Photograph by Katherine Bish

Get hip, cats and kittens, to a brand-new scene. You rockabilly kids will think it’s peachy keen. It’s called Deluxe, only sets ya back a few bucks. Ain’t nothin’ real “fine” about this place to dine, but it sure is fast, cheap and a bit out of control—perfect for those who like to rock ’n’ roll.

Jim Russell and Suzanne Miller’s five-month-old Deluxe Fine Food & Spirits shouldn’t be considered a diner. It may be outfitted retro-style with Formica four-tops and vinyl booths, but you can’t order a milkshake, nor breakfast. It’s not exactly a Mom’s Country Kitchen type of eatery, either—unless your mom would’ve actually let you and your ne’er-do-well friends hang around her kitchen table smoking and drinking until all hours of the night. And while the old-school record collection plastered on the walls makes it too cool to qualify as a greasy spoon, grease is the word for a number of Deluxe’s bombastic, over-the-top, comfort-food-cranked-to-11, hunka-hunka-burnin’-meat menu creations.

Like the patty melt, its gooey goodness and rich beefy flavor pressed tight between two pieces of grilled Texas toast. Thanks to a heap of sautéed onions smooshed in there, it’s also rather sweet-tasting. Or the plain ol’ burgers, which can be ordered with one, two or three hamburger patties. Or—my favorite deliciously bad-for-you item, even though it’s just a side—the green beans with bacon and onions, dripping with pig fat and onion sweat and Southern hospitality.

In the style of a drive-in burger joint’s secret sauce, Deluxe Fine Food & Spirits serves many of its items with a schmear or ramekin of house-made Deluxe Sauce. Quite possibly your entire enjoyment of a meal at Deluxe may be determined by how much you cotton to this Thousand Island–esque, kitchen-sink mega-condiment; and while it’s clear the folks at Deluxe fancy it as a signature touch to many of their dishes, it’s a buzzkill, man, when put to
improper use.

For example, when served up on a plate of sweet potato fries—which were pleasingly firm and mildly sweet unto themselves—awkwardness ensued; the sauce was so chunky that it proved impossible to balance atop a fry. (Ketchup and a hit of salt will do just swell, Maybelle.) But the Deluxe Sauce fared much better with the shrimp and corn fritters (sweet-tasting; a lot of things here are sweet-tasting) and with the crab cakes, which were a standout on the menu. It also worked just fine with the perfectly decent catfish fritters, which are—a warning to you from me, Pinky Lee!—dubbed “chicken fried sushi” on the menu, which will either strike you as a funny bit of redneck humor or an appetite-ruining turn of phrase.

Deluxe’s menu is as wide as a poodle skirt, encompassing blue-plate standards and then some. The chili, with or without meat, was an all-star, with a muted spice level more comfort-food than muy caliente. The mac and cheese is solid, literally and figuratively (you could spackle with the stuff). Chicken soup boasted nice noodles, celery, carrots, broth and at least a fistful of chicken. My biggest disappointment came in the form of a jumbo hot dog, ladled with enough cheese, bacon and chili to necessitate a knife and fork, which was actually great until I got to the slightly stale supermarket bun.

Come 10 p.m., Deluxe mutates into a rock-’n’-roll hangout, with smoking allowed throughout and DJs and bands booked regularly. The full bar is surprisingly well stocked with an impressive array of microbrews. (Ever had a Double Wide? Or a He’brew Messiah?) Show up on a Tuesday night, and enjoy a pitcher of PBR for two bucks. But be forewarned: You’ll be cruisin’ for a bruisin’ the next day, Daddy-O.

Address & Phone: 2733 Sutton, 314-646-0370
Website: myspace.com/deluxerestaurant
Kitchen hours: Tue–Fri 11 a.m.–9 p.m., Sat 5–9 p.m. Closed Sun & Mon