Review: Three Flags Tavern

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Photography by Kevin A. Roberts

Yeah, there are cool St. Louis restaurants. But are there restaurants so cool, the waitresses tie their own bow ties? Yes, there are. Three Flags Tavern—the name comes from the day in 1804 when Spanish, French, and U.S. flags fluttered over St. Louis in turn—occupies a drab street corner near the Missouri Botanical Garden. Aside from a chalkboard that advertises fresh oysters or some other nightly temptation, little on the outside touts Three Flags. Step inside, though, to find a lovely eatery.

An inviting bar occupies most of one room. The barkeep is justifiably proud of his creations, with names like Flesh & Prairie and Madame Chouteau’s Funeral. The main dining area is modest, with tables and banquettes to seat about 40, but with old-fashioned high ceilings and a handsome wooden floor. It’s an homage to St. Louis’ frontier history. Portraits of that same Madame Chouteau, Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, Pierre Laclede, and other local 18th- and 19th-century notables are arranged on either side of a scoreboard-size map of the U.S. from 1832.

The food here theoretically recalls the trio of cultural culinary offerings that fed our ancestors. Unless one counts Mexico as a suburb of Spain, it’s a bit of a mystery under which flag the pozole appetizer is made. It’s a decidedly different take than usual, though, with a hefty pork shank, braised flaky-tender, sitting in a shallow pool of fragrant pork broth that’s chunky with hominy, tomatoes, and chopped jalapeños. Puffy rounds of Indian fry bread are useful for sopping up every drop. Though it’s listed as a starter, plan to share the enormous portion.

We detected slices of potato and parsnip in another appetizer, the root chips, all crisped and delectable, though too salty. A nutty red-pepper Romesco sauce is a snappy way to enjoy wedges of deep-fried Manchego cheese. Mini Monte Cristos are more like French toast: The bread, thickly cut and served around papery slices of prosciutto and Gruyère, is deep-fried and dusted with powdered sugar. A pot of red currant–jalapeño jelly for dipping makes the appetizer taste like a glorious breakfast instead of a starter.

The fried chicken will cost you 30 minutes—it takes that long to fry in a cast-iron skillet—but you’ll find the time well-spent. Pieces of half a bird are dredged in flour and cornmeal, then fried. The result tastes like Grandma’s, with all the salty crunchiness of the skin and the moist, steaming meat beneath. A fluffy biscuit is served alongside, with sage-accented, chicken broth–based velouté sauce. Juniper still has the best fried chicken in town, but Three Flags’ version is among the top half-dozen around.

We’re up to our warm, toasty buns with burgers in St. Louis. Still, the version here is remarkable. Made of ground brisket, the burger is juicy and tender. A house-made potato roll just barely contains the patty and its gooey blanket of Délice de Bourgogne cheese, slabs of crispy bacon, and sweet red onions. A similar house-made potato roll, sprinkled with poppy seeds, cradles cold lobster salad; while there is an entire crustacean’s worth of that salad, the results are not as good as they could be. A generous fillet of trout—almost enough for two—is delicately prepared, the meat a deep ruby, the skin crispy. Almonds and lingonberries are scattered on the plate; both add texture and taste that bring out the trout’s flavor.

A diner one table over lovingly snapped photos of a New York strip à la Diane, the pan juices thickened to a shimmery richness and spiked with Dijon mustard. Personally, we don’t get the food-photo thing—we’ve always resisted Instagramming our chilito—but we can see where a photo of this meat might find its way into one’s wallet next to the spouse and kids.

Sides include potatoes misnamed Lyonnaise that are actually Hasselbacks, helicoidally cut (like a potato Slinky) and roasted, with a creamy topping and just enough crust to satisfy. French fries are equally worthy, bistro-good. A side of greens would satisfy Miss Robbie. There’s a smoky, side-meat undercurrent to them, with a touch of sugar that brings out the peppery, grassy flavor.

We wavered at dessert: a chocolate flourless cake with a dollop of framboise crème anglaise, a crème brûlée, or an apple tart? We settled on the last option and were satisfied. It wasn’t too sweet, with a whack of cardamom, the fragrance of Calvados, and frothy whipped cream.

French Côtes du Rhône, California merlot, Spanish Garnacha—you can hoist the wine banners of all three countries from a list that’s small, but well-matched to the menu. Given the trouble of pairing a single bottle with the variety of food here, the number of by-the-glass offerings is particularly nice.

Curiously, a big basket of bread sat on a counter in the dining area, and the restaurant takes an obvious pride in its house-made breads—yet none came to the table. We started to ask, but got distracted by those bow ties. We asked whether they were clip-ons. Our waitress flipped a collar to show hers was real—and told us one of her duties was teaching the new guys how to do it.

The Bottom Line: Hearty, multicultural fare is served in a rustic, historical setting that’s befitting of the city.

4940 Southwest

The Hill

314-669-9222

threeflagstavern.com

Lunch and dinner Tue–Sat

Average Main Course: $17

Reservations: Surely.

Acoustics: They’re lively, though not awful.

Chef: John O’Brien