Grace Meat + Three hosted two soft openings this weekend in the Grove, and chef Rick Lewis was pleased; the convivial vibe played in perfectly to his vision. The feel of the place last Sunday morning was just what he had in mind when he and wife, Elisa, hatched a plan to move into the spot vacated most recently by Sweet Times at the Mangrove (and before that Sweetie Pie’s) “If you’re able, share a table” says the sign that stretches above the dining room. And that’s one of the main points here.”We want to be involved in the community,” says Lewis. “We want this to be the place where people from all walks of life can come together. A place of courteous goodwill.”
The food helps to make this possible. It’s Southern, big and comforting, and it comes served on trays rather than plates. Lewis, formerly of Quincy Street Bistro and Southern in Midtown, has brought his signature take on soul food with him.
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Expect the fried chicken to be excellent (because it is). And the side dishes to be bright renditions of homey southern favorites (they are). Hearty with hunks of ham hock, the sweet/sour turnip greens are a meal in themselves. So, too, the mac and cheese that is rich in cheddar and Gouda. The slow-cooked field peas (four varieties of peas and beans, both fresh and dried) get a flavor boost from salt-cured bacon, red pepper, and tomato.
In addition to fried chicken, Lewis is known for his country-style smoked bologna. It features here in an outrageously tasty sandwich, chargrilled and layered on a bun with Creole-style, house-made mustard, white cheddar pimento with Calabrian chiles, and a sunny farm egg.
Mississippi catfish also appears in a sandwich or comes as a main. The lowly fish is raised to great heights by a snappy dusting of cornmeal laced with habanero and cayenne. The heat might make your eyes water, so be sure not to overlook its cooling accompaniment of green tomato relish. Among other main courses, a monster sweet-tea-brined turkey leg (straight from The Flintstones), and some luscious StL-style Duroc pork ribs. Massaged with Lewis’ herbaceous rub and smoked for five hours over Missouri hardwood charcoal, this meat tumbles from the bone and tastes as though it’s just come off a deep woods campfire.
All this lusciously cozy food is ordered at the counter and delivered briskly by smiley waitstaff. Lewis is smiley, too, clearly thrilled by the genuine feel of fellowship in the room, and outside it. The line last Sunday snaked out into the Grove. But people seemed merry, popping interesting local beers from a welcoming cooler, and mulling their food options.
Lewis explains that Grace Meat + Three refers to the simple southern restaurant concept where diners pick a main protein and partner it with three sides. Grace is a family name, but also, of course, speaks to the little prayer of thanks uttered before the meal. Thanks, Rick Lewis, indeed.
