Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
You’re one of the fried-chicken cognoscenti, a capital-F Fried Chicken Fanatic, a Browned Bird Buff. So when you hear of a restaurant rumored to have exceptional fried chicken, you’re there.
And that’s how we were surrounded by Connoisseurs of the Crusted Capon at Juniper. Extraordinarily convivial, the restaurant looks like a bar that decided, “As long as there are people in here drinking, why not feed them?” That’s not to say food is an afterthought. On the contrary, this may be the best—and most innovatively upscale—Southern-style eatery in town.
You’ll conclude this by ordering, upon being seated, the full bread basket, which delivers all of Juniper’s breads: thick squares of cornbread, with just a touch of sweetness; biscuits, flaky gold, fragrant as Sunday morning in Grandma’s kitchen; angel biscuits, made with yeast and baking powder; hushpuppies, astonishingly light, with a hint of onion; and a very good Yorkshire-pudding popover. Every bread manages to honor Southern cuisine, yet go beyond the expected.
When we visited, a kale salad, spritzed with potlikker (the juices of braised greens, for you Yankees), was particularly appetizing. There was also a Southern salad classic, a wedge of lettuce, but rendered ritzy with goat’s milk, bacon, and blue-cheese dressing. Brussels sprouts were sautéed, tumbled with white beans and just enough apple butter to sweeten them nicely.
Beans, cooked with a “streak o’ lean” rasher of fatty bacon and onion, livened with the rich smack of sorghum, make for an attractive starter. So do triangles of “shrimp toast” seemingly inspired by an Emeril Lagasse recipe: a purée of shrimp that’s shaped, then fried and served with pickles and garlic butter. A “ham flight” starter, a trio of slices of various hand-produced country hams, is inspired; you can assay the difference in these meats, assisted by a palate cleanser of pickles. An appetizer of deviled eggs, served with smoked salt, is particularly appealing. The yolk is a smooth, satiny purée; the smoky salt adds exactly the right accent.
Anticipation, however, builds for that pan-fried poultry. You start watching each time a plate emerges from the kitchen. Eventually, it arrives—loaded. Mashed potatoes are rendered silken with butter and slathered in a savory brown gravy. Then there’s that chicken: a breast and leg, both sizable, the color of cinnamon, crackly-crisp, the pieces crusted in a filigree-thin breading. The meat tastes as if it’s been brined—after the first bite, a tablemate declared it superior to the late Monarch’s, a St. Louis standard for fried chicken. Unlike versions where the crust enrobes the chicken, Juniper’s take superbly integrates crust and meat.
Perhaps you’ve opted for Juniper’s chicken and waffles, which we just don’t get—it’s like a pizza topped with celery. Nevertheless, aficionados of this dish are legion, and one of them at our table adored the presentation: It’s accompanied by pickles, a dollop of peanut butter, and syrup. We sampled the waffle. Good waffle. And the chicken? Great chicken, with a little less sweetness in the crust than the regular version. Should you want to combine them, this is the place.
Speaking of fried, Juniper’s catfish goes into the deep fat, emerging beautifully for it. Our two hand-size, cornmeal-crusted fillets were delicate and full of flavor. The only quibble: The delectable sides—a sweet-potato purée and a dollop of crab mixed with a mild tartar sauce—were too skimpy.
Cast iron is popular here. A skillet holds a mound of velvety grits, steaming, studded with half a dozen plump shrimp, and covered with a piquant sauce. Similarly, a special, Juniper’s take on shepherd’s pie, also comes in a “don’t touch that it’s hot” skillet. The same mashed potatoes come with onions and carrots, as well as (why not?) a generous portion of fried-chicken slices.
Food historians will recognize the “Huguenot torte” as “Ozark pudding,” which has become a standard dessert in Charleston, S.C. The version here is suitably dense, a moist cake packed with chopped apples and nuts. Baked in a cast-iron casserole, it’s uranium-hot. Start with nibbles—as it cools, you’ll be scraping the sides. While Juniper’s waffle bread pudding has become a sacrament for its own cult, consider the ice cream; we had a delicious black walnut–praline version. A must-try dessert, however, is the donut hole made of brioche. Puffy, eggy, and airy, it is compromised only by a lackluster chocolate sauce.
Fewer than a dozen wines compose an unexciting list. The liquor here, though, merits its own review. A superb selection of rum, whiskey, and bourbon is tantalizing. So is the list of brandy, tequila, and gin. But what’s most entertaining are the “cola highballs,” imaginative combinations of soft drinks and harder drinks. Consider the famous Ski soda from Breese, Ill., mixed with a top-level, aged Brazilian cachaça, or Mexican cane-syrup Coke blended with Sorel, a hibiscus-scented liqueur. And Cheerwine (a Dr Pepper–like soda) is matched with Buffalo Trace bourbon.
The space is small, situated along Boyle Avenue, where other eateries have mushroomed, pushing the “cool” of the CWE farther to the east. The building is brick-wall vintage, and tables are made of rough wood. A long bar covers one side of the restaurant, along with a bookshelf crammed with cookbooks. (And note the kegerator behind the bar.) The artwork’s a little reminiscent of Children of the Corn, but the brushwood chandelier is beautiful.
You’ll likely be seated close to fellow diners, which adds to the conviviality. Overall, Juniper’s achieved an upscale approach to classic Southern fare—along with some very tasty fried chicken.
360 N. Boyle
Central West End
314-329-7696
Dinner Wed–Sat
Average Main Course: $18
Reservations: As they’d say in Dixie, “Ya might could.”
Noise Level: Close quarters plus brick walls translates to “lively.”
Chef: John Perkins
