Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
Ask about the city’s elite cocktail bars, and Planter’s House comes to mind, as do its founders, Ted Charak and the husband-and-wife team of Ted and Jamie Kilgore. Much attention has been bestowed on the Kilgores over the years, but few realize that Charak was making his own tinctures, tonics, and bitters at an award-winning bar in Portland, Oregon, before Ted Kilgore even moved to St. Louis.
What was your first restaurant job? It was the early '80s, when I was at Clayton High. I bused tables at The Lotus Room on Brentwood Boulevard, which if it was here today, would be in the Galleria’s parking lot. My first job here after college was at the [Schlafly] Tap Room, where I helped open that kitchen. After that, I went to work for Lee Redel at Redel’s—four nights on the cooking line and two behind the bar. I moved to San Francisco after that to become the next great chef. Chef Ted couldn’t even get a job in a kitchen there, so I concentrated on the front of the house.
Tell us a bit about your time in Portland. In 2006, a few of us opened a bar called the Teardrop Lounge, which was different than any other bar. We were making our own tonic water, ginger beer, falernum, and all our own tinctures and bitters, which was a very new thing in Portland at the time. It wasn’t until later that we realized the trail we blazed and how much people appreciated what we did. The Teardrop is still there. It’s still a top bar.
Was it stressful opening what became a trend-setting bar? We were located next to a cupcake shop, a really good one, and for the first three months I lived on beer, tequila, and cupcakes. Somehow, I lost weight—a lot of it. Not sure I’d recommend that as a diet, though.
Any wild or wacky stories? At Teardrop, we hired one of the fastest cocktail bartenders in town, who happened to be a flair bartender, one of those guys who tosses shakers and flips bottles. One night, he hit himself between the eyes with a shaker and got a little wobbly. People thought it was an act until they saw the blood. He left the bar, butterflied himself up, and returned to finish the shift, tossing and flipping bottles just like before.
Why did you move back here? I’d been burning 70 to 80 hours a week in a low-margin business for close to three years and had just had a baby. Heidi [Charak’s former wife] and I needed a break, and we both had family in the Midwest. Back here, I could work, she didn’t have to, and we had help with the baby.
Where did you work in St. Louis? I ran the bar at Brasserie for three-plus years, then went to Central Table [Food Hall] to run that bar program for Matt McGuire. I thought I knew everything in this business until I started working for Matt. Later, Ted [Kilgore] presented me with the opportunity to be a 50/50 partner in Planter’s House.
What are your strengths? Organization and functionality. Ideally, a bartender should never have to take more than three steps away from the well while they’re busy. At Brasserie, I was anxious to maybe show off a little and try some of the fancy things we did at Teardrop. But I quickly decided to reel it back and just tweak what it was: a great foodie bar with a strong wine list and more modest cocktails.
Describe your management style. If you ask the people who work for me, they might say I’m a control freak and a bear, because I can be a bit overbearing. My nickname is “Zero to 60.” On one hand, I want to know what’s going on at every table, but on the other, I have such a great staff that I really don’t need to know. I’m sarcastic and a trickster, which if administered correctly, keeps things light and relieves some pressure.
How did Planter’s House come about? Ted and Jamie had conceived the plan [for Planter’s House and the Bullock Room] but not the location. Oddly enough, the first place I looked [the corner building at 1000 Mississippi] was absolutely perfect for what they had in mind.
Planter’s House often impresses newcomers, even if they haven’t discovered the Bullock Room. The idea was to have easier-to-make drinks in the main room and higher-end, more intricate ones in the Bullock Room, and two separate menus. Now the same menu is served in both areas.
Can you reserve a table in the Bullock Room? You can reserve the entire Bullock Room, but not individual tables, and that goes for Planter’s House as well.
How long should a customer expect to wait for a cocktail in a place like Planter’s House? Five minutes would be ideal. If it’s 10 minutes, I’m not going to worry, but if it goes above that, we need to change something or get more hands to help.
Can cocktails get too complicated? In a time sense, yes. Over the years, we’ve learned to pre-mix spirits and reduce steps, so some cocktails are finished rather than made from scratch. Our punchbowl drinks evolved into the more popular pitcher cocktails. Plus, there are several pre-bottled offerings.
Do people get intimidated with unfamiliar terms and oddball liquors? Part of our job is to familiarize people with those things. We first ask what they like to drink and either go there or else back into something that’s new and different for them.
