Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
He flipped sauté pans with Emeril Lagasse and Charlie Trotter; worked as a chef in Vail, Colo; Nantucket, Mass.; Napa, Calif.; and abroad, then opened 10 restaurants in St. Louis, all of them conceptually different. But what surprised us most about Mike Johnson was his statement that “barbecue is more challenging than any other type of cooking—and it’s not even close,” which seems odd, since he’s making it look easy at crazy-busy Sugarfire Smoke House (sugarfiresmokehouse.com) in Olivette, plus two more locations this spring. Then there’s BBQ Pitmasters, a reality-TV show he’s appearing on. Apparently, Emeril taught him well.
What was your first job?
A dishwasher at Al Baker's, at 16 years old.
Everyone who worked at Al Baker's has stories about Al Baker's. Are there any that you want to repeat?
No.
Seriously...
OK, one night when I was still 16, I took another dishwasher home—the guy lived up north—and we got pulled over. As the cop approached our car, I felt this guy shove something into my coat; I was sure he'd put drugs in my pocket. The cops yanked us out, frisked us both, and found an Al Baker's matchbook in my pocket—placed there by that dude—just so our work stories would corroborate... He did that to protect me. Why else would a 16-year-old be out that late at night other than to buy drugs, right?
What was your first cooking job?
I was lucky to get on with Emeril [Lagasse] in New Orleans, when he was at Commander's Palace. I knew nothing about cooking, but Emeril liked me, so he asked me to come with him to help open Emeril's.
Emeril seems like a good guy.
Total mentor. He'd send me to places to learn; he sent me up the street to Zatarain's for a couple of days to learn all about Creole mustard. Then, I had to report to the staff at line-up—like a hundred of them—everything I had learned. I was still a teenager. It was terrifying.
Did anything memorable happen at Emeril's?
Emeril would let me shadow his big chef friends who'd come to town: Julia Child, Norman Van Aiken, Charlie Trotter—all those guys. He'd say, "Here, Mike, you stick with Charlie all week." That's how I got to know him and eventually went to work for him. At the time I left New Orleans, Charlie Trotter's was the hottest restaurant in the country, and in some people's eyes, the world.
Did you work anywhere else in Chicago?
A place called Ambria, then Un Gran Cafe—both Richard Melman restaurants. The chef there got me a job for five months in France. When I came back, I worked at Vail in the winter and Nantucket in the summer. Before I returned to St. Louis, I spent a year and a half in Napa, working for Joachim Splichal, at a place called Pinot Blanc.
Then why return to St. Louis?
My parents said this Café Zoe place was available in Clayton, that it would be perfect for me, and that I should move back. I was ready to move back, and so Café Mira was born.
I remember Mira: white walls, minimalist decor, and great food. It was very well-received.
We opened in late 1996, and it was fine until 9/11. Then, the market turned. That was the end of fine-dining, for me anyway.
Then what? Mira eventually became 12 North. What came next, BARcelona?
Yes. Frank Schmitz, who had hair down to his butt at the time, wanted to open a coffeeshop in Clayton, but I persuaded him to do a Spanish tapas place instead. BARcelona was an immediate success. Frank's now the sole owner and still owns the one in Indianapolis.
You've owned so many local restaurants, let's cover each one in a sentence:
Café Mira: My growth as a chef here and my real introduction to St. Louis.
BARcelona: Home run—a big home run.
MoMo's: A chance to get creative with Greek food... There were too many old-school Greek restaurants here.
Boogaloo: Fun place, fun menu, but it was those bar swings that really put it on the map.
Figaro: Part-French, part-Italian, and no profits, despite big numbers. I still don't know what happened there.
El Scorcho: Small, roadhouse-y, very casual, inexpensive—we only made money because we sold a lot of booze.
Cyrano’s: My favorite restaurant in town. I like the design, the concept, and the owners. The place is unique.
Roxanne: A counterpoint to Cyrano's, originally it was fine-dining on one side, casual on the other. Now it's all casual.
Fu Manchu: Bad memories. It was my least successful place. I still think people wanted to see an Asian guy making the sushi.
Sugarfire: Most fun I've ever had in my life.
How did Sugarfire come about?
Carolyn [Downs, co-owner and pastry chef at Cyrano's] and I wanted to do something together. I wanted barbecue, she wanted to do pies, and that was it: Sugarfire.
You really like the fast-casual concept, don't you?
