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| Photographs by Katherine Bish | |
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At the risk of starting an intergenerational fracas, we went over the river and through the 'burbs to locate some familiar examples, some revitalized renditions, some that push the category and a few that just might qualify as tomorrow's classics.
Sorry, Grandma.
Grilled Cheese
Why it comforts us …A theory rapidly gaining attention in certain corners of meteorological science posits that our climate evolved bleak and rainy days for a specific purpose: the consumption of grilled cheese sandwiches. Trouble is, they’re tricky. Few examples of simple, soul-soothing foods require a more deft and well-timed transfer from pan to plate. Let a grilled cheese sandwich linger too long on the counter, and the crispy crust turns to a mess mushier than a cry-fest episode of Oprah.
Where we go for …
The classic:
For the crunchy, buttery brown and oozing cheesy goodness that is delivered right on time, it’s Crown Candy Kitchen (1401 Saint Louis, 314-621-9650), of course. Lunch lines here can be longer than a Stephen King novel in large print, but the grilled cheese sandwich and a chocolate malt big enough to backstroke in are always worth the wait.
Something different:
We prefer traditional, but we’re willing to walk on the wild side a little at The Billy Goat Restaurant and Bar (1449 S. Vandeventer, 314-371-4628), where you get a choice of two cheeses—go with American and Swiss—that meld to creamy goodness between slices of crusty sourdough bread. What kicks this version into a new mode are the slices of fresh tomato. • For an “upscale” version of the sandwich that launched a million kickball games when you were a kid, sample the grilled cheese at the Tin Can Tavern. Its rendition combines American, Swiss and Provel for the supple innards of a delightful sandwich that comes with an elegant take on its natural pairing: a bowl of scarlet, sweet tomato bisque.
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Pork Chop
Why it comforts us …Cow may be what’s for dinner, but meals on Memory Lane often mean Porky on a plate. All porcine parts and a panoply of their preparations have their place in the collective pantheon of foods that make us happy to be alive. Ribs are a summer’s cookout. Ham is Sunday dinner. Bacon means a leisurely breakfast. Pork chops, however, define culinary comfort: that welcome sizzle in the pan and the promise of a dinner that says that, in the face of all vexations, life will go on.
Where we go for …
The classic:
At Connelly’s Goody Goody Diner (5900 Natural Bridge, 314-383-3333), a pair of chops are served with their great natural ally: sliced apples. Angelina and Brad should get along so well together. The Goody Goody serves up this happy combination that makes for a dinner from the Comfort Food Hall of Fame.
Something different:
We want our chops big and meaty and bone-in, like The Dubliner’s (1025 Washington, 314-421-4300) loin chop—it’s the pork equivalent of the T-bone—which nearly crowds out the mashed sweet potatoes and cherry-and-peach chutney with which it shares the plate. • Atlas (5513 Pershing, 314-367-6800) manages to be simultaneously traditional and upscale, matching an enormous, old-fashioned grilled chop with a crescent of kabocha squash and roasted root vegetables. Grilling here produces a chop moist and tender, with a caramelized crust that gets it all exactly right.
Macaroni & Cheese
Why it comforts us …The macaroni manna of the Midwest owes its origins to Italy. As usual, though, it took America to perfect things by concentrating on the cheese. Much depends on getting this critical element right. Cheddar or longhorn is fine for the novice, but the mac daddies of mac ’n’ cheese prefer a subtle blend of cheeses that results in a consistency that’s soft and melty yet still stringy enough to bind a forkful of the pasta together. And blending proteins with the pasta can separate the good from the spectacular.
Where we go for …
The classic:
Taste is brought to a level of connoisseurship at Sweetie Pie’s (9841 W. Florissant, 314-521-9915; 4270 Manchester, 314-371-0304), which features a gooey mix of Colby, sharp cheddar, Monterey Jack and the vaguely cheese-like Velveeta, swirled onto elbow macaroni. The combination is creamy but with enough of the crucial bonding element to make the dish look like a Jackson Pollock painting from his yellow and orange period.
Something different:
At the Tin Can Tavern (3157 Morganford, 314-865-3003), a place renowned for comfort foods, brown sugar and honey make for a crusty-sweet baked topping on this version that’s the perfect side for the tavern’s famous Backyard Bomber pork steak sandwich. • Monarch (7401 Manchester, 314-644-3995) makes it like Mom, assuming Mom was a Vanderbilt: The restaurant slathers pasta shells, shrimp and crabmeat in a lobster Mornay sauce with fontina cheese that’s richer than a medical-malpractice attorney.
