Stuff to eat. Mostly around St. Louis.
Elsworth Supper Club
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Another post, and it’s about another pop up series? Honestly, I’m shocked too.
This one is about Elsworth Supper Club, the new series from Justin (Elsworth) and Amelia McMillen—two friends of mine. Now you’re thinking, “Of course you’re going to write nice things about them! You’re friends!” False. I mean, I am going to write nice things about them, but it’s not because we’re friends. It’s because they’re very, very good at what they do. If I didn’t like it, I would just not writing anything at all and continuously lie to them and tell them that I was working on this post but that the words just weren’t coming because I had writer’s block. In time, they would either forget about it or I would just avoid them until they forgot about me.
Some background: Justin was a long-time chef at Sidney Street Cafe, followed by helping to open the 3 Michelin-starred Single Thread in Healdsburg, CA, then a grand return to St. Louis as Niche Group’s culinary director and now a similar role with Balkan Treat Box. Amelia has a similar background—she worked the front of house at Niche before moving to Single Thread, as well. She’s also a registered dietician, an incredible self-taught baker, and used to make the most incredible caramel apples under her Rebel Roots Caramel Apple Company. Everyone ask her to bring them back. Do it for me.
Anyway, as these two contemplate the idea of opening a restaurant, they had the brilliant idea of testing out concepts and recipes at their adorable house, using their awesome grill that I want to steal. More specifically, in the screened in garage-turned-dining room behind their home, which is much more cozy and beautiful than you are likely envisioning. If Amelia wasn’t involved, I’m sure it would just be dark and full of spiders—just like Justin’s hometown of Nabb, Indiana. Bless her heart.
The concept, more or less, is a combination of the family-style meals Justin had growing up combined with the refinement, techniques, and flavors of Japan that he gathered at Single Thread.
In the recent meals that I’ve attended, some of those dishes have included:
Chicken hearts with plum BBQ & sansho
Summer vegetables with malted potato and cured yolk
American Wagyu Steak with rhubarb, chanterelles
Tomato rice cooked in a traditional donabe
Broccoli salad with kumquat kosho and Missouri pecans
Milk bread + koji butter
Gooseberry pie with chamomile ice cream & genmaicha
Golden Sesame banana pudding
Each dinner seats 8-10 people and sells out quickly on their Instagram page, which I linked to earlier in this post. Each meal includes savory small bites, 3 plated courses, sweet small bites, and coffee service. It’s also openly BYOB and at both dinners I attended, people brought lots of wine and champagne to share with the whole group. I brought nothing, twice, because I am the worst. Still, people had to be nice to me because I had a camera and no one wants to be shamed on a food blog no one reads.
Similar to the last post, I don’t have much more to say. The food is great, the atmosphere was fun, and I’ve made some new friends through it. I even got invited to a dog’s birthday party. What more could you want?
Good Time Kitchen
I remember this glorious time around, oh, 2017, where it felt like pop-up dinners were happening left and right. Everyone had a pop up dinner. I’m sure at the time I contemplated some stupid, ill-fated idea, too. It probably involved nachos. If I’m being honest…most of them just weren’t that good, and that was not reflection of the chef’s talent (most of the time). No one is going to make a delicious 4-course dinner for 40 people cooking out of a room that has literally no equipment. I’ve watched chefs cook in back alleys, garages, abandoned buildings. After getting a cold plate of food for the umpteenth time, I just gave up. I stopped popping up.
Here we are, years later. I’m older and, some would say, dumber. I haven’t blogged in years. I just wrapped a hot dog in American cheese, wrapped that in a tortilla, and microwaved it. That was my dinner. That’s where I’m at.
Anyway, pop ups. They’re back, baby. And this time, they’re (mostly) being cooked at places with kitchens. What a revelation. This article is about Good Time Kitchen, which comes from Cat Willey and Wil Brawley. Those of you who have spent time at the bars of The Lucky Accomplice or Billie Jean likely know Wil: covered in tattoos, full of wit and banter. He’s well known for expounding loquaciously with his considerable vocabulary. He also once made a curdled milk drink for me during a photoshoot, because he doesn’t respect my art.
Cat has been a long time server at Peacemaker, and she is low-key one of the best pasta makers in St. Louis. She’s unequivocally a badass.
If you followed Wil or Cat on Instagram before October 2022, you would have seen that they were cooking literal feasts every night. Work nights. Who does that? Who makes fresh pasta for dinner multiple times a week?
At some point in late 2022, I finally got the call I’d been waiting on from Wil: “Spency, bro, we’re gonna do a pop up. It’s called Good Time Kitchen. Wanna come take some pics at the house and eat some caviar?” Obviously, because it was Wil, this quote has been severely shortened for brevity’s sake.
See below for the caviar I was promised and given:
I knew their food was probably good, but I had my doubts. Once again, Wil served me a curdled milk cocktail. As you can infer from the decision I made to write about this, the food was beyond good—it was delicious, playful, and meticulously thought out.
They’ve since done two pop-up series: one at Grand Spirits, one at 4Hands Downtown.
I won’t lie to you, like I didn’t lie to them: when I walked into the “kitchen” they had at Grand Spirits, I thought they were fucked. There was no kitchen. They brought in some campfire stoves and a countertop oven, all placed on top of some plastic folding tables. There wasn’t really space to plate. Each ‘station’ was tiny. This was their first dinner of this scale ever. Yet…somehow, they prevailed, and not once did they yell, fight, or cry in the alley behind the bar. I would probably turned into Gordon Ramsay, minus the talent, height, and money.
The first menu was as follows:
Tart: white soy cured ikura, egg, creme, pickled shallot
Arancini: black garlic, yolk, harissa, san Marzano tomato, microgreens
Hokkaido milk bun: togarashi, miso, finger lime compound butter
Lobster salad: yuzu kosho kewpie mayo, wagyu belly, cashew, smoked tallow
Tortellini: oyster mushroom, taleggio, roasted garlic, saffron, pine nut, aleppo
Sorbet: pear, pomegranate, tawny port, marsala custard, granola, nocino
Bread pudding: hazelnut, tahini whip, pepita and sesame brittle
Nothing like a 7 course tasting menu for your first ever public-facing dinner.
It was goddamn killer. Look at the dishes below. Behold them.
The second pop-up series was, quite possibly, made just for me. I am easily manipulated with food, and they both know it.
Castelvetrano Olive Fritti: gochugaru, salted plum sour cream, scallion cream cheese
Black Sesame Korokke Salad: Thai basil pesto, black vinegar, fennel, apple, pickled pepper slaw
Mapo Cannellini Dip: five spice, whipped ricotta, Sichuan pepper, scallion, fry bread
Yuzu Egg Salad: milk bread, pickled cucumber, cashew, chili, white soy king salmon roe
Crab & Ricotta Doppio Ravioli: Chile butter, furikake breadcrumbs, chive
Tiramisu: dry vermouth, earl grey, strawberry mandarin coulis
Ice cream: use, coconut, oreo
It, too, was quite awesome.
I don’t really have anything else to say or pitch to you. There are no upcoming Good Time Kitchen pop ups—but, inevitably, when one does appear: go.
PIZZA CHAMP
Right around when Covid hit, I was about to post a blog about Elmwood. I had done my due diligence—I was eating there constantly. Crushing the menu. Taking photos of this and that. It was bound to be a blog post of epic proportions, much like my waistline.
Then that goddamn virus hit and changed the game. Elmwood valiantly fought the fight, changing their menu a number of times to figure out what worked for them and what diners wanted. Fine dining to-go is a difficult pill to swallow, and even with a simplified menu, it just wasn’t making sense.
Pizza, on the other hand, always makes sense. Everyone loves pizza. Especially Elmwood’s owners, Chris Kelling & chef Adam Altnether. And I’m here to tell you that I strongly believe Elmwood is instantly in my pantheon for best pizza in St. Louis. Union Loafers, Pastaria, Pie Guy, Noto…they all have their purposes. Elmwood’s is what I would call my “everyday” pizza, because I could eat it every damn day. It’s not quite a New York slice, even if its enormous 16” size makes it seem that way. It’s like however you remember your favorite childhood pizza tasting, but actually true. It’s the pizza the the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were always scarfing down.
I’ve had every Elmwood pizza a number of times, and I can honestly say I like them all, but I’m just going to talk about my Top 4 (unranked).
Marinara
The Marinara pizza may be the simplest pizza on the menu—red sauce, garlic, chili flakes, red onion then just a bit of pecorino and parm shaved on top—but as we all know the simplest things are the hardest to get right. This thing is light, as far as Elmwood pizzas go, which makes it a great appetizer slice before you dive into one of the big boys. I recommend they change the name to the Chris Kelling because it’s lean, spicy, and simple, just like him.