Doing fancy stuff is fine, but after 20 years in the business, guys my age need to provide for their families. A good fast-casual place is replicable and less risky. We feel we could open a Sugarfire in L.A., Paris, or London. The concept is that solid.
Why barbecue?
It's tactile and old-school. It's fire and meat. And it's a lot harder than people think because every piece of meat cooks differently. Some pieces take hours longer in the smoker, even if they all went in at the same time. Each brisket—and each slab of ribs, for that matter—must be inspected. Barbecue is more challenging than any other type of cooking—and it's not even close.
What did you learn when you attended Jack's Old South Cooking School, the one that legendary pitmaster Myron Mixon holds at his house?
Myron's like the Emreil of barbeque: loud, confident, a great self-promoter. I did not learn so much about how to barbecue—as competition barbeque is different than other styles. For example, competition ribs are more al dente; they are judged inferior if the meat falls off the bone. And chicken, that's what tripped me up on the barbecue show I did.
Do tell.
Chicken thighs are predominantly used in competitions. The ones that win are very pale in color—unappetizing, in my opinion, chicken I wouldn't have even served. Mine looked great but were judged "too dark." And one judge picked up an off-taste; one of the other judges didn't notice.
What was the name of the barbecue show you were on?
BBQ Pitmasters. The new season will air in April on Destination America. In our episode, we were up against two competition teams from Kansas City. I brought Casey Jovick with me, who tended pits at Pappy's and Bogart's, and who's also a certified butcher, which came in handy.
Why's that?
We had to cook a prime rib with the flap on and the chine bone attached, which stymied the two other teams, but not Casey, who fired up his saw and broke it down into several different cuts, which we cooked differently. The other teams—who smoked theirs intact—were flabbergasted.
How about the judges?
[Smiling.] I can only say that it was impressive. You'll have to watch the show.
You make time to travel. How important is that for a chef?
Very important. When I want to do something new, I go to New York or to L.A.—even to Europe—for inspiration. That's the only way to get fresh ideas. You don't get those by only researching similar concepts in St. Louis.
How does European cooking translate to barbecue?
You see different items, different techniques, and a lot of it ends up in the side dishes and specials that we do at Sugarfire. You'll see French influence or Caribbean influence. It percolates down. If you're serious about barbecue, traveling to national competitions is invaluable. You learn a lot, plus you gain credibility. We're doing Memphis in May this year; we were there last year, too.
How hard is it to win in Memphis?
Many times, it's a crapshoot as a lot of items are very similar. Winning hinges on what your group of judges may be looking for that day and the order of the box you turned in. That said, the best teams usually do end up winning.
To what do you attribute Sugarfire's success?
Eight of my guys could be head chefs anywhere in St. Louis. Three used to work at Emeril's, and one worked at Rubicon in San Francisco. They sensed an expansion, plus they're having fun, which is why they're sticking around. So we really had to expand. I've never been surrounded by so much talent. They do the basics plus different things every week, like smoked duck, heritage pork short ribs, lamb ribs, lamb loin, veal brisket... For a week, we put white truffles on everything, which turned some heads. Not many barbecue places are doing that.
How much of your success is due to wacky sandwich specials, like the "Memphis-style Pulled Yeti" sandwich," the spoof sandwich you made out of a snowball on a bun, or the $9 "Government Shutdown Sandwich," the one you gave away for free to furloughed workers for three weeks?
The first was all fun—and got 15,000 Facebook hits, by the way—and the second was an impulse reaction, a thank-you to the out-of-work customers who supported us during our first year. We lost money, sure, but I'd do it all again.
Did Sugarfire materialize exactly how you envisioned?
Yes, but before I open any restaurant, I'm 100 percent confident that it will be one of the best restaurants of all time. Then, three days before opening, it's, "Holy shit! This is the worst idea I've ever had in my entire life!"
You have two new Sugarfire's coming soon, opening within a month of one another, both in areas lacking barbecue.
It made sense to us. North St. Charles was similar to Olivette: There's a big business park nearby, plus a lot of residents and good highway access. The one at Winghaven is franchised to a friend who also happens to be a very good restaurant operator. The demos are good there, too.
Will you take this concept out of town?
We'll do maybe one more in the metro area, then I see New Orleans and Chicago, start spreading it around, partnering up with a local chef to maintain a chef-driven focus. That makes Sugarfire unique and much different from the traditional barbecue experience.
It sounds like you're having fun.
I don't ever have a bad day anymore, and I've never said that before. I remember working double shifts during five, six days a week and still owing people money. It was anything but fun. A slow restaurant is not fun.
