Fresh oysters char-grilled with garlic butter, Creole spices, and grated Parmesan cheese
Timing, if not everything, is still much.
Which is what we thought as we clambered down the gangplank of the Grafton Oyster Bar right behind a tower of boxes, stacked on a dolly, being trundled toward the restaurant’s cooler, packed with crawfish chilling on ice.
“That’s only half the order,” the deliveryman told us. Along with the other half, the crawfish is destined to be the centerpiece of a crawfish boil scheduled for the next day, Saturday.
How many pounds?
“Feels like about a ton,” the deliveryman answered, muscling the dolly toward the cooler.
So we were missing the boil, by only a day. A day or a month, missing a good crawfish boil is always lamentable. We planned to assuage our disappointment by lunching at the Oyster Bar, which sits on the Mississippi. Well, technically, in the Mississippi. It is the new sister restaurant of the well-known oysteria (if that is not a word, it should be), the Broadway Oyster Bar in downtown St. Louis.
The menu is sort of “Nouveau Creole-Cool Cajun.” There are the expected standards: jambalaya; rice and beans, char-grilled oysters (above). There are also some offerings decidedly unusual: tacos stuffed with fried alligator tail meat. Sriracha-smacked breaded and fried shrimp. And some upscale: beef tournedos topped with a whiskey and peppercorn cream sauce. Lobster and wild mushroom pasta.
It’s like bon temps and bon chic are both roule-ing down the river. On weekends throughout the spring and summer and fall, bands with names like Clusterpluck and Outlaw Opry will perform, too loudly but with a lot of well-meant and happy hillbilly hoedown enthusiasm. And there are festivals scheduled, devoted to oysters and crab legs, shrimp, and scallops.
That river dominates the scene at the Oyster Bar, just as it does in every eatery in Grafton. Grafton has embraced the Mississippi in a way St. Louis, mysteriously, never has. (True, at times the river has embraced Grafton—with several feet of muddy floodwaters.) Views of the chocolate water, churning and boiling since it’s just where the Illinois River spills into the current, are a feature at most of the dining places in the city, from the always bustling Loading Dock, to the folksy little Grafton Fudge Country Corner. They offer vistas of the Mississippi that lend an air of relaxed enjoyment, a place where, while it’s only a short drive from St. Louis, feels like a vacation destination far from everyday.
The covered deck at the Oyster Bar has a spectacular view of the river. The ferry puts in only a few yards away; all kinds of boats cut their engines to reduce wakes as they idle up for fuel.
Even sitting inside, as we were, eagles and giant herons, their wings flapping lazily as they worked their way upriver, added to the atmosphere.
A friend suggests a good way to begin contemplation of what lies ahead is over a dozen oysters. Blue Points. Connecticut bred. Briny, satiny; almost more liquid than solid.
And no serious thoughts of main lunch courses can be entertained, of course, before a sampling of the appetizer for which the Oyster Bar is rapidly becoming known, the Alligator Sausage Cheesecake.
Not the most appetizing of food names, is it? If, hearing “cheesecake,” you’re thinking in terms like “New York” or “Hanks,” you’re on the wrong track. This is a savory cheesecake, more like a quiche, light and fluffy and made famous by the iconic New Orleans eatery, Jacques-Imo’s. The “cheese” part is warm Gouda and cream cheese, that contribute an exquisite richness. It’s mixed with nibbles of alligator sausage and shrimp bits, drizzled with a slightly spicy sauce that has a spark of chipotle, served with rough cuts of pita.
Our friend’s sampled Jacques-Imo’s version of alligator cheesecake recently. “This one’s got more cheese,” says, though whether that’s good or bad we’re not sure and we don’t want to distract him further since he’s at last studying the menu to get down to the real eating.
We have already decided. It hasn’t been easy, even for a professional like us. We had to consider and reject half a dozen different poor boys alone. The Oyster Bar isn’t fooling around with these sandwiches; they’re bringing the bread in, with its papery crust and airy light interior, from Gambino’s, the best bakery in New Orleans. And stuffing the loaves with fried oysters, catfish, or crawfish tails. With roasted cochon au lait, or pot roast. With lobster meat, flash fried and dressed with aioli and a Sriracha cream. Each one is worth its own visit.
We thought too, about the crawfish loaded enchiladas. And the Dungeness crab, steamed, then finished on the grill. And a crawfish fondue, a bread bowl ladled full of four melted cheeses, packed with sautéed crawfish tails. All intriguing, to be sure. Worthy. But we’re traditionalists when it comes to Cajun and Creole fare. So we focused on the classics. Jambalaya. Red beans and rice. Étouffée. Tough call.
So we decided to have all three. Problem solved.
Our friend has moved on during our deliberation. He’s spooning his way into a cup of crawfish bisque the color of old brick, supple and glossy, the delectable aroma of mudbug essences drifting across the table. On the patio outside, the tables are filling with lunch diners. Quartets of women, getting an early start on the weekend. Some locals wandering in for a seat at the bar; the place has all kinds of luring craft beers and drink specials.
The platter we’ve ordered is a sampling—though each of the “samples” would make a dinner portion at some restaurants. The red beans are chunky with andouille sausage and spicy tasso ham, the gravy smoky and almost sweet, ladled over rice. The jambalaya is heavy with chicken, ham, andouille, and shrimp, the rice tinted scarlet with tomato. The Bar’s rendition of étouffée is a hearty one; the roux is caramel light, the celery, onions, and peppers thick sliced, generous with sautéed crawfish tails.
Our friend looks up from the bottom of the crawfish bisque bowl. “What is your opinion of an oyster medley?” he asks.
“We try to keep an open mind about such things,” we say.
So by the time a barge has churned its way upstream past us, we are facing half a dozen oysters presented three different ways.
The oysters under that grassy gob of creamed spinach and bacon sauce are perfectly cooked, a very reasonable presentation of oysters Rockefeller. Next to them, the two other varieties are both in the running for most lavish opulence. Oysters Cardinale, topped with a smooth, peppery crawfish cream sauce and baked. And Bienville, the oysters covered in a cream sauce with Parmesan cheese, shrimp, and mushrooms.
Through the construction of a steel skeleton topped with tile plates, Grafton Oyster Bar is floating on the river. It’s part of a working marina. There are a lot of pleasure craft berthed; rafts of Sea-Doos. There is also a reminder of the “working” part. It’s a punt, square-bowed, boat fenders and equipment scattered across the bottom, with a reliable outboard at the stern. It’s not a boat for fun. Somebody makes a living, at least part of it, in a boat like this and we like it being there, a reminder that for all the relaxation and recreation places like the Grafton Oyster Bar offer, this is a river where people earn money and put food on the table.
It would be nice if, for all the grand renovation that’s going on at the St. Louis riverfront, there was a place for boats like this. They make the river real. We missed the crawfish boil. Our timing, though, being here to see that well-worn old punt, couldn’t have been better.
Grafton Oyster Bar
215 W. Water
Grafton, Il.
618-786-3000
Sun-Thurs: 11:00 a.m. - 10:00 p.m.
Fri-Sat: 11:00 a.m. - 11:00 p.m.
Bar open until 1 a.m. nightly