Double Pepperoni
This really is the gateway drug into Elmwood pizza. Most importantly, they’re using Ezzo pepperoni, the newly crowned king of the ‘roni. It’s the same that they use at Loafers and Louie. It cups up and, most importantly, gets deliciously crunchy (‘cronchy’ as the kids say). I know some amateurs out there are going to look at this and be like THAT PEPPERONI IS BURNED but it isn’t. And if you don’t like it, you’re wrong. Sorry. The second most important thing about this pizza is the sheer quantity of pepperoni on it. It’s like a normal amount, but doubled. That’s almost three times the normal ‘roni levels. Wow.
Taco Pizza
I don’t think I’ve had a taco pizza since I was in grade school because even then I realized that taco pizzas are bad. When I saw taco pizza on Elmwood’s menu, I scoffed at it. I turned my nose up. I wrote a 1-star Yelp review without ever having taken a bite.
But then I did take a bite, and after consulting with my therapist, I’m willing to admit that I was wrong. Bad taco pizza is bad. Good taco pizza is excellent. The pizza is topped with a pizza-taco sauce, ground beef, mozz, cheddar, red onion, then tomato, lettuce, tortilla strips, and a crema post-bake. I can’t tell you the number of nights I’ve scarfed down 3 giant slices of this then wandered the halls of my house like an old timey ghost, just moaning due to how uncomfortably full I was. Totally worth it.
Buffalo Chicken
I’ve made no secret of my love of buffalo chicken pizza. I can tell you, without any hesitation in my clogged up heart, Elmwood’s is the best I’ve had. Why? Because they’ve put some thought into it. So many buff chix zzas just go overboard—piling bleu cheese and dry AF baked chicken over a hot sauce base. No finesse, no balance. Elmwood’s is treated as a cheese pizza initially, but when it comes out of the oven, bleu cheese crumble, sliced celery, and these beautiful, crunchy nuggets of fried chicken tossed in house buffalo sauce are spread on top.
Every pizza on the menu is worth ordering, though. There are no stinkers. The “When in Rome” with roasted potatoes, corn, bacon, red onion, and rosemary is one of their most popular pies, but I just prefer red sauces over white sauce on my pizza. They also have sides well worth considering, like their classic chopped salad, arancini, and chicken wings. Also! They do delivery within a 5 mile radius of the restaurant, and more often than not, Chris Kelling himself will bring the pizza right up to your door. That’s service for ya.
The Banh Mi Shop
Look, we all know what restaurants are dealing with right now. It’s brutal. Even the most successful restaurants are more or less on life support—and with winter coming, things are looking grim. That’s why it’s more important than ever to continue supporting the places you love in whatever way you feel comfortable. You don’t need to dine in. Get food to-go or delivered. Buy giftcards. Just make sure you’re allocating your dollars to the businesses you want to see survive Covid.
For me, one of those businesses is The Banh Mi Shop. Chef/owner Jimmy Trinh opened the restaurant in late February, and being the lil’ banh mi boy that I am, I went immediately. The curry chicken banh mi and the lemongrass tofu blew me away. Like, I went back a few days later and got two sandwiches good. Then Covid hit.
What I’ve admired about Jimmy during all of this is that he never seemed bitter or fatalist. If I saved up enough money to open a restaurant and immediately had to close it and deal with Covid restrictions, I’d have probably been a whiny asshole. He put his head down and just kept trying to improve. Better, faster sandwiches. Weekly specials. Secret menu items.
The food though…man, is it good. The menu is made up of three main sections: banh mi sandwiches, spring rolls, and noodle bowls. The bowls and rolls are good, of course, but it’s the restaurant’s namesake that we’re all really going for.
In my opinion, banh mi sandwiches are the most underrated and under-appreciated sandwiches out there.
Not by me, obviously. This is a blog post about them, after all. But probably by you.
What makes them so good is the balanced complexity that you find in so much of Southeast Asian cooking. Sweet, bitter, salty, sour, umami. Crunch, softness.
As Jimmy once said to me, a perfect banh mi baguette’s crust shatters like glass when you bite into it, but the bread underneath is pillowy and buttery. Their custom ordered bread nails that.
The standard ingredients go on next: pickled daikon and carrots, sprigs of cilantro, slices of jalapeño and cucumber, and then their rich house aioli. The Banh Mi Shop has 8 fillings listed on their site, then there are two secret off-the-menu specials: the breakfast sandwich with fried eggs and their Saigon Classic on a croissant.
I cannot recommend their lemongrass chicken and tofu enough. The flavor is absolutely spot on, delivering that floral, citrusy true lemongrass flavor that I find irresistible. Close behind is the curry chicken sautéed with yellow curry and coconut milk—as you can probably imagine, it tastes similar to the lemongrass, but with more spices. If I’m not getting one of those three (which is very rarely the case because I have a lemongrass addiction), I go for either the soy sauce glazed grilled beef or pork. Because grilled meats are delicious.
To wash it all down, grab a glass of their CocoCane (also off menu)—one part coconut water, one part sugarcane juice. It’s almost as addictive as the sandwiches.
iNDO: Thai Street Food
Restaurants are not doing well.
I imagine most of you know this already, but in case you don’t: they aren’t. No matter what they’re telling you when you pick up or what you’re seeing on social media, know that they’re all suffering. Some more than others. Many are doing “okay” at best. With little support or guidance from the government and a shift to primarily doing curbside takeout, it’s not much of a surprise.
I’ve been particularly interested in restaurants that have pivoted their concepts. You can’t expect diners to drop $100+ per person on a takeout tasting menu, nor can you expect any chef to want to do that. You want to eat iNDO’s omakase out of a plastic container just as much as Nick Bognar wants to serve it to you.
The most logical pivot for many of the higher end restaurants is to workshop a more casual concept. Something they’ve envisioned for restaurant #2 or always wanted to try. SHIFT with their sandwiches. Elmwood with their pizzas. And now iNDO with their Thai street food.
I miss iNDO, but damn, I’ll miss their Thai street food (so, Nick, you better open that restaurant ASAP)—even with us living in a golden age of Thai food in St. Louis (Chao Baan, Fork & Stix, redacted upcoming Thai restaurant).
Since I had the chance to try the whole menu and liked all of it, I figured it’s worth talking about the whole thing.
Nick's no dummy, so you’ll instantly recognize a few iNDO classics have made the street food cut. The sweet and tangy cabbage salad with candied peanuts and tamarind dressing has made the cut as-is, because it’s perfect. Lamb ribs have been replaced by baby back pork ribs in the palm sugar ribs set. I was concerned they wouldn’t be as fall-apart-tender and delicious as the lamb ribs, and that would require me to break each of Nick’s fingers, but lucky for both of us, they were just as good. Last but certainly not least is a dish that combines two of Spencer’s favorites: the braised short ribs and the smoky, rich khao soi soup.
I was debating how to go about ordering my talking points, but it’s easiest to just go straight down the menu. Let’s go.
Chicken satay skewers: I love satay. I love meat on a stick. I especially love the red curry coconut peanut sauce you get for dipping these. I’d recommend this dish if it was just a bowl of that, TBH.
Papaya salad: A Thai classic, mixing all the things you love into one dish. It’s sweet, crunchy, fresh, a bit tart, and it’s got a special little somethin’ from the candied shrimp.
Chicken wings: One of my favorites FOR SURE. After they’re marinated, they’re dredged in cornstarch and fried twice, insuring they’re extra crispy and extra delicious. They’re topped with some crispy garlic and Nick’s top secret spice mix (there’s salt, pepper, and sugar involved) and served with some spicy, herby naam jim. I will not share these with you.
Poke: It’s not like Nick could completely avoid working with raw fish. His take on poke is a bit more Thailand than Hawaii, as you’d expect, but damn it was good.
Vegetarian cold noodles: My girlfriend tried these before I did and immediately became Gollum. I was given one (measly) bite, but considering how she devoured them while saying, “my precious, my precious”, I think it’s safe to say they’re a solid choice.
Crab & shrimp fried rice: Just what you expect, but probably better. Dried shrimp give it that Thai funk you crave.
Spicy Thai sausage (Sai Oua): My favorite of all the dishes, I think. A fairly traditional herb-packed sai oua sausage served with the same naam jim as the wings.
Fried sweet bananas: I mean…tempura fried bananas topped with condensed milk and toasted coconut.
