McCluggage, a St. Louisan making his Mainstage debut, uses not only the stage but also the aisles for dramatic effect, and his work with children was especially strong. Robert Mark Morgan's set design, using the stage's turntable to give us inside and outside action at the Parker house, was fine. Dorothy Marshall Englis' costumes were just right, and hilarious in a dream sequence. Ralphie's pink bunny pajamas were another highlight. And Rusty Wandall's sound design highlighted action and dialogue throughout.

Jeff Talbott, strong a year ago as David Frost in "Frost/Nixon," stands out brilliantly as the grown-up Ralph Parker, reminiscing about a long-ago childhood. He's the narrator, the story-teller, and his pacing is just right. It's a terrific piece of acting.

Equally good is Jeff Gurner as Ralph Senior, generally referred to as "the old man." Irascible, short-tempered and assured that he is correct in every decision, Gurner battles clinkers in the coal furnace, wins the ugliest lamp in Western Civilization in a contest and thinks he's won the Mona Lisa. He appears to be less-than-deeply interested in his son, like sit-com fathers through history, but he proves that he is interested and does understand. So does Ralphie's mother, a fine, understated performance by Marnye Young, who is a perfect contrast and a perfect complement to Gurner. Susie Wall, as Miss Shields, the teacher, turns in a well-disciplined, tightly controlled, excellent performance.

The children do fine work, led by Jonathan Savage as young Ralphie, but don't overlook Caden Self, as his younger brother. The second grader has instinctive talents as a clown, which he displays so well when his winter clothing gets the better of him. The other four children Taylor Edlin and Jarrett Harkless, as Ralphie's friends and classmates,Flick and Schwartz, respectively, are fun, with Edlin successful with a running gag about his "sore arm." Julia Schweizer as Esther Jane and Sarah Koo as Helen echo the charm of the writing by Shepherd and Grecian. Drew Redington has the unhappy task of being the bully, only villain in the piece.

"A Christmas Story" is a fine choice for this time of year, more for what it is not than for what it is. For example, it is not maudlin or mawkish, it doesn't push one religion, or any religion, for that matter, as the be-all and the end-all. It's fun, and it's gentle, and it's a fine way for a family to spend some time together.

"A Christmas Story," by the Repertory Theatre of St. Louis at the Loretto-Hilton Center, through Dec. 27.

- Joe

Tobey Maguire is Sam Cahill, a gung-ho Marine like his father, a Vietnam veteran played stylishly, as always, by Sam Shepard. Jake Gyllenhall is his younger brother, Tommy, recently released from prison. Sam, an officer, wants to return to the Middle East and his men, and does, but he soon is captured and tortured in sequences that are frightening in their intensity.

During his captivity, the Marines have told his wife that he is dead.

However, he is rescued and returns home, where he discovers that Tommy seems to have his life back in order, remodeling Sam's kitchen, bonding with his children, taking care of his wife, a badly underwritten role for Natalie Portman. The children, played by Bailee Madison and Taylor Geare, are simply wonderful, and a tribute to director Sheridan.

Sam is a physical and emotional mess, but he's a gung-ho Marine and doesn't want psychological help, he wants to return to combat.

And, of course, he's certain that Portman and Gyllenhaal have been having an affair, so the baggage cart just gets heavier and heavier. The drama is overpowering, sometimes overwhelming, but rarely satisfactory.

On multiple screens.

-Joe

"Moonlight" is not another "Waitress," just a silly matrimonial tangle that involves Meg Ryan and Timothy Hutton. Kristen Bell, dumber than a box of rocks, is the interloper, carrying on with Hutton (who does not play golf, by the way). Bell and Hutton were to travel to Paris together, and Hutton had been decorating his country house for a pre-flight evening as if roses were wild oats. As they headed for the airport, Hutton was planning to leave a note telling Ryan he was departing with another woman.

But Ryan, a lawyer, returns a day early from a business trip and discovers the plot. Moments later, Hutton is wrapped in duct tape and the two begin to talk, and argue, and talk some more. Much of the film involves two taped-up people, by dawn's early light, with too much to say to say good-night, as the old song almost goes.

Bell, stood up at the airport goes to Hutton's house and soon joins the group of tapees. The conversation continues. There are a few funny moments, but it's mostly a drag.

On multiple screens.

-Joe

The show is a mixture of classical, folk, religious, contemporary and traditional music and, as usual, there were many wonderful voices on display. Ron Himes directed simply but effectively, Diane White-Clayton, a Washington U. student who worked on the show when the company produced it 20 years ago at St. Louis Community College-Forest Park, handled the musical direction with skill.

Langston Hughes is credited with the book, but his work seems more collection and arrangement than anything else. Music credits are a different story. George Friedrich Handel composed some, White-Clayton composed and wrote lyrics for others. And there are psalms, spirituals, African and American folk songs, the hymns of Thomas A. Dorsey.

The first half is set in Africa, among Reggie Ray's rich and colorful costumes, and the story, such as it is, reflects the Nativity. Two couples portray Joseph and Mary, with Herman Gordon and Janessa Morgan the singers, Iyun Harrison and Heather Beal the dancers. All are fine, with Gordon's rich voice standing out in solos of "No Room at the Inn" and "What Will You Bring the King?" and in a duet with Mesha Brown, "Special Gift." Brown also covered the numbers that Johnson will be singing. We're more contemporary after intermission when we leave the African village and move into a church, with Kevin Bailey as the active minister, singing, dancing and leading call-and-response rhythms in a bright red robe.

A trio of youngsters, Dominique Milam and sisters Alexis and Tyler White, stand out as singers and as personalities in several numbers and Nakischa Joseph led a rousing first-act finale with "Clap Praise," melding White-Clayton's music and lyrics from Psalm 47 into a rhythmic, delightful routine with the entire ensemble working together beautifully. Other standouts were Jennifer Kelley with "I'll Tell It Wherever I Go" and Chuck Flowers, Joel King and Brian Owens in "Late-Night Shepherds' Blues."

And as good as the soloists are, they take a back seat to the rousing voices of the ensemble, which joins in most of the songs to take them far over the top, drawing delightful, enthusiastic, hand-waving responses. It's a fine evening of entertainment.

"Black Nativity" by the St. Louis Black Repertory Company at the Grandel Theatre through Dec. 27.

-Joe

There are some good lines and some good performances, and Bobby Miller's direction is fascinating, his on-target focus emphasized by Scott C. Neale's set and Maureen Hanratty's lights. As sound designer, he chose absolutely perfect music for the between-scenes interludes. The play's six scenes take place in as many different locations, and the performers work their way from one end of the theater to the other while the audience sits on either side. A few pieces of furniture, a couple of props are enough to delineate each space. A fine staging touch.

Eric Weiss (the always impressive Jason Cannon), fleeing his family and his Jewishness from the day he learned to run, has grown to be a successful author with his third book, which includes a movie sale and a first-class book tour, with an interview by Katie Couric on the "Today" show (the play is set in 2002). He visits his hospitalized and obviously-dying father (Peter Mayer, who plays angry better than anyone I know), searching once again for a word of praise. "Oh," says Mayer, "your book is No. 11. Aren't you glad the list goes to 15 now?"

In the hospital cafeteria, Eric runs into a boyhood friend (outstanding work by R. Travis Estes), a delicatessen owner who still envies the boy who was taller, better-looking and smarter. The synagogue, domesticity and four children are his escape, in the tradition of "church, kitchen and children" that was a part of German family philosophy for so long.

Then he visits the woman who soon will be his ex-wife (Cannon's real wife, Sarah, in what has to be a difficult acting experience), and at times they seem near to a breakthrough and a reunion, but the closer they get, the farther apart they are. In Los Angeles, after a reading, he returns to his hotel with a very available graduate student, and the play begins to fall apart. Paris McCarthy, unsure of her maturity, something ill-defined both by the actress and the playwright, challenges Eric and herself. Margulies' dialogue falls short here.

A scene involving Eric with a Hollywood producer (Kate Frisina) and a young star who wants to break out of his mold as a sex symbol (Justin Ivan Brown) has plenty of laughs, but they're cheap and easy laughs, right from the nearest sit-com, and they leave both Cannon and this audience member embarrassed. It's downhill from there, though another fine scene with Mayer is still to come. Margulies, who owns a Pulitzer Prize for "Dinner With Friends," can write better and has written better. Miller and his cast have worked hard, but it's very difficult to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.

A New Jewish Theatre production, through Dec. 20, at Clayton High School.

-Joe

Raquel takes care of the family and its house, cleaning and doing laundry and dishes, cooking and minding four children whose adolescence is setting in, to the point where she is washing sheets almost daily for the boy and trying to keep some sort of control over a group of strong-minded girls.

There are parents, though Dad (Alejandro Guic) does nothing but play golf and build model sailing ships while Mom (Claudia Celedon) has lunch with friends and visits with her mother.

But Saavedra is more territorial than a lioness, and when she has health problems and the family hires a helper, Raquel makes her life miserable and manages to avoid suspicion. We go through several maids, starting with the meek Mercedes (Mercedes Villanueva) and on to the fiery Sonia (Anita Reeves), literally driven up the walls by Raquel, and finally to Lucy (Mariana Loyola), who is not intimidated by Raquel, befriends her and opens what may be a new life for her.

Sebastian Silva directed with a light, impressive touch, and also wrote the screenplay with Pedro Peirano. It's a charming movie.

Opens today at the Tivoli.

-Joe

DeNiro, as Frank Goode, a retired electrical wire maker, has been grieving about the death of his wife for eight months. His health isn't very good, and against his doctor's orders, he decides to visit his four children, David, an artist in New York; Amy, an ad agency owner in Chicago; Robert, a musician in Denver; and Rosie, a dancer in Las Vegas. The trip was made necessary by the children calling and reporting that they cannot visit him for the reunion he had planned and they had promised to attend.

Goode has worked on an assembly line and lived modestly, dreaming of the children's success. Traveling by bus is not a big deal; he daydreams as the wheels spin and the miles of telephone wire, some of which he might have touched, go racing by.

Writer-director Kirk Jones avoids subtlety at all costs. For example, before DeNiro leaves, we see him address envelopes to each of the children. He starts in New York, but is unable to find Robert. We're allowed to see the inside of the apartment, which is empty, because Jones wants us to know DeNiro slides an envelope under the door. Kate Beckinsale, as Amy, is successful but not really happy. Sam Rockwell, as Robert, is a tympanist with an orchestra and not the conductor he said he was. We can guess that Drew Barrymore, as Rosie, is not a ballerina in Las Vegas, and sure enough, she isn't.

It's a story that could have shown some warmth, some aspects of relationships, some truth, but neither Giuseppe Tornatore, who wrote and directed the 1991 version, nor Jones seems interested in peering beneath the surface of his characters. A shame.

Opens today at multiple locations.

-Joe

We never thought we'd be gurgling with delight about quiche, which at best we always have seen as just an okay thing and at worst...oh, you don't want to know. But the just-west-of-Grand Center restaurant and pub has put its own stamp on it, available at Sunday brunch and an absolutely don't-miss item. The dark, cozy spot, a little better lit on the white-tablecloth dining room side, has plenty of regulars, occasionally getting vocal over a soccer or rugby match, since one or another always seems to be running on the television sets in the bar. On the plus side, the sound remains at reasonable levels, low enough to carry on our own conversation.

We've written before about the hearty oatmeal pancakes, a perfect match for the warm maple syrup served alongside. There's a fruit compote du jour or marmalade available for an extra charge, but to our taste, they're superfluous. The house is curing its own bacon now, and the slices, thick and meaty, arrive looking almost like long strips of ham, the cure mild and pleasant. The bacon, cooked a little more crisply, also stars in the BELT sandwich, bacon, egg, lettuce and tomato on toast with a spicy aoli, adding up to a swell combination, with the aioli providing just enough bite. It's a little gooey from the eggs, but leaning over your plate to eat is no sacrifice when the sandwich is this winning. The runny-yolk-ophobes can ask for the eggs to be hard-cooked, of course.

