Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
The dinnerware at Boundary was among the unexpected dining delights of the past year.
Dishing It Up
Dinnerware at Boundary
Earlier this summer, the Saint Louis Art Museum presented “Self-Taught Genius,” a collection from the American Folk Art Museum, which included an alkaline-glazed stoneware jug made by 19th-century folk potter Dave Drake. It might have been among the most beautiful objects ever displayed at the museum. We were reminded of that jug while dining at Boundary. The dinnerware—irregularly shaped, rough, some of it unglazed and with earthen colors—makes the food even more attractive. There was some serious thought put into the selection of plates and platters. They were a rare, appreciated joy.
Least Awful Offal
Sweetbreads at Randolfi’s Italian Kitchen
Heartbreakingly tender lobes of sweetbreads boast a texture like fine mozzarella. They're pan-fried and dribbled with a glossy sauce of Calabrian peppers and slivers of sliced plums that introduce a touch of sweetness. It’s a splendidly delightful starter at a place where all of the courses that follow are equally worthy.
Scrapple That Isn’t Crapple
Scrapple at Reed’s American Table
We tried scrapple for the first time at a crowded diner in Washington, D.C., during one winter that was so cold, the windows were steamed to the color of dirty ice. We returned more than a decade later, convinced the ground and molded patties couldn’t have been as bad as we remembered. They were. That’s why we forked up just a nibble of the scrapple “little plate” at Reed’s at first, trying it only because we’re professionals and feel a gustatory obligation to readers who want to know. To our surprise, this scrapple was more like a smoky, fragrant pulled pork, mixed with polenta and pressed into a tidy brick, sautéed until the edges were crisp. It was presented with a fried egg and caramelized Brussels sprouts, then topped with sage aioli.
Fezzing Up
Ezogelin Soup at Sheesh Restaurant
One of the most fascinating aspects of writing about food is discovering the history of dishes. When we asked about the Ezogelin soup at Sheesh Restaurant, for instance, we were told it referred to “the soup of Ezo the bride," a beautiful woman with a tragic tale. In early 20th century Turkey, Ezo's family arranged for her to marry a man who was in love with another woman. She later remarried and spent the rest of her life trying to please a nasty mother-in-law. Thick with tomato, bulgur, and earthy lentils, Ezogelin soup might not taste any better from knowing its history, but somehow it does taste more interesting.
Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
Suavity, Squared
“Atmosphere” gets thrown around a lot in discussions of restaurants, mostly by writers who've tossed around the word “vibe” so often, it’s been broken beyond all literary repair and they’re looking for a substitute. Too often, what’s meant by “atmosphere” is “artificial ambience awkwardly aimed at ginning up contrived coolness, ersatz elegance, or fake folksy charm." Few eateries actually manage to generate an honest mood micro-climate as well as I Fratellini, which feels much like a European bistro without feeling too manufactured. The brick walls and dim lighting, the intimately spaced tables and stylish dinnerware all feel natural here. And the food matches the sophistication.
It’s All About The Bass
Striper at 801 Fish
It’s challenging to express the cultural role of the North Atlantic’s striped bass. In the early 1600s, Captain John Smith referred to Chesapeake Bay as being so full of the fish that it was possible to stroll “dryshod” across their backs. Today, after overharvesting in recent years, the striped bass is an iconic species for much of the East Coast. Fishermen casting for “stripers” off the jetties and breakwaters around Long Island are a certain sign of spring. A luscious fillet of this white-fleshed fish, seared moist and flaky on a cushion of risotto with Parmesan shavings, is more than a meal. It’s a memory of place and season. Served at 801 Fish, it was among the best seafood dishes we tried all year.
Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
Six-Legged Starter
Charred Octopus at The Preston
Remember how Grandma always said mollusks make the best appetizers? She could have been talking about the charred octopus at The Preston. It tastes like every one of those suckers is giving you a tasty kiss—a smoked paprika-and-vinaigrette-laced kiss, with brown butter gnocchi and a smooth, pudding-like purée of sunchokes. The smoky hints in that char play off the succulent meatiness of the octopus. It served as a fine introduction to the pleasant dining experience at The Preston.