Cabbage Salad | onion straws, candied peanuts, tamarind dressing
Chicken Satay | coconut peanut sauce, cucumber salad
Chicken Wings | crispy garlic, naam jim
Crab & Shrimp Fried Rice: blue crab, candied shrimp, egg, scallions
Papaya Salad | avocado, candied shrimp, candied peanuts, tomatoes
Poke | daily fresh fish, sweet soy, crispy chips
Thai Sausage (Sai Oua) | sticky rice, spicy thai chili sauce, fried shallots
Vegetarian Cold Noodles | crispy shallots, ground peanuts, sweet soy
Fried Sweet Bananas | condensed milk, toasted coconut
Quarantine Cookbook Recommendations
I don’t know about you guys, but I have been cooking a ton during quarantine. It’s been refreshing (excluding the mountain of dishes…). It’s like my art project for the day. It’s also given me the opportunity to go through my not-so-small collection of cookbooks and try things I’ve never done before. In case you’ve been looking for some solid new ones to purchase, here are some recommendations from chez Spencer.
Chrissy Teigen’s Cravings and Cravings: Hungry For More
It’s easy to dismiss celebrity cookbooks—most are shameless cash grabs—but these are not. Well, they might be, but they’re worth buying. Don’t believe me? Ask chef Brian Moxey. He’ll tell you the same thing. Both of these cookbooks are full of ‘craveable’ dishes, which is fitting considering their titles. Almost every dish in the book sounds like something I’d want to make, and very few of them are a long time commitment. Her chunky creamy mushroom soup (with no dairy) is a winter favorite of mine. I just opened the cookbook to John’s fried chicken wings with spicy honey butter and BRB going to eat some wings.
Ivan Orkin’s The Gaijin Cookbook
I love Japanese food. So much. When I discovered takoyaki (basically pancake balls filled with octopus, ginger, crispy bits, scallions, etc.), my whole life changed. Then I met takoyaki’s larger, more impressive brother, the okonomiyaki. And now, thanks to Ivan, I have nearly perfected the cabbage and meat filled pancake, smothered in okonomi sauce, Kewpie mayo, and dancing flecks of bonito. Okonomiyaki has become almost a weekly addition to my menus. Life is good. Besides okonomiyaki, this cookbook is a great intro to making Japanese food at home and developing a sense for the flavors of Japan without being overwhelmed with new techniques and ingredients.
Michael Solomonov’s Zahav and Israeli Soul
Things I am planning on doing in the near future: going to Philadelphia and eating (almost) all my meals at Michael Solomonov’s restaurants. He has completely redefined my views on the Jewish cooking I more or less grew up with. So many dishes in both of these cookbooks are amazing—make Zahav’s lamb shoulder for a dinner party and drink up the accolades—but my absolute favorite is his falafel. I’ve never had a better falafel than the ones I’ve made using his recipe. The flavor is incredible, the texture is perfect. That recipe is in Israeli Soul and I think you should make it as soon as you possibly can. Here’s a video of him making it so you can see how easy it is.
Bonnie Frumkin Morales’ Kachka
Unlike Solomonov, I’m an Ashkenazi Jew, meaning my family comes mostly from Eastern Europe & Russia, rather than the Middle East or Mediterranean. Instead of getting to grow up falafel, pita, and kibbeh, we had stuff like noodle kugel, borscht, and gefilte fish. Bummer. In my head, Eastern European food was boring and plain, mostly made up of root vegetables, potatoes, and cabbage. Then I went to Kachka in Portland. Good god. That single meal completely shifted my thoughts on Russian cuisine. It’s delicate and thoughtful, taking mostly simple ingredients and combining them into something bursting with flavor—not unlike what Balkan Treat Box does. I was embarrassed for generalizing and putting down an entire cuisine. I’ve yet to make the Russian dumplings (pelmeni) that my dad and I absolutely demolished in Portland, but that will be changed shortly.
Jim Lahey’s Sullivan Street Bakery Cookbook and My Bread
Before there was Ted Wilson, there was Jim Lahey. And there still is Jim Lahey. You can probably find him at his NYC bakery, baking loaves of bread that are at least 10 times better than anything you or I have made at home during quarantine. My Bread is a great intro to bread making; I’m particularly fond of it because of how many no-knead recipes there are in it. I hate kneading. I am a lazy baker. If I can set it and forget it for 18 hours, I’d rather do that. Sullivan Street Bakery Cookbook includes more savory dishes that the bakery sells, so it’s not just bread. He also has My Pizza, which is nice, but not as useful as these two.
Melissa Martin’s Mosquito Supper Club
A few weeks back, I was complaining to my friend Mary that I didn’t have so many of my grandma’s recipes from when we were growing up. She lost a majority of her recipes years ago during a move, and being that she’s 90 years old, she doesn’t do much cooking these days. Mary, knowing that my grandma is from New Orleans, recommended a cookbook I’d never heard of: Mosquito Supper Club. I didn’t know who Melissa Martin was, I didn’t know that Mosquito Supper Club was the name of a restaurant in New Orleans. I knew nothing, but I went ahead and bought it anyway and I couldn’t be more glad that I did. This book is killer. Proof: I surprised my grandma with Martin’s shrimp stew recipe last week and, while she gave me a few tips for next time, it got 98% of her approval. And my grandma isn’t one to mince words about food.
George Calombaris’ Greek
I think Masterchef USA is incredibly dumb and overproduced, but Masterchef Australia is great. It’s just talented home cooks pushing themselves, not unlike The Great British Bake Off. After watching a few episodes where one of the judges, George Calombaris, showed off some of his Greek restaurant’s dishes, I was intrigued. In St. Louis, we have very limited Greek options, and outside of Bourdain and Andrew Zimmern shows, I really had no frame of reference for what modern Greek food could be. This cookbook is it. There are some wild dishes in here, mixing the traditional with the modern—like lamb brain ‘chicken nuggets’. But most of all, it’s just fun, out of the box dishes you might expect at a place like Taste Bar.
An Interview with Dave Stine and Stephanie Abbajay
Presented by Stag Beer
Dave stine is an enigma. A modern day paul bunyan. a lawyer. an amazing home cook. a prolific drinker. And the woodworker behind david stine furniture.
For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of meeting dave, here’s his story in a nutshell: he was born and raised outside of Alton, Illinois on his family’s land. they were dairy farmers. dairy farming was less than enjoyable, to say the least. his grandfather and father taught him woodworking. he went to college at penn state, then George washington university law school. being a lawyer was also less than enjoyable. this led to him leaving law behind, becoming the lawless woodworker he is today.
all of his tables—which can be found at many of your favorite restaurants, like Elmwood, louie, Balkan Treat box, Sardella, rockwell, The Tenderloin room, and more—are made from wood he has harvested from dead trees on his own land.
his partner in the business is his wife, Stephanie abbajay. I sat down with them over a farm lunch of pork, potatoes, pickles, and stag to discuss business, life, and steak.
Dave Stine: I’ve been selling stuff that I’ve made, grown, bred, or harvested my whole life. That’s the way I grew up. Raising cattle, showing the cattle at 4-H, then selling the cattle.
Stephanie Abbajay: Success, I think, was when Dave didn’t have to go to his law job. It was being able to not do what he didn’t want to do, and only do what he wanted to. It was never financial.
D.S.: The overall goal was to do woodworking and to work for myself, but more importantly doing our own designs and finding customers for those. Staying in our lane.
S.A.: Our view of success has always been being independent. Not being beholden to other people’s interests. It’s never been based on money. It’s picking and choosing what we want to do.
D.S.: The power of no. Being able to say no to things is very powerful. Being in the driver’s seat of what you do everyday is all about being able to say no to things you don’t want to do.
If someone wanted me to build a house for them, I could, but I’m not going to do that.
D.S.: Our house is littered with pieces of furniture that just don’t work. But they’re all for sale!
S.A.: I see Dave as a craftsman with the soul of an artist. When he was able to do only what he wanted to do, he was an artist. Every single piece was one-of-a-kind.
D.S.: I struggled for years with people saying I was an artist, or that my furniture was art. I started playing around with functional art, sculptural art. I don’t know.
S.A.: We basically have two businesses. The artistic side: the one-of-a-kind Dave Stine-vision pieces. Then there’s the commercial side: we can do 10 of these tables and they will all look the same. It’s the perfect articulation of how you need to be in a business: you can be an artist, but you can also create a product that can be reproduced.
D.S.: The stuff we do for Gioia’s, they aren’t artistic tables, but the art in that is my relationship with Alex, figuring out what looks good in that space, what Gioia’s means to people, and what physical items I can help him build that reinforce the whole idea of the brand. There’s some kind of art in that.
D.S.: The artistic skill in that big table is understanding what that thing could be. But then you have to set aside your own ego and let that table be whatever it should be. You have to show restraint. You have to know when to stop. People want to take a table like that, gouge out a bunch of shit, pour in epoxy, and really put their stamp on it. I get that. It’s tempting. It’s why people carve their names into trees. I think it’s much more interesting to find the right piece of lumber for that person and work within that parameter.
