Commonwealth is a new star in Grand Center

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Photography by Kevin A. Roberts

Chicken with carrot-ginger emulsion, Pusser’s Rum–currant demi and charred spring onions

Pause outside Commonwealth, the newish restaurant at the newish Angad Arts Hotel, to take in the evening scene looking south. The firework blaze of neon along the walls of the Grand Boulevard canyon, the traffic and headlights, the flow of people. It’s a sight both impressive and imposing, a reminder of a city that a century ago bustled with muscle and productive energy and could once again. Then go inside and enjoy a dinner that suggests fine dining must play a role in the renaissance of St. Louis’ urban soul.

Commonwealth is on the ground floor of the hotel, itself an ambitious art gallery/event space/upscale inn. Could it be more felicitously positioned? It’s situated next door to Powell Hall, a block from the Fox, and near the Grandel. You feel stylish just sitting in the dining area. Banquet seating and tables offer generous spacing. The building’s original black-and-white hexagon tile flooring adds a vintage touch. The classic-style bar, polished in every sense of the word, is separated from the rest of the dining space by a short wall. Décor is spare, with art borrowed from the hotel’s nearby gallery.

The menu’s aimed at capturing a wide swath of cuisines from the old British Commonwealth, which explains the appearance of both tikka masala and mushy marrowfat peas. The latter, normally a fish-and-chips side, are deliciously matched with a trio of sautéed sea scallops. It’s a phenomenal dish. The scallops, their tops burnished to a toasty brown in the pan, are meltingly tender and juicy sweet. Along with the piped swirl of peas are sliced fennel bulbs poached with saffron and salt marsh “sea beans,” threadlike fronds of a succulent that’s a current culinary diversion, all of it decorated with an apple beurre blanc.

The other “scallops” are even more inventive. Thick stems of trumpet mushrooms are sliced to resemble real bivalves, along with ribbons of spaghetti squash, glistening with walnut butter. It’s a deft preparation, filling and entertaining. You won’t miss the protein. You also won’t miss the meat on a plate of osso buco. The massive braised shank barely clings to the bone; the beef flavor is intensely concentrated, with the outer flesh caramelized to the color of coffee. A heap of farro surrounds the meat, and the smoky tang of the shank’s reduced juices make a fine gravy.

Photography by Kevin A. Roberts

tandoori duck with black-lime-dusted pistachios, butter-braised dried apricots, cocoa “soil” and Brussels sprouts

Tikka masala appears in the form of a roulade. It might be unexpected, but perhaps so is the fact that this ersatz-Indian specialty is now England’s most iconic dish. The rolled, marinated chicken breast is a bit of modern art, resting atop rice, surrounded by a moat of masala gravy, and cross-hatched with leeks. Thick slices of tandoori-style duck breast are also off-kilter, traditionally speaking, but absolutely successful; the luscious pink meat is perfectly cooked, and it’s served with buttery Brussels sprouts and a scatter of granulated cocoa nibs, powder, and sugar “soil” that adds a twist.

A flaky puff pastry loaf wraps around a slab of warm, creamy, melted Camembert brie with enough fig jam, honey, and Marcona almonds to make for a shareable appetizer. So too, a lavish heap of shredded duck confit ragout over a drift of smooth mascarpone polenta. You’ll want a starter of foie gras all to yourself; it’s covered in fig butter, a berry gastrique, and crushed cocoa nibs.

While the only Hungarian component in the Hungarian peach soup is paprika, what a wonderful bowl of peachy golden sweetness, spiked with honey and a dollop of crème Chantilly. While unusual, it works well as a lead-in for the main courses. The Commonwealth salad—loaded with greens, chopped apples, Roquefort crumbs, and almonds—is another successful introduction to the main event; it’s an explosion of fresh flavors with complementing textures and thoroughly British, which would have been at home at dinner at Downton Abbey.

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Photography by Kevin A. Roberts

Starry Night dessert

The buzz over Commonwealth’s Starry Night dessert is considerable and deserved. A baseball-size hemisphere resembling some ancient astronomer’s celestial globe consists of shiny dark chocolate that sparkles with constellations of lustrous purple glints. It breaks under your spoon to reveal a chocolate torte swirled with blueberry compote and chocolate crème. It takes four days to make; you’ll polish it off in less than four minutes.

Yes, Commonwealth offers charms aplenty, like the metropolitan appeal of the city.