Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
Having ridden the restaurant roller coaster for the last 40 years, the unabashed Pepe Kehm has no intention of getting on another ride, despite recent developments that presented “a challenge, but also an opportunity” for Peno, his popular Calabrian soul food restaurant in Clayton. At press time, Kehm’s plan was to slowly reopen both the 16-seat dining room and the covered patio in early June. “I’m a hustler, I’ll survive,” says Kehm. “I’ve always been like Blackbeard. Peno is my little pirate ship and the plan is to keep sailing.”
How long has your family been in the restaurant business? My great-grandma had five sons, and they all owned restaurants, all across the country, including Pagliacci’s in Denver, which my uncle closed recently after 66 years. In St. Louis, my mom’s cousins started Marietta’s Pizza on Clayton Avenue in the 60s, which was a fixture in Dogtown until the late 80s.
What was your first memory in the kitchen? I was in my mom’s kitchen on a chair stirring the pastini orzo. The first dish I remember actually cooking was rice with egg and cheese. You’d temper in whole eggs and parmesan or pecorino to make what we called ‘poor man’s risotto.’ Calabrian dishes like that define who we are and what we do.
But you’re an American. Right. But I cook with American chefs, I trained with French chefs, and my ancestors are Calabrian. Dishes go into my head and come out nuanced, in a way that makes sense to me. To me, it all boils down to technique. Thomas Keller says, ‘all my food is simple, with technique.’ I could say that, too. For example, last year I went to Italy to see many of my cousins and learn from the little old ladies in the kitchens, observing the techniques they had been using for the last 60 years.
Is it fair to say that you’re obsessed with the region of Calabria? My family was from Sila, one of the mountain ranges in Calabria. For a long time, Calabria was a poor region, there were no roads there until the 60s and 70s. The people settled in the mountains for protection, so the cuisine was called mountain food…porcinis, greens, hazelnuts, pigs, some cows, and the best ricotta in Italy. They’d catch fish--sardines, anchovies--and take them back up the mountain to dry and preserve them.
Your culinary resume is long and deep. What are your takeaways from a few of them?
Rigazzi’s: When I was a bar back there, washing like 1,500 fish bowls a night, it was full-tilt boogie. I couldn’t wash ‘em fast enough. But I’d walk out with $50, which was a lot for a 13-year-old kid to make back in 1978.
Deli Mirelli: In 1981, my mom’s friend basically gave it to me, at age 21. He was crazy to give me that place at that time. I was too young and too wild. It was where Stone Turtle is now.
TP Neill’s: There I got to cook with two of the best—Eddie Neill and Greg Perez—and the crew were all VIP old-schoolers. It was downstairs at the Galleria when it first opened, so this was like 1985.
Franco’s Trattoria: This was in North Scottsdale, Az about 1991 and the place is still there. Simple, real Tuscan food cooked by a sharp chef operator.
Left Bank: Famous, classic French restaurant right next to Sweet Basil in Vail. The kitchen was led by a demanding superstar French chef, Luke Meyer, whose favorite saying was ‘stop talking….keep working.’ He was incredibly rigid, but now I understand that’s what made his place was so great.
Pepi’s Bar & Restaurant: An Austrian place, also in Vail and still there. I worked at Pepi’s during the day and Left Bank at night. I met a French chef there, which is how I ended up in Brittany.
Hotel L’ Ecrin: This was inside a three-star hotel in Plancoët. Chef John-Pierre Crouzil was the anthesis of a French chef: loving, understanding, low ego. He took me everywhere and showed me everything.
Bommarito’s: Where Guido’s is now. Back then, it was mainly Sicilian food, at first finished tableside in copper skillets, along with Dover [sole], cherries jubilee, bananas foster… They later stopped doing tableside and became more casual.
Blue Water Grill: A Dairy Queen that became La Veranda on Hampton, and then Blue Water Grill where I worked days. But having [owner] Tim Mallett and [chef] Greg Perez—two of the best—under the same roof was mixing oil and water, but together they started the whole small plates thing here—they called theirs ‘flying saucers.’
Giarrosto: Where Capital Grille I now. Great concept, before its time, run by all-stars. In the front was Jimmy Kristo, with Eddie Neill and Bernard Douteau working the rotisserie. Many people still remember Bernard from his days at Chez Louis and Bernard’s in the Seven Gables Inn.