“Put something down for 24 hours and look at it with fresh eyes. ”
D.S.: Yeah, I’m competitive. In my lane. I don’t want or need to build every table in the world. But I should have the right of first refusal. That only seems fair (laughs). No one is more competitive than Stephanie.
S.A.: I let other people win sometimes.
D.S.: Which says how competitive you are! You LET them win.
D.S.: Twenty years ago, no. Now, yes. Almost every woodworker will take a live edge job now.
D.S.: We’ve had issues with tables in various places from time to time. They call, I stop what I’m doing, then I go address the issue and fix it. I give everyone the same warranty: it’ll be great, and if it’s not, call me.
If I’m dead, you’re out of luck.
“I love it when the tables look used and beaten up. I think stuff looks better that way. ”
D.S.: Teaching woodworking to my guys is as important to me as it is to them. If they’re really interested, I’m really interested in sharing. I’ve learned just as much from them as they’ve learned from me. There are things we do much differently now than we did before Eli started 7 years ago. We find better ways that work.
D.S.: You always want your kid to at least be proud of you and understand what you’re doing. If they’re interested enough to work with you or want to take over, that would be amazing. It’s taken a lot to build this toehold, and it’d be great if someone could take it over, but people gotta do their own thing too.
S.A.: A bar, a nightclub, and a restaurant. We sold the nightclub first. We only had it for two years, but we sold it when it was super hot. Then we opened the restaurant. We sold that when we moved to St. Louis. I didn’t sell the bar until 2010.
The hours. When you’re in your 20s, it’s fun to stay up until 5am and then jump on the back of your husband’s Harley and go have breakfast. Then you get married and have kids. You get to the restaurant at 3pm, doors open at 5pm, and then that Tuesday night just yawns in front of you and you’d rather be at home with your family. Add on people calling off or not showing up...no thanks.
I don’t mind putting 100% of myself into something. I actually prefer that. But I do want to not have to worry about it constantly. With a nightclub or a restaurant, you’re always worrying.
D.S.: We sold the restaurant and broke even. Which puts us ahead of about 80% of other restaurant owners.
D.S.: Stephanie’s red raspberry jam is my favorite. Or maybe it’s the blackberry jam. Close second are my mom’s sweet pickles—you can’t find them anywhere else, because they’re such a pain to make. And the sauerkraut we make. The pickled eggs in beet juice. I don’t know. I’m German. I love pickles.
“There’s nothing better than having a freezer full of meat.”
D.S.: I really miss having fresh milk. You can’t even describe to people the difference. Unpasteurized, straight from the tap.
D.S.: Mixed color fingerling potatoes from Mom’s garden. A 2-inch thick steak. Roasted asparagus. Stag. No TV. Just the fireplace.
SA: When we moved out here from DC, I brought 10 cases of my favorite beer from the East Coast. I was like, there’s no way I’m going to find good beer out there. I’m not drinking crappy local beer. When I got through all my beer, I tried a Stag and fell in love with it. I love Stag.
DS: If you don’t like Stag, you don’t like beer. Growing up, all the people around here drank Stag. Steak Taters And Gravy. Saint Ag. Our family friend used to have great sayings. He’d always say, “you know the thing I love about Stag? You can drink a case of it every night and still go to work the next day!”
I don’t care at all about the cans. Just don’t change the gold color or the recipe.
“It’s the local beer. It tastes like home. ”
This interview is presented by Stag Beer, Born in Belleville, Illinois.
Sportsman's Park
Only a Sith deals in absolutes.
Well, I do too—sometimes. Generally speaking, I don’t like to say that any single dish is ‘the best’ version of it. There is no best pizza, nor a best burger. Not the one you make, not the one your mom makes. Taste is subjective, everyone has their own opinion, blah, blah, blah.
There are undeniable truths, though. This blog post is dedicated to two of them.
1) The roast chicken at louie is the best I’ve ever had in my life.
I’ve never had roast chicken like Louie’s. It makes the shitty chicken I make at home taste even shittier. If you haven’t had it yet, you must order it the next time you’re in. I’m still planning on dedicating a full post to it, so we’ll just leave it at that.
2) The chicken strips at sportsman’s park are the best in st.louis.
It’s true.
For the uninitiated, Sportsman’s Park is a dive/sports bar in Ladue, right across from Lester’s. Near Companion’s Café. Pretty close to Plaza Frontenac. It’s sort of between the Kohler showroom and the Sherwin Williams paint shop. Just look for the parking lot full of BMWs, Mercedes, and my girlfriend’s 13 year old Volvo.
The restaurant opened in 1974 as Jackie’s Place, which makes sense, because it was owned by NFL great Jackie Smith, and it was his place. When he sold it a few years later—like a total moron—it became Sportsman’s Park. Seven years later, I was born and raised inside the very establishment. Instead of milk, I was fed bottles their homemade ranch and bleu cheese dressings. Before my teeth came in, I gummed their turkey chili. I’d sit in the Jack Buck-themed back booth, watching as my mother and father enjoyed chicken tenders and nachos, t-ravs and potato skins, too weak and toothless to join in.
Then, when I was old enough to chew solid food at age 8, I too was able to taste their chicken strips. And from that moment on, I knew: these are the best chicken strips on Earth.
You can argue with me, but you’re wrong. Taste is no longer subjective. These chicken strips are perfection. First of all, they’re comically large (like your mom)—each ‘strip’ is probably half of a large chicken breast. That means for the chicken strip dinner, you’re getting two chicken breasts. We all know chicken breasts are healthy, therefore, this dish is also healthy. So not only is it a large portion, but it’s one you can feel good about eating.
But are they crunchy on the outside and tender on the inside, Spencer? I’m glad you asked! Yes. They are. I wish I could have captured that better with my camera, but I don’t know how. See all the ridges, nooks, crannies, fissures, and crevices on the chicken? All crunchy. In fact, their crunchiness brings up a very important question you’re going to be asked when you’re dining at Sportsman’s: “Do you want them sauced?”
No. You do not. Get it on the side. But why, Spencer? Well, dingus, let’s think about the situation: I just told you that the strips are both huge and crunchy. What happens when you get crunchy things wet? They get uncrunchy. Unless you’re planning to speed eat four massive chicken strips, you’re going to want to be in control of the saucing. Get yourself a cup of hot sauce (which, by the way, is Michelin-level hot sauce), then a side of ranch and bleu cheese. Make each bite an adventure. Your tongue never knows what’s next!
As far as sides go, the correct answer is “curly fries” (though if you’re a voracious enough eater to get a cup of their bomb turkey chili instead, you have my respect). I know they’re not in the back hand cutting curly fries, but I appreciate whatever company makes them. They’re a little spicy, they’re extremely curly, and they’re fried up until they’ve got a nice lil’ crunch on ‘em. You’re also going to want to dip these in the sauces.
So, uh, that’s about it. I need you all to support Sportsman’s so that when I find enough change, I can buy it and rename it “Spencer’s Place.” Support my dreams. Eat fried chicken.
curly fries
Because steak fries are for losers
The Elmwood Burger
Ah, Elmwood burger. You are a special burger, indeed. The kind of burger I treat myself with when I’ve been a good boy. Or if I’ve had a bad day. The kind of burger I get when my girlfriend is busy and then when she asks what I ate, I tell her I just had vegetables. Then I text owner Chris Kelling and tell him if he rats me out, I will end him.
To describe it simply, I’d say it’s the half-Korean cousin of classic "Western burger.” You know, onion rings, bacon, BBQ sauce. But not really that stuff. The onion rings have been replaced with crispy fried shallots—if you haven’t done so already, I highly recommend you go to any of the international groceries and buy a container of them and put them on everything you cook. Instead of your typical, cloyingly sweet BBQ sauce, they make a slightly fiery Korean BBQ sauce. I asked chef/owner Adam Altnether to describe it: “It’s a three day process of cooking a beef jus that ends with the addition of apple cider vinegar, Korean soy sauce, and gochujang. Now please leave the kitchen, we’re in the middle of service.” The sauce, as you can tell from the photo above, is much thinner than Sweet Baby Ray’s, so yes, this is a slightly messy burger. If you’re eating with other people, it’s almost certainly a knife-and-fork burger. If you’re dining alone, go wild.
The final toppings are iceberg lettuce and American cheese. Altnether, always innovating, flips the burger so the cheese goes on the bottom. This allows the sauce to really permeate the burger and not just run off. Genius, this boy is.
