A St. Louis favorite is reborn in Richmond Heights

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Photography by Kevin A. Roberts

Fritto misto, flash-fried calamari and shrimp in a lemon garlic aioli, make a light, satisfying starter.

There are a thousand or more restaurants like Del Pietro’s in this country. If you think that’s a dig, you do not appreciate the joys of Italian-American eateries, those places with names invariably ending in vowels, cherished by a coterie of loyal diners confident in their opinions. Just ask: They’ll tell you which has the best marinara sauce, which has been the favorite birthday or graduation destination for decades, which treats you like family…

St. Louis is blessed with its share of these. Often, they take years to polish such reputations. Sometimes, as with Del Pietro’s, that reputation can be burnished much faster.

Del Pietro’s is, of course, St. Louis restaurant royalty. The now-departed original Del Pietro’s, on Hampton, was legendary. The one now situated on Big Bend is more than a reboot; it’s an enhanced rendition, with many familiar elements. Much of what you need to know is on the foyer wall, covered with a museum display of family photos—Nonna’s wedding pictures—and before you make it to the dining area, there’s Nonna herself, with a delighted-you’re-here grin, back-patting you to your table. You don’t know yet whether it’s una cucina famiglia, but it’s sure as heck un’atmosfera famiglia.

If you remember the location’s layout when it was Riverbend (or Harvest before that), you’ll be surprised by the renovation. Wicker-like geometric pods leak subdued lighting. A concrete floor lends that essential noisiness when the place is crowded. A “distressed mirror” wall looks like the one in your Uncle Joe’s ’70s-style den, and there’s an awkwardly positioned table stacked with glassware right in the middle of things. The fireplace is cozy. (The bar isn’t—it’s in front, small and, in winter, chilly. You’re better off ordering a drink once Nonna gets you seated in the dining area.)

You won’t be surprised by the menu—well, mostly not. Spaghetti pomodoro, veal Milanese, cheese garlic bread…it’s an invocation of the classics. A satisfyingly rich Bolognese sauce is tossed with pappardelle (the pastas here are all house-made and taste like it), the combination of meat—beef and veal—and vegetables chunky, with merely a hint of sweetness that accentuates the flavor. Chubby tubes of cannelloni are plumped with ground beef and topped with a tomato cream sauce, with a lovely schmear of cheese bringing it all together. For generations, Italian-American kitchens have cheerfully ignored the Old Country convention that tortellini belong only in broth; here they’re stuffed with cheese and tossed with peas and mushrooms in a garlic cream sauce. (And hey, you want old school? How about those tablespoons that accompany pastas so you can properly swirl ’em?)

There are some worthy innovations, too. Consider the splendidly authentic Neapolitan pasta paired with cavolfiori (cauliflower) and flecks of pancetta and cooked until it’s nearly a gratin. And a happily inauthentic combination of spaghetti with meatballs topped with a gooey crust of baked Provolone and Parmigiana cheeses that would please even the most tradition-bound Italian gourmet.

Portions here are St. Louis–style (read: dauntingly big). A serving of chicken piccata easily feeds two. The pounded slab of breast is lightly sautéed, juicy, glossy with a buttery lemon dressing, and sprinkled with capers. Everything about this dish succeeds—which is good, considering that you’ll be eating the leftovers for tomorrow’s lunch.

The reliable go-to in Italian-American places is often steak. Even joints where the kitchen might overcook the carpaccio can be counted on to fire up a decent steak. Here, it’s a grilled strip, far more than just decent, with an herb, lemon, and garlic gremolata. Your inner carnivore will also rejoice with a half-acre-wide medallion of veal sautéed with a winey Marsala syrup. A pan-roasted pork chop, lightly breaded, accompanied by a pasta marinara, is absolutely worthwhile, too.

Among the antipasti, bruschetta are fine. Fritto misto calamari, however, taste like they came from a New England seafood shack—they’re among the best in town.

Pizzas? Of course. They’re oblong, Roma-style, with a yeasty crust and nicely charred bottom, heavy on the cheese. Oh, and do try the ravioli, which Del Pietro’s calls toasted but is actually deep-fried. (Sounds crazy, I know, but I predict that it’ll become quite popular.)

The almost exclusively Italian wine list is marked by several excellent bargains.

The new Del Pietro’s is enough like the old one to gain instant favored status for a loyal clientele. It’s new and innovative enough to bring in those looking to expand their culinary horizons.