Photograph by Kevin A. Roberts
In an office surrounded by awards that other St. Louis restaurants covet but none can claim, Vince Bommarito Sr. sits at a desk thumbing through the week’s receipts, each day’s sales numbers succinctly detailed onto long strips of paper, a rather Joe Friday approach to the myriad statistical analyses of what has, in recent years, become a much less profitable industry. But ask the patriarch of local Italian restaurants a question about food, local restaurants, or even downtown St. Louis, and be prepared for an extended answer, a response that only a sagacious 81-year-old restaurateur can provide. You may find yourself dumbfounded and slack-jawed, often thinking and sometimes mumbling, “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” as we did while riding the edge of a chair in Mr. Bommarito’s office, steps away from the most immaculate and most toured restaurant kitchen in St. Louis.
The lineage of Tony’s is a long one. When did it begin?
My father started Tony’s Spaghetti House in 1946 and he died in 1950. I was 17, a senior at St. Louis U High and thinking about going to St. Louis U, but when my father died my mother reminded me that I was the oldest son, handed me the keys, and then told me to go run the restaurant— I had worked there but one summer as a busboy. That’s how this whole thing started.
But you didn’t know how to run a restaurant.
In those days you just did what you were told. Back then, that place ran on my youthful enthusiasm, which sometimes fell on deaf ears, as the rest of the staff were adults twice my age.
How did you manage high school while running a restaurant?
I didn’t go half the time. It was the Jesuits who got me through my last year. When I was at school, I found myself working in the cafeteria. It wasn’t until 15 years later when I realized I had been working off part of my tuition, but at the time, no one said a word. The Jesuits were just good people.
Tony’s was a simple spaghetti joint, though, was it not, red-checkered tablecloths and all?
People thought we had checkered tablecloths but really they were more of a plaid.
When did your brother begin working there?
He graduated a year later than I did and came down then. I got in trouble for tending bar—-it’s the only black mark on my record—so we both learned the business waiting tables because we were too young to mix drinks.
Do you miss those good old days?
On the one hand, there were no good old days—it was all hard work, 14 hours a day—and on the other, I was young, so every day was a good old day. It didn’t seem like I was working, it was just life.
When did you step it up?
I would buy cab drivers spaghetti dinners and an occasional drink and ask them to stay in front so it looked like I had a fancy place. In those days, I’d see people approach, check the place out, and then drive away. Used to eat my heart out. But there was no button you pressed, the place just evolved. Downtown was busier back in the ’50s. From Washington Ave to Cole Street there were 31 restaurants.
Were there ever aspirations of becoming a five-star restaurant?
No, we weren’t even open for dinner initially. We were located just off of Produce Row, so we were only open for breakfast and lunch—mainly for those workers. We closed for lunch in the late 50’s. It was only then when we started in with dinner.
What was the catalyst?
Probably Mr. Baer. “Cubby” Baer [of Stix, Baer, and Fuller fame] came in one day, liked us, and told all his workers to check out this little place he’d found in the middle of a bunch of warehouses. All of the sudden, we were busy at lunch and busy at dinner. People didn’t run right home like they do now. At that point I thought I’d better fix the joint up, maybe even take down the Falstaff beer sign.
All those workers had to help your bar business.
They did, but I wanted to sell more beer, specifically Michelob, as only two downtown restaurants had it. I asked the brewery about it and only much later heard that Michelob was reserved for nicer restaurants, a notch or two nicer than mine. I told the sales manager if I couldn’t have Michelob to take out the Budweiser, too. I had Schlitz, Miller, Pabst, Griesedieck Brothers, Stag —that was the biggest seller and then Falstaff—and both outsold Bud anyhow.
Did Anheuser-Busch blink?
We went back and forth and in the interim I remodeled the place. The police were on me because you could see into the bar and the law said you shouldn’t be able to. They thought the public shouldn’t be able to see people doing shots at 7 in the morning before they went to work...and maybe they were right. As I was close to finishing the remodel, I told the brewery to come and clear their stuff out...and to take the damn Budweiser clock, too. Next thing I know, who walks in but Gussie [Busch], the old man.