A platter called the Highland Hangover (Ann offers a nod in the direction of her late, great friend, the ex-cop from Glasgow, who took the biggest exam of his life in said condition) offers a collection of nibbling-type things that are just right for absorbing the whisky of the previous evening or bloody Marys from the make-it-yourself bar at the front window. A Scotch egg, a standard bar snack in the UK, is a hard-boiled egg wrapped in sausage meat and deep fried. Sausage rolls offer sausages far meatier than their authentic Caledonian counterparts, nice and juicy, wrapped in flaky, tender pastry. And forfar bridies, called baby bridies here, are another recipe from the land of lochs and glens. Basically, it's a small turnover filled with chopped beef, spiced up with a little onion and, we suspect, some dry mustard. Very munchable. Add to that a generous rosette of smoked salmon and some crostini and you have ballast enough to get through a busy Sunday. The same sausage and bacon are part of the very authentic English breakfast, with egg, grilled tomato, toast and beans, except that it arrives warmer than most we've had overseas.

And then the quiche. The size of a large slab of cheesecake, fully two inches high, the flavors vary from week to week, but the creamy, delicate texture seems to be a constant, a fine mixture of just the right proportion of egg to liquid and the right time and temperature in the oven. Even the crust, which is puff pastry, an imaginative touch we applaud, is remarkable. Craveable quiche: Who would have thought it?

Pleasant, easy-going service, and an overall sense of leisure permeate things here. It's a gastropub in the best, most unpretentious sense of the word.

The Scottish Arms

8 S. Sarah Ave.

314-535-0551

http://wwwlthescottisharms.com

Brunch Sun. 10a.m.-2p.m.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Satisfactory

Smoking: Yes

Entrees (Brunch): $8-$14

Joe grew up in Brooklyn and figured out rather quickly that the country might be bucolic but it was a place to visit and not to sprout roots. Ann's from a small town and knew that while she was in a good place to be a kid, she wanted to be a grownup in a big city, thank you. And so when we heard about a restaurant called Urban Eats, it seemed to be a natural visit. Urban Eats is not the sort of place that wants to pretend it's in New York or Shanghai or Potosi. It goes out of its way to be a participant in the community, both its immediate neighborhood, which is Dutchtown, and the larger St. Louis one.

It's a small place, comfortable but not cutesy-cozy, with tables and chairs, stools and counters, a sofa and a meeting room next door. It hosts book signings and meet-ups, political gatherings and charity fundraisers. Officially a cafe and bakery, Urban Eats offers late breakfasts (after 10 a.m.), with espresso drinks and muffins, which can be ordered “stuffed,” meaning a squirt of vanilla cream cheese filling. Lunches and a separate selection of happy hour snacks are served until 7 p.m.

The way it works is to start with a decision of whether you want your food to come inside something, like a panini or a wrap, or on top of something, like a bowl of rice or a flatbread, which means pizza. Next is a question of style, as in Asian, Italian, Southwestern, Mediterranean or American, which still means pizza, and finally a decision on filling, involving chicken, turkey, salmon, pepperoni and bacon, hummus or eggplant caponata. There are several sides, too, described as "yummy extras," like chips or fruit, or "really yummy extras," like soups or salads or noodles.

We went for a wrap, made with a large whole wheat tortilla, in its Mediterranean version, with black olive tapenade, mozzarella, and lemon-pepper mayo, holding hummus and its partner portobello mushrooms. And we were very glad we did, too. The cheese was warm and gooey from the grilling, with a little spicing and just enough filling to fill the mouth but not ooze out the other end. A little baby spinach was an extra benefit. Quite yummy.

At the opposite end of the carnivore spectrum, a flatbread made with a long piece of the Indian naan, dressed with the “American sauce,” which still meant pizza, but with a tasty sweet-basil sauce (we passed on the mozzarella that usually rides shotgun). Topped with lots of pepperoni and bacon, it was a good combination of sweet and salty, crisp and chewy. Our sides were a bowl of Thai ginger noodles and another of white chicken chili. The noodles were pleasant but mild, not as spicy as the word “Thai” might imply, and lightly peanutty. A little more ginger would have improved them. On the other hand, the chili was a real winner, lots of meat, relatively few beans, threads of what appeared to be leeks lacing the thick, spicy soup. Just fine for a gray, wintry afternoon, warming and cheering.

Muffins and cookies head up the sweets, along with bread pudding and gooey butter cake. Eschewing our usual bread pudding, we tried the GBC. Chewy-gooey, just as rich as it should be, our only complaint was that it was a little dry in the base. But the good and surprisingly fresh coffee, just the regular stuff, not a specialty drink, made up for that.

Urban Eats is extremely child-friendly, with booster seats and a high chair, but an alcohol license and a drink menu that includes smoothies with rum or vodka, as well as beer, lots of things to read, art work on the walls and a system that calls for visiting the counter to order. The food is then brought to you. Just a really comfy, well-lit, third-place sort of spot.

Urban Eats Cafe

3301 Meramec St.

314-558-7580

 www.urbaneatscafe.com

Late Breakfast and Lunch daily, early dinner Mon.-Sat.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Difficult

Smoking: No

Entrees: $5-$7

Versatility has long been a Harrelson long suit, from nearly 200 episodes of "Cheers" to movies as different as "White Men Can't Jump," "The Thin Red Line," "Wag the Dog" and "No Country for Old Men."

He's Capt. Tony Stone here, paired with Ben Cooper as Sgt. Will Montgomery, back from Iraq and carrying shrapnel. Their orders are firm. Don't talk to anyone but next of kin. Don't discuss a cause of death. Don't show emotion. Don't say you're sorry for the loss. Tell them someone will call in a few days. Leave.

This is difficult work, though they don't absorb as much pain as they inflict. But they face the pain, and the tears, and the anger (a short but brilliant moment from Steve Buscemi), and the stunned silences, and Harrelson and Cooper turn in amazing performances for Oren Moverman, a first-time director who wrote the screenplay in collaboration with Alessandro Camon. Moverman, by the way, is a former Israeli Army officer.

But Cooper strays from the Army's game plan, letting his feelings down with Olivia Pitterson, a lovely, realistic portrayal by Samantha Morton. Cooper does not turn to the bottle like Harrelson, a recovering alcoholic always a moment or two from relapse; he returned home from war to discover his girl friend had taken up with someone else.

As powerful as "The Messenger" is, with an honest and straightforward ending, it sags in the middle as the pressure turns Harrelson and Cooper into more ordinary men, with the ordinary problems and futile search for solutions we all have to deal with.

Opens today at Plaza Frontenac.

-Joe

It's a triumph for Michael Sheen, once again playing an Englishman in superb style (remember him as David Frost in "Frost/Nixon?"). With Timothy Spall as Peter Taylor, his loyal assistant coach and defender against all enemies, Sheen portrays Clough as a combination of Al Davis, Vince Lombardi and Don Shula, not against bending the rules when victory is hanging in the balance, and always a step ahead in finding talent and being a superb leader and tactician. Taylor was the detail man, his own ego subordinate to Clough until Clough goes too far and Taylor leaves him just as Clough is about to step into a brighter spotlight.

Clough's over-the-top ego and quick temper often blinded him to reality, but for many years he challenged -- and usually defeated -- anyone who stood in his way. His battles against Sam Longson, the team chairman of Derby, produced some epic struggles, and watching Sheen and Jim Broadbent go toe to toe is thrilling.

Colm Meany also is excellent as Don Revie, the Leeds coach who stepped up to run the English national team, leaving a space for Clough to fill. But Revie's accomplishments remain in memory, and his success sticks in Clough's craw, becoming larger and stickier as he faces his own failures.

Peter Morgan's screenplay, from David Peace's book, is straightforward and fast-moving, and Tom Hooper directed with style, seamlessly cutting televised moments from long-ago games into the story without missing a beat. It's a fine film, showing the passion that the English have for their own form of football.

Opens today at the Plaza Frontenac

-Joe

And it's a handsome spot as well, with tall windows and red walls welcoming guests. Mosaic also has taken over the room just to the west, using the same entrance foyer, and put all smoking in an area that is primarily bar.

All the food is in tapas style, small plates, although these are, as tapas go, large servings on small plates, designed for sharing. A platter of cured meat held slices of spicy grilled andouille sausage, prosciutto ham wrapped around sticks of manchego cheese, shaved Spanish chorizo, a slightly spicy ham the server referred to as speck, good olives and some grainy mustard was more than enough for two. So was the generous serving of what the menu terms “North African style” hummus, topped with quadrants of chopped tomatoes, black olives, feta and whole chickpeas. We're not sure what defines it as North African but it certainly was brightly flavored, aided by a lemon note that was flavor-forward without being sour. The pita wedges were soft and warm from the grill, and the effect was an outstanding rendition of a dish that's often routine.

The standout in the next round was a half-pound of well-cleaned, tasty, tender mussels in a coconutty, creamy broth that had enjoyed being steeped in lemongrass and with a hit of pepper as well, an unctuous combination that was a perfect mate for the warm toasted slice of garlic-rubbed country bread. Beautifully cooked, the broth alone would have made an elegant first course in any fine restaurant. We also had to try the pork cheeks. Expecting a braise on the promised white cheddar grits (which were dee-licious), we received something that certainly didn't appear to be anything like that. Two cubes an inch or so across sat on puddles of the grits. The brown exterior seemed to be deep-fried, a thin layer of seasoned dough holding the shredded pork. Between the dough and the grits was a spoonful of an ancho chile sauce, which went nicely. Our only complaint was that the meat itself could have been moister, but it was tender and the overall combination was tasty.

And then there was, again using the menu term, a chicken “wing.” We believe that when quotation marks are used around something, it should either be an actual quote or a way of indicating that what's inside the marks is not what it says it is. Mosaic used the marks correctly, because these wings turned out to be drumsticks. Their meat had been scraped away from the bone almost all the way to the knee, so to speak, some chorizo wrapped around the bone, the chicken replaced, bulging considerably, of course, and the whole thing breaded and deep-fried. Yes, interesting. But wait, there's more. A small container of blue cheese dip rode shotgun, and each leg was garnished with a pipette, like a really long eyedropper, of an agave hot sauce. Sweet, hot, slightly bitter and meant to be dribbled on the chicken, it completed the necessary elements for a take on the Buffalo style.

Mosaic offers a pleasant wine list with a good by-the-glass selection and a proper range of bottles, and to complement what exotic atmosphere there is, a good offering of fancy cocktails including some delicious caiprinhas.

A mole bread pudding arrived crowned with tequila-soaked golden raisins, which added to the complexity of the dessert. The dark chocolate-colored slice proved to be properly sweet and spicy, with a definite hit of chile. The rompopo sauce alongside was basically a crème anglaise, named for the eggnog-like drink popular in Mexico, and a spoonful of a butterscotch ice cream, very full-flavored, but unfortunately studded with small ice chunks from improper storage.

We've always found servers here very knowledgeable about the menu, although on busy nights, it can be a little difficult to hear them. Food arrives nice and hot, but servers bring it as it's done rather than arranged by courses, so it's a good idea to order slowly, a couple of items at a time. The servers are accustomed to this, and often leave a copy of the menu on the table for planning the next round. All in all, very good food for a reasonable price.

Mosaic

1001 Washington Ave.

314-621-6001

www.mosaicrestaurants.com

Lunch & Dinner daily, Brunch Sat.-Sun.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Yes

Smoking: Yes

Tapas: $5-$15

Whether or not it's for children is a permanent question with the work of either man, but I think the understanding level is such that both groups will have a splendid time, even if they're focused on different things in the same statement or action. Noah Baumbach, author of the charming film, "The Squid and the Whale," co-wrote the screenplay with Anderson, and it's charming and witty, rather than flat-out belly-laugh funny.

For example, the film is set in England, but there's a definite language divide among the extremely talented providers of the voices. Talented Americans speak for the animals, like George Clooney (is he in everything this holiday season?) as Mr. Fox, Meryl Streep as Mrs. Fox and Bill Murray as the Badger, Fox's buddy in crime and everything else. Humans have English voices, like Michael Gambon for the chief villain, Mr. Bean, one of the triumverate of Boggis, Bunce and Bean, known for villainy and chicken farming, for alliteration and for being identified as "one fat, one short, one lean."