Vegetable Stew
Why it comforts us …Face it, as a child you probably made funny faces at a bowl of mushy, slow-cooked veggies and starch, the distinct hues of those greens, beans and root vegetables simmered into a uniform brown-orange muddle. Even the word—stew—sounded icky to your youthful ears. But what a dish to crave and commemorate come adulthood: all that nostalgia, all that healthfulness, all that stick-to-your-ribs goodness that can keep a chilly belly warm till bedtime. And of course, now that you’re old enough to know better, it’s equally heartening to know that no animals were harmed in the making of this gastronomic reminiscence.
Where we go for …
The classic:
The winter stew at Cummel’s Café (1627 Washington, 314-231-9627) is usually served on Fridays and the weekends, a hearty, homey way to end the week. It’s loaded with chunks of two kinds of potatoes (Idaho and sweet), carrots, lima beans, zucchini and, most notably, dumplings the size of a baby’s fist. The taste of cinnamon laces each spoonful, and the staff will bring you as many slices of heavily buttered French bread as you need to sop it all up.
Something different:
The African spinach stew at the Shangri-La Diner (2201 Cherokee, 314-772-8308) has quickly become a much-craved, modern-day classic for vegans. A curious combination of spinach, peanut butter and white onion, it’s high in protein and surprisingly yummy, proving that chocolate isn’t the only ingredient that can team with peanut butter and claim the title of “two great tastes that taste great together.” • Wintertime also heralds the arrival of seitan stew at Terrene (33 N. Sarah, 314-535-5100), where the mock chicken foodstuff derived from wheat protein takes center stage and the stew is served atop lily-white-flour biscuits.
Chicken Soup for the Discerning Soul
When the February cold finally grabs hold of you, there are only two sure cures: Mexico and chicken soup. One offers memories of a beautiful beach; the other, memories of Grandma. It’s a tough call, but if those flights to Cabo are ocupado, there are these three other options.The Light Stuff
More soothing than a 10-jet Jacuzzi and having conquered more colds than Vicks VapoRub, Straub’s chicken soup is approaching legendary status. The lightest and brothiest of the bunch, its color is Campbell’s Soup yellow; with corn, celery and small cubes of carrot, it sells so fast the egg noodles are always al dente. The Straub’s bonus: Self-service guarantees you get those proportions juuust right. (8282 Forsyth, 314-725-2121; four more locations)
In the Middle
At Lester’s, that bit of fat on the soup’s surface is what my grandmother would call “flavor.” She was correct, as usual. This broth tastes the most like chicken. At $3.95 a bowl and packed with celery, carrots and onions—the trinity of homemade soup—plus copious chunks of chicken and broad, thick noodles, it may be Lester’s best deal yet. (9160 Clayton, 314-994-0055)
Meat Lover’s
“Highway 40” has supplanted “windchill factor” as the most despised phrase of winter. The chicken soup at Blueberry Hill is a respite from either, or both. With a broth that’s dark and a bit cloudy, it’s a sure bet that every trace of flavor has been extracted from the soup stock. Children will enjoy a noodle dangerously close in shape and texture to Campbell’s. Pleasantly herby with scant vegetables but chock-full of light and dark meat, it’ll make them consider the consequences of abandoning the spoon to slurp the last sip. (6504 Delmar, 314-727-4444)
Beef Stew
Why it comforts us …Culinary history suggests that stew became a fixture in the catalog of comfort food about 20 minutes after the invention of flameproof pottery. Early chefs were cutting up the tougher cuts of mammoth and tossing them into the pot with some vegetables, letting it all simmer while more important matters could be attended to, like flint-knapping. Beef is indeed the heart of the matter, but can’t be the whole show. (Beef is the Michael Nesmith of beef stew—OK by himself, but a bit lost without Davy Jones, Mickey Dolenz and that other guy.) You need vegetables and a broth or gravy that brings it all together.
Where we go for …
The classic:
The “Last Train to Clarksville” of beef stew is found at Hannegan’s (719 N. Second, 314-241-8877). A savory gravy is studded with perfectly cooked vegetables and tender chunks of lean beef, all slow-cooked under a flaky brown pastry crust that holds in flavor and aroma until it breaks under your fork.