There Could Have Been Trouble
Vintage Poster at Scarlett’s Wine Bar
On the night we dined at Scarlett’s Wine Bar, we saw the potential for serious problems: a large poster advertising the French version of the 1909 German operetta Der Graf von Luxemburg. And you know how that can go. Somebody insists it was Annie von Ligety, in the original performances, who owned the role of Angelee. Someone else maintains it was definitely, absolutely Lucia Popp. And before you can sing the first verse of “Mein ahnherr war der Luxemburg,” things get out of hand and somebody’s taking a cocktail of St. Germain and champagne right in the face and getting a Fernet Branca Fanciulli in return. After all, Scarlett’s has a fabulous collection of cocktail makings—better for drinking than throwing, admittedly. But you know how people are about that operetta. Fortunately, the subject never came up while we dined there. So while you might want to keep your opinion to yourself, take note of this poster, perhaps the coolest restaurant decoration we saw this year.
A Slice of Nice
Bread at Parigi
Baked by Union Loafers, it’s a simple, coarse bread that's the color of a barren, muddy field in winter. It's sliced thick and served with a pool of olive oil. Other places offer the same sort of thing. Some of them do a good job, but none accomplish this most civilized way of beginning a meal as well as Parigi.
Confirmation of Our Hispanic Highbrow Theory
Frida Kahlo Portrait at Público
We have this theory: Frida Kahlo has become so ubiquitous, a week doesn't go by without seeing one of her self-portraits. Why? We have no explanation. So we weren’t surprised when a friend’s young daughter announced she was dressing up as Kahlo for Halloween. (It's a relatively quick, affordable costume: Put your hair up in a bun, stick some daises in it, and slap a swatch of electrician’s tape above your eyes. Done.) We weren’t surprised either when we visited Público in University City and found Kahlo glaring down at us as we enjoyed the guacamole-stuffed arepas. Gracias to Público for substantiating our theory.
Most Unlikely Dish Name
Alligator Sausage Cheesecake at Grafton Oyster Bar
Here’s an entertaining way to pass the time during your next long car trip with the kids: Try to combine three words that couldn't seem less likely to be matched with one another. Botox Fidelity Data. Fraudulent Bunny Mayhem. Functional Catalogue Models... It doesn’t matter what trio your imagination strings together, you aren’t going to beat Alligator Sausage Cheesecake. It came from New Orleans and has worked its way up the Mississippi to Grafton Oyster Bar, where we sampled a wedge last summer. Savory, hearty, and creamy, it was the best dish we tried this year that we didn’t think we’d like in a million years.
Fine Dining’s Conversation Courses
The People We Met
Wandering the Earth—or at least the part covering St. Louis City and County—on a pilgrimage devoted to eating is a job that implies a certain clinical distance from one’s subject. Ask too many questions, and suspicions are aroused. Too friendly or too gregarious, and a server or the chef starts eyeing you, wondering what’s up. So we tend to sit and eat and limit our interactions. Every once in a while, though, circumstances are such that we get to talk with the people who make our profession possible. We spent an afternoon with the owner of Big John’s Cuban Café, in Wood River, Illinois, who sat at our table drinking espresso and telling us his life story. We stood in the glass-walled foyer at Parigi, watching a terrific thunderstorm and listening to the parking valet explain how he commutes from Illinois and hopes to one day become an EMT. We talked about the state of Indian cricket with the owner of Absolute BBQ Indian Wish Grill. We sat at Nathalie Pettus' now-closed eponymous place as she told tales of her grandmother, who was a Veiled Prophet queen in 1906. We discussed the nuances of pastrami with the cook at The Corner Butcher in Fenton.
They were great conversations—almost as good as the food we ate this year.