The animation is wonderful, in a return to stop-motion photography and manipulation ofthe characters by people, rather than a computer program (Yes, I know the programming is done by people, but things are different. Trust me.) Mark Gustafson is responsible for the animation, Tristan Oliver the photography, Nelson Lowry the overall production design and Alexandre Desplat for the music, which is something special.

And there is a sort of plot. Mr. Fox has retired from the chicken business and wants to live a life of leisure as a country squire with his wife, their son Ash, and a visiting nephew, Kristofferson. But after a while, he feels the old urges and it's easy to figure out what happens next. But while it happens, we're treated to a glorious piece of movie-making that brings fun to everyone.

Opens today on multiple screens.

-Joe

The evening is pleasant, with excellent work from Steve Blanchard as Pa Ingalls and from Kate Loprest as Nellie Oleson, a comic villain of the very best sort. Her song "Without an Enemy," is the evening's closest thing to a show-stopper. Loprest is over the top all

the time, as Nellie should be, and she brings levity to a book that sometimes seems to revel in a series of sad events and even sadder characters, like Mrs. Brewster, a bitterly unhappy farm wife played powerfully by Meredith Inglesby. She has just a moment to delineate half a lifetime of anger and frustration, and she does it perfectly.

Kevin Massey, as Almanzo Wilder, who courts and wins Laura, also stands out as a singer and dancer, which points up one of the show's problems. Touring companies for large shows are expensive, so there is a lot of doubling up by characters who have real parts also taking a turn in the chorus. This adds skill and saves money, but it's awkward when Massey, or Inglesby, or Loprest show up as people who are easily recognizable as their primary characters, who would not be part of the chorus.

Kara Lindsay does fine work as Laura, her tomboyish character shown strongly in her interaction with Pa. Her singing occasionally turned shrill, but that may be caused by the Fox sound system. Melissa Gilbert, long the Laura of the television series, has grown nicely into the part of Ma, who obviously understands her daughter to perfection. Alessa Neeck is fine as Mary Ingalls, though the character is more a plot device than anything else.

Rachel Sheinkin wrote the book, Rachel Portman, influenced by "Paint Your Wagon," composed the music and Donna DiNovelli wrote the lyrics. Adrianne Lobel's minimalist set works satisfactorily and Michele Lynch's choreography, with overtones of "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers," also paid tribute to Lou Brock and other legendary base-stealers.

At the Fox Theatre, through Sunday

-Joe

There's less of that these days, and wine shops are carrying less of it. Some local outlets have only one or two different winemakers.

Beaujolais Nouveau, by the way, is from the 2009 vintage, so it has no aging of any sort except a few weeks in the bottle. It is made in the Beaujolais region, which borders on Burgundy, and is made from Gamay grapes, or is supposed to be. It is light of body, easy to drink and will not improve with age. Drink it by New Year's Eve, or certainly by George Washington's birthday, or mine, which occurs earlier in the same month. It does go well with turkey, and it is inexpensive. But you probably can get a better wine for the same amount of money.

But for the sake of continuity, I did sample a few. A couple arrived on my doorstep a week before the magic day (the Thursday before Thanksgiving).

Georges Duboeuf makes a Beaujolais Nouveau and a Beaujolais Villages Nouveau, which is a little better and a dollar more expensive ($11 against $10). The Villages has good flavor and balance, pleasant flavor and is a worthy drink. Its cousin has a floral nose, a flavor of strawberry and a short finish.

Joseph Drouhin, a veteran winemaker like Duboeuf, offers a $10 Nouveau that is more reminiscent of cherries than strawberries. It shows medium body, not much finish and some tannins that are not very well balanced. Laboure-Roi, another long-time producer ($11) brings an aroma and a flavor of cherry jello and was sweet on the palate.

All right, so what would I recommend for the Thanksgiving table? My first recommendation is to visit your wine-seller, tell him (or her) how much you want to spent and ask for a French Gamay or a California (or Oregon) Pinot Noir that's on the lighter side. You'll end up with a wine that will be excellent with your meal, and a tab of less than $15.

Something more specific? Well, I tasted an excellent Robert Mondavi Pinot Noir recently, though it did cost $24, and for the white wine fancier, a Mondavi Fume Blanc ($18) that is superior with fowl. A pair of value wines from Bogle, each $11, included a 2007 Zinfandel and a 2006 Petite Sirah. Dry Creek Vineyard has a Sonoma County Heritage Zinfandel, at $18, that will be fine company on the dining room table.

-Joe

What's next? Well, Isaacson and Neff and their son go from Texas to Mongolia in search of horses and shamans who--perhaps--can have a calming effect on the boy. It's a fascinating tale of success and failure, of discovering that small improvements can bring huge benefits, of learning how other cultures, like the semi-nomadic people of Mongolia, deal with similar problems.

Isaacson is the primary narrator, and Michel Orion Scott, the director and cinematographer, makes the countryside look beautiful and foreboding, keeps the camera tight on the family and his created a fascinating little film, with discussions from such as Temple Grandin, herself autistic, who has worked with animals all her life, and Simon Baron-Cohen, a psychologist from Cambridge University, who looks eerily like his cousin Sacha.

Watching Rowan and his family interact with the Mongolians,and enjoying Rowan's playing with a little Mongolian boy of similar age are charming. Isaacson nicely works a balance between his intellectual realization of what he is doing and the unrequited love he gives his son, no matter what the cost.

A very interesting movie that asks some very deep questions and which finds some unusual answers.

Opens today at the Tivoli.

-Joe

"The Road" will undoubtedly draw some rave reviews, and I did find Viggo Mortensen's acting to be stunning. But the unrelieved gloom in the vision of a post-Apocalyptic world through the eyes of McCarthy, screenplay writer Joe Penhall and director John Hillcoat was just too depressing for me.

Mortensen and Kodi Smit-McPhee are a father and son in this empty, dying world, filmed in post-Katrina New Orleans and the Gulf Coast, in the abandoned coal mines of Pennsylvania and other equally-gloomy parts of our nation, ravaged by man-made or nature-created disasters. They are traveling somewhere, fueled by force of habit and dreams in technicolor, of the days when the family was complete, with Charlize Theron as wife/mother. They have a revolver with two bullets and Mortensen provides suicide instructions to the boy, who keeps asking his father, "Are we the good guys?" in a search for reinforcement.

And in the end, my problem with "The Road" is that the never-ending quest becomes, well, monotonous, and when you're in the theater, in a seat, there is no worse sin than boredom, and that's where Hillcoat falls short,.

"The Road" opens today at The Tivoli

-Joe

We made a salad and dined on pappardelle pasta with a bison Bolognese sauce, each packaged separately, the pasta fresh rather than dried and needing only a fast run through boiling water. But it was the Bolognese that really charmed, properly chunky, with a buttery aroma that was almost sweet and a fine savor on the tongue.

Just e-mail a request to join the mailing list, or drop by when you're in the neighborhood and fill out a card.

Veritas

1722 Clarkson Rd., Chesterfield

636-530-9507

www.veritasgateway.com

Breakfast Sat.-Sun., Lunch Tues.-Sun., Dinner Thurs.-Sat.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Good

Smoking: No

Several years ago, re-reading Laurie Colwin's "Home Cooking," I was taken with her description of black cake. It's a Caribbean dessert, traditionally used at times of festivities, a higher form of fruitcake steeped in rum and other ethanol-type liquids. So I tried it. The idea was good, but her relatively vague recipe, which she admitted she hadn't actually made, just obtained from her daughter's baby sitter, just didn't hold together, literally, for me. (Other people, apparently, have done better with it.) But the idea still held promise. I am not one of those people whose idea of a Christmas cake is glaceed cherries and citron. No, indeedy. I have two fruitcake recipes, one dark and the other light, Ava Gardner and Grace Kelly, as it were, and both are tasty, so it wasn't as though I actually needed another one, but it nagged at me. Two years ago, I read Nigella Lawson's discussion of Colwin's cake and her take on the recipe. And last year I came across another recipe, and succumbed to it. I did a little tinkering, using what I had on hand and what I could easily find. And I was blown away when I finally tasted it. Moist and dark and mysterious, fruit and spice and booze. I cannot imagine a kid liking it, as laced with liquor as it is, but it is so worth the effort. (And the cost; this is not an inexpensive project.)

So it's November. I've chopped up the fruit and set it to marinating. It should sit for at least a week. Nigella says one year she began the marinating a month early, and when the time came to bake, she was so tired, she didn't make the cake. It sat 13 months in the liquid and she used it the next year, and it was fine. I don't think it's fair to drop a recipe like this on, say, December 15. So start now.

I've done some subbing from that recipe. The orange peel was awful-smelling and I pitched it, substituting some candied dried pineapple I had on hand. And glad I did, too; the occasional hit of pineapple is fun. I didn't have enough rum so I finished off the amount with some Madeira I had on hand. If you need to substitute in the fruit, nuts, or liquor, just figure on an equal volume. As to chopping: Measure first, then chop. (You know you can always tell by how it's listed - “1 cup nuts, finely chopped” means measure, then chop: “1 cup chopped nuts” means chop before measuring, right?) I use the processor for chopping the almonds, but I'm not crazy about that; it's easy to end up with half ground to flour and another half ranging from too-large-to-barely-nicked. For the rest, I just put on some cooking music and get cracking with a chef's knife and my cutting board, cutting them medium-coarse to just plain medium. I like much of the fruit to just sort of meld into the cake.

The ingredient that puzzles most people is the burnt sugar. There are ways to make it yourself if you look on the internet, but it's easier to buy it. I found it at Global Foods on Kirkwood Road, where it's with the Caribbean foods, a dark brown liquid in a bottle. I also buy many of the fruits there, finding them less expensive and properly fresh.

I greased the pans in case there was any leakage and then the papers, using Pam spray.

FOR THE FRUIT: 

1 3/4 C. almonds, chopped

1 3/4 c. dried cherries, chopped

1 3/4 c. pitted prunes, chopped

1 3/4 c. raisins, chopped

3/4 c. dried pineapple, chopped

1 c. currants, chopped a little (they're small)

3/4 c. dried cranberries, chopped

1 1/2 c. Port

1/2 c. Madeira (may substitute more port)

1 c. dark rum

Combine nuts, fruit, and liquids in a container that holds at least 3 quarts and has a sealable lid. Cover and store in a cool dark place for at least a week.

FOR THE CAKE:

3 cups all-purpose flour

1 1/2 tsp. salt

1 Tbs. baking powder

1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon

1/2 tsp. ground cloves

1/2 tsp. ground nutmeg

4 sticks (1 lb.) butter, room temperature

2 1/4 c. packed light brown sugar

6 large eggs, room temperature

2 tsp. vanilla extract

3/4 c. burnt sugar

Place an oven in the middle of the oven. Preheat to 300 degrees Fahrenheit.

Cut lining papers for cake pans, allowing for an overlap at the corners and extending an inch or so above the tops. Grease the pans, insert the lining papers, creasing them so they fit in, and grease the papers.

In a large bowl (that isn't the bowl you're going to mix the cake itself in) whisk together the flour, salt, baking powder and spices. In the bowl of the mixer, place the butter and sugar, and beat on medium speed until the mixture is light and fluffy. Scrape down the sides as necessary, and when the mixture is fluffy, scrape down the sides completely, stopping the machine. Return to medium speed and add the eggs, one at a time, beating each one in completely before adding the next. Add the vanilla and drop the speed to low.

Add the flour, the fruit-nut mixture and any remaining liquid and the burnt sugar, and mix just until combined. (I ended up using a large spatula to get everything nicely moistened rather than beating it to death in the ol' KitchenAid.)

Divide between the prepared pans, bang each pan on the counter a couple of times to settle the batter in, and place in oven.

Bake for about 2 hours, until a cake tester comes out clean from the middle. The cake will be very moist.

Allow to cool in the pans for 30 minutes or so, and then remove from the pans and finish cooling on the rack.

When cool, gently peel paper off cake. Brush cake with a little more rum and place in an airtight plastic bag. Can be eaten soon, or left to age up to 2 months.

Makes 2 cakes, each giving about 10-12 slices. (Or more: see added notes above.)