For a mixologist, that’s where the fun is though, right? Only if it fits a person’s taste profile. If you try to steer someone down a totally unfamiliar street, no one wins.
Do people try to customize your specialty cocktails, like substituting one liquor or mixer for another? We try to discourage that because it increases the chances the drink will get sent back. But if a customer insists, we comply and just hope that it’s drinkable.
Is it fair to say that Planter’s House is bar-focused rather than food-focused? No, but there’s definitely a “Kilgore effect.” Ted and Jamie have so much status, prestige, and recognition with all things cocktail that it affects the public’s perception. Sam Boettler, our chef, is doing amazing things in the kitchen. If you’re not coming to eat but end up eating, I guarantee you’ll be surprised.
What are your favorite dishes? The burger is off the hook, but my current favorite is the duck. It’s pan-seared, sliced, fanned, and served in a bowl with celery root, sautéed mushrooms, and duck miso broth. And the fried chicken—the chicken brine is so unique, [executive chef Sam Boettler] should open his own chicken joint. The thighs-and-fries special at our all-night happy hour on Sunday is killer.
Talk about Miracle, your Christmas-themed pop-up bar. The concept started in New York City a few years ago and quickly became a franchise. There were four locations in 2015; 17 the next year, when they reached out to us; and 60 or so in 2017. It’s been described as kitschy and tacky but wonderful—a cross between A Christmas Story and Christmas Vacation.
Who does the decorating? Jamie. Christmas is her thing. She puts hours into decorating it and then works it, too. It’s amazing that she can be so sleep-deprived and cheerful at the same time.
How was it received? I was skeptical at first—it was a lot of work for 30 days of uncertain payoff—but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Miracle on Chouteau exploded on us the first year, and we were way behind it the entire month. There were two-and-a-half hour waits to get in. This year, we changed the venue and therefore the name [to Miracle STL]. We took reservations and imposed a time limit—an hour for two people, longer for more people—which was plenty. This year, it was gangbusters again, but it was organized.
When you moved Miracle to 2800 Indiana Avenue, was it always your plan to convert it to your new bar, Small Change? After Miracle, it made sense to convert it back into a neighborhood tavern, like it always had been. Before Miracle, it was Benny’s Bar, which apparently had the longest-running liquor license in the city. We saw a need for a small 49-seat bar in the neighborhood, for the neighborhood. On the day after Thanksgiving, though, we plan to flip it back to Miracle for the Christmas season.
How did Small Change come about? At neighborhood bars of old, people tended to pay in cash. We have two vending machines, which traditionally took small change. It’s also a reversal of what we do at Planter’s House: We call it Small Change, but it’s really a big change, a step up from a dive bar and a step down from Planter’s—so no $15 cocktails, no super-fancy descriptions, no walls of booze. There will be six to 10 rotating cocktails besides the classics, plus a few beers on tap and a ton of canned beer.
Why no kitchen, besides the fact that an exhaust hood costs about $50,000? There’s that, but there’s also no room, not even for a flat-top or small fryer. There are great restaurants in Benton Park. That’s not where we wanted to be.
Talk about the vending machines. One’s for chips and candy, and one’s refrigerated for sandwiches and microwaveable items. I have no problem with delivery food coming from restaurants or even from home, as long as they’re buying drinks.
Describe the décor at Small Change. Simple. Jamie is astute at finding old, cool things: vintage signage, wood and metal beer signs, collages featuring local bottle caps, the front of an old, old Jeep… We’re restoring the Falstaff sign out front that’s been a beacon for decades.
What’s the biggest challenge for the owner of a restaurant or bar? For me, it was over-analyzing the everyday business level. At Teardrop, we’d have a bad couple of days, and I’d try to figure out why. It always evened out long term, over weeks and months. But after a bad day I’d still catch myself wondering if it’s heading south.
Are costs on alcohol higher than they used to be? They’ve crept up for beer and wine—they’re both now well over 20 percent—but cocktails and liquor are still the most profitable, those costs running about 18 [percent].
What’s on the horizon? My vision is to one day open a tequila bar. I call it my retirement bar: a little 12-seater that I can manage, spend the rest of my life in, and drink as much tequila as I want. [Laughs.] Wait, that sounds decadent, doesn’t it?
