Photograph by Kevin A. Roberts
7401 Manchester
Maplewood
314-644-3995
Dinner Mon–Sat
Average Main Course: $25
Reservations: Absolutely
Chef: Josh Galliano
Dress: Off the rack—provided it’s a very nice rack.
The clouds of coppery butterflies twinkling overhead—seriously cool. So too is the main dining area’s interior: soft bronze colors, black chairs, eggshell-white linens, buttery lighting. It’s among the finer formal dining spaces in the city. An expansive rectangle of bar dominates the front, surrounded by cozy tables and booths meant to evoke a bistro feel (albeit a trifle compromised by some big-screen TVs). A small side room is nice for larger parties. The layout takes diners past the relatively convivial bar and bistro into the quiet of the dining room, where tables are well-spaced—and diners, by the time they’re seated, should’ve already realized this restaurant is way above average.
After initial attempts last year to create separate bistro and restaurant menus, Monarch’s wisely integrated them. Unfortunately, this compounds a problem: A lot of choices beckon. You’re best off charting an exploratory course. Starters exemplify the challenge. A lobe of sweetbreads nestles in a thick puddle of black truffle–flecked grits jazzed with what tastes like a light bacon splatter. Slices of poached pear and truffle specks are tumbled with roasted mushrooms in a risotto shimmering with brown butter. Among the salads, consider two: Grilled romaine leaves are layered with a crackly, golden phyllo with Parmesan baked into it, along with filigrees of fried shallots, tossed with a smoked Caesar dressing as unusual as it is tasty. Cornbread croutons decorate the other, a Bibb-lettuce salad with shavings of radishes, spiced nuts, and a chili-buttermilk dressing.
The cheese and charcuterie selections are first-rate, though pricey—$4 apiece, and you must order at least three—and servings are, ah, restrained. Too bad, because the cheeses are superb: Iberico, still an oddity here, is an herby, tangy combination of sheep’s, goat’s, and cow’s milk; Sottocenere is an impossibly creamy, semisoft cow cheese, mild and drizzled with honey; Garrotxa is a silky, nutty goat cheese, imaginatively matched with a pine-nut butter. Only downtown’s Bridge has a better cheese selection. A fabulous—though expensive—light meal could be had at Monarch on these alone.
Choosing a main course is no easier. While poached in butter may not have been exactly the lobster’s choice of fates, it suits us just fine. The beautiful white meat is infused with butter, and chunks of tail swim in a carrot-and-ginger nage, along with a potato chip–like sheet of dried country ham and ravioli squares stuffed with brie and maitake. The last ingredient is a mushroom the Japanese believe can control cholesterol, affording the dish a certain irony.
Monarch’s skillet-fried chicken is near-legendary. How does it actually stack up? Pretty well. The mahogany crust is pleasantly grainy; the meat juicy, tender, flavorful. A dollop of mashed potatoes and chicken gravy is good; a side of “sweet and sour” green beans is ordinary. It’s half a chicken, so plan on having leftovers for a delightful cold-chicken breakfast.
How any serious eater could pass on venison osso buco is beyond us. The shank’s meat is removed after braising, sliced, and presented on the platter along with the bone, with that spectacular marrow inside; use the thin butter knife to extract it. Croquettes of saffron-tinted risotto are grilled, the surface just crunchy, drizzled with a lemony, garlic-infused gremolata that ups the flavor of both the meat and the risotto. The meat is moist and tasty, not at all gamy, with just a touch of garlic to add another dimension on the palate. More than any other dish, this notoriously difficult meat exemplifies the kitchen’s quality.
Pommes Maxim? Preparing the dish correctly makes cold fusion seem like brewing instant coffee. Its appearance on a menu is a bold invitation. Paper-leaf circles of potato—crisp at the edges, soft and perfectly tender at the center—are pan-fried into a circle thinner than the plot of Nights in Rodanthe. The flaky potatoes are paired with a pan-roasted flank of wild salmon and an inspired brown butter thickened with marrow. Another sea offering is the cobia, a delicate but fleshy fish. It’s grilled on cedar here, acquiring a faint but appealing woodsy flavor, and comes with an extravagant presentation of quinoa grains, succotash of butternut squash, tiny shrimp, and crisped Brussels sprouts.
Desserts do their job—and none, incidentally, are done any injustice by a Château d’Yquem Sauternes on the wine list. A dark-chocolate soufflé is splashed with Grand Marnier and crème anglaise. Traditional French financiers—their name comes from the color and shape of gold bars or coins—are spongy, light pastries, a civilized way to finish things, plated with lemon curd. A “root-beer float” sounds like a self-conscious attempt at cutesy; it’s worthwhile, though, for its base of
sarsaparilla, the Bordeaux of root beers.
While the sarsaparilla’s tasty, a lengthy selection of wines by the glass makes more potent libations worth exploring. Lots of cab savs—including a formidable Château Pichon Longueville Comtesse de Lalande that tastes like April’s first warm afternoon—are offered. Given the wide-ranging menu, it’s a good idea to consult with sommelier/general manager Matt McGuire to optimize your wine selection.
Monarch’s service remains among the better in town. Dishes arrive on time, and even when the action is heavy—as on weekends—you’ll feel like you’re the staff’s sole object of affection.
We’ll skip the obvious “Monarch’s gone through a metamorphosis” cliché—suffice it to say, the place is not only as good as it’s always been, but in many ways, it’s now much better.
The Bottom Line: A near-classic in St. Louis undergoes some delightful changes.