Not a handsome cake, although I can see setting it ablaze a la Christmas pudding and bearing it in to the assemblage with a sprig of holly atop it.

-Ann

It's also a difficult movie to watch. Child abuse is a painful sight.

Claireece "Precious" Jones is 16 years old, fat to the point of morbid obesity, her eyes squeezed almost shut so she does not have to look at anyone, her face a blank, inured against years of insults. She's practically illiterate, a slave to her mother's drunken whims, a victim of her mother's shameful, painful rants. She has a child with Down syndrome, is pregnant again. The father (of both)? Her own father.

Anything else to make this a horror story beyond all the common definitions?

Geoffrey Fletcher wrote the screenplay from the novel "Push," by Sapphire, and Daniels' casting is amazing.

Gabourey Sidibe, as Precious, is making her film debut, and does it to perfection. She lives in pain and confusion, and she shows it brilliantly. Mo'Nique, known as a large-size comedian and large-size clothing designer, turns to serious drama as Precious' mother, and when she finally is reduced to tears and a lengthy monologue-diatribe-confession, it makes the list of musical theater legends who have starred in "Gypsy," and performed "Rose's Turn," pale by comparison. Paula Patton, who has done a number of minor roles and who is best known as the wife of singer (and Grammy winner) Robin Thicke, is amazing as Blu Rain, Precious' teacher and a person who begins to ease her out of her shell. And I'm not going to go any farther in terms of Mariah Carey. See the movie, watch the credits and be as shocked as I was.

It's an extremely painful movie to watch. Sapphire pulled no punches in the book, and neither do Fletcher or Daniels, who is directing only his second film. His first, "Shadowboxer," (2005) starred Helen Mirren and Cuba Gooding Jr., and interestingly, Mo'Nique played a character named Precious. Daniels also served as a producer on "Monster's Ball," with Billy Bob Thornton and Halle Berry.

Daniels' directorial imagination goes a long way in making the movie a success. On several occasions, and never for long enough to be a distraction, Precious looks into a mirror, or a TV set, to see herself, usually as a perky blonde, always as a star. They provide some wonderful moments of realization of the sort of dream world in which she lives.

Meanwhile, her mother lives in a world of welfare checks.

Precious is the butt of jokes and insults at school, insults and a series of demeaning tasks at home. Her teachers often try to get through to her, even visiting the home, but Mom insults them as easily as she does her daughter and sends them away.

Fletcher's script is tight, and it and the actors hold attention. As difficult as "Precious" is to watch, it's an gripping film that deserves to be seen. To paraphrase the line used by the United Negro College Fund, children are a terrible thing to waste.

Opens today at multiple locations.

-Joe

Muna Farah (an excellent Nisreen Faour), whose husband left her for a younger--and slimmer--woman, takes her 16-year-old son, Fadi, and heads for the airport. At a highway checkpoint, they are stopped, questioned and humiliated by Israeli soldiers as writer-director Cherien Dabis makes a point we won't understand until the plane lands in Chicago and TSA agents put them through a very similar process.

Farah is met by her sister, Raghda Halaby, married to a doctor and living in a far-west suburb for 15 years with their two daughters, the eldest of whom, Salma, is in the same class as her cousin Fadi. Muna, who worked in a bank in Jerusalem, expects to stay in the U.S. long enough for her son to finish college, and seeks a similar job. But with a faltering economy and some difficulty with English, she suffers a series of disappointments and finally ends up in a White Castle. Her pride is such that she does not tell her sister the truth, but is dropped off at a bank next door.

Dabis makes another statement with a sign in front of the restaurant with a typo that makes it read, "Support Our Oops."

"Amreeka," which is the Arabic pronunciation of "America," is a rather slight and predictable film, with the predictable teenage misbehavior, but the acting is good, and the simple story offers us the opportunity to walk in someone else's shoes for 97 minutes.

Opens today at the Plaza Frontenac

-Joe

But it was Monarch, created six years ago by Jeff Orbin and Aaron Teitelbaum as a top-scale destination restaurant with a classic menu, that opened the door on the corner and held it open for Mike Johnson, Gregg Perez and many others. They expanded with Herbie's Vintage '72 in the Central West End where Teitelbaum now is the executive chef; he and Orbin have added Josh Galliano as executive chef and Matt McGuire as general manager at Monarch.

To clarify things, Joe has known McGuire since Matt was a small boy, son of a dear friend and colleague at the Post-Dispatch, and was a regular patron at King Louie's throughout its existence.

Galliano, who moved west from An American Place, brings a slightly different approach from that exhibited by Brian Hale, who opened Monarch and now is at the Chase-Park Plaza. Galliano is a touch more modern in his approach and in his plating, and shows the influence of Larry Forgione, founding chef at An American Place.

Both men have built Monarch into something special, and a recent visit, in search of a celebratory evening, turned out to be exactly that. No, we were not celebrating anything, just in the mood for a celebratory evening.

The restaurant, for those who haven't visited recently, comprises three areas beyond the reception desk. There's a cafe-like room with windows and tables that faces Sutton Avenue, more brightly lit than the celadon-colored dining room and its adjacent glass-walled wine cellar, visible from the dining room. And then there's the large bar area, its unusual shape echoed by the bar itself. It has a separate menu, as well as tables for dining or drinking. We've talked about eating in the bar before; this visit was to see what Galliano was doing with the more formal menu.

A pleasant hum on a weekend evening was a welcome beginning. The crowd seemed generally younger than it once was; it's nice to see another generation of restaurant-goers coming along. But the light level is rather low, almost enough to necessitate the use of one of those tiny flashlights often found at the bottom of large purses.

We kicked things off with the arugula salad, but the server returned quickly to advise us that it was being made this evening with mixed greens. Yes, that was fine, and so it arrived with just a dab of arugula but the remainder just as advertised. Garnished with a paper-thin cross-section of crisp dried pear, it wore a vinaigrette of cider vinegar hit with a little brown sugar, a few strands of pickled red onion and nuggets of Gorgonzola cheese, and several pieces of grilled pear. We dislike sweet salad dressings, but the flavors were so balanced it became the exception that proves the rule.

Roasted octopus was dressed with smoked paprika and a grilled scallion vinaigrette busy being soaked up by some smashed potatoes. A note of oregano kicked in after a bit, and then, finally a slow burn, probably from the paprika. The octopus were carefully cooked, just a little chewy, all adding up to a first course that could have done nicely for a lunch plate.

Boudin noir was a splendid example of French/New Orleans charcuterie, dark in flavor, with its extreme richness balanced by rice. Galliano's smoker also produces elegant salume in the Italian style, and a veal pate was rich and nicely dotted with traditional pistachio nuts which added both flavor and texture.

The tuna, a giant wedge about as tall as a serving of lemon-meringue pie, was grilled rare by our choice. It was crusted with coarse mustard, adding texture and a new contrast of flavor. Still moist, of course, it sat over a mixture of little black beluga lentils, roasted cauliflower florets, a bit of leek and small cubes of unctuous pork belly, like crisp bits of roast pork. Now there's a vegetable medley. Altogether, a remarkable dish. Beluga lentils are properly named; each was about the size of a caviar egg and was delicious, if not quite as delicious as the original.

Pot-roasted lamb was so tender it might have been shoulder, but it was carefully trimmed of connective tissue and fat. Alongside came housemade ravioli stuffed with greens and a little chevre, some sauteed spinach and a very light hit of lemon. Comfort food rather than mouth-shocking, it was totally satisfying.

The wine list totals more than 300, though McGuire said it was a little smaller than when he arrived, noting that his primary concern was for wine to accompany food. He has added Italian and South American wines, and there are about 30 by the glass. The prices are totally egalitarian, with bottles ranging from $18 to $980. More important, there are good values throughout the list, whose price leader is a Bryant Family California Cabernet Sauvignon. For comparison, it is $30 more than a French Bordeaux from Chateau Lafite-Rothschild.

When it comes to dessert, Galliano, who also serves as his own pastry chef, follows the contemporary trend of small bites of four or five different items on a single plate. For example, we tried a pumpkin panna cotta. Four half-domes about the diameter of a quarter arrived, along with a bit of spice-laced French toast about the size of a half-dollar. The ice cream was rich with its maple flavor. Another dessert featured bars of passionfruit and camembert semifreddos, a great combination. All the desserts are in small portions, and therefore more easily rationalized after a meal.

Service, often a complaint in Monarch's early years, has perked up considerably, with comments from a nearby diner who proclaimed it better than what he had experienced at a famous high-roller's restaurant in Las Vegas. And an after-dinner drink at the bar made for good people watching and a perfect opportunity for quiet conversation to let the excellent evening wind down.

Monarch

7401 Manchester Ave., Maplewood

314-644-3995

www.monarchrestaurant.com

Dinner Tues.-Sat.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Good

Smoking: Yes, in bar

Entrees: $20-$30

It's not, right now, very busy, but we've seen large tables of folks chattering in what is probably Korean, as well as young couples and families in the booths. The occasional bottle of wine or six-pack of beer appears out of paper bags brought in by diners, and the servers happily supply glasses. (A Riesling with a hint of sweetness, or a Gewurztraminer, is great with this food.)

Placed in the middle of the table after orders are taken are a half-dozen or so small metal dishes full of different items. Called panchan, they are traditional accompaniments to Korean meals, the way sambals go with Indonesian rijstaffel or small dishes arrive as part of the thali at Indian restaurants. The content varies, but always has a couple of kinds of kimchee, the pickled-fermented vegetable condiment. A clue to spice: dishes with a red-orange sauce are hot-hot-hot. Cabbage is a regular, and so is crunchy daikon radish, which looks like chunks of turnip in a vivid red-orange bath, and zucchini, pickled but less explosive. Others might be bean sprouts or baby spinach, dressed with a little garlic and sesame oil, cold bits of what might be called a Korean fritatta with egg and tofu, or a fish cake, beige strips of slightly chewy consistency and a salty taste. They can be nibbled beforehand, or more properly, used as sides with the main courses you've ordered.

And what might you order? Bul ko gi, what the menu terms BBQ beef, is probably the most familiar dish. By American standards, this isn't barbecue, but it is lean, tender, moist beef, possibly from a tenderloin, that arrives thinly sliced in a tangle with green and yellow onions. It's tangy, not fiery. Another barbecue dish the menu is the spicy pork, shown below, which much resembles the beef but with that reddish tinge and spicier, as if something beyond simple chili peppers have been added to the dish. Believe the menu. If something says “spicy,” it definitely is. Only once were we asked just how spicy we wanted things.

Another spicy dish was the squid, with even more of the chili, but beautifully cooked at just the right point of slight chewiness, avoiding rubbery, with more onions and some carrot. And then there was the grilled mackerel. A whole fish split in half, with major bones and the head removed, dusted very lightly and cooked until crispy, it was a marvel, rich and full of the flavor of real fish. It is not for people who want fish that tastes like chicken, but it is deeply satisfying.

And then there are the hot pots, on a butane-flamed burner that keeps a big pot of soup and many other things simmering gently. Big, yes; enough for two or three, perhaps even four if it's part of a larger meal. We chose the spicy seafood and were rewarded with a broth that seemed to begin with a miso-like base, and went on to garlic and pepper. Pieces of a small crab, a few mussels, at least two kinds of fish, chunks of tofu, several different leafy vegetables and some thick, chewy wheat noodles kept us busy, and left plenty for the next day's lunch. Rice for all, of course, in individual containers, the slightly sticky short-grain that Koreans prefer.

If Asian Kitchen is crowded, we don't know how the kitchen will copes with being slammed because every dish seemed cooked to order. Most of the servers' English is a second, or maybe third, language. Diners may need some patience. But they'll be well-rewarded.

Asian Kitchen

8423 Olive Blvd., University City

314-989-9399

Lunch & Dinner Wed.-Mon.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Fair

Smoking: No

Entrees: $9-$18

The wry, poetic genius of Fran Landesman, foul mouth and all, is part of the St. Louis International Film Festival in "Almost a Legend," a delightful 37-minute documentary, one of

four films to be shown today at 5 p.m. at the Hi-Pointe Theatre. Produced by Terhi Kylliainen, directed, written and filmed by Mia Vuorlo Ringwald, it's a splendid piece of work.

