Watercolor by Marilynne Bradley
Culpeppers, at the fulcrum of the Central West End, closed December 5. It was the oldest remaining tenant at the bustling intersection of Euclid and Maryland.
It turns out that Culpeppers was older than we thought. The original opened in 1935 at that location and toddled along until 1975. It did briefly close, and the space was occupied by Ginger’s, run by Lynn Smith, known to many as the proprietor of the City Cousin, Blanche’s, and other Central West End boîtes. Two years later, though, the location returned to its original name after Herb Glazier and Mary McCabe bought it.
That iteration was legendary. McCabe ran the kitchen, and Glazier oversaw the rocking atmosphere. It was first and foremost a spot for adults, with a sign on the door that announced, “Culpeppers prefers not to serve children under 12.” (Our dining editor recalls a litany of promulgations at the bottom of Culp's menu, something to the effect of: No separate checks. No personal checks. No orders to go. We do not split orders. No, we don't have cups of soup, and we don't care if it's your birthday.)
There was, eventually, a reputation as a singles bar, albeit one that served lunch to people watching the passing parade at that busy corner. It came closer to a club. The place was so busy, at times the restaurant had, in effect, maitre d’s, one of whom was Lynn Smith. Another was Jake McCarthy, the St. Louis Post-Dispatch columnist who worked at bars while the paper was on strike several times in the '70s. All employees had to be able to zip up and down the stairs to the second dining room in the basement.
Guests in search of a restroom (which were unisex, a novel arrangement at the time) had to pass by the small, open kitchen (novel, as well), where eyes would smart from the gallons of hot sauce getting aerated within.
Culpeppers was the first in town, as far as we can tell, to serve Buffalo-style wings, cooked to order, tossed with sauce in a stainless bowl sans tongs, then flipped into a bowl. Fine sandwiches, including an exemplary club and BLT, were on offer. In the summer, there was ceviche and gazpacho. Such house soups as the cream of artichoke were superb. All the food was remarkably good, the 12-item menu remarkably brief.
The bar did a booming business, helmed for years by the great Jack Rinaldi. Glazier did it all his way: He sold beer in cans because, he said, it got colder that way. He wouldn’t stock swizzle sticks; they clogged up the vacuum cleaners. When patrons asked for them, he told them to use their spoons.
Glazier and McCabe sold the restaurant in 1988 to several local buyers, one of whom was reported to have said that there would be no changes except they would now serve decaffeinated coffee, ending another Glazier policy. But things did change.
One bartender told the story of a woman who ordered a glass of wine. When he delivered it to her table, along with her companion’s drink, they were deep in conversation. Soon, though, the man came over to the bar. “You forgot the straw,” he said. A straw? thought the bartender. “The straw for the wine,” explained the gent. The bartender handed him a straw. Soon, the man was back. “It’s the wrong kind of straw. She wants a wine straw,” he announced. A wine straw? It turned out she wanted one of those tiny plastic swizzle sticks. Thank goodness this happened in the post-Glazier years; mollified, she drank her wine.
The new owners added other locations: at Westgate Center in Creve Coeur, on Kirkwood Road, in St. Charles. High chairs appeared. The wings remained, though.
Now, the mother ship is succumbing to the needs of the World Chess Hall of Fame. The only surviving Culpeppers location is at 3010 W. Clay in St. Charles.
