A conversation with Tony Collida of Chatawa and the Grand Pied

The whimsically named restaurant and bar in South City just opened.

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Editor's Note: This article appeared in the August 2021 issue of SLM. Chatawa and the Grand Pied opened August 18.

One might expect a chef with 20 notches on his restaurant belt to be enjoying a well-deserved retirement. “Hardly,” jokes Tony Collida. His latest project, Chatawa and the Grand Pied (3137 Morganford), is named after two legendary swamp creatures (“grand pied” translates to “big foot” in French). The restaurant and bar honors the cuisine and cocktails of St. Louis and points south, where the beasts supposedly roamed.

Your parents owned the Piccadilly at Manhattan. How long had they owned it before you started there? They actually bought into it later in life. My dad was a retired grocery store manager, and my mom had several jobs. My great-grandfather started the restaurant in about 1900, and it passed down to different relatives, but it was my mom and dad who were the first family members to actually want to run the restaurant. My sister Molly, who runs it now, has always wanted to be part of it, too. She and I were the fourth generation to get involved. My second cousin works there now—he’s the fifth—and he just had a daughter, so we’ll see.

What was it like in those days? Even though it was called the Piccadilly Buffet back then, it was more like a neighborhood dive bar. I remember seeing my grandmother in back flipping burgers. I remember the older regulars sitting at the bar with their quarters; they’d stack up 15 of them, which means they intended to drink 15 glasses of beer.

When did the renovation into The Piccadilly at Manhattan begin and end? My parents bought the building in 2002, lived upstairs, and took five years to renovate and reopen the restaurant, along with several uncles, and myself. I was in my early twenties. When we reopened as The Piccadilly at Manhattan, I was working full-time at Red Moon at night and Balaban’s full-time during the day. I had to quit both in order to do it.

Any crazy stories from your early days? When we upgraded to one of the large, charcoal-fired rotisserie smokers, we loaded it wrong one day—you had to balance the load, or the shelves would catch each other, which they did. To save what at the time was a fortune’s worth of pork, I got in there to rebalance the load—past my hips—with my dad holding onto my feet to keep me from tumbling in. It was a classic save the meat or else move. One other time, I was cooking a whole Berkshire hog for a party but didn’t think how I’d get that 110-pound hunk of hot meat out of the smoker. A buddy and I managed to hug that thing out, covering ourselves in pork fat, and all we could do was laugh.

How long did you work at The Piccadilly? Two separate stints, three and a half years total, the second time waiting tables. Having family running the front and back of the house is difficult. We all certainly knew it and sometimes the customer ended up hearing a little too much, too. At one point, I decided to leave. I was 31 at the time.

What recipes were you responsible for at The Piccadilly? I learned to smoke and grill from my dad, but I did introduce a rib rub that’s still the one they use.

At one time, you took issue with someone calling you a chef. I thought I wanted to be a chef, but once you learn all that actually entails—managing schedules, crunching numbers, managing others’ personal problems—you look at it differently. The cooking aspect is a minor part of being a chef, and that was the part that appealed to me.

Are your parents retired? They have a place in Florida, so yes. But they still live upstairs, so the complete answer is yes and no. Over the years, they took the time to get to know everyone who came through the doors. They are the reason that The Piccadilly became as successful as it was.

Your résumé is quite long, extending both before and after the Piccadilly. I wrote down every place once and came up with, like, 20. I’d been in the industry seven years before I started at the Piccadilly. My first job, I think, was at a Jewish deli, where I was the prep cook, busser, and dishwasher—and I stayed in the industry after that!

What are a few of the places you worked and notable takeaways?

Duff’s: A collection of uniquely weird people—and I mean that with all due respect—that really knew how to operate a restaurant. Karen Duffy, Brendan Kirby, Jimmy Voss, all of them. Right out of high school, it was a transformative experience for me.

Ronnie’s Ice Cream: I delivered to all of Ron Ryan’s restaurant accounts, which is what spurred me to get back into the industry. Good thing, too, since I was late to work almost every single day.

The Crossings Grill: The former Two Nice Guys in Webster is where I met Chris Lee, which was another turning point in my life.

Mélange: I was handed my first chef coat by Chris Lee, who co-owned the corner restaurant in the CWE [now Evangeline’s Bistro]. Chris was classically trained. We bonded, and I became connected to all that tradition. 

I have a feeling we’re just getting started… In a four-year period, I worked at Red Moon, Balaban’s, John’s Town Hall, came to the Piccadilly to run the kitchen, Mangia Italiano—the Block and Ces & Judy’s were in there somewhere—and then I worked with Chris Lee again when he ran the kitchens in Dr. [Gurpreet] Padda’s restaurants: Café Ventana, Sanctuaria, Chuy’s, Hendrick’s … After that, I came back to the Piccadilly, to work the floor this time, and stayed several years. Then I quit the industry—I thought for good—which is when Andy Kohn approached me to run WildSmoke in Creve Coeur.

WildSmoke was a more upscale barbecue experience—fast-casual service but served on china plates, at regular tables, with decent flatware. Why didn’t that catch on? What was pitched as a 60-seat concept ended up being 160, which changed everything. On a Saturday, at lunch and dinner, we’d sell 600 plates of food, and managing that big machine was difficult. That was not my style and was never going to be. And they had good managers there—all except me.

