Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
9200 Olive
314-997-2301
Lunch and dinner daily
Can a gifted restaurant chef serve up excellent barbecue? Or is that like an operatic tenor singing a Broadway musical role, combining a trained gift with the wrong technique and feeling for the material at hand?
Sugarfire Smoke House is the creation of Mike Johnson and Carolyn Downs, both known for their accomplishments at various restaurants around town—Johnson as an innovative chef, Downs as a gifted baker and dessert-maker. They’re currently paired up at Cyrano’s, but this new venture could prove to be their most successful yet. There are a lot of factors in that assessment, but it might be the side dishes, of all things, that really set this place apart.
That’s not to say the meat isn’t tasty. Ribs are tender and moist, while managing to keep that distinct texture (which is more of their charm than most folks realize). Thick-cut brisket wears a tangy rub that enhances its smokiness; it’s so tender that it almost—but not quite—falls apart. The pulled-pork sandwich is a winner, too, moister than many of its kinfolk and equally smoky. The menu also includes hamburgers, much in the style of the burger that Mom used to make: hand-pattied, irregular in shape, and tasting of particularly fine grass-fed cow.
And here we turn to the sides. Sugarfire offers smoked portobello mushrooms as a sandwich, as an addition to the burger, or as a side dish (on request). Vegetarians no longer need to feel left out with these succulent, seductive fungi available. It’s the don’t-miss dish. The other sides are divided between those permanently on the menu and those on a handwritten list of the day’s impromptus. The latter include sweet potatoes mashed with a variety of seasonings—sometimes coconut milk and curryish notes, other times bourbon and brown sugar—a green chili stew with hominy and pork straight from New Mexico, and grits cakes that make our editor sigh. Of the standard offerings, potato salad is mustard-based and mild, with a note of celery seed. In the paper boat of baked beans, several kinds of beans snuggle in a tomatoey sauce with smoked meat.
The signature dessert is surely the crack pie. The legendary status of this dessert among New York hoi polloi is well-known to foodies, so trying it was a given. Attention, St. Louisans: It’s a near cousin to gooey butter cake, with an eggy filling and a crumbly crust. It seems less sweet than its local relatives, but it’s still rich.
There’s a serving line rather than table service, and entrées go on a thick sheet of paper placed directly on the diner’s tray—a common practice in ’cue spots across the country. The counter help is pleasant and used to explaining the litany of options. And local suppliers are listed on a blackboard near the exit. Be sure to nod your head and thank them as you leave.
The Bottom Line: Sidle up for sides—and excellent meat, too—as the local barbecue wars continue to heat up.
