Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
You enter through the bar. Not the restaurant’s bar, but another bar—that’s sort of related. It’s a good bar, Olio, built in an old gas station. They roll up the bay doors this time of year, and it’s lovely to enjoy the evening, snacking and sipping. We espied a bottle of Turkish raki—now that’s a good bar. We got a glass and wandered, trailing licorice fumes, through a hall leading into a 19th-century bungalow that’s been transformed into an upscale eatery, Elaia.
When we asked what the name meant, our waitress replied, “It’s the name of the restaurant.” Oh. It’s also Greek for olive. It’s a clue to the menu, centered on Mediterranean fare. The atmosphere is sophisticated, simple. It’s small, with fewer than 30 seats, and it has a dramatic chandelier cobbled from kitchen utensils. It’s crowded, close, and loud. The handsome wooden floors and homey furniture are pleasant, and service is friendly and quite competent.
The server might lean on you to order the 10-course tasting menu. If you’ve got several hours (and $100 per person), then go for it. Otherwise, choose from a la carte choices that tend to point you in the direction of four courses. (A quartet of diners can cover the menu.)
On the starter side, burrata immediately invites attention. The version here is meltingly fresh, sweet, and supple, just solid enough to make a big, delectable curd. Burrata means “buttered,” an apt description of this wonderful, house-made cheese. It’s drizzled with a splendidly fragrant olive oil and balsamic vinegar and sprinkled with a smoked salt, all of which contribute to the perfect appetizer. (That said, two staff members dressing the cheese ball tableside seems a waste of manpower, given the crowds here.)
Another dish we ordered, escolar, is a fish that in too large of a serving can provide some, er, intestinal discomfort. Elaia’s solution is inspired: There are only a few delicious bites’ worth, but it’s complemented by chunks of beet, slices of radish, and dots of mango.
The only salad offered was absolutely worthy. Shredded, dark-green kale was tossed with candied walnuts and slices of shishito peppers, along with nibbles of ricotta. A soup of the evening, of puréed butternut squash, was splendid, with hints of nutmeg and a subtle smokiness. The soup was spooned into a tureen with dates, kumquats, and nasturtium leaves, all swirled together. A whiff brought the scent of lavender as well.
“Second courses” also work nicely. While a plate of beefy ragù tossed with spirals of fusilli is small, even by secondi standards, every bite is a happily constructed combination of fresh pasta and meaty sauce. The sweetbreads, plump and pan-sautéed, are completely satisfying. The touch of turmeric is a nice, welcome surprise. Polpetti—thumb-size octopi—are rarely seen here except at Chinese eateries. The dish is served with preserved lemon, a dollop of yogurt, and spicy piquillo peppers. The only clunky note was a slab of what tasted like plain boiled potato; even blackened with squid ink, it added nothing.
The main courses consist of a pair of seafood offerings and a couple of meats. Elaia presents a demonstration of how sea bass should be prepared: The skin is crisp and lightly charred. The white flesh is succulent, glistening. It’s matched nicely with slices of braised fennel root, parsnips, and grapefruit slices. A lemon-thyme sauce shimmers atop scallops and lends piquancy to the shellfish. Scallops of this quality would be delicious just sautéed, as they are, in butter, but the
sauce ups the tastiness quotient considerably.
The prime strip looks and tastes like a very good tenderloin, though ours was compromised by a thick cord of gristle that ran its entire length. It was easy to cut around, but still… The fingerling potatoes were perfectly cooked; so too the accompanying carrots and cauliflower.
Fourth courses are desserts. Only four are offered, and you’d be well advised to order all of them. We tasted a hint of cardamom in an excellent rice pudding. A puffy, airy chouquette seems to float above a pool of crème anglaise. The “chocolate and coffee” is a dense, powerfully sweet chocolate cake, studded with attractive blobs of gold, served in a fudgy, satisfying sauce.
Some advice on the wine: Before you visit, go online to read Elaia’s wine list—which is part list, part tour guide to the represented wine regions. It’s so well-written that you’ll find yourself immersed in it, ignoring your dining companions, if you wait to look at dinner. There are so many exciting vintages here that you’re unlikely to find in other area eateries. There’s the 2011 Albariño Cepas Vellas from Do Ferreiro, flint-dry and crisp, with a lemony finish that’s lovely with Elaia’s seafood offerings. For a lively match with red meat, consider the juicy, lush 2010 Gaía from Greece’s Peloponnesus, just faintly perfumed with oak, as noble as most Côtes du Rhônes. Elaia’s wine list is absolutely among the best in the city and should not be missed by connoisseurs of the grape.
Elaia does have flaws—growing pains, perhaps—for a restaurant with aspirations to be Serious Dining. A burned crust on two servings of bread? And $30 for four scallops? Portions are a little small, especially for the prices. There’s no doubt, though, that Elaia’s chef—and its entire kitchen—is passionate about providing upscale eating. With minor fine-tuning, Elaia could become one of St. Louis’ premier restaurants.
The Bottom Line: Tapas-size portions of creative Mediterranean fare are served in a stylish setting.
1634 Tower Grove
314-932-1088
Dinner Wed through Sat
Average Main Course: $30
Dress: This place is upscale hip. Dress accordingly.
Reservations: Good idea. But if you didn’t happen to call ahead, the bar next door at Olio is a nice place to wait.
Chef: Ben Poremba