Enter the heavy artillery.
We’d been casual friends, and he’d been generous over the years, but the first thing he said, in that bellowing voice of his, was “we need to get some Michelob in here.” I agreed, then I doubled- down. I told him we were opening another Fatted Calf and wanted a dark beer for the fall and winter, a Bock beer. He said he didn’t make one and in addition, Anheuser-Busch doesn’t split [share] taps. I said, “well, I need a dark beer and I’ll find one.” Gussie ultimately agreed to split the tap, which was a first, and then decided to make a Bock beer, just for us, so he didn’t have to.
You say you owned the Fatted Calf?
That was over 35 years ago. For the first three months, my brother Tony cooked and I took the orders. Kim Tucci worked for us, as a cashier. We had two of them downtown—both were packed—and the one at 10th and Locust didn’t even have any seating. People would stand to eat that burger. Only the one in Clayton remains, and I bet 95 percent of their sales are still cheeseburgers.
I can only imagine Tucci the storyteller as a cashier. I bet that line moved slow...
[Smiling] Yeah, we had to get him out of there...we were better off just making him a manager. Alex Dooley was our first GM. He, of course, learned a few things about hamburgers, and made a good living serving them.
Now at some point, Tony’s Spaghetti House become Tony’s Spaghetti and Steak House.
In the late 50s, all you’d hear was “Hey, let’s go out for a steak,” so we served them steak, from Lombardo’s right next door, who had the finest meat in the city. I still have a picture with my brother and I stamping Tony’s on the best loins. We soon became so busy at night that we decided to close for lunch.
And closed on Sundays?
Yes, and every Sunday night, my brother and I would go out on double dates. We were always close. We were altar boys together...usually at the same Mass.
The restaurant is Tony’s, but you’re Vince. It’s your brother who’s Tony. How many times a day do people call you by his name?
People see the owner and assume he’s Tony. And I answer to it willingly because I never want to embarrass a customer. When I first met Fr. Biondi, he’d introduced me as a graduate of St. Louis University—I’d only gone to the high school—but I let it go. Next time I saw him, I said that yes, I had gone through St. Louis U—-I entered by way of the St. Pius Library and came out over by the gym.
You’re a gracious man who deals with a gracious clientele. Ever had to kick anybody out of Tony’s?
Of course. Tony’s was located between three bus stops and for a long time the front looked like a bar. Homeless people—people called them bums in those days—would sleep—soundly—in our breezeway, protected from the elements. The police would wake them up by rapping them on the soles of their shoes with a billy...wake them up but not hurt them. They gave me a billy that I still have.
But would Tonys’ customers ever become unruly?
Sure. One time, a few of my bigger guys were escorting one guy out the door, but somehow he and I end up in the little vestibule, together, and he decides to take a swing at me. He didn’t know I was at one time a champion boxer, in high school, in the boxing Hall of Fame. That fight didn’t last long.
One must always respect the owner...
After it was all over, Kim Tucci, who worked there, said “I did my part, I helped,” and I asked him “What was your part, Kim? Maybe I missed something here.” Kim said, “I stood in front of the door so no one would see the owner fighting.” He said he was worried about Tonys’ image....yeah, but not so much about its owner.
Any embarrassing moments?
One guy came in with a lady who wasn’t his wife, then his daughter and son-in-law dropped in for dinner. I figured that was the perfect time to show the first couple our kitchen. I had his car waiting at the back door.
What and when was your first major award?
In 1955, we won the Holiday Award. It was the most prestigious award at the time. After that came the Mobil Star awards the AAA Diamond awards.
You told me once that a restaurant will evolve or die. How did Tony’s evolve?
You have to remake yourself at least every 20 years or you’re obsolete. The first 20, we were a spaghetti house that became a steakhouse. By 1958, when the Hawks won the NBA Championship, we had arrived. All the jetsetters would come in their fur coats and Cadillacs, some before the game and some after. The players would come after, too, all dressed up. Later, we developed a big lounge, for salesmen looking to impress their clients during the week.
