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Carmen Troesser
It’s a family affair at Tony’s, where Vince Bommarito Sr. (right) works with his sons James, Vince Jr., and Anthony (not pictured).
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Carmen Troesser
Vince Jr. on the kitchen line.
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Carmen Troesser
Herbed baked lobster with pancetta risotto.
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Carmen Troesser
No one works a room quite like Vince Sr.
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Carmen Troesser
Grilled fillet of halibut.
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Carmen Troesser
The recently renovated interior.
Bonhomie. It galvanizes the man. He weaves through the tables, grabbing an offered hand, kissing a cheek flashed his way. He offers advice: ”Wipe that bread through the mussel broth,” he counsels one diner, grabbing the basket for her. He makes a suggestion to another guest: “The Saintsbury chardonnay’s excellent with that swordfish.” He pauses at this table, lingers at that one. Still, he seems to be in constant motion, a force of energy that glows, illuminating the faces of those dining here, suffusing the room with a light that’s as welcome as springtime’s sun.
Other restaurants have food of this caliber. Presentations elsewhere are as artful. There are others where the service approaches the seamlessly professional level of this one, where the atmosphere is comparable. No other restaurant, though, has—or is probably going to have—Vince Bommarito. He is what makes Tony’s—the man who’s elevated this downtown landmark to its legendary status. He is the soul of this extraordinary place.
“What do you like here?” a diner asks him. “If I don’t like it,” he replies, “it isn’t on the menu.” It’s a reply polished with use; still, there isn’t much on the menu that is less than iconic in St. Louis dining circles.
Most dishes are composed tableside, in two stages. Sauces are thickened over a portable flame, crowded next to heating pans of swirling pasta; meat and fish get a finish as well. Then, second act: Meals are built before you. The salt-and-pepper speckles of a hedgerow of wild rice are spooned onto your plate to separate a tennis ball–size beef tenderloin and a chubby roasted quail plumped with house-made sausage. The quail’s skin is magnificently lacquered, the stuffing fragrant. The tenderloin? It’s splendid by itself,perfectly rendered with a creamy, mushroom-studded sauce.
Dishes—and much else at Tony’s—are a study in subtle touches. The liquid gold of truffle oil glistens on rings of ruby carpaccio and peppery arugula. A fish knife arrives with a slab of oven-roasted salmon that rests in a smooth, dill-flecked sauce. The black plate beautifully accents the deep pink of the claw meat and the lustrous white cream sauce covering Tony’s signature lobster Albanello. Pastas define “al dente.” Pillows of agnolotti bulge with a prosciutto filling. Fettuccine is tossed with shredded duck confit and slivers of wild mushroom. Lobster and shrimp nibbles decorate thick ribbons of linguine. Each is flawless.
Waiters here move like Olympic swimmers navigating currents: smoothly, effortlessly. Rushing? Déclassé. While delivering a bowl of juicy mussels in a tomato-sweet broth of garlic and basil, our server answers a question about the most expensive wine he’s served: After a diner ordered a $750 bottle of 1937 Domaine Doudet Naudin Burgundy and was informed the cellar was fresh out, the diner instead in-stantly went with the same vineyard’s ’29 Chambertin—at twice the price.
Such indulgence is the stuff of Tony’s legend. Extravagance here, though, is artfully understated. The slab of pan-crusted foie gras could be excessive. Here, it’s paired with a chunk of salty, savory, USDA Prime–grade cow that’s drizzled with a silken, purple port demi-glace. The two complement each other, delighting both the eye and the palate. A candle-topped slice of birthday cake is so graciously delivered that diners at the next table don’t even notice.
In frames on a wall at the restaurant’s rear, singers Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gormé snuggle near actress Jane Russell and two dozen other celebrities your kids don’t know. Dave Brubeck elegantly plays “Take Five.” A classical Italian marble sculpture shares decor duties with an Ernest Trova print. Tony’s swerves between near-campy nostalgic and sleek modern. You can’t quite place it…but then you do: It’s the quality of timelessness.
The maître d’hôtel informs us that the triple chocolate torte has not yet set properly and sug-gests the double chocolate cake instead. “It’s just as good,” he says. He laughs when a diner replies, “No, it’s two-thirds as good.” There isno obsequiousness or patronizing. This is what formal dining is all about: that exquisite balance that leverages a meal into an experience.
Just before leaving, we pause and turn back to look into the dining room. The place is nearly full now; dinner’s been served for more than two hours. Bommarito is on the move, acceptinganother hug, another handshake. He’s grown more animated over the evening.
Tony’s is our Restaurant of the Year. InSt. Louis, Vince Bommarito is the Restaurateur of Our Age.