Mostly, it's a lengthy interview by Pierre Ringwald of Jay and Fran in their London home, with visits from friends and performers and sequences of Fran performing. Many old photos of the New York-born poet, lyricist and performer, with family, friends and Jay, her husband of more than 50 years, add a charming touch.

The film is divided into sections of her childhood, living in a luxurious apartment on Central Park West in Manhattan; morphing into the Queen of Gaslight Square in her St. Louis period, when her lyrics, to the music of Tommy Wolf, became classics on the cabaret circuit; concluding with her life in London as Gaslight Square faded and London became the Swinging City.

There are interviews with Tommy Smothers, who played the Crystal Palace with his brother, Dickie; Dave Moon, who worked as an electrician and designer backstage at the Palace; Bob Dorough, who played the hero, Dove Linkhorn, in her second big musical, "A Walk on the Wild Side," based on a Nelson Algren novel; Simon Wallace, her composer during the London years, Peter Cook, a London entertainer and long-time partner with Dudley Moore; Carolyn Cassady, widow of Neal Cassady, friend to Hunter Thompson, Jack Kerouac and Ken Kesey, founders of the Beat Generation; and English cabaret singers Sarah Moule and Gwyneth Herbert, the latter with a splendid portrayal of "Ballad of the Sad Young Men."

Fran and Jay talk about meeting in New York (in Washington Square Park, of course) and of highlights of their years together.

It's a charming film, better, of course, to one who spent a great deal of time with them in the Gaslight Square days, but it's a great chance to reminisce and to recall the stories that didn't make it into the film.

The other three parts of the program are hands-on documentaries, all featuring people who were key figures in the events. "Cohen on the Bridge" is a story of the famed rescue at Entebbe, where Israeli commandos rescued every hostage, is a highly dramatic tale related by a former soldier who took part. "Sister Wife" is a simple, powerful story of a Mormon woman who becomes a sister-wife when her husband takes her younger sister as a bride. "Jennifer" is Stewart Copeland's tribute to his mother, a teacher in rural Tennessee who motivates her class to build a radio that allows them to contact astronauts soaring in a space module far above them.

"Individuals," four documentaries about interesting people, today at 5 p.m. at the Hi-Pointe Theater.

-Joe  

Emmerich and Harald Kloser kill off several million people, but don't give any of them an interesting line of dialogue, or a speech that makes sense. But they happily destroy Los Angeles, Las Vegas, San Francisco, the White House, the Washington Monument, Vatican City, Yellowstone, the Himalayan Mountains, London, Rio de Janiero and lots of other places. Times Square escapes, apparently because Emmerich needed a place for large crowds to gather.

John Cusack is the hero in a large cast of fine actors who left their talent in their dressing rooms and probably waited until dark, then walked backward to the pay window. He's an unsuccessful writer who is a chauffeur for a Russian billionaire, an amusing Zlatko Buric. Cusack and his wife, the one-dimensional Amanda Peet, are divorced, and Peet is hanging around with a dumb doctor (Tom McCarthy). Cusack's son really likes the doctor, so Cusack decides to take the boy and his younger sister on a camping trip. They're in Yellowstone when the world begins to end, and some of Cusack's driving adventures, in an old camper, make Gene Hackman and "The French Connection" driving hi-jinks look like bumper cars in action at a county fair.

The problem is that the earth's core is overheating and about to blow up the earth's crust and shuffle its tectonic plates as if they were a gin rummy hand, both of which do irreparable harm to a planet, even if it has health insurance.

Chiwetel Ejiofor is the good guy, a geologist tipped off by a colleague in India that bad things are about to happen. Ejiofor goes to the White House, meets an oh-so-patient, oh-so-filled with gravitas president played with oh-so-deep sincerity by Danny Glover. He has a cute daughter (Thandie Newton) and an overbearing chief of staff, Mr. Anheuser (German name a coincidence?), played by Oliver Platt as if he were a combination of Dick Cheney all the time and Gen. Alexander Haig on the day Ronald Reagan was shot.

Meanwhile, in Yellowstone, Cusack and the children run into Woody Harrelson, who is broadcasting from a field pack, shouting the news to all and trying to answer questions at the same time. Harrelson is way over the top, but he's fun.

If you're looking for a film with an environmentalist issue, you won't find it here, but you will find all sorts of messages, most of which contradict the previous one. It's an awful movie, with some of the worst dialogue in the history of talking pictures.

But if you like explosions and special effects, this boom's for you.

Opening today at multiple locations

-Joe

The maitre'd, under the circumstances, was exceedingly gracious. The raucous sound of folks table-hopping filled the entrance hall as he said there was no room at the inn, and wouldn't be for several hours. “But,” he added pleasantly, “if you come back at about 5:15, I believe we can take care of you.”

When we returned, Joe in a jacket, we could see that the room still was busy and buzzing. In fact, for about a fourth of the ground floor dining room, still wearing its original, black and white tile floors, lunch itself, or at least the socializing part, was still in progress. But soon we were put at a generously sized table for two along one wall, perfect for watching the goings-on.

Not surprisingly, there was much discussion between us on the menu. It's large and has been expanded since our last visits many years ago, as has the whole restaurant, in fact. The wonky electrical system that made the lights flicker was replaced and the upstairs opened as a second non-smoking dining room and bar where reservations are accepted, unlike the room we were in. But downstairs, the mirrors remain, and the white tablecloths still hold Tabasco and Worcestershire sauce in their original bottles.

The waiter came by, and asked about drinks before dinner. "Yes, thanks," we said, and were starting to ask questions about appetizers when he broke in, "Drinks first. Then we'll talk about appetizers." We thought nothing of the remark, but soon realized that his routine was to insure a leisurely dinner by ordering one course at a time. Finish one, get to the next. Absolutely no feeling of being rushed, even on a very busy evening when most restaurants would have been planning to turn the table three times. It was a lovely contrast to places both in New Orleans and beyond; besides, it turns the evening into an occasion. We ended up leaving after 9:30, happily filled and extremely satisfied.

We began with the fried eggplant and souffle potatoes bearnaise. Fingers of eggplant, lightly battered and fried, and wide strips of potatoes that are deep-fried and puffed up as though air had been pumped into them, come with a dipping pot of the bearnaise, closer to a French version, mild and lighter on the lemon and tarragon than some. Another dipping pot arrived filled with powdered sugar, Galatoire's traditional accompaniment to the eggplant. An odd combination, to be sure, but there's some virtue to it. The dish was not as hot as it should have been, deflating the potatoes a little, but that was to be about the only glitch in the evening. Joe was unable to resist trying the sweetbreads, which were simply sliced, sauteed just until tender and served up with their buttery pan juices and some capers, framing their delicate flavor.

Oysters en brochette were skewered with bacon, again lightly breaded and flash-fried. Served on buttered toast, the two skewers of happiness showed how well the smokiness of bacon goes with the richness of an oyster. Our waiter had remarked that the soft-shell crabs were particularly fresh and large, which made the decision on a second main course much easier. Served meuniere style, dredged in flour and sauteed, sauced with some browned butter and lemon, they were shockingly good, in league with the best soft-shells we've had. As a side, we'd succumbed to spinach Rockefeller, the base for oysters Rockefeller, served solo. Moist and rich but not creamy, a light note of anisette bouncing along, it was irresistible. Along with glasses of Bonny Doon Albarino and Bastianich Rose, it was eminently satisfactory.

“Take your time,” said the waiter. “Catch your breath before you order dessert.” But we couldn't wait for the coffee. Excellent stuff it was, too, strong and hot and aromatic, a perfect match for bread pudding with a banana praline sauce, fluffy and moist.

But that's just the food. The dining room proved to be a splendid floor show. It had filled up rapidly, some of the lunch folks remaining until after 7 p.m., and the overall feeling reminded us of a wedding reception with a large, affable family. Every one else was getting the one-course-at-a-time treatment, too, and lots of good-looking food flew by. The rubbernecking was first-rate.

At one point, we looked up and saw our waiter across the room vigorously tapping on a glass with a spoon. “Awright, awright, it's Maurice's birthday, everybody,” he announced, the clamor having subsided slightly, and about half the room went into the traditional serenade. The strange thing was that it didn't feel like a routine from a chain dinner house, it just added to the family-party air. Later, a woman from a nearby party of five came to our table, smiled and asked, “Who do you write for?” (Is it that obvious?) We explained we were out of St. Louis, and she chatted warmly for a while, reporting that was her aunt's birthday, auntie in the azalea pink suit and pearls the size of marbles.

But probably the icing on the bread pudding, so to speak, was when Michael, our waiter, discovered we were from St. Louis, and pointed out another server to us. From St. Louis, too, he said. Soon enough, Shannon Jones showed up to say hello. Her first waiting job was at the old Webster Grill, so it was old home week, indeed.

Yes, it's not cheap. But there seems to be plenty of value for the money. And a lunch of a salad and an omelet could be had for under $25, not including beverage and tip. Not just a meal, an experience. And great food, too.

Galatoire's

209 Bourbon St., New Orleans

504-525-2021

www.galatoires.com

Lunch & Dinner Tues.-Sun.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access:Fair

Smoking: No

Entrees: $17-$43

And that's the beginning of "An Education," a delightful tale of a girl trying to grow up in London just before Carnaby Street, the Beatles and dozens of other '60s icons smoothed the road for those who followed her.

Carey Mulligan, 22 when filming began, simply sparkles as 16-year-old Jenny, hungry to shed her middle-class, restrictive upbringing and finding the perfect partner in David, an outstanding portrayal by Peter Sarsgaard, who knows how to find all the proper buttons to push and, more important, has the perfect gentle touch with them.

At 16, Jenny is very bright, equally pretty and positive she knows far more than her teachers (Olivia Williams and Emma Thompson) and her stuffy parents (Alfred Molina and Cara Seymour), who are sacrificing valiantly so as to be able to send her to Oxford. But she is dazzled by David and his maroon Bristol, his apparently glamorous friends (Dominic Cooper and Rosamund Pike), his grace and ease at museums, theaters and concerts and his apparently limitless funds, not to mention his extremely gentlemanly behavior, a touch that makes her plan to present her virginity on her 17th birthday.

Things are not that way forever, and we see flaws in David and his friends. Jenny also sees them, and as a properly brought-up child, she is not always amused by their tendency to play fast and loose with the truth, the least of their sins. Molina is terrific as Jenny's father, as impressed when first meeting David as she is, and he is quick to take advantage of that situation.

The film is based on a memoir by Lynn Barber, with Nick Hornby writing a screenplay that perfectly reflects a teen-aged girl and Lone Scherfig directing stylishly. All the bits and pieces that go together to create an excellent movie are in the right places. A few disparaged the film after its success last spring at Sundance, calling David a pedophile pursuing an under-age girl, but the age of consent in England was 16. It's more like a Pygmalion yarn, and when Mulligan puts her hair up, she looks and moves like Audrey Hepburn, who played the same kind of gorgeous ingenue in "My Fair Lady," "Breakfast at Tiffany's" "Sabrina," "Roman Holiday" and many more.

All the acting is outstanding, with Thompson powerful as always. Williams, as a mousy teacher, is especially good, as is Matthew Beard, a classmate so smitten by Jenny that he'll follow her anywhere, or at least until he realizes she no longer plays in his league.

Opens tonight at the St. Louis International Film Festival, tomorrow at Plaza Frontenac.

-Joe

The musical about a slice of life in a New York barrio, far enough up on the West Side of Manhattan to make the sight of the George Washington Bridge a focus of Anna Louizos' wonderful set, is rather standard stuff in terms of plot -- immigrants trying to make it in a new land, parents sacrificing so their daughter can go to college, the courting of a Latino girl by an African-American man, an action that her father fights.

But that's not what sets the musical apart. Lin-Manuel Miranda composed a tuneful, stylish score and wrote some excellent lyrics, Quiara Alegria added a book that struggles to overcome cliche, but has some interesting characters and Andy Blankenbuehler created some outstanding choreography, best demonstrated by Jose-Luis Lopez as Graffiti Pete, although all the dancers were splendid.