The real star of the show is Chris Kelling’s suit collection—wait, no. The star of the show is obviously the patty. You can’t make a special burger with garbage meat. The 35-day dry aged beef comes from Flannery Farms’ Holstein cattle, typically used for dairy. Adam tells me, “Holsteins tend to have less exterior fat and much more intramuscular fat.” I wish I was more like a Holstein.
Vying for the title of Burger King, Adam has chosen to flame broil the burgers in their wildly hot Josper grill/oven. The finished product is a slightly smoky, kinda spicy, classic-but-not burger. I recommend you grab a seat at the bar and dig in while drinking a cocktail from Dave Greteman. Oh, and you have to order a side of the super crispy potatoes with harissa.
Elmwood Burger
korean bbq sauce, bacon, fried shallots, american cheese, pickles
Wild Mushroom Agnolotti / Sidney Street Cafe
People are always like, “Spencer, you go out to eat all the time!”
The truth is: I don’t. I’m just like you—I only go out to restaurants 4 or 5 times a week.
Some nights—usually when I see Kevin Nashan’s adorable face on the ‘Gram—I’ll snag a seat at Sidney Street Café’s bar and just throw down an order of their wild mushroom agnolotti. No, it’s not too fancy for a weeknight dinner. The bar is there for a reason. No one will judge you and your jeggings—unless you don’t order the agnolotti. Then they’ll know you’re some kind of a-hole. An even more baller move would be to eat this, then walk over to Peacemaker and have even more food. They call that “The Full Spencer.” They also call it “excessive.”
Agnolotti, of course, is a pasta, typically filled with something delicious, but also sometimes something bad. But not this one! This one started out as their Pasta of the Day special nearly four years ago, and it turns out it was so special, it’s never going away. Just like me. Chef Bob Zugmaier fills a homemade pasta dough (Do I even need to say that? Does anyone reading this thing Sidney Street is buying premade pasta dough?) with a farce made from local mushroom and quark—an Eastern European fresh cheese—then finishes them in a pan with Chinese black vinegar, shirodashi, and a bit of butter. The pasta is then topped with crispy kale and pickled sour cherries.
The result is exactly why Sidney Street won a James Beard award. The pasta itself is wonderful with that creamy, earthy filling, but it's the pan sauce that makes this dish an absolute winner. Chinese black vinegar, a.k.a. black gold, is what you typically dip dumplings into. It’s the best vinegar. Go to Global Foods or Pan-Asia and buy some immediately. It serves as the sharp base, then it’s cut with the sweetness of the shirodashi, and ultimately mellowed by God’s greatest gift, butter. The dish is almost Vista Ramen-esque, straddling that line of Asian and European.
So…this pasta is good. You should eat it. Thanks for your time.
Wild Mushroom Agnolotti
black vinegar pan sauce, pickled sour cherries, crispy kale
A (Short) Portland, OR Guide
I spent two weeks in Portland, Oregon this summer. I fully expected to come home determined to move up there to live a flannel-covered life.
That was not the case. The city is…fine. It has a great food and drink scene, and I don’t think a trip to Portland is complete without visiting Washington Park (think of it like their Forest Park; it’s home to the Oregon Zoo, the Portland Japanese Garden, the International Rose Test Garden, and more).
My recommendation: go up there with a day or two of solid eating and drinking planned, then get out of town. Spend your time in the woods, on the coast, or drinking copious amounts of wine in the Willamette Valley. Scroll down to see some of the places we went.
There a few places we ate at where I didn’t have my camera on hand that are worth mentioning.
Lardo: What I imagine a future Bolyard’s sandwich shop will look like. These sandwiches were glorious, and picking was nearly impossible. I went with their pork meatball banh mi, which will never let anyone down, but their special “chefwich” of the month was absolutely the winner: thinly cut steak, grilled, then tossed with chimchurri, along with fried green tomatoes and pimento cheese. Perfection.
Departure: Located on the top floor of the swanky Nines Hotel, Departure feels like a giant spaceship. I mean this literally: the restaurant design seems like some kind of 1960s-meets-2000s space vessel. The bathrooms, with their aluminum walls and neon lights, look like some lost sets from Blade Runner. Chef Gregory Gourdet’s (who you may recognize from Top Chef) menu primarily riffs off of Chinese and Japanese fare, with things like tataki, smoked octopus, and koji-brined chicken. It wasn’t my favorite spot in town, but the atmosphere is neat and the drinks were excellent.
Le Pigeon: Every single chef I talked to told me I had to go to Pigeon, and after going, I get it. This tiny restaurant— 24 seats, maybe?—looks like it came straight from Paris. The chefs are cooking in the dining room, actually. Had I realized this, I would have requested a seat at the bar so I could watch them in action. This place will mess you up with food, though. They’re taking all the richness of French food, adding some contemporary American flair to it, then using that to fatten you up like a foie gras duck. Our meal was impeccable: a seared foie gras and escargot starter, a spicy pork ribeye with chorizo gravy, then their foie-on-foie-on-foie profiteroles for dessert. Then I had a heart attack and died.
KACHKA
I’m a firm believer that we’re entering a period of time where the best restaurants are the ones where chefs are cooking simple food based on what they grew up on. That deeply engrained knowledge combined with the techniques they’ve learned in culinary school or on the job often lead to the most memorable, satiating dishes. Kachka is one of the only contemporary Russian restaurants in the U.S., and wow, does it hit the mark. The interior mixes modern design with a Soviet-era home, making you feel a bit like you’re on a movie set. The menu is heavy on small plates—cold dishes, hot dishes, dumplings, skewers, and then a few mains. My recommendations: the classic Siberian Pelmeni dumplings and the lamb lyulyakebabs. Splurge on some caviar if you’re feeling particularly oligarchic (we did the Tsar Nicoulai Select white sturgeon).
PINE STREET MARKET
The Pine Street Market is a food hall located on Pine Street. What’s particularly nice about this one is that a number of the restaurants inside come from Portland’s heavy hitters. Grab NY-style pizza and pastries from Ken Forkish’s Checkerboard pizza, soft serve from Salt & Straw’s Wiz Bang Bar, Spanish-style rotisserie chicken from Josh Scofield’s Pollo Bravo, all the meats from Olympia Provisions, and more.
Olympia Provisions Public House
Pollo Bravo
Gado Gado
When I saw there was a brand new modern Indonesian restaurant open, I knew I had to go. The menu was a good mix of traditional fare and modern interpretations, some within the same dish, like the Roti Canai served with curry or coconut creamed corn. The dishes are fairly small, which makes it another great choice if you’re willing to share. End your meal with their Kaya Cake—this sweet coconut and pandan custard tasted exactly like the shops in Singapore. I wish I hadn’t shared my piece.
Coca Cola Crawfish
Kaya Cake
PORTLAND MERCADO
I can’t recommend a trip to the Mercado enough. This Latino-focused incubator helps entrepreneurs refine their business plans, raise funding, and more—plus, it’s full of great food. The interior has a few businesses, plus a bar, but the nine food stalls outside are where it’s at. There’s Oaxacan, Puerto Rican, Brazilian, Peruvian, and more. I went twice; Tierra Del Sol’s mole tacos plus a plate of Que Bacano’s Colombian patacones will not let you down.
Tierra del Sol: Tlayuda
Qué Bacano!: Patacones
BAR CASA VALE
God, St. Louis needs Spanish food.
Bar Casa Vale takes the amazing local seafood, meat, and produce, and serves it up Spanish style. For the St. Louisans reading this, think Taste Bar if it was in San Sebastian. We loaded up on the tapas—it was one of those meals where the final bites were accompanied by groans—but I would go back there in a heartbeat. The patatas bravas were crunchy, spicy, creamy…pretty much everything you want from fried potatoes. The fried frog legs with chimichurri and grilled lemon were the best I can remember having. But those Spanish cheese fritters…my lord. They give Dia’s Cheese Bread a run for its money. These manchego and mahon filled golf balls might be the single best bite I had in Portland.
Gambas a la Plancha: kauai prawns, chile, scallion
Fried Frog Legs: chimichurri, grilled lemon
Spanish Cheese Fritters: manchego, mahon, romesco, preserved lemon
Patatas Bravas: brava sauce, aioli, scallions, cilantro
JETTY FISHERY & The oregon Coast
Get the f out of town. Seriously. We drove through the Tillamook Forest, which was stunning, then hit up Cape Meares, Rockaway Beach, and Cannon Beach. Incredible. Apparently, a lot of famous writers rent these coastal homes in winter so they can find inspiration in isolation. I think I’m going to try it this year. I’ll return to St. Louis with memoirs: Coal Miners, Diners, and Dives.
