Illustration by Daniel Elchert
We are not “guys.” Well, we are, technically. But when we are addressed as such out at restaurants—as in, “Are you guys ready to order?”—it serves as a reminder: You are more likely to find an NRA bumper sticker on a Prius than to dine out formally anymore.
Remember the maitre d’? Chances are, if you’re too young to recall disco (a blessing, trust us), you won’t remember the smooth, almost invisibly competent and graceful cog in fine restaurants that kept them magnificently humming. You probably also don’t remember wine chillers set correctly, to the host’s right. Or bread pinces, serviceware transport plates for the delivery of flatware, or prewarmed coffee cups. Nowadays, if you’re eating with flatware rather than a spork, it’s “formal dining.”
Formal dining may have taken that fatal gash to the bow in 1969, when New York’s iconic Barbetta restaurant (you’ve likely seen it on Mad Men) allowed writer Gore Vidal to dine without a tie. More likely, the iceberg that sank it was
the ’60s itself, when informality masqueraded as sincerity. Restaurants now live in mortal fear of intimidating prospective diners or being considered “snotty,” so many have abandoned the conventions of fine dining—losing, in effect, the qualities that made them successful. That’s why so many restaurants gush to assure diners they’ll be comfortable, employing silly tropes like “elegant but casual.”
Blessedly, there are a few outposts of formal dining in St. Louis. Curiously, most are Italian. It isn’t just the quality of the food or the ambience, though those are critical. Much is in the details. At Dominic’s, the valet’s umbrella covers you while you exit on a rainy evening. (Dominic Galati himself appears to prepare a flaming dessert tableside.)
There’s the ineffable Vince Bommarito, who’s long defined class in St. Louis dining, gliding from table to table at Tony’s, making every diner feel like a special guest. At Al’s Restaurant, time appears to have slowed. Life’s harder edges are softened by plush carpets and genteel, impeccable service. You can see it at Giovanni’s On the Hill, where we once timed to the minute the proper interval between ordering and receiving the first course. It’s also in the magnificent sprays of flowers arranged on the spotless tables at Kemoll’s and the understated service that rivals the spectacular view.
Formal dining hangs on in places like this. Can it last? It can. Especially if it gets the support and patronage it deserves from, you know, guys like us.
