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Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
Not Lemmons Chicken with carrot-and-potato mash and veggies
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Photo by Kevin A. Roberts
Cevapi flatbread with feta butter and mozzarella
Midway through the ruby-fleshed seared trout, it occurs to me that a visit to Lemmons by Grbic is something of a civic obligation. You want to understand the city? Have a meal here.
For decades an iconic South City eatery, the original Lemmons closed before being renovated and reopened by the Grbic family. (Their eponymous Bosnian restaurant’s nearby.) Outside, the ’50s-era sign still beckons. Inside, it’s charmingly new: brick and wood, Sarajevo-crafted tables and chairs. A long, attractive bar divides the space.
The food here is comfortably upscale without pretension. There’s that trout, filleted and seared with a spritz of lemon and smoky seasoning. Chicken kebabs are spitted with vegetables and slathered in a sweet chili glaze. A sandwich, big enough for two, is loaded with braised chuck roast, caramelized mushrooms, onions, and smoked Provolone. A plump crab cake is slipped into a bun with slivered pan-sautéed cucumbers and carrots. And there’s fried chicken—“Not Lemmons” is how the menu describes it (accurately, because it isn’t the renowned original recipe). The chicken, with its buttermilk-tangy richness and lovely golden crust, is accompanied by a mound of mashed potatoes and carrots with a shimmer of brown butter.
Lemmons is a classic St. Louis restaurant: intimately associated with a neighborhood, filled with families and couples, and home to “How you doing tonight?” service.
See also: A conversation with Ermina and Senada Grbic
So what’s the “by Grbic” part? The Balkan culinary influence is minor, providing tweaks to the menu rather than dominating it. Flatbread is layered with mozzarella, nubbins of beef ćevapi sausage, and kajmak, a rich clotted cream. Dips—one containing that same cream, another made with ajvar, a roasted–red pepper sauce—accompany baskets of puffy tan gougère-like uštipci bread balls. The burger is half ground beef, half “beef bacon” (no pork). Krempita, an incredibly flaky puff pastry layered with custard, is a Serbian classic. The breads come from Sana Bakery, down the street; airy, like a baguette, they work well with the sandwiches.
“Nobody comes here just for Bosnian food,” says our server. That’s reasonable—there are other authentic Bosnian restaurants nearby. The approach at Lemmons is to give just enough of a taste of the owner’s native cuisine to give the place its own distinctive twist.
And that’s the thing: The pot doesn’t always entirely melt in St. Louis. Here flavors appear in subtle seasonings that stir individuality into that pot—a small yet unmistakable take on the comfortable and familiar that gives a taste of the different to what we already know. It’s nice; it’s typical St. Louis. Lemmons by Grbic does it well.
