Chef Aaron Martinez steers renowned restaurant Elaia in a different direction

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Photography by Emily Teater

In addition to serving the freshest produce available, Aaron Martinez brings fresh perspective to the local dining scene. For the SoCal native, food sourcing is as important as the items being sourced. At Elaia, the proof is in the technique-driven plates, such as the deceptively simple Missouri rice dish, crowned with grilled mushrooms, that’s caused diners to say, “Whoa, there’s a lot going on there.”

How did you end up in St. Louis? My wife is from St. Louis. I grew up in Southern California. We have a young daughter and our lease was up in LA. But I had no aspirations to move here until I spoke with Michael Gallina who opened Vicia here. He blazed the trail. I ate at the restaurant, got blown away, and was so excited I ended up working for him. I wanted to be part of what he brought here, to help lead the charge.

What did Gallina introduce to St. Louis? When Niche closed, I wondered if people in St. Louis really wanted that style of food here, which is the type of food I like to cook. Then Vicia opened and got recognized both locally and nationally.  

Did you ever have other career aspirations? I was on my way to becoming a firefighter when I got into cooking. My parents were pissed—“What are you doing?” I went to school in Arizona, which is where I met William [Bradley], who became my mentor. 

Why did Bradley stand out? [Laughs.] He was tough—but I’d never seen or experienced food like that: the refinement, the intensity of the flavors, even the level of cleanliness he insisted upon. I thought I was a good cook because I could keep up with 400 covers a night, and with him we were doing a fraction of that. 

But you stayed on. In 2007, he opened Addison at the Grand Del Mar in San Diego, which became the Fairmont, and I followed him there. Before that, while in Arizona, he got nominated for a [James] Beard award three times but never got to the podium. He’s still one of the best chefs people have never heard of.

Do you gravitate to any particular style of cuisine? I started by cooking with a lot of cream and butter, very heavy classic French cooking. Then I staged in Spain, in San Sebastien and Barcelona. I worked for a year and a half at In the Wolf, in Belgium, in the middle of nowhere, where everything came from the immediate region, where we lived farm to table. Things weren’t refrigerated, they went straight from the field to the plate. It changed my mindset about sourcing, about foraging, about looking no further than what’s in your backyard. We didn’t have lemons and limes, so we used vinegars and sorrels to get those acidity levels. I learned to lighten things up and still achieve maximum flavor. That’s what I want to do at Elaia. I’d rather roast some cauliflower on a spit for four hours than braise it and glaze it with butter.

Talk about Elaia: what it was and what it is. I learned about St. Louis—and Elaia—from the local magazines my mother-in-law would send me—she wanted us all home!. I knew that both Poremba and Grupe [Ben Grupe, Elaia’s prior executive chef] were well respected. But Olio and Elaia are in a gas station and the house next door, so I didn’t really know what to expect.

What are your goals at Elaia? Right now, Elaia’s an occasion restaurant. Both Ben [owner Ben Poremba] and I want it to see it become more of an everyday place. The service style won’t change—it’s more important than the food sometimes—but what we serve will, with less emphasis on tasting menus, more of a focus on people having a few courses and a glass of wine and being out in 40 minutes. Ten-course menus are way at the other end of that continuum. That’s not what we are anymore; that’s not what people are looking for on a weeknight. 

What do you think of tasting menus: the advantages, the problems, the pitfalls, the general reception in St. Louis? They’re great, but they appeal to the .5 percent, and restaurants can’t cater to the .5 percent. Even diners who like them don’t go that route very often. At Elaia, the plan is to be more flexible and offer a variety of courses without the pretense and time commitment. We want to simplify—and I use that word carefully—the dining experience but not the food. The food will be precious; the experience won’t be.

What’s your view of fine dining? I was always uncomfortable with the dressing up aspect. If you want to come to my place in shorts and flip flops, I’m fine with that. Some of the best food in the world gets served at French bistros where people come as they are.

What are some of the current menu items? We’re making a farce of local pork, rabbit, and chicken to go with some fresh pasta, very delicate but also very flavorful. Today we got in some celery root. We plan to bake it with some of the ash from the hearth outside, shave it thin, and serve it with shaved foie gras that we cured like a ham. Hazelnut milk will play a part, and we’ll garnish with pickled pears. It’s not a one-note dish; every bite will be different. We might encase the same celery root in salt dough and crack that open at the table.

How do you balance the need for approachability with items like foie gras? Part of it will be “Let’s try it and see,” and part is the verbiage. We may describe it as “foie gras ham,” for example, so people identify with it—and we might not mention the liver at all, like anchovies in a Caesar dressing. It all comes down to trust. That’s why chefs host pop-ups…to instill confidence for what they plan to do at the eventual brick and mortar.

Proteins versus vegetables. Do you favor one over the other? I lean toward vegetables with accents of proteins. I plan on serving a short rib for two accompanied by three or four sides—like beef fat-roasted carrots and some Missouri-grown, basmati rice—individual dishes that also resonate together. You’ll see fluke from the east coast and a lot of black cod from the west, because it’s my favorite fish.

Gallina is part of the local pilot program for the Row 7 Seed project, which encourages chefs to write recipes from the ground-up. Does this interest you as well? Michael recently received some special delicata squash and some habanada peppers, which have the flavor but habaneros but not the heat. I’d love to be part of all that. Yes, send me some seeds. I’m in!

How is what you cook different than what Ben Grupe offered? Our styles are different. He’s more classic French, like my mentor. I like wood smoke, ferments—rustic touches that are just as full-flavored but lighter. The hearth oven outside the restaurant will get used a lot. I’d also like to have some jamón on hand, just to carve up for guests as they arrive. My fellow chefs and I take our jobs seriously; we just don’t take ourselves too seriously.

What’s first on the agenda? Going into the fall, it’s getting my larder up—making oils, vinegars, powders, infusions, fermentations, preserving, pickling… Things that used to get thrown away are a key part of all that. Carrot tops are now a powder for garnish. Marigold flowers that had begun to wilt will became a vinegar that I can spray on some sort of leafy green.

Do you have plans for Olio as well? The same simplistic approach, really, where the sourcing is almost more important than the cooking. The farmers dictate what I do. Carrots seasoned with Mediterranean spices and roasted in the oven. We just got some persimmons from EarthDance Farms like I’ve never seen—and I’m from Southern California. They pick everything the day before there, which dissipates the spice heat caused by the hot sun. I picked some turnips so juicy that I was eating them like apples.

What do you bring to St. Louis dining? Mainly my humility. Look, I’m an outsider. It doesn’t matter where I’ve been or what I’ve done. Who cares? Like I tell my cooks, ‘don’t tell me with your mouth, show me with your hands.’ I want to dig into the community and make my mark on St. Louis’ cuisine. I just bought a house in Old Town Florissant. I could see doing a cool little wine bar which would do very well there.

Do you follow trends? I stay very current, but I don’t follow trends. My grandfather used to cook a whole pig, seasoning it with only salt and lemon juice, and it was the best thing. Like him, I cook simple, honest food. People gravitate toward that now, just like they did back then.