indo brings a mix of Thai and Japanese to Botanical Heights

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Photography by Kevin A. Roberts

Laarb: spicy lamb tartare, fried shallots, candied pine nuts, and herb salad with sesame rice crackers

If you haven’t dined at indo before, you might be met with a dilemma. Granted, it’s a welcomed culinary conundrum. But more on that in a moment.

Opened in midsummer, indo is the solo effort of Nick Bognar. He also runs things at West County’s Nippon Tei, but he’s got indo aimed in a different direction. Kind of.

Bognar and his sushi have harvested more local media adulation than El Monstero and toasted ravioli combined. He continues performing behind the counter at indo for diners, a fortunate few of whom perch on the other side to enjoy the show. He’s also branching out with some Thai specialties and dishes based on his family’s cooking.

You won’t get lonely dining here; the place is packed nightly. With about 40 seats crammed into the dimensions of a large living room, you can snag a bite from your neighbor’s table with minimal effort. Brick walls amplify the noise. In the kitchen, someone’s spooning a shimmery orange blob of salmon eggs onto a bowl of rice mixed with chunks of Dungeness crab and sweet crab fat. Another burnishes slices of salmon belly with a blowtorch, polishing it for a sushi course. Servers hustle out with a platter of fried madai bream, golden-skinned and glowing with a sauce of mango and sweet chilies.

The menu’s construction involves shareable dishes. Some are proper appetizers. Puffy, crunchy pork rinds are crackly magic with the addition of a dip with tom yum ingredients: chili powder, kaffir lime, lemongrass. The garlicky chili sauce splashed on whole prawns is probably the closest you’ll get in St. Louis to the famous Malaysian chili crab.

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Photography by Kevin A. Roberts

Seafood laksa, shrimp toast, and tom yum pork skins

The Peranakan, a Chinese minority in Southeast Asia, brought laksa stew to Thailand. indo’s version is exemplary, exploding with flavor. The broth has hints of turmeric, coriander, and shrimp paste; the bowl’s overloaded with crisp fried salmon, salmon roe, mussels, and prawns. Green beans, lightly candied with salty, fragrant XO sauce, are plated on a beautiful rough-glazed dish smeared with a generous spackling of black garlic paste.

The short rib curry should be mandatory. The broth alone, a russet cream, silky with coconut milk, is seductive, particularly with the side of labne—basically yogurt cheese—that balances the curry’s overwhelmingly rich suppleness. The braised ribs practically melt, tender and meaty. A scattering of fried shallots on top lends contrasting texture. Every triangle of the moist, chewy house-made roti bread served alongside will be used to, well, whatever the Thai equivalent of fare la scarpetta—swipe up the sauce—is.

Think of laarb as an exotic tasty take on tartare. indo’s laarb tastes like the classic Isan style from Laos. Chopped lamb is molded into a loaf, redolent of fish sauce, lime, and enough prickly spices to pack a kick. Here, the laarb manages to be both refreshing and substantial.

Then there’s the sushi, and herein lies a problem. Not that it’s bad. It’s absolutely splendid, easily among the best in the Midwest. Your palate, though, is entirely centered on these spectacular, wildly flavorful Thai dishes. And suddenly you’ve got to reset: Is there any cuisine more opposite Thai than sushi and sashimi? Delicate and nuanced, with subtle flavors and textures, the sushi presents a daunting task. The temptation is to limit yourself to a particular cuisine on any one visit. If so, on your Sushi Night at indo, here’s what to expect: Average sushi is just that, and it’s easily available. Excellent sushi is exceedingly rare, and indo’s is a big step above that. Ingredients rarely seen in local sushi places show up here, such as otoro, luxuriously fatty tuna belly.

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Photography by Kevin A. Roberts

One night, striped jack arrived. The tiny fillet was perfectly partially split to accentuate the buttery softness, the fish tasting as if it was aged just a bit to bring out the nearly sweet fat. 

Madai, young sea bream, is scalded, a technique that tightens the fish’s skin and renders it delectable. This method, along with searing and marinating, demonstrates the talent here. (That sushi toppings are entirely “raw fish” is an absurd misconception.) Notice that there’s no soy sauce; Bognar uses a beautiful concentrated nikkiri sauce instead. Nor are there any fake wasabi blobs; the fresh root is ground here for sashimi, and the difference is astounding.

There are wines, cocktails, whiskey, some premium sake. They’re fun but unnecessary. Focus on that spectacular menu of Thai delights—or masterfully presented sushi. 

It’s a tough call.