Something different:
When it comes to stew, Dressel’s Pub (419 N. Euclid, 314-361-1060) doesn’t monkey around, showing incredible range by offering a “stew of the day.” May your visit coincide with Alsatian Stew (loaded with a variety of sausages) or Welsh Cawl (the most traditional and the most popular). • And we must mention the cassoulet at Franco (1535 S. Eighth, 314-436-2500). Yes, yes, not a beef stew per se but so tasty, with beans cooked so long and lovingly they almost literally melt in your mouth, with chunks of rich, fatty pork in a sumptuously glossy, aromatic broth.
Breaking Bread … Pudding
At one time I was a bread-pudding pagan, a nonbeliever who thought those two words should never be juxtaposed. For those who may still suffer that same affliction, allow me to offer four paths to certain salvation.Your epiphany will come at the first taste of the large, baked-crispy cubes of brioche at Harvest, the lightest, most dessert-appropriate version in town. With a potent bourbon-caramel sauce and currants for contrast, this New Orleans–inspired recipe has received all the right tweaks. (1059 S. Big Bend, 314-645-3522)
To balance the inherent richness of the dish, Remy’s adds white raisins and green apples (the perfect foil to the brandy sauce). A clever horizontal cut ensures a piping hot, easily shareable dessert. That extra dose of sauce may seem way generous, but you won’t complain. (222 S. Bemiston, 314-726-5757)
At the far end of the spectrum lies Oceano, whose croissant-based musing is the most decadent. Here a whisky sauce is the catalyst for melting a garnish of white chocolate straws. Halt the process at the appropriate time by applying the accompanying scoop of vanilla ice cream. (44 N. Brentwood, 314-721-9400)
You may now proceed to Jimmy’s on the Park for an off-the-wall and savory version—would you believe brioche with chunks (not shreds) of lobster, paired with a seafood-infused saffron sauce? Congratulations, brothers and sisters … and welcome to the bread-pudding brethren. (706 De Mun, 314-725-8585)
Meat Loaf
Why it comforts us …Technically, it’s a terrine. But in Grandma’s kitchen, it was a loaf of love in a baking pan, with ketchup slathered on top. Adventurous versions with veal or lamb are emerging from some restaurant kitchens these days, along with goofy maple glazes or Thai spices. Fun, perhaps. But not the dinner Wally and the Beav sat down to every Wednesday. Grandma set the comfort food standard for meatloaf in those days: hamburger and bread crumbs, chopped onions and green peppers, held together with eggs and packed into a loaf of lusciousness that came out of the GE, perfuming the air with the aroma of Heinz and hamburger.
Where we go for …
The classic:
They can’t match Grandma’s meat loaf—or that funny smell in the rest of her house—but the City Diner (3139 S. Grand, 314-772-6100) gets close: Dense and moist, every forkful begs for a dunk into the gravy and mashed potatoes this South City eatery thoughtfully heaps on the side. It’s a hefty portion of thick slices, and like the accompanying mashed potatoes served with it, it’s made from scratch.
Something different:
Tanner B’s (2855 Shenandoah, 314-762-9800) gets just a little edgy, adding an herby element to the meat that makes the loaf aromatic and delicious, without straying too far from the beloved original. • In the mood for leftovers but you’re out of beer and the mustard in the fridge looks like a petri dish? Go try the meatloaf sandwich at Growlers Pub (3811 S. Lindbergh, 314-984-9009; 763 Old Ballas, 314-432-3110).
The Endorsement: Eggs in a Nest
I was a pain-in-the-ass, finicky kid and, like many kids, ate the foods I liked on a daily basis until some catastrophic event occurred: soured milk on the Cocoa Puffs, the Velveeta sandwich expiring in the August heat—or the day influenza coincided with my daily bologna regimen. That was in 1960, and I haven’t been down the bolognaaisle since.
One favorite creation endured, however—the egg in a nest.
My mother made it on those memorable evenings when she got the harebrained idea to cook breakfast for dinner—a concept that, to a little boy, seemed completely wrong. Perhaps that’s what made it
so enjoyable.
This dish marked a culinary milestone—it was the first time I enjoyed an egg with a runny yolk—and it could all be made in a flash. Mom used a small juice glass to bore a hole in the middle of slices of Wonder Bread, surrendering the soft bread wafers to our impatient hands.
These little round appetizers were not only tasty, but also kept us occupied for the time needed to prepare the main course. It was then that we risked hellfire and eternal damnation by playing “priest” with the punched-out communion “hosts.”
