Summer closes as it opens. In a deli.
A venerable one in the region, with a long history and local ties that bind it to the past of the community, and we are again at lunch, trying this one out because word comes that this place is worth a try and more.
When June began, that’s how we arrived at LeGrand’s Market, far down into south city, with its own butchering and meats and a deli menu of sandwiches longer than the promise of the season that lay ahead. Now, late August, and we’re at the opposite end of the county, in Ferguson, at Paul’s Market.
There are groceries here, just as at LeGrand’s, with shelves packed, stacked and arranged so not an inch of space is wasted, with fresh produce and items you might need in the kitchen and don’t want to go all the way to a bigger store to fetch. Varieties of craft beers, offbeat wines. Like LeGrand’s, the emphasis is on meat. A counter that runs most of the length of the back of the store is staffed with men in aprons, who stand over what remains when a cow has been professionally, artistically reduced to its culinary essentials. Pink ingots of sirloin. Boulders of rump roast. Porterhouse steaks to smother the biggest platter, delicate wedges of New York strip. There is pork: chops, ribs, long cylinders of tenderloin, steaks.
A rotisserie churns, spinning whole chickens that spit and sizzle, the skin already brown, delicately blistered. There is a smoker out back. A 2,000 lb. wood-burning monster that eats hickory and spills out entire pig shoulders transformed into shredded pork, baby back ribs, pork steaks and whole briskets, caramel-dark and fragrant, juicy-tender. Paul’s manufactures its own sauce, bottled for purchase in jugs that are of a size that suggests a lot of serious backyard barbecuing. (Not incidentally, Paul’s also sells and services Traeger grills and smokers.)
Behind the deli counter a well of seasoned flour seems constantly in use, chicken parts getting a vigorous massage before being dropped into hot oil. Paul’s fried chicken is available in buckets to be carried home for dinner. Or for sampling now, at lunch.
That’s why we’re here; word is the deli is an unusual one. It is. It’s more like a cafeteria steam table. The entire menu is on display, warmed or kept cool in metal pans; you just point at your choices and plates are made up. We go with the pulled pork and steamed vegetables and we can’t pass up the slaw and potato salad—and the burger has been highly recommended, so we’re in for that, too. And being professionals, we do have to try that chicken.
Seating is along one wall at the front. So you can sit and eat and watch the two checkout lines and contemplate just how long it would take to go through the bags of charcoal that are loaded on the shelf beside you and which look to contain enough product to grill at least a long autumn’s worth of meat.
The pulled pork on a bun is sweet, smoky, with enough sauce to flavor it but not enough to overwhelm the porky goodness of the meat. The chicken is fried to a crispy crunchiness, the meat is luscious. The burger is decidedly superior, thick, moist; the toppings, a long sliced pickle, red onions, and a thick slice of tomato are all just perfect. The whole thing tastes like it’s been assembled by those who know what they’re doing.
It occurs: Paul’s Market is something like those meat shops in Paris, the intimate neighborhood boucheries about which the Bourdains and Zimmerns of TV wax enthusiastically. Places where they know your name and more importantly, know how thick you want sliced your steaks, are quick to suggest recipes for those cuts on sale. This is shopping on a lovely, thoroughly local level.
But this isn’t Paris. More to the point where it is, is Ferguson. About which you may have heard. It does not look like the Ferguson of the news. Instead of smoldering businesses, there are middle class homes here, with mature trees and manicured lawns. While we proceed with lunch, a steady parade of customers comes in. They are black and white. Some Ameren workers. Housewives. Retired men in long shorts and polo shirts. Office workers. They talk to the checkout women, some lingering, sharing stories we can’t quite hear. Some dither over their selections at the deli counter and are ribbed for it.
It’s too bad, we think, that the TV cameras never made it to the places in Ferguson like this. Not to say where they were and what they showed us and the rest of the country wasn’t real or important. Even so, this is as much Ferguson as any of it. Decent, ordinary people, running a business that’s been successfully serving a community for almost six decades. Average, everyday customers who walk here for lunch or to do the shopping for dinner. People who know one another and who interact with politeness and an assumed respect. Paul’s Market is almost as far as it’s possible to be from LeGrand’s, down in south St. Louis, and still be considered in the same place. They are, though, essentially the same.
It’s nice to see that. It’s a good burger. There might be room for one more piece of that fried chicken. It’s a pleasant way to end summer.
Paul’s Market
1020 Elizabeth
Ferguson
314-524-3652
Mon - Fri: 7:00 a.m. - 7:00 p.m.
Sat: 7:00 a.m. - 6:00 p.m.
Closed Sun