Among the singers/actors, Kyle Beltran (Usnavi) scored very high with rap routines that were exciting and, more important, clearly audible. Rogelio Douglas Jr., as Benny, and Arielle Jacobs, as Nina, were the star-crossed lovers who overcame her parents' objections, while Daniel Bolero and Natalie Toro were strong as her parents. Elise Santoro, as Abuela Claudia, Shaun Taylor-Corbett, as Sonny, and Yvette Gonzalez-Nacer, as Vanessa, also brightened the stage considerably, as did David Baida as the Piragua Guy, a pushcart dessert seller whose greatest rival is Mr. Softee.

"In the Heights" is tuneful, bright and extremely conducive to toe-tapping.

At the Fox through Nov. 22

-Joe

But three things stand out. Zarzuela, the seafood stew, with more fish than broth, was fabulous. Saffron, pepper, heat, a single, giant, tender sea scallop, shrimps, Manila clams and mussels, all perfectly cooked, all in a great broth. This may be the best fish soup in St. Louis right now.

The bunuelos de bacalao are codfish fritters. Doesn't sound appetizing? Not these crisp clouds of fish-ness. Light and fluffy inside, crunchy outside, they don't even need the lemon aioli.

And then there was the white and dark chocolate bread pudding with a Licor 43 caramel sauce. Licor 43, for those unfamiliar with it, is a citrusy-vanilla liqueur, and blends in beautifully with the caramel flavor. The square of pudding is glazed under the broiler to crisp up the top and the edges, adding a great texture.  We wrote about the bread pudding here a year ago. It's gotten even better.

Modesto

5257 Shaw Ave.

314-772-8272

www.modestotapas.com

Dinner Mon.-Sat.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Fair

Smoking: Yes

Tapas: $7-$14

Taqueria la Pasadita is in an old Taco Bell, ironically enough. It's a very small one, however, and on a quiet evening with only a couple of other tables occupied, we had what we intended to be a light meal. But we're always led astray by interesting menus that offer new tastes. After fresh, hot, salty chips with a salsa smoky from chipotle chiles, some guacamole was almost perfectly smooth and very pale green; it worked well with added salsa but was mostly not exciting. We also knocked back a couple of tamales, fat boys filled with shredded pork and a particularly tasty cornmeal exterior, nice and moist. They arrived with a squeeze bottle of a green tomatillo salsa, tangy and citrusy, spicy but not mouth-burning. (They're usually an entree, but we asked for, and received them solo.)

La Pasadita's tacos, like those of many of the family operations, come on two soft corn tortillas, garnished with chopped white onion and cilantro. Chorizo sausage, crumbly and full of cumin flavor, was one of our choices, and so was chicharron (shown above), or pork skin, prepared chewy-tender here, rather than fried to a chip-like consistency, and sitting in a sauce with more of the smoky chipotles. Not a dish for those restricted in their fat intake, and probably the spiciest item we tasted here. Lengua, or beef tongue, came in neat little cubes, tender and meaty, but quite lean, a real team player with the other ingredients. And a taco al pastor, described as barbecued pork, isn't quite what we think of as barbecued, but it was nicely porky, with the traditional notes of pineapple for contrast.

But it was the tripe that made us gasp. We're not sure exactly what the cook did, except chop it more finely than we've ever had, and saute it, but it was beautifully seasoned, creamy and rich, with almost none of the flavor associated with tripe. Quite remarkable, like nothing we've had before anywhere. We also tried a gordita, a round of cornmeal dough baked and split so it can be filled with taco-like fillings. The texture is good, and a fine balance between fillings and dough that worked very well. Ours had some pork, a little lengua and some of the tripe, along with out-of-season tomatoes.

We drank horchata, the milk-rice beverage that's sweet and flavored with cinnamon. There's beer and Mexican sodas, including Mexican Coca-Cola in half-liter bottles, also available, too. The Coke, also available in a growing number of grocery stores, is sweetened with cane sugar instead of the far more common, and less expensive high fructose corn syrup.

Taqueria la Pasadita

2336 Woodson Rd., Overland

314-428-3832

Lunch and Dinner daily

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: No

Smoking: No

Entrees: $6-$12

At the corner of Olive Boulevard and Woodson Road, in a new location very close to its old one, Taqueria La Monarca and its market are equally simple, a windowless dining room that manages not to be suffocating, a menu that's nearly identical, although minus the tripe tacos, and with slightly different prices. Mostly, though, we focused on different items. A taco-off wasn't what we meant to do. (Although it occurs to us that a city-wide taco-off might be fun sometime....)

A surprise was the fact that chips and salsa do not arrive unless specifically ordered. The one overlap was a couple of tamales, which arrived on an entree plate. The tamales were slightly drier than their cousins, but the filling was chunkier and more generous. Both a green and a red sauce arrived, the green almost heat-free but flavorful, the red much more forthright. Refried beans were above average.

Menudo is a weekend special at both spots. The tripe stew is known as a hangover remedy, so it's timed appropriately. La Monarca's version is serious stuff. No posole, or hominy, lots of tripe and lots of heat. The traditional mix-ins of chopped cilantro and onion, as well as dried oregano, arrived alongside.

Tortas, the Mexican sandwiches, can be very rewarding, and the “mixta, Hawaiana o Cubana” turned out to be just that. Piles of meat, a slice of ham, some cheese, of course, and slices of avocado, pineapple, tomato and jalapeno all warmed slightly to make the roll crunchy and melt the cheese. The usual Cubana is finished in a plancha that flattens it; this one, unflattened, had a soft, almost brioche-like texture. It's huge-and excellent for lunch the next day.

While the torta was outstanding, it was the huaraches that blew u s away. Named for the sandals whose sized), they begin with a flour dough patted out and deep-fried to a crunchy crispness. That's topped with a modest-sized smear of beans, the meat of choice, lettuce, tomato, cheese and a drizzle of crema, the Mexican version of sour cream. We chose suadero, described on the menu as grilled pork. The cut seems much like brisket, and the result was outstandingly porky, crisp, juicy and full of flavor, and the combination of flavors and textures in each bite was downright seductive, even without salsa.

Flan for dessert was surprisingly un-dense, although it had the characteristic bubbles, and the surprise continued when we found that the “caramel” around it was butterscotch-flavored. Not bad, just uncommon.

Affable service at both places, just what you expect from tiny, family-owned spots. And both are non-smoking.

Taqueria La Monarca

8531 Olive Blvd., University City

314-814-5864

Lunch & Dinner daily

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Fair

Smoking: No

Entrees: $4-$14

The 2009 season, which ends with its current production, was devoted to Edward Albee, so the classic "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" which opened last night to run through Nov. 22, follows "Three Tall Women" and "The Lady From Dubuque." Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller filled previous seasons; Eugene O'Neill will be next year's headliner.

When it comes to wolves, or woolfes, Meme Wolff, on stage as Martha, brings another spelling and some exceptional power to the role. She and her husband, George, a riveting performance by Alan Knoll, have brought life to their marriage and excitement to their bedroom through a lifetime of vicious games. One leads, the other follows, as they wander dangerous trails. There are verbal punches and counter-punches, reliance on every rhetorical trick and tactic in a series of search-and-destroy missions. Total humiliation is the goal. Truth is not a necessary prerequisite.

Knoll, an outstanding comic actor who has stretched his abilities to more serious work in the last few years, is dazzling. His little pouts are often more expressive than an entire speech would be, and both he and Wolff make the sudden changes from attacker to defender and back again in marvelous style.

George and Martha have been at a faculty party, return home about one-third drunk and with a a pair of newcomers in tow. Nick (Joshua Thomas) and Honey (Paris McCarthy) are about to get a lesson in the campus subtext. The men teach; the women are homemakers (we're in1962). McCarthy is very good as Honey, with a slight southern accent and an over-abundance of the gene for cute; Thomas has his moments, but if the role were a suit, it would need some extra alterations here and there. Martha is the daughter of the college president, using that accident of birth as a club and a net, hooking all the new hires, tossing most of them back.

It's obvious that George and Martha have played most of their little games as a series of singles matches, but there's room for mixed doubles, too.

Director Jerry McAdams has brought a slightly different approach to Albee's drama, but it works very well and defies easy description. The timing is flawless. The verbal violence that flares like summer lightning is a key to keeping the audience off-balance, and McAdams has orchestrated it beautifully and brought outstanding performances from Knoll and Wolff. Nora Palitz's set design was satisfactory, though the furniture looked a little more run-down than one expected. Nancy Crouse's costumes were proper.

At the Kranzberg Arts Center through Nov. 22

-Joe

That's how "Five Minutes of Heaven," a taut, gripping film, based on the real killing, begins. Little, desperate to be accepted as a gang member, had volunteered to carry out a killing, and Griffin was the unfortunate victim.

We then cut to an automobile. It is 33 years later and Little, played by the always excellent Liam Neeson, is being driven to a made-for-TV event at which he and Joe Griffin will meet and be interviewed. James Nesbitt, equal to Neeson in this film, is Griffin, still wanting revenge. Director Oliver Hirschbiegel handles the buildup in superior style. Nesbitt is in one car, accompanied only by a driver. Neeson is in another, and as the men drive to their meeting, we learn a great deal about them, especially the fact that Griffin has been badly damaged because his mother blamed him for Jim Griffin's death. Little has been released from prison after serving 24 years.

When they arrive at the filming site, the men, who have been fraying at the seams for the entire ride, are ready to come apart. We learn that Griffin is carrying a knife. Conversation with a production assistant is forced and moves in fits and starts. Griffin, nervous as the proverbial, and cinematic, cat on a hot tin roof, is filmed as he walks downstairs toward the meeting room. Something interrupts the shot. They have to do it again. . . .

There's more, and both Neesom and Nesbitt offer exciting portrayals. A good, tense movie, from a fine screenplay by Guy Hibbert.

At the Tivoli.

-Joe

"Coco Before Chanel" is Anne Fontaine's homage to Chanel, a look at her early years, from the French orphanage in which she grew up to the Paris cabarets where she became Coco, to the beautiful country homes of England where she learned vital lessons about life, to the workrooms and salons of Paris where she metamorphosed into Chanel, couturier to both mass and class.

The Chanel sisters, Gabrielle and Adrienne (Marie Gillain) are children when their father leaves them at an orphanage, and from then on their lives are driven by a desire for respectability, at least by the standards of the time, and for success. Gabrielle, with an eye for sewing and for clothes, points made a little too obviously by director Fontaine, first finds success as a cabaret singer, with double entendres in a song about a dog named Coco bringing her the nickname that stayed with her for a lifetime.

Poor girls, then more than now, needed help in finding an upwards path, and for some, an "arrangement" of sorts, was the easiest way to go. Coco, battling for her virtue in a series of sleazy saloons, found the road in Etienne Balsan, a superb performance by Benoit Poelvoorde. He was slightly taken aback when she arrived at his estate, ready to be a live-in mistress. Balsan often was cruel, as in insisting she eat with the servants in the kitchen while he dined with his friends in the dining room, but he taught her many things, most of which she used to get ahead.

One was in introducing her to "Boy" Capel (Alessandro Nivola), who treated her differently while offering similar, and excellent, guidance.

Fontaine's direction is smooth, and the models, the gowns and certainly Tatou, all look gorgeous. The screenplay, however, involved both Anne and her sister, Camille, along with Christopher Hampton and Jacques Fieschi, in adapting a book by Edmonde Charles-Roux. The seams show in a way that Chanel never would have permitted, but the movie looks lovely.

At the Plaza Frontenac

-Joe

Oddly, while much of the film brings laughs, there are extremely dry stretches along the way, as if writer Peter Straughan and director Grant Heslov were taking us across a vast desert, broken here and there by waterfalls of giggles and bright streams of laughter.

George Clooney and Ewan McGregor star, McGregor as Bob Wilton, a young reporter for a newspaper in Ann Arbor, Mich., sent to interview Clooney, as Lyn Cassady, a man of mystery. Any resemblance between this Cassady and Hunter Thompson's buddy, Neal Cassady, is far from coincidental. Cassady takes a liking to Wilton and they're off to a military camp in the Middle East, where everyone is on a top-secret mission.

Staring at goats is only part of it.

