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.

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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

 

Pineapple and Pearls

I try to limit my word count in posts these days, but occasionally, a lengthy piece is warranted. Pineapple & Pearls opened in D.C. earlier this year and is already rocketing into the upper echelon of American restaurants.

Months ago, Pat Noonan, the man behind Pat Likes to Eat and the only food blogger with a six pack, convinced me that that missing out on a meal at Pineapple and Pearls in D.C. would be a huge mistake, even with it’s $250 per person price tag. Pat knows food, and we both loved chef Aaron Silverman’s sister restaurant, Rose’s Luxury, so I figured, “Be like Pat.”

I'm crammed in the shittiest Uber in D.C. with my brother, Logan, and his girlfriend, Kathryn, anxiously wondering what the meal will have in store. None of us have read any reviews. We're going in blind.

We pull up, point and laugh at the plebs waiting hours to eat at Rose's, and make our way through P&P’s matte black door into the bright white, gold, and wood interior—it's classy A.F. Don Draper would fit in here. We check in with the hostess and are presented with welcome drinks: a Kir Royale for me, soju and shiso the other two.

We're taken into the intimate 20-or-so seat dining room and told that, like Catbird Seat in Nashville, we won't be getting menus until the end of meal, so we’ll have no idea what each course will be—aside from peeking at our neighbor's plates.

Drink pairings, gratuity, and tax are included in the price of the meal—L&K went with the alcoholic pairings, but I wanted to see what a non-alcoholic pairing would be like. We toast our prosecco (and my pear cider), then the avalanche of food starts.

Fennel absinthe bonbons hit the table first, an emerald marble resting on an absinthe spoon over some kind of absinthe cocktail—I miss the details because I'm staring at my own reflection in the bonbon. I pop the yogurt-filled bonbon in my mouth and take a drink. We all nod in agreement. Baby Mexican street corn elotes served over a tiny smoker come next. Give me 11 more servings of those and I’ll be good.

And the winner for most beautiful palate cleanser I’ve had at a restaurant is...The oysters and vodka course comes out on a stunning tower that a slob like me doesn’t deserve, with the lower level's faux oyster shells holding pickled oysters with cucumber granita, fennel, and borage flowers, and the upper levels holding shots of vodka, cucumber syrup, and fennel bitters. The last time I ate oysters in D.C., I had the worst food poisoning of my life and I still haven't mentally recovered 100%. Still, I press on with no regrets.

Chef Silverman himself brings out our next course, which appears to be a bamboo box. He turns it outward and unveils three tiers hidden inside, like some kind of Russian matryoshka doll. The bottom tier holds a sour cherry compote, followed by a foie gras mousse with toasted hazelnuts.

At the pinnacle are three small squares of bread, which Silverman downplays as a mix between brioche and a biscuit. I split my biscuit in half and take a bite without any toppings. Oh god. I think I let out a guttural moan or a high pitched squeeee. It's flaky. Moist. Buttery. And even more buttery when I spread the foie gras mousse on. All three of us try to make it last as long as possible. We would all agree this was the best bite of the entire meal.

We're given a few minutes before the entrees commence, which is good, because my food refractory period is in full swing. Plus, I'm terribly depressed the pan au lait is gone.

Silverware at Pineapple and Pearls (1 of 1)

Before we continue, let me tell you why the non-alcoholic pairings are even better than the traditional ones: the alcohol throughout the meal was primarily wine, with a cocktail and beer thrown in. My drinks were unique and, quite frankly, amazing. The Thai basil and lime soda was like gourmet Sprite; the smoky Arnold Palmer was the first time in my life I could enjoy lapsang souchang tea; the ginger beer in the coconut made me feel like I was at the beach; the peanut milk cherry cola melted my face off. Get the non-alcoholic pairing.

Entrees make their way out, starting with a petite charred Sungold tomato and peach broth bowl, an appropriate ode to the end of summer. The Fairy Tale eggplant caponata tart that follows looks like someone with far more patience than me spent a half hour delicately placing the basil, garlic chive flowers, mint and golden raisins. It's beautiful, and the flavors are balanced. I would happily eat it again—this coming from someone who isn't an eggplant fan.

The next two courses hop from Italy to Thailand. We're brought cardboard boxes, which open to reveal double-fried sweetbread stuffed chicken wings, accompanied by a watermelon hot sauce and a lime fish sauce. It's like the lunchbox you always dreamed your mom would pack you.

Our plates are cleared and a...what the hell is that? Our server sets what looks like something out of Walter White's lab onto the table, and tells us it's a Japanese coffee siphon—the bottom holds a summer red curry broth and the top Thai aromatics. As the pressure builds from the heat, the broth shoots into the top, picks up all those wonderful flavors, then settles back to the bottom. I immediately order a coffee siphon on my phone.

The curry is poured over crispy enoki mushrooms, shrimp, and coconut and the smell is absolutely intoxicating. I want to lift the bowl up to my face and drink every last drop.

