Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
Tommy "Salami" Andrew
It’s not uncommon for a chef with fine-dining credentials to open a gastropub, pizza palace, or taco shack. Having been raised on The Hill, home of some of the best sandwich joints in town, it’s no surprise that Tommy “Salami” Andrew had similar aspirations. This month, the accomplished chef (Monarch, Randolfi’s, and Cinder House, among others) opened Nomad, inside Tamm Avenue Bar in Dogtown, where one of his dishes is so memorable it might have earned him a new nickname.
When did you decide to get into the restaurant business? I wanted to earn some money the summer before my freshman year, and Rich LoRusso took me in as a part-time busboy, but I saw that the dishwasher had a $400 check. Back then and at that age, I thought that guy was rich, so I asked to wash dishes. As often happens, one day I was told I was going to work the line, and the next thing you know (shakes his head) now we’re here.
Were you intimidated that first day? No, but it was a culture shock. It was like, 'OK, I have a chef’s coat on. I guess I better figure out how to use this knife before I chop a finger off.' I worked my way up, knew that I was good at it, and the passion followed. I was at LoRusso’s off and on for 11 years.
You grew up on The Hill. What was that like? It was different as a kid. All of my St. Ambrose friends lived within walking distance. My grandparents have lived there for 60-plus years. All of the families knew everything about each other. My mom’s last name was Marciano, so it was like, “You’re a Marciano. We know you.” But you never knew what they meant by that. Most knew that part of my family was in the flooring business. Just recently, after I helped my uncle epoxy-finish a section of the floor at Nomad, some random guy walks in and says, “I see a Marciano’s been here.”
If you could eat one meal on The Hill, where would it be, and what would you eat? A hot salami sandwich at Gioia’s, no question. I’ve been smashing their hot salami sandwiches my whole life and don’t plan to stop. That’s how I got this athletic body. Plus, Alex [owner Alex Donley] is the kind of guy who’ll drop off a box of sandwiches at your restaurant for family meal, unsolicited, just because.
Does your cooking gravitate toward any particular cuisine? When I was planning the menu at Nomad—which is mainly a collection of the things I like to cook and eat—I found myself writing down meatballs, a salcissia sandwich, arancini, pasta… So the answer is Italian. That said, Nomad’s menu is, appropriately, all over the place. There are Korean and Indian influences but not enough to skew the menu in any direction, not enough to confuse people.
If you weren’t in the restaurant biz, what area would you pursue? I could easily work at the Missouri Department of Conservation as a conservation agent, the people who help with wildlife management on hunting properties. I respect those guys. Over the years, my friends and employers know that I can get pretty scarce during hunting season, especially bow season. That’s my time.
Do you have any other hobbies? I work pretty hard, then tend to go home, hang out with my family, and maybe shake up a cocktail. I have a fully stocked bar that I need to quit buying booze for. Eighty bottles is enough.
Did you go to culinary school? No. And not to disparage those who do, but for me, being a chef is a mindset that’s rooted in working kitchens. It’s not bestowed on a piece of paper.
What’s something that some people might not know about you? You mean, like my love for Patrick Swayze? I liked watching Roadhouse when I was kid, and I still like watching it. It was an inside joke that became two-dimensional: At Nomad, there’s a mural of him directing people where to order.
You worked in many kitchens. Describe your takeaway from each place:
LoRusso’s Cucina: Where I first learned the business and the camaraderie associated with it. Rich [LoRusso] doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, a truly great guy. He still invites me to the employee Christmas parties, and I left there a decade ago.
Monarch: Josh Galliano taught me discipline and high standards. Working for him was a big stepping stone for a lot of us. The success of some of the other guys bears this out: Alex Feldmeier, chef at Brasserie. Josh Poletti further advanced some of the best restaurants in town. Ryan McDonald is killing it over at BEAST. Max Crask brought the city something it’s never seen at Ices Plain & Fancy. Rick Lewis put Quincy Street on the map before doing the same at Southern and now Grace [Meat + Three]. And then there’s Bob Brazell of Byrd & Barrel, The Tenderloin Room, and my partner here inside Tamm Avenue Grill. That was a rockstar team of line cooks. Josh was stern, but we all looked up to him. My standards today are his standards.
Juniper: Before Juniper opened, I helped with the pop-ups there that preceded it—like The Agrarian—which is how I met John Perkins and his chef Ryan McDonald. I knew Southern food from working with Josh Galliano, so I felt right at home as the sous chef.
Randolfi's: The place where I was most proud of what I was doing. I was exec chef there for almost two years. It was all my food. It was well-received. I miss that place dearly.