We stopped at a place called The Jetty Fishery in Rockaway Beach for lunch. I’d seen it written about a few places online as a no-frills, seaside spot to grab some freshly seafood. We were not disappointed. On the day we were there, they had fresh Dungeness crabs, oysters, and clams, so we got a few pounds of each. You just tell the guys in the shack what you want, they grab them out of a huge tank and throw them into the massive cauldron of boiling water behind them. Fifteen minutes later, they call out your number and you get to eat it right on the shore, throwing all your spent shells into the ocean. The clams dipped in the crab fat *chef’s kiss*.
Washington Park
In between your huge meals, you should probably get some exercise. Head to Washington Park and visit the epic Rose Garden, the Japanese Garden that will transport you to Kyoto, the Oregon Zoo, and more.
This Everything Bagel Sandwich is Everything, Except a Bagel
Look at that title. I’m really getting the hang of the clickbait game.
But we’re not here to applaud my incredible creativity and humor (however, if you’d like to do that, you can comment below). We’re here to talk about a new creation from Nathaniel Reid.
From what I can surmise, chef Reid was sitting around the house, doing nothing—you know how much free time business owning bakers with two young children have—when he saw the groundswell of bagel talk on the Gram. Not ready to open Nathaniel Reid Bagelry quite yet, he sought to find another way to satisfy St. Louis’ craving for more carbs. He went back to the bakery and worked through the night on bagelish treats. Pumpernickle entremets. Asiago macarons. Bread sliced kouign-amanns. None were right, and in a fit of rage, he trashed the entire kitchen. The result of this rage-fueled destruction was croissant dough absolutely covered in spices.
The answer was right there: an everything spiced croissant.
But that wasn’t enough for him. It needed to be more than a bagely croissant. Because that’s the kind of man he is: an innovator.
Reid slices the croissant in half, schmears on herb cream cheese, then adds capers, lettuce, tomato, smoked salmon, and red onion to create…a smoked salmon everything-spiced croissant sandwich. And it is so good.
The croissant sandwich will be available every Saturday for the foreseeable future, starting this Saturday, October 5th. Get it.
Savage Restaurant
Savage is fucking dope.
If it was in Chicago, New York, London, Singapore, or some other big city, it would be impossible to get into. It would be featured on an episode of Chef’s Table. Chef/owner Logan Ely would be a judge on 350 episodes of Chopped.
But it’s not in any of those cities. It’s in St. Louis. Right here, waiting for you.
Diners like to assume the food coming out of most high-end restaurants has been cooked personally by the chef whose name is on the menu—you want Eric Ripert to have cooked your fish, Grant Achatz to have personally blown up your apple-flavored balloon, René Redzepi to have made…whatever it is Noma makes. But the reality is that these restaurants have massive teams full of (extremely talented) people who are producing incredible food based on the executive chef’s vision. At Savage, that’s not the case. You are getting Logan Ely's food, cooked by Logan Ely, sometimes served by Logan Ely. You’re watching him do it right in front of you, looking like Jason Statham’s younger, tattooed brother. The chef’s counter is spotlit, making the entire thing feel like a show. Whether you’re dining with others or alone, you’ll often find yourself trying to figure out what’s coming next.
And you’re never going to guess correctly—which is part of what makes Savage so unforgettable.
You have three options for ordering: snacks for $25, 6 Courses for $55, and 12 courses for $75 (beverage pairings at $25, $35, and $45, respectively). What kind of dingus doesn’t order the 12 course option? Pay the extra twenty for double the amount of courses and get the full Savage experience. You’re going to regret it if you don’t.
Logan’s focus is on “simple” bites (we have different definitions of simple, apparently) that focus on making a few ingredients shine by doing very little to them. What drives him is trying to do things he hasn’t done before without bastardizing the ingredient—“It’s a tomato, so I want to let it be a tomato.”
This meal in particular was shot in late June, so you don’t have to worry much about this post spoiling your upcoming Savage dinner. The pescatarian menu changes as the seasons change, as you might expect.
Even now, almost three months later, my girlfriend and I still debate about which dish was our favorite. Was it the fermented potato mousse with crispy potatoes, broccoli, and seaweeds? Or was it the absolutely perfectly cooked fluke served with toasted fennel and a kombu beurre blanc? No, it was definitely the onion.* Yes, a damn onion was the best bite of the night. Slow cooked until soft and sweet, then glazed with soy-malt over a bed of toasted yeast mousse and shiitake mushrooms. It was one of the best things I ate in all of 2019, I’m pretty sure.
*My girlfriend’s pick for dish of the night goes to dessert: milk sorbet with brown butter, black barley crumble, and miso caramel. She scraped my bowl clean after she was done with hers.
I haven’t been to Scandinavia, but I have spent a lot of time on Instagram, and Savage’s food seems straight out of Aalborg. It’s all about a level of simplicity that is, uh, very complicated. To take raw goat's’ milk curds, put them in a fermented white asparagus broth, and cover that with daikon radish—and have it work—is insane to me. Especially when you take into consideration that Logan’s kitchen team has, at its largest, been four people, and at its smallest, just him. Producing this much and this level of food.
Besides the food, I loved the atmosphere of Savage. It’s not serious, like you’d expect from a high-end tasting menu spot. Service isn’t fake and obnoxious. You aren’t stuck there for four hours. They want you to come, have a great meal, and more importantly, have a great time. I think you will.
TLDR: Savage will blow your mind with some of the most innovative food ever seen in St. Louis at a ridiculously low price for what you’re getting. Make a reservation right now.
Beet chip
dill & chive powder
Spot prawn & Heirloom Tomatoes
marinated in red currant & chamomile oil, finished with whipped soured milk
Raw Goat’s milk curds
daikon radish, fermented white asparagus broth
English peas
white bean & ramp butter, sorrel, cauliflower mushrooms
Charred squash
egg yolk puree, mussel foam
fermented potato mousse
crispy potatoes, broccoli, seaweeds
poached cucumbers
preserved chive blossoms, dashi with clams, horseradish leaf oil
Fluke
toasted fennel, kombu beurre blanc
Baked sweet onion
soy-malt glaze, shiitake mushroom, toasted yeast mousse
buttermilk semifreddo
blueberries
milk sorbet
brown butter, black barley crumble, miso caramel
carrot cake ball
almond brittle
The Mole Poblano at La Tejana Taqueria
As a, uh, big boned kid, I was obsessed with the mole poblano at Pueblo Nuevo up in Hazelwood. My dad worked nearby, so we’d always go there for lunch on days we visited him. I’d get a grenade-sized beef empanada, two chicken mole enchiladas, and a Diet Coke, then just go to town on them. Any extra sauce leftover over was shoveled up with tortilla chips. That plate would go back to the kitchen looking like it was brand new. I was like a young Joey Chestnut.
From there, my obsession with mole grew—if it was on a menu, it was going in my belly. I met good moles. I met bad moles.
Not all that long ago, I (foolishly) thought, “If I can make my own curries, I can make my own mole!”
While it is technically true that I did in fact make a mole from scratch, it took what felt like a week of my life and required an entire aisle of groceries from Global Foods. I would describe the flavor of it as “disappointing.” After that day, I decided that mole was off the table for things I’d make from scratch. It was a dish best left up to the experts.
Nowadays, my mole intake comes from two main sources. If I’m cooking at home, it’s La Guelaguetza’s mole pastes. If I’m looking to go out, it’s at La Tejana Taqueria.
My first meal ever at Tejana was probably the kind of meal you imagine I eat daily—the table was absolutely covered in food. Tacos, gorditas, platos, margaritas, quesadillas. It was beautiful. As we were finishing our meal, Tyler Garcia, the son of owners Tony and Bren Garcia (and now the owner of the Locoz Taco Truck) came over with an off-the-menu dish: a gigantic burrito with their mole poblano inside. I was smitten instantly. So much so that I purchased a quart of it to-go, then took it home and dipped everything I could find in it. I’ve never been able to find the words to accurately describe it. The thick, almost mahogany colored sauce is nutty, chocolatey, spicy—but also sweet, with hints of warming spices like cloves and cinnamon. If I really just sit there and think about what I’m tasting, I turn into Violet from Willy Wonka, just announcing potential ingredents—"It’s guajillo chiles! And almonds! No…pepitas? Almonds and pepitas? Sesame seeds!”
Everyone knows that Tejana has bomb tacos. I’ve been at the taqueria multiple times when staff from other Mexican restaurants have been there eating. I’m just trying to spread the word about their mole, which I really do think you should try. You can get it either as an entree plate with bone-in chicken or as an enchilada platter—my go-to. Just order one less taco and share the dish for your taco buddy. If you don’t like it, well, we probably can’t be friends. Like the torta ahogada at Taqueria Durango, I can almost guarantee this is going to throw a wrench in your future ordering. I think it’s one of the tastiest bites in town.
