A show of hands: How many folks ate their first whole lobster at Nantucket Cove? Tucked into the back of an apartment building at the corner of Kingshighway and West Pine boulevards, its slightly hidden entrance led to an amazing interior. This was when the Polynesian grandeur of Trader Vic’s and its dugout canoes blew us away. Expensive restaurants were allowed to make us feel like we were on movie sets.
One entered Nantucket Cove via a wooden walkway over water. Inside, it was dark, the atmosphere romantic. It felt very much like New England. Tanks of live lobsters were on hand—decades before they were at any local supermarkets—and a friend swears there were swimming trout from which to choose as well.
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The restaurant featured a salad with a stellar version of the city’s beloved Mayfair dressing, one in which the celery played second—or perhaps, third—fiddle to anchovies. And though the lobsters were a rare treat in the Midwest, they were very good. I recall one night when a piece of shell whizzed by my cheek and bounced off the end of a booth. The waiter glanced at the table whence it came, but kept a perfectly straight face.
“Were there any other desserts besides brandy Alexanders?” wondered a friend. The brandy snifters of cognac, crème de cacao, and ice cream were delightful.
Eventually, the restaurant moved to Clayton, where the interior included huge booths with half-moon tables that were too big for servers to reach across. Things never seemed the same, and it eventually closed. But the glory days—those were singular for St. Louis.