Spaghetteria Mamma Mia: A simple concept I based on the little spaghetterias found all over Bologna. One or two fresh pastas with a few different sauces for lunch and dinner. I still like the idea.
Corky’s: Casual steakhouse in Dogtown located where Sunny’s Cantina is now. We dry-aged steaks in house, which no one was doing at the time.
Eros Eclectic Greek Taverna: Greek and Italian food in St. Charles, about 2011. I saw it as an opportunity to build up and sell a place, which I did three years later.
Bistro Toi: I went in with no money hoping to make a little during the honeymoon, and there was no honeymoon. The double whammy of the 2008 economy and my head not being straight took us down after a very short run. Toi was where Farmhaus is now.
Can you sum the journey in any way?I learned a lot along the way, but I made some mistakes along the line. like many restaurant guys, I had a tendency to be a shipwreck of an operator due to some bad habits. But some of us change our ways and the journey can continue.
At Spaghetteria Mamma Mia, you placed a little demitasse of soup in front of every customer when they sat down. That was an old family thing started by my uncle Frank [Grandinetti] at Pagliacci’s in Denver. I do a lot of that informally at Peno with antipasti, but I may make it more of an organized thing that’ll change seasonally. Things like that make people feel welcomed and comforted. And our family are givers by nature, so it’s genuine.
A decade ago, you talked about doing a cevicheria. Has that time come, or did that ship sail? My plan was to fly in a few kinds of fish and have three rotating things on the menu. That’s still doable, but I might just roll more ceviches and crudo dishes onto Peno’s menu instead.
Talk about the collective palate in St. Louis. There are a lot of foodies here but more conservative and middle of the road eaters. You don’t need aces to win here. Jacks are fine. You don’t need frozen foams and super expensive products when all most people want are familiar items, along with some fresh flavors that explode in their mouth, prepared with knowledge and technique, which is exactly what we do at Peno.
You’ve really fallen in love with your little corner in Clayton. Before the virus hit, the neighbors supported and embraced us. After, a guy comes in, buys two loaves of bread, and tips $200. An 88-year-old woman stops by to see if we had any cream, I gave her a quart, and she blasts it all over social media like I’d given her $100. I get hand-written cards all the time. That’s community and my job is to affect the community. That’s how I see it. That’s why I do this.
Discuss the name and how the place came about. In Italy, “Pino” is the nickname for Giuseppino, but I had a neighbor who spelled his name Peno, because I don’t think he could spell. In Italian, Peno, pronounced PAY-no, means my burden, my pain, so Italian people constantly ask me why I named a restaurant after my pain, and I have to tell them no, I named it after a guy named Peno Sharamitaro. I named Spaghetteria Mamma Mia after my mom, Corky’s after my dad, and Peno after my crazy, hard-working neighbor.
Peno got off to a slow start, though.It was rough in the beginning, finding our way. It wasn’t until Kim Tucci started coming around, telling people the food reminded him of when he was a kid, that it was the best Italian food, and so on, that the place took off. And it never slowed down.
How did Peno pivot once the pandemic hit? Greg Perez and I were in Italy in late 2019 and saw the dawn of the virus there. We knew it was coming here and we prepared for it. We changed the menu to be more takeout friendly, added value meals, and we began our ‘dining room to door’ program, using staffers to deliver meals, dressed in their uniforms. We used our employees and our resources to generate income. Our chef gave his paycheck away to those who didn’t get one. Our bar manager, who’s an artist, painted several canvases—in our dining room—and we auctioned them off. We gave all that money—like $7500—directly to the staff.
How will you reopen? People will still want the visuals and vibe of the old place, but they’re now demanding a sustainably safe atmosphere, which is why I’ll have things like moveable dividers containing plants and fresh ideas like offering occasional micro-movies and dinner on our parking lot. The focal point is a new live wall, with lettuce, herbs, baby fennel... Lush colors. Different drapery. I brought in my copper dishes for cooking tableside. Like Calabria, it’ll be simple but amazing.
Can a small place like Peno make enough money to survive? I have wrecked my own ship many times. I can survive on the high seas. If it’s a handful of people a night at Peno, the experience will be great. If we go offsite to cook at someone’s house, the food will be memorable. If we supplement all that with pick-up and self-delivery, well, maybe that’s the plan for a while. Maybe we’ll have to tread water for a year. For me, I looked at the epidemic as a challenge but also an opportunity. Look, I was a kid used to hand-me-downs, a kid who dealt with what whatever came along. My mom often reminded me that she had zero but she created opportunities, because that’s what you do.