It all sounds like Mad Men.
I just received an email from a woman who was a TWA flight attendant in the early ’60s, who lived in New York, but said that Tony’s was her favorite restaurant and bar. We got a lot of layover business because we’d give a group a bottle of Chianti and we’d give them separate checks, so they liked coming here. Plus it was alive, it was a swingin’ place with lots of celebrities. I still get notes like that, 50 years later.
Got any unusual celeb stories from those days?
Back then, there was an NBA ref named Mindy Rudolph, a little guy, demonstrative guy, who’d aggravate everybody. He’d get booed, all the time. After a Hawks game one night, a couple shows up with this guy in tow, and something happened that I’ve never seen before or since: every single person in the restaurant booed this guy as he walked into the dining room. Boooo! Boooo!
You served dishes back then that people still want today. How do you balance that with the evolution you were talking about?
On day one in the kitchen, my son, Vince, Jr, the exec chef, spells out which items must remain exactly same… He tells them not to even cut the mushrooms differently. After that, we see how people react to specials, like any other restaurant. Is our customer ready for sweetbreads? You have to find out.
Have spicing levels changed in Italian cuisine?
The heat level has. We see ourselves zapping things up, especially for the young adults. That all started when Schezuan became popular...and I’m part of it. I like a little heat myself.
My favorite menu item is still that thick filet of swordfish.
For a long time, we didn’t serve it. On the few occasions my wife and I could go out, she would order it, but I never liked the way it looked. There was always a discoloration, a seam, some skin, a random shape, something. So I decided if we were to offer one, we’d cut uniform pieces from the very center of the loin. Months later, I visited my seafood broker in Boston where I was introduced as the most particular son of a bitch in North America.
You have two restaurants here—Tony’s and Anthony’s Bar—yet there’s menu crossover. You can get that swordfish, for example, at Anthony’s. Will that evolve further?
The way things are going, there could be one restaurant eventually. People love Anthony’s and that hamburger— it’s the same burger recipe we used at The Fatted Calf, you know—more and more of them people want what’s on Tony’s menu, things like the veal chop, expensive stuff. People especially like Anthony’s when they’re not dressed for Tony’s.
But you’ve relaxed Tonys’ dress code somewhat.
When our customers dressed up, we dressed up. That changed and five years ago, we dropped the tuxedos, but the customers were still required to wear jackets. But as people, salesmen especially, began to dress more casually we saw ourselves losing business, so we changed the policy. We were the last restaurant in the state with a “jackets, please” policy. Now jackets are required only on Saturday night.
Are Cardinals jerseys ever allowed in Tony’s?
Yes. We changed that recently, too. If the guests come early, like at 5:00, they can wear Cardinals jerseys, because we figure they’re gone by 7:00 when the bulk of the dinner guests arrive. Ironically, we see some of our best guests doing that. They said they feel funny, and I said yeah, we feel funny, too.
Would you ever remove Tonys’ tablecloths?
I’m not ready to do that at Tony’s, it’s just too ingrained. But I could see expanding Anthony’s, which is where any big changes would happen.
The convention clientele has changed things a lot, hasn’t it?
It changed with the reduction of flights at Lambert. Fewer flights later at night means in order to come to dinner at Tony’s, people now have to stay over, which they don’t or can’t do.
Are you happy your sons are with you in the business?
Yes. They all bring something completely different to the table, so it works.
How many women work here?
We have some. Several women, all now retired, worked for me over 40 years, some for 50. I’d call them every Christmas and other holidays. By the time they died, their grandkids were coming here and bringing their mothers.
Do you still work every day?
Every day, every weekend night, and some weeknights. If everybody is in place, I may leave after the 5:00 meeting. After I ask what time it is...
I’ve heard about this...
Every day after the meeting, the shutters are closed, the lights are dimmed, and the entire service staff says “It’s show time!”