Meanwhile, she melted generic A&P butter in a large iron skillet and dropped in the modified bread slices. After a few moments, she added the only other ingredient: one raw egg per “nest.” A few minutes’ cooking time, a few deft flips, some finishing on the other side, and “dinner” was served—a feast in 5 minutes. Toasty, buttery, eggy and incredible.
One can fancy-up the recipe by using seven-grain bread, European butter and organic eggs, but if you’re trying to please a picky kid, don’t bother.
Apple Pie
Why it comforts us …The happy ending to all comfort food fables, there are few problems, from the personal to the international, that couldn’t be solved over a really good piece of apple pie. The English in Chaucer’s day were the first to bake apples in a pastry crust; it took the Dutch to add sugar. After that, with the exception of a dash of cinnamon, there isn’t much else you need to do with the filling aside from getting good apples, more tart than sweet, that are able to withstand the baking process without breaking down. Great pies come from Golden Delicious and Granny Smith.
Where we go for …
The classic:
Hodak’s (2100 Gravois, 314-776-7292) version, with a crust flakier than Rosie O’Donnell, may be the definitive slice among St. Louis restaurant pies. Note how the pie’s juices don’t so much squirt as flow with stately, syrupy grandeur, bathing the apples in a golden honey of goodness.
Something different:
Mike Shannon’s (620 Market, 314-421-1540) cinnamony upside-down apple pie with the walnut crust is rewardingly nouveau. This take on apple pie is almost always made with pecans in the crust, but the walnuts bring out all the sweetness of the apple slices. • Walnut streusel and a blanket of caramel are the toppers for the ton of apples in the Candy Apple Tart at Truffes (622 N. Skinker, 314-863-6347), an unobtrusive specialty bakery just off Delmar. Weighing in at about, oh, 47 pounds, it’s all you ever wanted, needed or could imagine in an apple dessert … until you plop some Häagen-Dazs vanilla alongside it.
Why Can’t Every Day Be Turkey Day?
Submitted as fact: Thanksgiving dinner is the single greatest meal of the year. Not just for its unparalleled gluttony factor or the televised football games that follow as a sort of tune-in-veg-out digestif, but because, pound for pound (for pound for pound for pound …), each foodstuff on the traditional Thanksgiving plate rocks. Given all this, it is a grave gastronomic misstep that we don’t indulge in this revered repast—in moderation, of course—on a more regular basis.Thankfully, there is one niche of the St. Louis dining scene that’s addressing the problem: soul food restaurants, where the cafeteria-style offerings almost always include all of the above, plus green beans, candied yams, slices of pecan and sweet potato pie, and many other of the necessary side dishes and accoutrements. Some might only serve turkey as a daily special (in that case, baked or roasted chicken can substitute as a suitable-enough replacement), and many soul food spots do the bulk of their business at lunch, closing as early as 6 p.m.—so, just like on Thanksgiving, you may need to eat early and clear the latter part of your day for that much-needed nap.
A few recommendations: Delmonico’s Diner (4909 Delmar, 314-361-0973), Diner’s Delight (1504 S. Compton, 314-776-9570) and Sweetie Pie’s at the Mangrove (4270 Manchester, 314-371-0304).
Roast Chicken
Why it comforts us …Like all great comfort foods, there is an elegant simplicity to it: Chicken, meet oven. What comes out steaming and golden and fragrant, from crispy, crackly skin to the moist meat to those glistening juices, isn’t just comforting; it’s elemental. A lot of play is allowable in how the bird is herbed or spiced. Masters of this meal don’t get too carried away with things, though. And most important, the roast chicken at the following places meets the highest standard for this and so many other comfort foods: They’re great served cold the next day.
Where we go for …
The classic:
Red (1130 Washington, 314-588-7864) is where “American Eclectic meets Eastern European.” Oddly, Red’s roasted chicken fits its description as well as our heading. The first cut into the tidy, crisp half-chicken dispatches juices onto a bed of homemade spaetzle and a smattering of vegetables. A flat-out simple and harmonious dish that would be at home in Germany or Germantown.
Something different:
Brio Tuscan Grille (1601 S. Lindbergh, 314-432-4410) stuffs the bird with slices of fresh lemons, then bathes it on the outside in a lemon-and-pepper marinade. What sets Brio’s version apart are the embers of oak charcoal in the ovens here that do the roasting. The aroma of the smoke does as much for the chicken as the marinade. If it is possible to have a home-style rendition of roast chicken that’s simultaneously a gourmet presentation, this is it. • Truffle sauce gives the roasted chicken a bit of class at Chez Leon (4580 Laclede, 314-361-1589), in a presentation that is hearty and bistro-style; it’s one of the best meals in the city for making winter bearable.
