St Louis Weekend: the foodie review

Now I realise that critiquing the restaurants your relatives take you to is a bit like getting all art critic on their heirlooms, but it's not that often that I visit St Louis and end up eating out each day. And I promise to be gentle and try to leave some of that big-city snideness behind.

Mom dibbed us the first night (which was good, because we weren't sure whether she was invited to any of the events or not and she wasn't). She's the worst when it comes to making sure we have an Experience, but I think we did alright. I was fine with her first pick, Coco Louco Brasil, because I remember with fondness Chef Carvalho's Café Brasil in Rock Hill (which I just learned went under when he lost his liquor licence). But it's in the Central West End (a nightlife area) and she didn't make reservations on a Friday night. The last thing I wanted to do after a day of travel was subject the Old Man to a long wait for a noisy table, so we went for her alternative.

This was an "upscale Thai" place "within walking distance". Now, ⅘ of a mile (1.3 km) is nothing to me--I walk that far to lunch and back most days--but St Louis has hills and Mom goes most days without walking more than 200 steps, so she was huffing and puffing before we were halfway there. But it was quiet ("half dead" you could say) and we got a nice table in the corner. The name was Blue Elephant, which must be some sort of Thai topos because that was the name of the sprucest of the stealth-free three Thai places near us.

It was a first for me: a Thai restaurant without Thais. The fresh-scrubbed corn-fed boy waiting on us stammered in confusion when I ordered a "gai tom kha" for my mother. (The menu calls it "coconut soup".) Of course, being interrupted by someone in the kitchen tracking down a to-go order just after he got his pad out probably didn't help. (He was terribly apologetic, but it was odd all the same.) And a Thai restaurant without Thais is also apparently one without green tea either (another first).

Still, monshu's red curry chicken wasn't particularly dumbed-down. The cinnamon pork was one of the few dishes which (a) I hadn't seen elsewhere and (b) didn't incorporate tomatoes, so I split it with Mom, knowing full well there was a good chance it would be too one-note, and it was. At least the breading wasn't overdone and it was juicy enough. The shu mai were forgettable (despite lofty claims of incorporating real crab meat) and they were out of the signature dumplings, but their close cousins were tasty and interesting.

Mom and I both had a hankering for ice cream afterwards, so we decided to stroll vaguely homewards and keep our eyes peeled, which is how we stumbled into Pomme. It sprawls comfortably across a couple of storefronts and looks like a nice place for a drink, alfresco or otherwise. We had their apple, pear, and orange sorbets--all made in house--while the Old Man was true to form and had the chocolate cake. Very satisfying. The server, a charming cub, talked up the owner's apple pie made from homegrown apples, which sounds like it merits a return trip.

Saturday night was the big celebratory meal at Spiro's, a Greek place with several locations. Given that we were returning to Dad's for ice cream cake (was he turning 70 or 7?) it would've been logical to book the one near their house. My brother followed this logic and arrived late, but not as late as my brother-in-law who relied on my oral directions to a location I've never been in St Charles County instead of Googling them himself. (I make no apologies!) The one perk was that the owner's family was partying on the other side of a partition from us and he came by to offer his good wishes.

I'd say the food was up to Chicago Greektown standards. My swordfish wasn't remotely "medium rare", but I ordered it that way figuring they'd overcook it, so it was still fine. My BIL's beef fared much better and the vegetable sides came with a very un-Greek brightness and crispness. First time I had saganaki in a Titan's age and it was less salty than I remembered. Calamari was fine, fried ravioli was less doughy than usual, but the pita with the hummus tasted awful for some reason, like it was underleavened.

My chief disappointment (apart from missing my chance to order a No 12) was that my stepmom never followed through on getting someone to entertain the kneebiters. So instead of having one big adult conversation for a change we had the usual breaking up into family groups (my sister's kids on one arm of the horseshoe table, my stepsister's on the other). What with the delayed start, the kitchen was in full swing and entrees took some time coming out, so by the time we got back to the house it was half-an-hour before wee ones' bedtime. But these are all cavils given that Dad and his wife looked completely chuffed the whole time.

I told monshu we could do whatever he wanted with the bulk of the weekend and his only requests were for some time with my stepmom and some with my sister. Sunday, we took care of both of those. Sis and her man were originally going to take us out to Momos, a "Greek tapas place" in U City, but she figured we wouldn't want Greek two nights in a row and suggested their favourite fondue place in the Delmar Loop instead. I ignored the bitchy voice in my head which says that fondue is a rube's idea of fine dining and agreed.

It's called The Melting Pot (aren't they all?) and I managed to be amused rather than annoyed the third time we were asked, "Have you dined with us before?" and "Are we celebrating something?", respectively. Fortunately, we were able to share the "feast for two", which my sister assured us fed at least three. She wasn't kidding. Their special "America"-themed menu appealed to none of us, so we went with the "Wisconsin Trio" for our cheese course. Sadly, more dominated by the butterkäse than the buttermilk bleu. (Fontina was the silent partner.)

For the main course, we had a pot of hot oil, five meats, two batters, and six sauces. I was the first to give the thick gray sesame batter a try and it sat ignored after that. The tempura was better, but without flour to dredge the meat it didn't have much sticking power. The best of the sauces was something I thought was hot mustard but was apparently a curry mayo. When it came to desert, I ignored their advice and dunked my cheesecake rather than just drizzling it. No regrets about how that turned out!

At least now I understand my sister's gift of a raclette set last year. monshu and I were shaking our heads at the ridiculousness of it all, but that was before I knew fondue was one of her and her husband's favourite treats. Now that I can look at it as a sincere effort to share something that they love with us, it's totally sweet.