Mole Chicken
La Tejana Taqueria
mole enchiladas
Don’t let the raw onion throw you off—it’s there to help cut through the richness of the mole.
Gioia’s Hot Salami Queso
I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.
I thought it would be a great idea to do a recipe post about one of my favorite Guy Fieri-ish dishes in St. Louis, the hot salami queso that Gioia’s puts on their Hilly Cheesesteak special. People love queso, Spencer. They love hot salami. This is a home run. You’re a winner.
I still think this post was a good idea, but what wasn’t a good idea was planning it for 10 AM the day after a meal at Twisted Tree Steakhouse with Gioia’s owner and Hulk-sized human Alex Donley.
Twelve hours before getting to Alex’s house, we were wrapping up a dinner that left me breathing and sweating like Tony Soprano. Onion rings. T-ravs. Way too much salad (that is a thing, apparently). Prime rib. A potato the size of a newborn. Cake. Ice cream.
(This feels like the kind of post the local news will highlight when I drop dead and people wonder how such a strapping young buck couldn’t make it to 35…)
But I do this for you. So does Alex.
We made a crockpot full of hot salami queso—and a Spicy Daggett variation—because we just want you guys to be happy. Think about how popular you’re going to be at all your winter potlucks and holiday parties when you bring in this semi-liquid version of St. Louis’ favorite sandwich! You’ll be the champ of your Super Bowl party. For the full Gioia’s experience, get yourself some bread from Fazio’s and make some crostini out of it. Brush it with garlic butter if you and your guests are wearing Depends.
If you really want to push the boundaries, I think you should make this then pour it in a terrine mold, refrigerate it, and then slice it for a charcuterie board. We all know the Velveeta will hold its shape…unlike us and our soft, squishy bodies.
You can stop by Gioia’s and order literally any of this from them right at the counter, but feel free to go to the grocery and pick up your favorite pickled jalapenos, coppa, and so on. For hot salami, just tell them you need a log for hot salami queso. They’ll hook it up.
INGREDIENTS
HOT SALAMI QUESO
10 slices hot salami, chopped
3 logs of velveeta, cubed
2 cans of rotel, opened
8 oz pickled jalapenos
Spicy Daggett Variation
All of the above, plus:
1/4 lb hot coppa, chopped
1/4 lb capicolla, chopped
8 oz giardiniera, chopped
METHOD
Chop everything.
Put it in a crock pot on low for 2-4 hours.
Switch to warm and serve.
For the Spicy Daggett version:
Sauté coppa and capicolla until crispy.
Add giardiniera, sauté a little more.
Add to hot salami queso.
*I am aware of the fact this is not, in any way, a traditional queso. This is Velveeta and Rotel. It’s Midwestern queso.
Noto Pizza
Pizza is the best.
It’s probably my favorite food, really. There have been very few occasions in my life where I’ve said, “no thanks, I won’t be eating that slice of pizza.” (I actually can’t think of a single one, but I’m sure it’s happened). I’ll willingly admit that I’ve eaten the worst of the worst—Cici’s Pizza—and found at least a little joy in it. I know a lot of you have a favorite type of pizza, whether that be a New York slice, Neapolitan, St. Louis-style, and so on. I do not. I like to change things up, keep it fresh—except for Chicago-style deep dish: that is not pizza, it’s a stupid, worthless casserole.
As with pretty much everything in life, simple is often best, and almost always the hardest to achieve. I believe that’s why we see so few places attempting to do a Neapolitan-style pizza. There’s not a lot of room to hide your shortcomings. If you suck, it’s obvious.
I was obsessed with Randolfi’s wood fired pizzas. That fermented dough. The perfect toppings. All of it was just magical. Then it was gone from this world. Taylor Hamilton, the pizza wunderkind, moved on to Union Loafers (which, obviously, I also am madly in love with). The Randolfi’s oven remains in that empty restaurant space, just begging for someone who gives a shit to come in and make pizza greatness.
Sorry. I started getting pizza nostalgia.
While Randolfi’s may be dead, Noto Pizza is very much alive, just like Tupac.
Calling Noto a food truck is unfair. It’s a mobile restaurant. As you can see from the photo below, it’s a trailer with a full-size wood fired pizza oven attached to it. I told them they should start a next-level pizza delivery service where you order it and they literally come to your house and make it, but they told me it was “outrageously stupid” and to “please get off our truck right now before we call the police.”
Instead, they’re just going to open a brick and mortar restaurant. Hooray! More details on that can be found in this Feast Magazine article.
Now, for the pizza nerds.
For the dough, Noto uses Italian 00 flour, high hydration (about 72%), and a 36 hour ferment. The crust is exactly what I want in a Neapolitan-style pie: it’s light and flavorful with a nice chew to it. It puffs up in the oven and gets the highly sought after leopard spotting and slightly crisp exterior, but it never loses the moist interior. The sauce is simply crushed tomatoes that have been imported from Italy. All of the ingredients, minus the fresh mozz, are Vera Pizza Napoletana approved.
There’s no question in my mind that this is one of the best pizza shops in St. Louis. They are so good. I want to throw a party where this truck rolls up to Balkan Treat Box and we all just have a great time eating wood-fired foods.
The truck typically goes out with its six classic pies, then does about four specials—many of which are never repeated again. They’re rocking that scarcity model. I loved the specials (particularly the Capo, which you’ll see below), but my favorites are in the classics category: Classico, Sophia, and American Honey. The Classico is, as you might have guessed, the classic marg—fresh mozz, tomato sauce, basil, EVOO. The Sophia is topped with fig jam, gorgonzola, caramelized onions, prosciutto, arugula and a balsamic glaze. American Honey is a standard pepperoni, finished the the extra fiery Calabrese chili flakes and a drizzle of Mike’s Hot Honey.
The truck is typically at the Tuesday Tower Grove Market and often at Six Mile Bridge Brewery. Find it. Eat this pizza. Report back.
CLASSICO
FRESH MOZZARELLA
BASIL
TOMATO SAUCE
EVOO
AMERICAN HONEY
PEPPERONI
MOZZARELLA
CALABRESE CHILI FLAKES
MIKE’S HOT HONEY
TOMATO SAUCE
corn Crema
LOCAL CORN & ZUCCHINI
RED PEPPER AIOLI
GARLIC CREAM SAUCE
BASIL
Capo
CAPOCOLLA
ORANGE ZEST
BEET GREENS
MOZZARELLA
Peachy
LOCAL PEACH
PROSCIUTTO
GOAT CHEESE
ARUGULA
HONEY
BALSAMIC DRIZZLE
Byrd & Barrel: Tacos & T-Ravs
I know a dish is special when I want to go back the next day and get it again.
It doesn’t happen often. Sure, there are tons of really good—great, even—dishes being served day in and day out in St. Louis. But you know the feeling when you eat something special. Something that makes you stop what you’re doing and go, whoa. I don’t want to share this dish. I don’t want to stop eating this. I want to cancel the rest of my order and only eat this until I can’t stand to look at it anymore.
For me, more often than not, I find these kind of dishes are at more casual spots. Mac’s burger. Vista’s Korean Fried Chicken sandwiches. Pastaria’s nduja pizza. Salt + Smoke’s Haley Riley. Even on a tasting menu at one of the best restaurants, I don’t feel like you’re likely to find many dishes that have that “craveability” you’re looking for.
Byrd & Barrel’s JITB tacos—that’s Jack in the Box, for the uninformed—are one of those dishes for me.
A few weeks ago, I mentioned to my girlfriend that I hadn’t been to Byrd & Barrel in a minute, to which she responded, “I’ve never been there…”
I threw her over my shoulder, fireman carried her to my car, and gunned it to Jefferson.
I knew what we were going to get. Nugs. Tots. Sauces. More nugs.
As we placed our order, the server asked if we’d tried their tacos yet. When we said no, she told us we needed to. I don’t normally give into peer pressure, thanks to D.A.R.E., but tacos are one drug I can’t resist. She was right.
I should preface this by saying I haven’t had a Jack in the Box taco since college, and that only happened once, so I don’t exactly have a great frame of reference for what they are…but I think it’s safe to say that’s irrelevant. This isn’t Next doing an homage to The French Laundry circa 1996.
On one of my many taco-centric revisits to Byrd, I ate with chef/owner Bob Brazell, a.k.a. Bobby Business, Bobby Bagels, Bobby Nugs and got down to discussing the birth of these bad boys. The answer is pretty simple, as you might suspect: they didn’t want to waste any product. At the end of the day, when nugs were left over, the staff was taking the leftover chicken, blending it up, breading and all, then making tacos out of it. They all agreed that they were ridiculously good, and so they’ve made their way onto the menu.