The Butchery: It’s a true butchery with a great dry-age program. We broke down whole cows and hogs but also had the opportunity to talk to customers about the the different cuts and specials. Nothing got wasted there. We’d make stocks and broths from the bones, chicharrones from the skin.
Cinder House: I worked at Cielo, the restaurant prior, and transitioned into the senior sous chef position. I loved working with Gerard [Craft]. I worked directly under Michael Fricker and then Aaron Martinez, who I really clicked with. I really hated to tell him that I was leaving to go do Nomad.
So where did the name Nomad come from? After bouncing a ton of names off friends and family, there was absolutely no agreement. For me personally, "nomad "is a paradox. I was a restaurant nomad, a wanderer, and now the nomad has found his home, grounded in one place. The menu is a little bit nomadic, too. It meanders around a bit but in a logical kind of way.
How did you get your other name, Tommy Salami? Josh [Galliano] threw it out there one day, and it stuck. I dunno, maybe because I was raised on The Hill? A lot of people, many who’d known me for a long time, say, "Wait, your name’s not salami?'" Nobody’s last name is salami, and if it is, I’m really jealous.
What’s your most obvious trait as a chef? I think people will say that I’m pretty well-rounded and pretty even-keeled. And that his eyes are always open. In a restaurant, you can learn from anybody. A dishwasher might have figured a better way to cut an onion after he’s prepped 10,000 of them. Servers have taught me things I don’t know.
So how did Nomad come about? Who approached whom? Five years ago, I knew I wanted to open a sandwich shop, I started buying up equipment, and asked my longtime friend Bob Brazell—who’s the ultimate hustler and dot connector—to help me find a space. Eventually, when Mac’s Local Eats decided to leave Tamm [Avenue Bar], we both knew that was the place.
What makes Nomad different than the competition? I’ve put out so much awesome, high-end food over the years, I decided to apply those techniques and that knowledge and create destination sandwiches. When people think about getting the ultimate sandwich, I want them to think of Nomad.
Sandwich bread is a critical component. Where does yours come from? We go to Companion for focaccia and also use Rotella, a broad spectrum Italian bakery that’s been around for 100 years.
What else is different? The curried chicken salad is definitely different. My falafel sandwich is gonna be a banger, too, hopefully served on locally made pita. Our wings are brined, smoked, and then fried to order. I hope to do a hot salami T-rav, a cross promotion with Gioia’s, but I need streamline the production or I’ll never have time to prep anything else.
The space you inhabit, the former Mac’s Local Eats, was known for its smash burgers. How will you play off of that success? I don’t want to play off of that success at all. Mac’s is my favorite burger in town. I won’t imitate it. I don’t want the comparisons. Our patty is larger, and smashed, but not like theirs. Our burger will have to succeed on its own merits.
The ordering procedure at Mac’s was problematic. How did you change that? Mac’s business was conducted at a small order window, so lines snaked through the entire bar. It was never designed for the amount of people it ultimately serviced. We designed Nomad more like a fast-casual restaurant with an order counter, a dedicated queueing area, and runners running food. Alcohol will still need to be purchased at the bar. I’ll sell soft drinks. We may add some grab-and-go items later.
How big is Nomad? The first menu has four appetizers, four sides, and eight sandwiches, which are $8 to $12 a la carte. The Tamm Avenue complex can seat 30 in the dining room, about that many in the bar, and at least 70 on the patio, so well over 100.
What changes were made to the patio? It’s now partially enclosed for four-season use, including a fire pit in the middle and removable walls. It’s a massive upgrade, and I’m reaping the benefits.
If all goes well, do you have a five-year plan? I wanted to buy a house five years ago, and I did it in two. Shortly after that, my five-year plan was to open a sandwich shop. I did it in three and a half. Opening a brick-and-mortar might be next on the list.
Describe Nomad in a sentence. The tagline is ‘Sandwiches and Tasty Eats,’ so nothing crazy. Just familiar, well-executed food that stands out in some way. The meatball, for example, is similar to the one at Randolfi’s—9 or so ounces, made from veal, lamb, and pork. I’ll patty it, so it fits on a brioche bun.
Any filler? People make meatballs all wrong. They add straight bread crumbs, which wick away the juices. Try soaking some sourdough in buttermilk and spices and adding that instead. That’s the secret to a moist meatball.
Besides the meatball, what are the likely best-sellers on the menu? The pastrami. I’ve experimented with it forever: different brines, different rubs, different cooking methods. Mine has a nice crust, is cut hot, and is cut thicker. You can only do all that when you cook the brisket perfectly.
I hope you call it Tommy Salami’s pastrami. [Smiles.] People are already calling me Tommy Pastrami. It’s time for a change I guess. I’m OK with it.