I see what looks like an employee test on your desk. Why don’t more restaurateurs quiz their staff?
It has to be part of a place’s culture, not just a one-time thing. I give ‘em “50’s”...50 questions, and also shorter quizzes.
How often do you test your staff?
As needed. I can teach them anything but manners...consideration of other people. Those they must walk in here with.
Tony’s service is legendary. What makes it that way?
Many things. Take the tea service. We used to serve tea, with a teabag, in a little cup, like everybody does...including White Castle. I said to myself, this is a five-star restaurant, we can do better than that. Think about it: people are asked multiple times if they want a coffee refill, but the tea customer often gets just one cup. So we now have antique silver tea boxes, and silver teapots—two per service-one to brew the tea, one to refill the brewing pot. It’s a ball-busting exercise, but it knocks ‘em out. Who wouldn’t want to take their tea that way?
Tony’s uses a three-tiered captain system. How does that work?
Captain, assistant waiter, and attendant. Each 3 -person team is responsible for up to 6 tables. Each team learns to work together seamlessly. For instance, when the team is in the process of serving a 10-top but also has a deuce, one member of the team is dispatched to check in on the deuce, who might otherwise think all the attention’s being paid to the big table. We know people are thinking that way so we account for it.
There’s lot of thought given as to who is seated where, is there not?
First, all of the tables are good tables, but not good for all people. People conducting business get put off to the side; some couples we’ll put against the wall facing outward, so they can watch the other people; older people we often put near a restroom; and the peacocks, they go to the peacock table..but we never tell anyone where that is.
Do you do homework on customers prior to arrival.
As much as we possibly can. In the old days, we used to keep it all on index cards. I learned that trick from my suit salesman who seemed to remember every single stitch of clothing I ever bought from him. Then one day I caught him thumbing through his index cards, but up until then I thought he was the smartest son of a bitch I’d ever met.
Let’s talk about the future. The rumor mill has you leaving downtown, moving, closing, doing a second place. Do you ever see yourself leaving this location?
To duplicate what we have would be difficult and expensive. Including all the rooms, Tony’s is 13,000 square feet.
And you can’t keep all those seats full all the time.
People don’t realize that our kind of restaurant doesn’t make much money. I have three sons here now. Put it this way: anyone who has this much family in one restaurant would have to either expand it or do another one, or both. Whatever we do will be decided in the next year, and during that reorganization I’ll probably step back and let my sons do their thing.
It will be some time before they know all the customers you know.
Wash U recently had its graduation. At one table was the graduate, his father, and his father, all of whom had graduated from there and had come to Tony’s afterwards. How how cool was that?
What’s the best part of your working day?
Stuff like that. Or knowing that it’s 5:30 and everything and everyone is in their place.
Hypothetically, if you were to do another place, how would it be different than Tony’s?
It would have to be more reasonably priced and there wouldn’t be French service: it’s expensive, it’s labor intensive, and it’s too hard to train that labor. A dinner can not be the best it can be unless it comes to you really, really hot, and stays hot until the last bite. But that step, French service, is not what people want today.
What’s one little known fact about Tony’s?
Over 40 percent of the entrees here are seafood. You’d think that number would be lower in an Italian restaurant. Our cold water Atlantic salmon dish, for instance, is roasted, then served table side with baby vegetables—broccoli, zucchini, carrots, green cauliflower, striped beets, turnips—all baby vegetables, now—plus peas in the husk, fava beans in the husk, flat leaf spinach, and four kinds of wild mushrooms. Last night , there were portabella, shiitake, French horn, and hen of the woods.
And that, sir, is why people come to Tony’s. How about a little known fact about your wine list?
Let me tell you how it used to be. At one time, we had our own wines, something in every category....we, we didn’t sell Lancers because we sold our own, just like theirs, in souvenir ceramic crocks. And hundreds upon hundreds of cases of Tony’s-stamped Chianti. It was part of a special we called “A truly Italian dining experience.” Corny as hell, but it worked.