Spaghetti & Meatballs
Why it comforts us …Spaghetti and meatballs has a unique status in the world of American comfort food. Since back in the ’50s, when “Italian” meant checkered tablecloths and cheap wine, this pasta-and-protein meal was to dinner what that old pair of blue jeans was to the weekend: Nothing could take its place. Italian fare has grown more sophisticated and authentic and nuovo since then, but spaghetti and meatballs remains an indispensable comfort food.
Where we go for …
The classic:
The classic old style is best at Dulany’s Grille & Pub (9940 Kennerly, 314-849-1554). Yes, we know. St. Louis has Italian restaurants like YouTube’s got skateboard stunts—but this place has it the way you remember it from the first time you spun spaghetti on a fork.
Something different:
It’s not on the Hill, it’s not even in 314, but a great spaghetti can be found at Gianfabio’s (127 Hilltown Village Center, 636-532-6686) in Chesterfield. Here we could only finagle one family secret: They add veal to the meatballs and don’t skimp on it. There’s no skimping on the thick meat sauce either. • By no means classic, but verrry indigenous, is Charlie Gitto’s (5226 Shaw, 314-772-8898) baked offering, covered in our own flavor-packed melting cheese, the mighty Provel. We’re calling this St. Louis Thin Crust Spaghetti.
French Toast
Why it comforts us …Mornings keep coming. And they appear to be coming earlier each day. Deal with this sad reality by seeking the homey comfort of a breakfast designed to make the morning at least bearable. Pan perdu, or “lost bread”—since it was made with slices of a stale loaf—has morphed into the civilized comfort comestible of breakfast. The key is the bath the pan takes. It must soak only briefly in the eggy mixture, just enough to be soft but not soggy. (In other words, forget about buffets.)
Where we go for …
The classic:
Down in Kimmswick, the Blue Owl Restaurant (6116 Second, 636-464-3128) uses cinnamon in its egg batter, dusts the finished toast with powdered sugar and gives it all that extra touch by warming the syrup you pour over framing timber-sized slabs of golden Texas toast.
Something different:
Kopperman’s Deli (386 N. Euclid, 314-361-0100) may be more renowned for its bagels and lox, but this Central West End fixture also employs the novel idea of making French toast with French bread. The result is a veneer of crackly fried egg wash and a creamy, almost pudding-like interior. • At Duff’s (392 N. Euclid, 314-361-0522), the sweetness of raisins and the smack of cinnamon in the bread give this French toast an added kick that makes syrup almost
an afterthought.
The Slinger: The King of (Dis?)Comfort Food
No local comfort food prompts controversy more than the slinger: a hamburger or sausage patty (or two) served with a brace of eggs, hash browns and cheese, all slathered with chili. The St. Louis original, a staple of such venerable beaneries as the City Diner and the Eat-Rite, customarily inspires either moans of delight or groans of disgust—there’s no middle ground.Pleasure
Devotees of the dish can rhapsodize endlessly about the slinger’s nuances. Should they specify chili with beans or without, top everything with diced onions or a rusty splash of Tabasco, garnish the slinger with toast or oyster crackers? Moreover, should they embrace the painterly pleasures of eggs fried sunny-side up—the fork-pricked yolks bursting like glorious gold blossoms from the russet ground of the chili—or prefer their cackleberries less colorfully scrambled? However slinger devotees answer these and other questions, they nonetheless agree wholeheartedly on one thing: Pondering such nuances can really inspire an appetite.
Pain
“It sounded like a heart attack in a bowl,” remarks Kim Gearhart, who first encountered the slinger upon moving here from West Virginia a decade ago. The repugnance in the otherwise sweet-tempered designer’s voice speaks volumes about detractors’ reaction to the dish—and dietetically, they have a point. A minimalist slinger (one with just a single hamburger or sausage patty) tops 900 calories with ease, and the dish scarcely lacks fat and “bad” cholesterol. In all likelihood, slinger hatas can’t even read about the dish without feeling acid reflux scald their esophagi—and ruefully reflecting that the slinger’s hometown also holds the HQ of Tums.
These mouth-watering dishes are just a small sampling of our full Comfort Food menu. To see more, check out our print edition, or check back again next month for updates to this and other online features.
