Downtown’s newest hotel restaurant leaves a lasting impression

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Photography by Kevin A. Roberts

Dry-aged duck with charred shishito peppers, smoked mushroom spaetzle, and cherry tomatoes

The absence of street signage is a sign of hip-itude, so one might easily pass The Last Kitchen & Bar before noticing the doorman and remembering: It’s in a hotel, The Last Hotel. Inside, it’s more like a 1940s bank lobby—cavernous, with hangar–high ceilings and sequoia-esque support columns. You’ll likely need to search for the hostess station, down past the shoeshine stand. Once there, you’re in for a pleasant experience.

The name makes more sense when you learn that this was originally the International Shoe Company building, magnificently renovated into a hotel and restaurant. Last—shoe last. Get it? (If you don’t, perhaps the leather heels that serve as drink coasters will get the point across.)

Colossal windows bathe the space in natural light. It’s like dining in a Grant Wood landscape. Tables are spread out on a floor with the dimensions of a pasture. Some in back offer seating for bigger parties and a view of an Art Deco relief sculpture on a side of the adjacent City Museum. The bar’s the length of a basketball court. A high-top table looks directly into the kitchen, which holds wood-fired ovens and a chef’s dream of a grill. 

Executive chef Evy Swoboda, Pastaria’s former chef de cuisine, spent a month traveling throughout the Midwest to do menu research. “I discovered that St. Louis cuisine is hard to define, because the city was a melting pot founded on river trade,” she says. The dishes reflect that same spirit. “We’re not limiting ourselves to one type of cuisine. St. Louis has neighborhoods with different ethnic foods, so you may see a Mexican dish or something Indian-forward as a way to incorporate the city’s different cultures.”

The resulting list of choices is both eclectic and tightly curated. If you dine as a quartet, your party can cover the entire menu. Glistening with juices, a blushing duck breast is tender, full of flavor. A tumble of shishito peppers—about one in five packs heat—is a sheaf of edible lottery tickets, brightening the duck’s meatiness. Even better: the mushroom-rich spaetzle, plump, tender, a brilliant carbohydrate for that fowl. Gnocchi does the same admirable job for a roasted half chicken, lending balance to the meat. The flesh is moist, the skin a fine crackly shell. Braised Swiss chard makes you feel less guilty about that lovely golden skin—and the beurre blanc that adds its rich luster. A thick fillet of salmon is roasted until the skin crisps delectably, the flesh as roseate as an autumn sunset. Vegetables come from the pan, their sugars providing sweetness. The only entrée that was less than entirely satisfying was the steak, which wasn’t bad—just ordinary, lacking the powerful mineral tang of a great cut of beef. But the roasted Brussels sprouts served alongside were exquisitely charred, sweet, with a grassy earthiness.

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Photography by Kevin A. Roberts

Roasted Oyster Mushroom

A white balsamic reduction, orange zest, and cured egg yolk figure in the oyster mushroom side. You can taste all of those ingredients, though it’s the glorious roasted mushrooms at the center of a wonderful starter. Whole anchovies and black pepper enliven a Romaine salad; house-made croutons and a generous helping of Parmesan shards add their magic. A trio of doorknob-size scallops, seared crusty, are adorned with a red pepper purée that provides just a hint of heat.

The wine list has been thoughtfully compiled. Cocktails come a bit slowly, but they’re well constructed.

Hotel restaurants here are different from their European counterparts. Probably it’s the size of the U.S., where space stretches, distances yawn. European hotel restaurants are cozy; it’s as if you’ve only popped down the road from home. Our hotel restaurants never have that feel; the atmosphere, no matter how lavish, always has at least a faint perfume of journeying and displacement. That’s one reason The Last Kitchen could be St. Louis’ premier place for the sort of people-watching in which you conjure elaborate tales about those around you: The couple on a “Let’s work on our marriage” getaway. The salesman, dining alone, contemplating, “Was the career worth the travel?”

The hotel is luxurious, to be sure. The restaurant is a culinary delight, particularly for St. Louisans: You’re not in a strange city. You’re going home to your own comfortable bed. So linger, not because a room awaits you upstairs but instead because it doesn’t. You can relax, enjoy the moment, eat some peach cobbler, savor a vintage port. 

With excellent food and able service, The Last Kitchen reminds us that it’s good to be home.