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| Photograph by Katherine Bish | |
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419 N. Euclid
Central West End
314-361-1060
dresselspub.com
Average Main Course: $13
Chef: Joe Hemp
Dress: Kilts are fine (the Welsh wear them, too).
Much like the Loch Ness Monster, little Dressel’s Pub has generated a lot of myths and legends about its existence, as it’s quietly gone about its business in the shadow of more renowned Central West End establishments—like the old Balaban’s next door or Llywelyn’s Pub around the corner—since the early 1980s. The first such misconception would be that, unlike the Loch Ness Monster, Dressel’s is Welsh in heritage, not Scottish.
Ranking a close second is the rumor that Dressel’s was established due to a very acrimonious split between former partners at Llywelyn’s. Not true, according to Benjamin Dressel—current owner and son of the founder—who tells the story thus:
“My dad and his partner opened Llywelyn’s together around 1975,” he says. “We then moved back to Wales, and Dad couldn’t remain involved, so he sold his interest to his partner. In 1980, we moved back to St. Louis, and my dad—who was kind of a poet/dreamer—was looking for another source of income. So that became Dressel’s. We lived in the neighborhood, so the location [around the corner from Llywelyn’s] was chosen because it was only a couple blocks from our house. It wasn’t meant to be a slap in the face to Llywelyn’s.”
Now that we’ve cleared that up, here’s the most important myth to dispel. Despite the two pubs’ shared heritage—ethnic, business, or otherwise—Dressel’s really is nothing like Llywelyn’s. You go to Llywelyn’s to watch a ballgame and eat a burger. At Dressel’s, there is no TV. The soundtrack adheres strictly to classical music. And yeah, there’s a burger on the menu, but with so many authentic and skillfully rendered Welsh delicacies, you might never get around to ordering it.
Are fried oysters a traditional Welsh victual? Chalk it up as another Dressel’s enigma, but damned if they’re not delicious-enough reason alone for a visit. Encased in a lively cornmeal breading is a large morsel of playful mollusk meat that tastes so briny-fresh, it loses nothing in its transition from raw to fried. Sided with an able if unnecessary remoulade and a more appreciated squeeze of lemon, the dish’s sole failing involves its lack of visual panache. But hey, in Wales, it’s too foggy to see your food anyway.
Another appetizer, salt duck—duck confit served atop a bacon-scallion potato cake with cherry-ginger chutney—boasts meat that is very good, very tender, with just the right balance of density and delicateness. The dish’s three elements are the perfect trio, so much so that I tried to ensure I got a morsel of each with every forkful.
Another shortcut to demystifying Welsh cuisine: When in doubt, it’s cheese sauce. So when you see “cockles and laverbread” on the menu, whose description includes clams, seaweed, and sautéed bacon, trust me, all you’re really gonna taste is the baked cheddar, which you spread on toasted bread. Same goes for the rarebit, available as a dipping sauce for the magnificently dense, yeasty, house-made pretzels or the equally stupendous house-made chips.
I recommend sticking with the folklore of the place and ordering items like the bangers and mash (the sausages are made in-house) and the shepherd’s pie. I tried the Philly-style cheesesteak on a staff recommendation and was quite disappointed; the roast beef was cut too chunky, the bread was too white and tame, and the cheese was Provel. But I did flip for the Reuben—as good as you’ll find at any deli—as well as the flat-iron steak salad, with slices of juicy, red beef better than I’ve had at many an actual steakhouse. Soup of the day? Sure, but Dressel’s has a stock of the day as well. Remember that tidbit in about three months.
Benjamin Dressel is planning an expansion of the pub, scheduled for completion this fall. In its honor, why not untangle the biggest Dressel’s mystery of all: Why haven’t you gone there recently?
Bottom Line: It's an anomaly, successfully riding the culinary line between pub and gastropub.