Then it was on to the Civil Life? Their chef, my friend Brendan Kirby, called me to ask if he could hire my ex-wife, who had applied for a job. I said, “No problem,” and in talking to her about it decided that I should take the job instead. It ended up being the best of all the places I worked. Jake [Hafner], Brendan, Chris Valier, Joe Mooney—the best people I’ve ever worked with in the industry. To be invited into that group was an honor. I felt like I had arrived.

Talk about the food there. The sandwiches were great, but it was Soup Sunday that had a cult following. We had two induction burners and a big pot, so we’d prep stocks and soups all week just to be able to handle the hundreds of bowls we’d sell on that one day. I stayed five years there and I was happy. But I was also at the top of what Jake could pay, so I moved on.

Then where? Brendan—who was now at Seed, Sprout, Spoon—was planning a catering expansion, and we did well for a year until the pandemic furloughed me. I was able to decompress and to take the sabbatical I didn’t know I needed. Cooking at home polished my skills. It made me more confident to try things I’d never tried.

Which brings us up to Chatawa, which I understand is pronounced “CHAT-uh-wuh.” Thomas Crone, who has extensive experience writing about and running bars, came up with the idea. Chatawa is a city in Mississippi where a creature allegedly roamed the nearby woods and swamps. Chatawa is the bar component. I came along and called the kitchen part Grand Pied, French for “big foot.” So yes, I am the monster in the kitchen.

How big is Chatawa/Grand Pied? Forty seats inside and 30 outside on a former driveway that we’ll convert into a patio with a street-facing bar. Hours will be 3–11 p.m. Wednesday through Saturday and, keeping with the brunch tradition at that address, 9:30 a.m.–3p.m. Sunday.

What does the interior look like? Thomas picked up some regional artwork on his trip down south. Joe Allhoff of Trader Bob’s Tattoo Shop will paint signage in the two front windows. When I saw this sculpture of a bigfoot at Tamm Avenue Bar, I told owner Bob Brazell, “I sure wish I owned that.” Knowing what we were planning, he smiled and said, “Take it.”

What’s on the menu? A big part is what I call modular charcuterie, where people pick and choose different options from a large selection: cheese and crackers or a warm olive salad, pita, and pickles, if that’s what they’re in the mood for. We’ll have small plates and different beignets, including a special St. Louis–style sweet beignet that I’ve been working on, finished with a honeysuckle rock candy. There’s a nod to St. Louis and NOLA that I’m calling the St. Paul Prudhomme sandwich, with thin-sliced crispy andouille, sweet pickles, flavored mayo, and an egg patty with the trinity [onions, green bell pepper, celery]. I put the “St. Louis–style” tag on a lot of the things I do, because I can. Well, I’m from St. Louis, and I’ve been making chili this way for 20 years, so …

Do you read cookbooks? In my twenties, I was engrossed in food literature, of all kinds, high-end and low-end cookbooks. I love the vintage Better Homes & Gardens, Betty Crocker, Joy of Cooking stuff. My recipe for pancakes that people go crazy over closely resembles one in one of those books.

Can you pigeonhole the cuisine at Chatawa/Grand Pied? If I had to, I’d call it “food for the people,” but it’s basically a collection of the items I’ve had success with over the years. I might do a fried soft-shell crab with coleslaw, a cobbler, and savory beignets, which might become a signature dish. The first will be served with a Prairie Breeze cheese sauce. Sodium citrate can be used to convert any cheese—even the hard ones—into a sauce, so you’ll see more variations on that theme. The menu will be fluid and flexible, depending on what proteins, fruits, and vegetables are available fresh that week. 

Did the menu change as the pandemic changed the industry? Going into this, I envisioned a couple spending $30 on food, and wrote a menu and set up a kitchen staff based on that. With food and labor costs increasing, I had to rework all the numbers. Now I see that same couple spending $40 or $45. On the backside of the pandemic, restaurants prices are going to have to rise, industry wide. We just don’t know yet by how much.   

What beverages will be offered? Several house cocktails, batched punches, spirits, beers, and natural wines, a lot of it based on what Thomas discovered on a trip along the I-55 corridor south, from St. Louis to New Orleans. He found a boutique hard seltzer in New Orleans, for example, and a sweet potato vodka from Delta Dirt, a new distiller in Arkansas.

Will the emphasis be on cocktails, wine, or beer? That’s for the customers to decide. At The Civil Life, we sold way more wine than we ever thought, for example, and that was at one of the best craft breweries in the area.

Do you have plans beyond Chatawa/Grand Pied? To give Chatawa some additional recognition, I’d like to sell beignets—and maybe boozy coffee drinks—next year at Tower Grove Farmers’ Market. 

Do you have plans for the future? I’d like to run something like a wholesale commissary, not just to supply a single restaurant but several. I already know of several things I could produce that many restaurants and chefs would be interested in. And I dream about buying some land with room for some rescue dogs and a few chickens. Maybe buy a few goats to keep the grass cut low…

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