Clooney and McGregor are joined by Jeff Bridges, perhaps the last of the pigtail-wearing hippies, Kevin Spacey and Stephen Root, the latter an author whose book, written during an acid trip and read by an all-too-naive military man, started the whole adventure.

There's a great deal of foolishness along the way, and a great deal of goings-on that have to be accepted on faith by the audience. Much of it is totally ludicrous and yet, the acting is superior, and it's easy to get into the necessarily silly mood. Cinematographer Robert Elswit does an excellent job in making New Mexico look like Iraq or Iran or Afghanistan, and director Heslov keeps everything moving at a rapid pace.

Good entertainment.

Opens Friday at numerous theaters.

-Joe

The collar was unnoticed by most, I'm sure, but a jarring note to me because of my admiration for him for many years as a rare example of a man who looks proper and comfortable in formal dress. The distraction was like seeing a dancer with a hole in her tights or an actor whose wig was slipping.

Ross, like most cabaret singers, is most at home with the Great American Songbook, music and lyrics of the 20th century, most from the great Broadway musicals that have been made familiar to St. Louisans by the Muny and, more recently, by Stages. What sets the songs apart are the lyrics, from Lerner, Porter, Oscar Hammerstein II, Stephen Sondheim, E. Y. (Yip) Harburg, Lorenz Hart, Irving Berlin, Leonard Bernstein, Ira Gershwin, Harold Arlen, Johnny Mercer and scores of others.

Lerner wrote lyrics and libretti for Frederick Loewe and Burton Lane -- "My Fair Lady," "Brigadoon," "Gigi," "Paint Your Wagon," "Camelot" and many others, one of which, "Carmelina," was a Broadway flop of only two weeks, but the predecessor to "Mamma Mia," were with Loewe. His work with Lane, toward the end of his career, was highlighted by "On a Clear Day You Can See Forever."

His lyrics are complex and sparkling with various intricate rhyme schemes and word plays, as in "Married," from a relatively unknown play, "My Man Godfrey," but a song that savages marriage, an especially ironic touch when one considers, or as Ross relates, that Lerner was married eight times. "If Ever I Would Leave You," from "Camelot," was another high spot, as were "I'm On My Way," from "Paint Your Wagon," medleys from "Gigi" and "My Fair Lady," and "One More Walk Around the Garden," from "Carmelina."

Ross got off to a slow start, rather uncomfortable in the higher registers and missing a couple of lyrics, but he obviously relaxed after about 15 minutes, when everything became smoother. As a story-teller, he was splendid, with a fine selection of anecdotes and tales about Lerner, the shows and the songs. And he drew the evening's biggest laugh when he talked about "distressed theater," referring to outdoor performances in hot weather, and noted, "You people in St. Louis know about distressed theater -- you have the Muny."

At the Kranzberg Theater in Grand Center, through Saturday.

-Joe

And so the first morning we were in town, we headed for a spot that's been feeding its guests since 1894, long before Preservation Hall, its neighbor, was packing them in. As recently as 20 years ago, it somehow managed to stay off the tourists' eating path, feeding mostly locals, especially in the mornings, but now is busier, its tiny patio and street-front dining room often marked by a line of waiting tummies and their managers.

The Old Coffee Pot, which some may remember as Maxcy's Coffee Pot, or just The Coffee Pot, serves breakfast until “at least” (their phrase) 2 p.m. every day. Not surprisingly, drinks like Bloody Marys are available – we didn't try them but are told that they're very spicy, no surprise in this town. The best tables are those by the tall front windows, providing views of the passing scene on the street as well as the dining room with its eccentric shabby-chic chandelier.

It's another menu filled with difficult decisions, like wavering on a decision between a Rockefeller omelet with spinach and oysters or the eggs Conti. The latter won, simply because finding chicken livers on a breakfast menu is something Joe can almost never resist. The basics are poached eggs sitting on some excellent biscuits, sauced with browned chicken livers in a white wine sauce with green onions and a little suspicion of garlic. Tender livers, perfectly poached eggs, and a marvelous sauce produced chortles of delight. Fried potatoes, just right in terms of softness and seasoning, did their part.

If there are other places in the Quarter, or indeed, in the city, that offer calas, we're not aware of it. Calas (pronounced KAL-luhs) are fritters made from leftover rice, and are a dish that goes back to the early 19th century; some authorities say they came from Africa. Ladies of color sold them, freshly fried, from baskets, part of the vigorous flow of life on the streets of New Orleans then. If they sound intriguing, Google them; you'll get a bevy of recipes and history. They arrived about the size of a baseball, with syrup alongside, as well as a generous serving of grits. We don't use the syrup; it's superfluous, and overwhelms the delicate, slightly spicy flavor of the crunchy exterior and delicate interior. They're heavier than a doughnut, not so fluffy, substantial enough that two of them are a reasonable entree. Why the grits? Dunno. Seems like an illogical pairing of two starches to us, but we're not Yats, as the locals are sometimes called.

Servers seem the sort who've been there for ages, greeting their regulars, juggling the crowds with aplomb unless a hangover-cranky guest needs to be redirected, and presiding over a room where everyone seems to be having a good time. Refills of the good coffee are frequent. Just what we needed.

The Old Coffee Pot

714 Rue St. Peter's, New Orleans

504-524-3500

Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner daily

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Patio only

Smoking: Patio only

Entrees: $8-$16

Lots of visitors don't know about the Camellia. But if you take a ride on the St. Charles Avenue streetcar, and you certainly should, where the car makes a 90-degree right turn as it goes far uptown, is the neighborhood known as Riverbend, and there's the Camellia, right across the street from the stop. The white-pillared facade is the entrance to a diner with a maitre'd and linen napkins. The napkins are real, the guy in the golf shirt merely keeps order and shows folks which counter seats to take. Yes, it's counter service and carry-out only, complete with patter from servers like Melvin, who handled our peninsula of stools.

There's often a line, with a mixture of locals and tourists, who spin yarns to amuse their groups about visits when they were young and ate here as part of a night (or day) of bar-hopping. Behind us in line on this school holiday morning were a mother and teenaged daughter, daughter wearing a plaid skirt and a white blouse with an embroidered badge. And saddle shoes, the real thing. After a while, Ann said with a grin, “So, tell me about the shoes. Uniform code or your idea?”

“Uniform code,” replied the girl, “and they have to be polished just so. They're real strict about it.” So a chat began about school uniforms after Ann said that lots of kids in St. Louis have them, too. The line moved, and we continued the chat while as we sat on the banquettes inside, among the we'll-be-seated-next. And at some point Mom said, “Oh, down here the high school is a big thing. Grown people say to each other 'Where did you go to high school?'”

So take comfort. St. Louis is not the only place in the world where that's a standard inquiry. .

Melvin (that's him on the lower left hand corner of the website – which, we'd add, is not complete) served us what the menu calls the M. Shwartz chili omelet. They've just added hash browns as an option, and we went that way rather than the usual fries that come with it. Huge, fluffy omelet, a tasty version of this favorite, with hash browns that are shredded, but just right for soaking up chili. And then he brought forth one of the house specialties, the pecan waffle, and some bacon. The choice of syrup was either maple or cane, which is made from sugar cane, another very Louisiana product. No question about what to choose here; the cane is simple and sweet, a good match for the pecans.

The coffee is good for diner coffee, but the one thing that is mandatory for Ann on every trip to the Camellia is a chocolate freeze. Maybe not traditional for breakfast but absolutely necessary.

The line moves surprisingly quickly, as do the cooks. And despite the always-gloppy waffle iron, a trip to the rear offered a view of a prep kitchen that absolutely gleamed.

Friday and Saturday nights until 2 a.m.; other nights until midnight

Camellia Grill

626 S. Carrollton Ave., New Orleans

504-309-2679

www.camelliagrill.net 

Breakfast, Lunch & Dinner daily

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Difficult

Smoking: No

The absolutely charming production opened the Mustard Seed Theatre's 2009-10 season in the Fontbonne College theater on Friday, and will run through Nov. 22.

I cannot count how many times I've seen the Joseph Stein (book)-Jerry Bock (music)-Sheldon Harnick (lyrics) musical, based on some Sholom Aleichem stories, but when I first saw it, about a fortnight after it opened on Broadway in September, 1964, the cast totaled 45 people, led by the great Zero Mostel as Tevye, the dairyman.

There are pluses and minuses to stripping a giant production almost to an absolute minimum, but Jent's assemblage of talented, hard-working, versatile actors, aided immeasurably by the incredible Joe Dreyer as the pianist is the biggest plus. Their vocal work, with meticulous diction, makes each of Harnick's lyrics clear and understandable.

The minuses show up a few times when actors, changing character and costume with the speed of light, don't quite make the character change completely, leaving one thinking, "Hey, wasn't this guy that guy about 40 seconds ago?"

Jerry Russo is a glorious Tevye, his moods shifting with the speed of a daughter's smile, or a daughter's tear. His accent is well-nigh perfect, and he has absorbed this difficult role to perfection. More than just remembering his lines and cues, he has absorbed the character of the humble Russian Jew, honoring his God but also willing to humor and cajole Him, or even to yell in times of extreme stress. Lavonne Beyers is excellent in support as Golde, his wife of 25 years. Their strange, yet tender duet, "Do You Love Me?" is a high spot.

Laura Sexauer, Julie Venegoni and Natasha Toro are the three elder daughters, Tzeitel, Hodel and Chava, respectively, and their clear, bright voices add a lilting presence. Sexauer and Toro, with the help of a pair of rag dolls, also become the younger daughters in one scene, listening to Perchik, the scholar from Kiev (Paul Pagano) discuss the evil ways of landlords and employers.

Ryan Cooper, only a college sophomore, brings a standout performance to the character of Motel the Tailor, the young man whose love for Tzeitel is so strong that it gives him the courage to stand up to the fierce Tevye, who turns suddenly from lion to pussy cat when he realizes how much she loves the humble tailor.

Dylan Duke, Eleanor Mullin, Michael Brightman and Richard Lewis bring good work, the quartet adopting 10 different roles along the way.

Jent's direction is brilliant, with the configuration of the theater set to have half the audience facing the other half, the cast in the middle and having to work almost in two directions at once most of the time. The feat is carried off stylishly, and the husband-wife team of Michael and Jane Sullivan add to the pleasure with lights and costumes, respectively, that bring life to Dunsi Dai's set, a minimalist creation that allows the cast to perform in a maximum manner.

A splendid evening of theater.

A production of the Mustard Seed Theatre at Fontbonne University through Nov. 22

-Joe

Bob Clyman's drama, which opened the Studio's 2009-10 season, will run through Nov. 15, showing off four terrific performances under taut direction by Risa Brainin.

Richmond Hoxie is exciting and powerful as Dr. Robert Brock, head of a research foundation, loaded with persuasion and not above bullying, nor above stooping to lie, cheat and steal while in the bitterly overweaning search for money, glory and more money, and if some medical benefits accrue along the way, well, that's a lagniappe, kind of like bugs sticking to the windshield.

Stan Lachow is old and wise as Dr. Saul Roth, filled with folksy Jewish humor; he must have had a marvelous bedside manner. Now, with retirement looming, he has lost a struggle for power and prestige to Brock, and he hates losing.

Todd Lawson, as Dr. William Shumway, just gleams with sincerity. He reminds me of Dr. Martin Arrowsmith, hero of a book by Sinclair Lewis. Shumway dreams of finding a cure for cancer, but instead finds himself trapped in the inner workings of a power struggle, and the more he thinks he has found an answer, the farther the answer slides away from him.

Angela Lin is Alice Curiton, driven to climb the rocky ridges of the research mountain. She is obviously brilliant, tough and a post-doctoral candidate in her ability to lie, cheat and steal. She is not afraid to use any of those tactics, plus an offer sex and several other methods she thinks up on the fly.

Clyman, a psychologist, sets his story brilliantly, drops some good lines into the mix. Brock becomes Shumway's protector, and also press agent and tutor in the ways and the wiles of the research game, which segues easily into the drug company game, the money game, even the Nobel Prize game. Shumway, blinded by Brock's familiarity with power and his apparent control of every situation, slips into some obvious traps.

