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| Photograph by Katherine Bish | |
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Revival does. Revive, that is. It revives the notion that a restaurant can be both traditional and on top of the food scene. It revives the concept that imaginative cuisine need not be synonymous with staggering prices. And finally, it revives the idea that a kitchen can host an extraordinary collection of talent who can keep quality and honest taste ahead of a desire for culinary attention
and fawning.
Revived from the shell of the departed, now-legendary eatery, the interior here is mostly unchanged from its incarnation as King Louie’s (rest its soul)—with exposed brick walls, tall wooden partitions and taller ceilings, the place looks a bit like a stable. Wooden tables and high-backed booths, including several that are cozy, just big enough for two, make for dining that can be, depending on where you sit and how many you are, convivial and intimate. But the place is a bit loud when filled—which it invariably is, especially on weekends.
The best plan here is for each diner to order a main course, then share a few sides, along with a selection of enjoyable starters. Among those starters: Sweetbreads, the heroin of organ meats, appear as they are best, sautéed and served with slivers of oyster mushrooms in their own delectable juices. A poached egg is split atop a pillow of steak tartare, the yolk’s yellowy richness spilling onto the meat, all of it eaten with a slab of crusty grilled bread. Chicken thighs are lightly dusted with flour, salt and pepper, then fried, a worthy take on the popular Szechuan method of preparation. Or if you’re in a calamari state of mind, go for the version here, accompanied by a sharp, Tabasco-style dip that’s piquant and lends much to the tender squid.
A creamy, mustard-buttermilk dressing tops leaves of a romaine salad. More appealing is the house salad, a basic combination of old-fashioned chopped iceberg lettuce and
house-made Green Goddess dressing that’s been gussied up by crunchy cucumber and pickled red onions. A salad special—it’s nice that a restaurant thinks enough of its salad courses to provide specials—was a pair of small fried perch fillets with sprigs of sorrel, which would have been perfect had the fish not been so salty.
Pizzas—they’re actually topped flatbreads—are apparently designed as a main course. We sampled one, platter-sized, loaded with sliced portobellos, sweet onion slices, and melty globs of pungently flavorful bleu cheese that was almost too rich. The pizzas might best be shared—except for the one topped with trout, horseradish and green apples, which should be dispatched directly to the Bad Food Idea file.
Among “Supper Plates,” a platter of braised rabbit with cheese-stuffed ravioli is beautifully presented. The rabbit is tender and flaky, with just a hint of smokiness; a few slices of green olive add considerably to the flavor, as do the snowy sprinkle of sheep’s-milk cheese shavings on top and the bed of baby spinach on which it all rests. Big ravioli are filled with a mild, goaty cheese. It’s a study in the construction of a dish where contrasting flavors and textures play off of one another. A delicious study. The “supper steak” is a hanger cut, grilled and served drizzled with a sweet-onion reduction. “Lasagna,” made with local lamb that’s been slow-cooked, then pulled into shreds, is mixed with roasted fennel atop big, flat noodles.
Fish and seafood get a lot of attention at Revival. Fat, grilled, casino chip–sized sea scallops, their surface lightly caramelized, their insides meaty and moist, sit in a shallow pool of vibrant green sauce that tastes of sweet peas, tiny mushroom slivers and lemony verbena. Trout is grilled too, and served with fingerling potatoes steamed until just done. Pairing mussels with local G&W sausage is inspired. A clattering plate of the indigo shellfish arrives in a deep dish sloshing with a garlicky tomato broth and a couple of big slices of grilled rustic bread, for which you will be grateful. The bread is perfect for sopping up all the broth and mussel juices in this, one of the better presentations of mussels around.
Sides are a must here. French fries are wonderful—crispy, browned, salty and hot. A bowl of spinach is simple, boiled until just done, and spiked with fresh lemon that accents the taste of the greens. The sour cream dip adds little to a coiled spring filled with a paper cone of potato chips, which are good, though ordinary. Okra rings, deep-fried in a light batter, are much better, a hefty mound of them more than suitable for sharing. The baked cheese macaroni, strewn with—could it get any better?—crumbles of Ritz crackers, has become a favorite for regulars here. In “Granddaddy’s Hush Puppies,” though, Gramps could have used a little more baking powder; they are well-seasoned but too dense for properly hushing puppies.
Desserts? Mandatory. Dice-sized nibbles of beignets come in a brown paper bag, dusted with powdered sugar, still warm, meltingly tempting. Bread puddings, cobblers, chess pie and pound cakes all succeed in a happy swirl of sugar, butter and in-season fruit. There are places where a meal is properly finished with the lightest of desserts. This isn’t one of them.
A “home” and “away” wine menu lists more than 100 domestic and foreign selections. An ’06 Domaine Laporte Sancerre seems bottled specifically for the mussels at Revival. The fuego in an ’06 Garnacha refers to the sun-baked climate in which the grapes grew; it’s actually supple and smooth, tasting of black raspberries and vanilla and delightful with the rabbit or lamb lasagna.
While comparisons to the previous restaurant here are inevitable, Revival is well on its way to establishing its own reputation as a dining destination. Because let’s face it: If the “home cooking” in which Revival specializes was this good at home, we wouldn’t ever eat out.
Address: 3800 Chouteau
Phone: 314-771-3939
Website: revivalstl.com
Average main course: $16
Reservations: You call when you’re on your way, and they put your name on the list. (Yes, it’s weird, but apparently it’s working.)
Dress: Dolce&Gabbana? Too much. Jeans&T-shirt? Not enough. Split the difference
The bottom line: As third-grader Cheryl Ma put it after polishing off the calamari, some sweetbreads, fries and most of the rabbit: “It’s good.” Well said.