Talk about the new menu. There are some Calabrian dishes that we haven’t gotten to yet, specific handmade pastas like my mom used to make…spinach and egg pasta, anchovy pasta with capers and breadcrumbs, potato pasta, and that poor man’s risotto we were talking about. We’ll smoke a little ricotta at the table and people can make it as smoky as they want. You’ll see more antipasto, more creativity with fish, and more one-off dishes based on traditional Calabrian ingredients, like dandelion and chickory.
Will bar service change? You’ll see touchless table bartending using airplane bottles and ice brought to the table. Wine will be served at the table off a cart, by someone wearing gloves. Bar service will be as contactless as is practical.
Peno makes two different styles of pizza, thin and Sicilian, which I assume will not change. And we might tinker with a third—pinsa—a thicker but lighter pizza I saw when I was in Rome. The style has been around forever, but the current version is made from three different doughs that get to rise for 72-hours.
That style might fare better than the heavier, Sicilian style. Let me tell you about Sicilian pizza. In Italy, they don’t use a bunch of ingredients on pizza. A few basil leaves here, maybe a few pieces of sausage. The original Sicilian style called for sauce, anchovy, maybe a little sardine, some bread crumbs for texture, and no cheese. None. You won’t see cheese with fish anywhere in Italy. It’s too overpowering. You add cheese to seafood in Italy and they think you’re a heathen.
Discuss the HARP program which you’ve tailored specifically to Peno. The name is an acronym for Hazardous Analysis Restaurant Protection. For Peno, it means everybody in masks. Handwashing every 15 minutes and changing disposable gloves with every movement. A visible silverware sterilization machine. See-through dome covers on all food. Damp sterilized towels at the end of the meal. A completely touchless bathroom. The kitchen will be thoroughly cleaned between service. We’ll have a dedicated person doing the cleaning, not a busser, and we’ll fog the restaurant once a week. Some people will think it’s overkill and other people won’t think it’s enough, but it’s everything that I feel we need to do.
What will a Pepe Kehm restaurant of the future look like? In many ways, food is like fashion. It reverts to what it was before. So for me, more of what we’re doing right now. Simple things like sardines, pan-seared and finished in the oven, then tossed in a pasta with raisins and fennel. Or wedge salads. I don’t care what anybody says, iceberg lettuce has a place in society. I envision a wedge with a garlic Gorgonzola dressing, and a little mason jar of antipasto on the side, that you can mix and match that any way you want.
Do you have a go-to ingredient? You mean like ‘nduja, the spicy crack of Southern Italy?
What’s one lesson you learned over the years? To change my approach. At Blue Water, for example, the kitchen was teeny, so if your station was messy, the whole place was. If I had my stuff spread out, Greg Perez would come along and sweep it onto the floor with his hand. That was his way of saying ‘you’re a pig, get it together.’ We have a small kitchen at Peno, too, and although sometimes I feel like pulling a Perez, now I just take a picture and show it to the cook at fault. I don’t have to say a thing.
That’s very 2020. One day, one of my messier cooks showed me a photo of his garage where he’d work on cars, which was pristine. I told him, ‘thanks for showing me that because it reminds me of Peno.’ If I can’t convince that guy that’s what it should look like here, I’ve failed in some way. That’s what all the taskmasters I worked with, including Greg [Perez], were trying to teach me, too, but I didn’t get it until years later. Creativity doesn’t come until the mess is cleaned up, in your head and in your station.
You say that Peno is like a pirate ship. And I’m Blackbeard for sure and we have all sorts of interesting characters aboard. Some end up walking the plank, and I figure out a way to get the rest of them back on board. Over the years, the captain and crew have learned to give a little, so I’m not expecting a mutiny.
Describe your personality…in the old days versus today. I was a loose cannon back, but over the years, I became more appreciative, more settled, and I’ve tried to refine my approach. I still preach what’s right, but now I do my best to live it. I had a bad drug habit. I was an alcoholic. I’m grateful to be in the restaurant business. It saved my life. I realized it was my channel of creativity, my channel for love and service. The restaurant business, specifically this restaurant, gave me an opportunity to become a different person. For me, there’s no better place to be in the whole city than in this little joint.