The quartet of actors, playing in perfect harmony, are a joy to watch. Clyman's story finds some too-pat answers, but ethical difficulties have no easy solutions. All four of the actors, no matter what they say, have feet of clay and, sometimes, heads to match. Nevertheless, it's a solid evening of strong theater, the sort of performance to which we have become accustomed in the Studio space.

A Repertory Theatre production in the Studio, through Nov. 15

-Joe

Whether it refers to the drinking habits of its residents or the position of the just-sold building, the result is a wandering, uneven documentary written and directed by Abel Ferrara, who has made numerous movies about the city. It's his first documentary, however, and it shows off an inexperienced interviewer.

But Ferrara has a trove of stories and friends, and mostly he lets the latter take care of the former, so director Milos Forman, actors Ethan Hawke and Dennis Hopper, and artist R. Crumb do much of the story-telling about parties, orgies, other guests and their own relationship with Bard and the hotel. Archival footage of people like Janis Joplin, Andy Warhol, Jerry Garcia, Dylan Thomas and Thomas Wolfe, all of whom were residents through the years, is background to stories about them, and other neighbors like Arthur C. Clarke, who wrote "2001: A Space Odyssey," while living there, or Eugene O'Neill, who wrote several plays as a resident.

One of the great Chelsea scandals was the murder of Nancy Spungen, supposedly by Sid Vicious of the Sex Pistols, but they are played by Bijou Phillips as Nancy and Jamie Burke as Sid.

"Chelsea on the Rocks" is sloppy and erratic, but it's enjoyable to hear the stories of excess. In that regard, the Chelsea truly rocks.

Opens today at the Plaza Frontenac

"Earth Days," a new documentary film opening today, looks at those who have been speaking out for many years. Writer-director Robert Stone begins with clips from the speeches of every American president since John F. Kennedy, each one talking about the potential problems caused by chemical pollution, drought, clear-cutting of timber, and the fact that the U.S. needs to heed this call to action.

A handful speak up, all now elderly men and women, still with fire in their eyes and passion in their voices. Stewart Udall and Pete McCloskey, former members of Congress; biologist Paul Ehrlich; former astronaut Rusty Schweickart; activists and scientists like Denis Hayes, Hunter Lovins, Stewart Brand, Stephanie Mills and others speak of the problems we face, and this film was made before we realized that the disappearance of the Arctic ice mass is so great that ships now can sail from North America to Asia through open water.

As in most documentaries, there's a point of view, and there also is hard evidence that tragedy is ahead unless the nations of the world, and the people of the world, do something about it, something that may be unpleasant. But there's an international conference coming up in Copenhagen before the end of the year, and it will offer another opportunity to create change, and perhaps to make a difference.

Stone's film may influence some people. We can only hope.

Opening today at the Plaza Frontenac

-Joe

That was a bonus at Ranoush, which occupies the Delmar-and-Westgate corner where Saleem's once held forth. And while the recent arrival considers itself Syrian, the menu and preparation are close enough to Saleem's that someone who wandered in, not noticing the name change, could eat happily. And Ranoush, too, is family-friendly as well as being comfortable for diners who arrive in twos and fours; we saw quite a few young children at an early dinner, and a number of high chairs. And the kids were having a good time.

There are, unsurprisingly, hummus, baba ghannouj, falafel and other familiar dishes on the appetizer list. But we try hard to investigate things that are new to us, so we went in another direction. The stuffed eggplant involved a handful of small ones, full of sweet red pepper and nuts, all pickled, chewy, tangy and crunchy. Just about every culture has some variation of the turnover, and here they're called fatayer. They're baked, always preferable to dishes that come out of a deep fryer, and have either a meat or a cheese filling. An order involves three, and we asked for it "mixed" to try both fillings. The meat, almost certainly beef, was moist and not greasy, seasoned with a little mint that brought a slight tartness. It beat the cheese, whose crumbly interior was barely warm.

While much of the menu involves vegetarian dishes, there's a lot of focus on grilled skewers of meat, and we began with a mixed grill that showcased beef, shrimp and chicken. Two of the three are devilishly easy to overcook, but not here; the shrimp were succulent, the white meat of chicken nicely seasoned and moist, and the beef, while it wasn't pink inside, also remained tender and flavorful. Paired up with a few leaves of salad with a mint-laced dressing and sitting on a pita so thin it was almost like a flour tortilla, it felt light and healthy, even dipped occasionally in the tahina dressing that came in a small cup alongside. The salad, pita and tahina also came with the lamb skewers, which were properly cooked although the meat was not as well trimmed as the beef, leaving it a little chewy. Still, for ovinophiles, the complicated way to describe a lamb-lover, they were quite good.

A limited wine list includes a Lebanese red from Chateau Musar. Not exceptional, but pleasant.

  Yes, the dessert list includes baklava, but for a first visit, be sure to try the knafeh, a pastry that's filled with a sweet cheese filling and topped with those thin, thread-like noodles that faintly resemble shredded wheat. There's a light syrup poured over it all, but it maintains much of the crunchy texture that mixes well with the creaminess of the filling. And coffee lovers should investigate the special coffees as well. It arrives from the stove in one of the small individual pots sometimes called briks, strong and hot. When ordering, the server offered us coffee, coffee with cinnamon, and coffee with cardamom. The latter version is what we both have had in the Middle East, and we ordered it with alacrity, along with another, unseasoned one. No sugar or artificial sweeteners were offered, but the cardamom coffee, because of its marvelous aroma, almost seemed sweet. There were practically no grounds in the bottom of the pots, again somewhat different from what is often found at Eastern Mediterranean restaurants around the U.S., but all in all, a fine finish to the dinner, especially paired with the knafeh.

Good service, even on a busy night. No belly dancers on our visit, but others swear they appear.

Ranoush

6501 Delmar Blvd., University City

314-726-6874

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Difficult

Smoking: After the kitchen closes, hookahs are available.

Entrees: $10-$16

Located in a great old one-time bank building in downtown Gulfport on U.S. 49, a block from its intersection with U.S. 90, the road along the Gulf of Mexico, the Half Shell Oyster House is dark and cool inside, a multilevel re-fitting of the building that's left it feeling almost sanctuary-like. This time of year, we were about the only non-locals there, and the servers were pleasant and obliging in our oyster-driven urges.

These are Louisiana oysters, mild and easier for a rookie than those from colder waters, where they acquire flavors that can be deeply mineral-saline in flavor. On the half-shell, they were unusually large and extremely fresh. And the Half Shell is not just for raw oysters, either; we loved the Bienvilles, topped with a creamy sauce studded with small chunks of seafood, the flavors dancing together. And the barbequed oysters, cooked over an open flame and basted with a garlicky butter sauce, were shockingly good. The version described as charbroiled was milder, but still good. We also sampled some Rockefellers, whose seasoned spinach topping was made creamy with cream cheese. They were very good, but not as remarkable as the Bienvilles.

A portobello mushroom stuffed with crab was mostly crab, not bread crumbs, a good take on deviled crab, very satisfying. A little meat? Voodoo chicken wings were large, moist and meaty, but the voodoo sauce was more sweet than spicy, and needed a nice dribble of Crystal Hot Sauce to top 'em off.

The Half Shell's bread pudding, a dessert that has spread across the Gulf Coast from New Orleans, is made from cinnamon rolls and dried cranberries, served in a martini glass.

Half Shell Oyster Bar

1300 13th St. (U.S. 49), Gulfport, MS

228-867-7001

 www.halfshelloysterhouse.com

Lunch & Dinner daily

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Fair

Smoking: No

Entrees: $13-$22

Farther east on Highway 90 is the White Cap Seafood Restaurant, from the Lizana family that's had it since the 1920's. The website shows the re-building process – this is not the original location – but unfortunately lacks a link to their menu. It's another place that's popular with the locals, and the food is simple, rather than fancy. In fact, unless it's a time of year when things are dead quiet, a reservation may be a good idea.

The large, busy dining room overlooks the Gulf, and there's an aquarium and separate bar to occupy those waiting for a table. Servers are young but quick, and know their jobs and the menu equally well.

The clear specialty is fried seafood, so we headed mostly in that direction. Everything arrived, hot, fresh, crisp and greaseless. The platter included oysters, shrimp, crab claws, scallops, catfish, which has become a frequent visitor to Mississippi restaurant menus, and some (un-fried) deviled crab. The seafood wasn't overcooked, still moist and juicy under the cornmeal crust. Hush puppies, of course, fries and an unremarkable salad came alongside, but it was the seafood that pleased.

We also tried a couple of softshell crabs, which were particularly good, the crust not overwhelming the delicate flesh inside. For sides, the parsley potatoes and slaw were both winners. The potatoes were sauced with a generous amount of butter and garlic as well as the parsley, adding up to a memorable version of a seemingly simple dish. Even the slaw veered off the usual paths, with an unidentifiable tanginess that pleased.

For dessert, “Chef's Daily Selection” says the menu. That night, it was a bread pudding with a coffee caramel sauce, moist and warm.

White Cap Seafood Restaurant

560 Beach Drive (U.S. 90), Gulfport, MS

228-604-4444

http://www. coastseafood.com/whitecap.html

Lunch & Dinner Tues.-Sun.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Good

Smoking: No

Entrees: $12-$22

We're dealing with an upper-middle class family. Kyohei (Yoshio Harada) is a retired doctor, his wife, Toshiko (Kirin Kiki) is a homemaker and they have three children. Junpei, the eldest, died while saving a small boy who was drowning, and the other two, son Ryota (Hiroshi Abe) and daughter Chinami (the single-named You), have lived in his shadow. Even the annual vacation at the seashore summer house, where we are joining them, is a chance for Kyohei to speak of Junpei and what a perfect person he was.

Adding to the difficulties is the fact that Ryota has married a widow with a child, a marriage that the patriarch does not like very much. And Chinami also has a husband and two small children, making the house rather crowded, and she is working her parents to leave her the house. Small disputes are common, Kiki's determination and kitchen skills are good to watch (her performance impressed me a lot), and the rhythms of family and life in Japan, we discover, are not dissimilar from those in St. Louis

At the Tivoli.

-Joe

Maggart opened her second St. Louis cabaret run last night at the Kranzberg Center, and she'll entertain through Saturday; she was in town a couple of years ago at Savor. Pretty and open-faced, wearing a simple black dress and flowers in her hair, Maggart, in her early 30s, appeared a little nervous in the early going, with some distracting hand movements for emphasis here and there. But by the third number, Stephen Sondheim's "Beautiful," she was rolling.

Between songs, she chatted about herself and her family, talking about growing up as a child whose parents were divorced. That problem was compounded when her mother, at 40, married a 24-year-old man. Meanwhile, her father, a well-regarded Broadway singer, dancer and actor, with whom she spent summers, was deep into a California lifestyle at Venice Beach.

Maggart has several siblings, including singer Fiona Apple, and several half-sibs. She is, by turns, wistful, sad, bemused, filled with longing and mellow, and she's always smooth.

Her program wandered, but in a good way, reaching here and there to sample composers and styles. She is scheduled for an engagement later in the year at Feinstein's at the Regency in New York, and it appears that her St. Louis run will look at several songs that she and John Boswell, her accompanist and music director, may weave into the act.

With a teasing glint in her eye, Maggart sang of a relationship with two men that allowed for word plays on various numerical subjects, some sexual, some poking fun at sex, and she bounced through the Rodgers and Hart "A Little Birdie," complete with whistled trill and a vocal style direct from the 1920s, lacking only a Charleston kick or two.

Dolly Parton's "A Coat of Many Colors," was delivered with the proper notes of trauma and triumph, and some adolescent pain in her own life came forth in a song about her relationship

with her mother. Judy Collins and Maury Yeston also were included in her song list. Maggart concluded with "Our Love Is Here to Stay," Ira Gershwin's tribute to his brother George, who died as they were working on the song.

And then she bounced back with an encore of "Moonshine Lullaby," the Irving Berlin song from "Annie Get Your Gun," first sung by Ethel Merman. Maggart didn't have Merman's belt, but offered a sweetness Merman could never match. A delightful performance, without intermission.

Maude Maggart in concert at the Kranzberg Center, Grand Boulevard at Olive Street, nightly through Saturday.

- Joe