Stuff to eat. Mostly around St. Louis.
Union Loafers' Pizza
Hey Spencer, didn't you already write about Union Loafers' pizza? I sure did. Back in the old days (this summer), Loafers only made pizza once a week. If you were busy on a Wednesday, you missed out. Lines were long. Life was hard. Then pizza stopped all together. Ted giveth and Ted taketh away.
After installing a new walk-in fridge and perfecting his already perfect pizza, Teddy Wilson and BMan have re-launched pizza night—and now it's Wednesday through Saturday. Lemme walk you through this menu.
You're going to start off with BMan's Italian salad. It's the only non-pizza item on the dinner menu, so you don't have much of a choice, but it's worth your dollars. This is another salad from the inventor of their lunch time Little Gem. Have faith. BMan loads it up with garbanzo beans, fennel, olives, pickled peppers, fior di latte (no provel ropes, sorry), and a delightful vinaigrette. Pair that with some bubbles or beer.
On to the star of this show: the pizza. They're wonderful. They're enormous. I've yet to have a single person tell me they didn't enjoy them, and this includes other chefs who own pizza joints. I'll go so far as to say that if you don't like the pizza at Union Loafers, you're probably better off eating Lunchables at home.
You have six options for pizza, excluding any potential specials. First up, the Classic: tomato, mozzarella, basil & extra virgin olive oil. It's a classic for a reason.
Next, the lactose-intolerance friendly Marinara. Tomato, garlic, basil, oregano & chili oil. It's like a more grown up version of their pizza rossa, available at lunch.
Pepperoni, the love of my life, is paired with Calabrian chilis, tomato sauce and mozzarella. 9 times out of 10, this is the pizza I'm getting. LOOK AT IT.
The sausage, a simple herbs, tomato & mozzarella pie.
For the more adventurous, try the mushroom. Pickled shallots, Tuliptree Creamery's Foxglove, mozzarella & oregano. Foxglove is a funky, intense cheese, so if you can't handle that, don't order this. Weakling.
Last, but certainly not least, is the spinach pizza. This is probably my second favorite, behind the pep. Maybe it's my favorite. I don't know. As I look at this picture, I think it's my favorite again. Thick cut bacon, garlic, lemon, parmesan, mozz, and a mountain of spinach.
Go eat it. You can call it in and take it to go, you can sit there, whatever. I don't care what you do, as long as it involves Union Loafers pizza.
italian salad
classic pizza
marinara pizza
pepperoni pizza
Sausage pizza
Mushroom pizza
spinach & bacon pizza
Union Loafers
I'd heard the rumors for nearly two years: Ted Wilson is going to open a bakery, they'd say. It's going to be by La Patisserie Chouquette and Olio, they'd whisper. Ted's bread is better than any bread you've had before, they assured me. Years went by and not once did I see this mysterious Ted Wilson, nor did I find his bread anywhere. I'd sit at Chouquette staring longingly at the empty shop across the street while Patrick and Simone consoled me with caneles and frangipane. I gave up hope. I moved on. I filled that calorific deficit with fried chicken.
Then the flood of texts and tweets came: Ted had appeared in our time of need, much like Jesus or Gandalf, and he had bread in tow. Union Loafers was here!
It took me 2 weeks to get over to Loafers—leave off Union, like the cool guys do—which gave my chef and 'foodie' (I hate that word) friends plenty of time to ridicule me for not going there immediately.
To be honest, I didn't rush because I just didn't see how a bakery and sandwich shop could be that good.
union loafers st.louis interior
union loafers st.louis bar
It is that good. I don't know what Ted (and Brian Lagerstrom, formerly of Niche) do to their bread, but they've got me carbo-loading like I've got a race to run.
union loafers st.louis menu
union loafers st.louis bread
union loafers seasoning pork
union loafers chef ted wilson
union loafers st.louis bakery
Loafers offers six bread options at the moment—I bought them all. I've never walked out of a bakery with a bag that not only was big enough to fit a toddler in, but weighed as much. They also have a constantly evolving lunch menu made up of salad, soup, and sandwiches.
I had just watched Brian prepare a batch of pork for the oven in the back, so I had to go with the Roasted Pork Sandwich, served on a small ciabatta roll (ciabattini, son). It may sound like any sandwich you'd get at Panera or Whole Foods—roasted pork with country ham, gruyere cheese, pickles, mustard, and a garlic mayo—but it's not. It'd be like saying a Toyota is the same as an Aston Martin just because they both have wheels, doors, and an engine.
This is a lumberjack sized sandwich with meat piled up high. If you're new to eating sandwiches without processed meat or vegetables that had been vacuum sealed weeks before, you may be shocked at the wonderful flavors and textures, but don't be alarmed. This is what a ham sandwich should taste like.
Other sandwich offerings include turkey & swiss, ham & cheddar, smoked beets, and almond butter and raspberry jam. I got serious order envy seeing one of the nut butter sandwiches get delivered.
Of all my food weaknesses, few can compete with what happens when I'm near sweet, sweet carbs. In my earlier days as a fat youth, I'd come home from school and chowdown on a bagel or whatever bread we had in the house like there was no tomorrow. Coming home with pounds of bread and trying to hide it from myself had the same result.
First off, the Rye bread: organic whole rye, organic sifted wheat, caraway seeds (there's something about caraway that sings to my Jewish soul, much like Neil Diamond), sea salt and water. It's airy and hearty, screaming to be sliced and covered in some kind of meat. I felt myself morphing into a New York Jew as I ate this, looking for chopped liver or smoked tongue to put on.
The Light & Mild is what I'd describe as an everyday bread. It's base is nearly the same as the rye, just omitting the caraway and using whole wheat instead of rye, but that makes all the difference in the world. It's...well, lighter and milder.
Ciabatta is much less exciting than the other two to me, but still—tasty.
While the breads above are wonderful and perfectly suitable for expanding your waistline and thighs, the bakery's 'snacks' are much, much sexier. The comically sized pretzel didn't even make it home. I started eating it as soon as I walked out the door and by the time I walked in the door, I was just flicking the salt flakes off my shirt. It's soft. It's pretzely. It goes fantastically well with their housemade grain mustard. If they add a cheese sauce to the menu, I'll have to bring a change of pants with me every time I go.
The pizzas, formally known as pizza rosa and cheesy bread, give the pretzel a run for its money. I watched Ted make both as I slobbered on the floor of the bakery like a dog. He foolishly set them in front of me to let them cool. I had visions of just taking the whole pie (loaf? sheet?) and running out the door, but Ted seems like he's fit enough to catch me.
Pizza rosa is simple tomato and chili oil slice, while the cheesy bread is a lot like the breadsticks you get from Dominos/Papa Johns if they were fucking unreal. When I got home, I tried every bread. I cut myself a slice of the cheesy bread. I cut myself a slice of the rosa. I triumphantly put the cheesy bread in some tupperware and set it aside.
One hour later I snuck back downstairs and finished both the rosa and cheesy bread.
I've never been hungrier writing a post. Brb. Heading to Loafers.