Corn tortillas are filled with nugs buzzed together with taco sauce, American cheese, and shredded lettuce. They’re thrown on the flattop until they’ve got a hint of char, and then pulled off and topped with parm—kind of like a European version of Cotija cheese. Voila. Tacos, served with a side of their house ranch. They’re also currently 2 for $3, which is ridiculous. You should order 6.
If taco’s aren’t your thing, perhaps I can interest you in their t-ravs? Or, if you’re truly a champ, you’ll order these and tacos. Similar to the birth of the tacos, these came as a result of not wanting to waste leftover product and then realizing that the late-night staff treat was worthy of a spot on the menu.
Once again, nugs are blitzed up, but this time they’re mixed with ricotta, parm, garlic, and herbs, then turned into St. Louis’ favorite portable meat pocket. I don’t think I really need to go on about why a t-rav from Byrd is going to be good. As a St. Louisan, it is your obligation to try them.
DavId Utterback: Omakase series
Listen, time is of the essence. We don’t have long.
There’s a man who lives in Omaha (like…Nebraska). His name is David “Yoshitomo” Utterback, and he is the chef/owner of a sushi restaurant called Yoshitomo. It is, by all accounts, fantastic.
Dave and our hometown hero, Nick Bognar (Nippon Tei, iNDO), became BFFs awhile back, as sushi boys do, which lead to a series of dinners here in St. Louis. I posted about them on social, which honestly seemed a little rude—they were done. Completed. Finito. All you could do was double tap and move on with your life.
GOOD NEWS. Chef Utterback is returning to St. Louis to do an omakase takeover at iNDO on July 22nd. There are two seatings—5pm and 8pm. Tickets can be purchased here through Tock. GO NOW. If, somehow, it’s already sold out, I highly recommend commenting below, demanding that Nick kidnap Dave and force him to stay until this city is satisfied.
I was incredibly sick when he was here last, but I am a champ, so I still went, took photos, and ate my food alone in the back of the restaurant before continuing my impersonation of a dying Spencer. That dinner is below and, honestly, it was so good that it’s made me consider going to Omaha just to experience Yoshitomo’s omakase again (especially his super secret foie gras rice—I don’t know what he did, but holy moly). I mean, I haven’t, but I’ve really strongly considered it. I used to go to Omaha for work, and it’s honestly kind of cool. We should all go together sometime.
Crudo
kiwi, leche de tigre
Foie Gras rice
Yoshitomo’s secret recipe
Hirame
shiso, ume, lime, shiro nikiri
Isaki
buri
Akamutsu
Shima Aji
Akami
Chutoro
Otoro
Saba
King Salmon
Iwashi
Yaki Gindara
Hotate
Wagyu
Tamago
The Loyalist
Chicago
i’d heard from a few people—chefs, cooks, my dingus brother—that I would love the loyalist.
Here’s what I knew about it before I went: it’s the sister restaurant to culinary mecca Smyth (literally underneath it), John Shields is the executive chef/owner, and they have a burger that has its own Instagram account and cult following.
I landed in Chicago, dropped my bags off at my brother’s apartment, then we marched straight through the West Loop to the restaurant.
Like so many subterranean Chicago hot spots, it feels like a moderately fancy speakeasy. For the St. Louisans reading, think Elmwood and Taste combined. We were seated in a black leather booth at the back of the restaurant, which gave us a great view of hopeful diners jostling for position to grab the next empty bar seat.
I decided to let my brother do the ordering because 1) I am magnanimous 2) Chef Shields started his career in St. Louis, which means he can do no wrong, which means my brother couldn’t order anything bad.
Food started hitting the table fast and furiously. Chef de Cuisine Julio Morales (who I met after the meal, thanks to another St. Louis connection) and his team came out swinging. The foie gras eclair, topped with fried corn and drizzled with lavender honey, hit the table first—delicate and decadent, as only the French can do. The subtle, smoky, somehow creamy ‘biscuit’ wafer with shallot purée and aged cheddar followed it immediately. To quote my girlfriend, “holy fuck.”
I knew right then that all the people who told me I was going to love it were right. French as shit techniques mashed into American bar fare.
I can’t even keep track of all the food we ate next. An incredible beet salad with apple, tarragon and Banyuls. A gigantic ‘pop-over’ spritzed with beef garum, resting above a pool of beef jus for dipping. Escargot toast topped with Benton’s country ham. Gigantic pillowy ricotta gnocchi. Then, out of nowhere, an absolutely perfect camembert omelette with a koji beurre blanc and caviar. Julia Child would have had an orgasm.
As incredible as all those dishes were, I just didn’t see how the signature Loyalist Cheeseburger, nor their special burger, could compete at all. How can you follow all that refined amazingness with a burger and fries?
Well, it turns out it’s pretty fucking easy when you’re making what has to be one of the best burgers in the country.
Here’s the deal: the chuck and short rib patties are cooked on the flattop (while being brushed with bacon fat), topped with American cheese, and finished with onions 300 ways. If you’re a dork who doesn’t like onions or, even worse, pretends to be allergic to them, you don’t deserve this. Seriously: charred/sautéed onions, onion oil, mayo made with onion oil, and probably some other onion stuff too. That’s all thrown on a bun, along with pickles and their secret sauce, and boom. A burger that will make you rethink all other burgers. Forget waiting at Au Cheval down the street.
Plus, the burger comes with their incredible fries served with the most garlicky aioli in the history of garlic aiolis and a cup of pickle juice.
So…how good was the meal? To quote food writer/historian Lolis Elie, “The real question is not so much whether I enjoyed myself that night, it’s whether or not the next day I’m saying, ‘when am I going to be able to go back?’”
We went back three days later. Twice in one week. We did it all over again. We straight up repeated most of the dishes, though we also tried a few new ones, like the Little Gem salad with a smoked whitefish caesar dressing (which gives the Loafers little gem a run for its money).
And, of course, we got the burger again. No regrets.
Foie Gras eclair
lavender honey
Deviled eggs
smoked trout, roe
biscuit
shallot purée, aged cheddar
broiled oyster
bacon, sea lettuce, hollandaise
little gem
sourdough, smoked whitefish casear
Escargot tartine
Benton’s country ham
pork belly
ramps, green strawberries
Ricotta gnocchi
toasted yeast, oyster mushrooms
pop-over
beef garum
omelette
camembert, koji beurre blanc, caviar
The sign outside the loyalist
So you know you’re in the right place.
Urban Chestnut Brewery & Bierhall
I think my feelings about The Grove are best expressed through the photo below—current me versus what I would look like if The Grove was never revitalized.
As the number of places to eat, drink, and drunkenly eat keep growing, so does the weight of the average St. Louisan. There are plenty of places to talk about, but the one I want to talk about right now is Urban Chestnut’s Grove Brewery & Bierhall. I’m admittedly not much of a beer guy, so if you’re looking for insight into UCBC’s beers, leave now. I just care about eating.
A couple months back, the two masterminds behind UCBC’s food program, Andrew Fair and Jon Huntley, did a full revamp of the bierhall’s food menu. I had never eaten there before the update, mind you, so I really don’t know much about what it used to be—more German-inspired fare, it seems. It wasn’t until I started seeing friends posting and raving about their smash burger, pommes frites (french fries, idiot), and liege waffles that I smartened up and made my way in.
For those who haven’t been (and those who were too drunk to remember), the bierhall is an enormous space that feels a bit like the Winterfell’s Great Hall if it was placed in an old paper factory. With ample seating, a big patio, and somewhere between 25-30 beers on tap at any given time, it’s a great place to spend an entire day. Which is basically what I did with my girlfriend.
I think the dining game plan is pretty simple: you’re definitely going to want to get one of twice-fried pommes frites and either the smash burger or one of their sausages. You can go simple and classic with the fries—plain with dipping sauces—but why wouldn’t you splurge on poutine or the loaded fries with bacon, sour cream, haus whiz, and green onions?
As far as sausages go, I went with the bacon and beet on this particularly occasion, but the classic Zwickel brat made at G&W is, uh, a classic. The burger is styled after your standard diner-style smash burger: two patties, American cheese, pickles, special sauce, onion, lettuce, and a soft bun.
If you’re with a group or you’re just prolific eaters, I whole heartedly recommend starting with their warm pretzels and ending with a liege waffle. Speaking of liege waffles: why doesn’t St. Louis have more options for these? They’re amazing, though I haven’t met one that was better than Blue Bottle Coffee’s.
There are healthier options, like salads and grain bowls, but frankly, I’d just rather eat a bowl of french fries covered in cheese and loose a few weeks off my life. Living to 100 is overrated.