We miscount what course we're on and assume we're moving on to dessert, but no. There's more. The entrees close out with a trip to a D.C. steakhouse: mini-popovers filled with chanterelle mushrooms, a crispy potato terrine, and two slices of meat from a retired dairy cow. I wish I was less full so I could appreciate it more, but the flavors are solid—I make room for as much of the popover as I can.

The parade of desserts kicks off with a blueberry shortcake paired with whipped Brillat-Savarin cheese, a fairly light but immensely satisfying dish. I give the win to the roasted fig crostata, though. Straight out of the oven and into my mouth. The crostata is bursting with end of the season figs, one of my all-time favorite fruits, and paired with a 'sundae bar' made up of toasted coconut, macerated figs, and three flavors of ice cream. It's a decadent, blow-out finish to the meal. Kathryn crushes me and Logan on this dish, finishing off almost every single ice cream herself.

Our guts busting, we've completed our meal. Wait, no, we haven't. Not until we finish off Logan's "freedom from a shitty job" Italian cake and gelato. Not until we polish off the Chartreuse, Campari, Grappa, and Nardini donuts. It's only then that we are allowed to raise the white flag of surrender and roll out of the restaurant.

As we headed towards the front door, the hostess gave us each a bag to take home with breakfast for the next morning: a bottle of iced coffee, shortbread cookies, and a thank you note from chef Silverman.

I had almost given up on high-end tasting menus years ago, after an extremely boring, extremely expensive meal at JAAN Singapore. This meal has brought me back. Truly, the food, the drinks, the service—I won't forget any of it. Silverman and his team know how to make people happy. It's not overly formal, there's no stuffiness that tends to go with high-end dining. The food isn't all foams, gimmicks, and molecular gastronomy. The meal was fun. And for me, that makes it worth the money.

Next time you're in D.C., go for it. Get a table at Pineapple and Pearls and have a meal you won't forget.

Sidney Street Cafe: May 2016 Tasting Menu

Never have I ever...gotten the tasting menu option at Sidney Street Cafe. I am a control freak. I like to pick my food. Most restaurants have set tasting menus where you pick between two options for each course, or it's prewritten so you know what you're getting (Niche, for example, has both prix fixe and a chef's tasting). Sidney Street only offers a chef's choice tasting menu—you don't know what you're getting. Each course is a surprise, and no one gets the same thing. Share (or don't)! Try new things. You're in their hands and they're going to make sure you leave happy. It's sort of like that special massage place you went to in Thailand. Here's a look at my experience with May's tasting menu (5 courses per person x 3 of us = 15 dishes. I did not get all of these).

I've always believed that bread service at a restaurant should be something special or nothing at all. Chef Kevin Nashan obviously agrees, because their fry bread/beignets are out of this world good. Try limiting yourself to just one. You will fail.

All tasting menus start with the crudo—May's is a kombu-cured fluke (a Japanese preparation that turns the mild fish into an umami bomb) with blistered peas, pickled green strawberries, and, as odd it may sound, a white chocolate vinaigrette. The vin is more of a buttery, sweet, umami kick than biting into a bar of white chocolate.

The second round of courses includes a Spring Gnudi, complete with ramp pesto, melted leeks, egg yolk confit, lemon curd, and grilled ramp leaves. This dish confirms what I had long believed: ramps are the sexiest of the allium genus.

A plate of foie gras torchon with tandoori spiced apple, buttermilk borscht, and beet sorbet takes ingredients I normally associate with winter and heavy eating and turned it into a delicate plate appropriate for spring. Beautiful minimalist plating.

Buttery soft octopus over posole with salsa verde, Swiss chard chips, and little peppers whose name I can't remember remains a star on the menu.

Round 3 is seafood. I'm not given a taste of the smoked shrimp spring roll—rude, selfish tablemates—but previous versions of it were excellent.

The halibut plate has become Sidney Street's Spencer buzzword dish—even if the main protein was raccoon, I'd still order it thanks to uni bisque (I'm already sold), clams, squid ink, and crab. I take a few bites and realize I don't even need all the components: just give me that perfectly cooked, buttery halibut topped in that uni sauce and I will be happy. This is going into my epicurean spank bank.

Sidney Street has introduced me to many ingredients, and it was here that I fell in love with scallops close to a decade ago. Since then, I've lost interest. My love has faded. Rarely does a scallop seduce me. Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in...with creamed English peas, a mushroom conserva, morels galore, glazed pearl onions, and a miso jus. Yet another dish that tastes like Japan in Missouri in Spring (perhaps Nashan can open a restaurant with that theme and call it ミズーリ).A small intermezzo of blueberry mint sorbet arrives and we're off to the entree races. My plate is the rabbit porchetta, stuffed with rabbit merguez and wrapped in bacon, set over a bed of garbanzo bean ragout, morels, smoked kidneys, and a buttermilk broth. If you haven't had rabbit before, Sidney is the place to do it. It's almost like chicken...but better.

The squab & dumplings and beef cheek have been updated with the season and remain solid choices. The confit and grilled squab, accompanied by drop biscuits, citrus braised endives, and a lemongrass veloute is the most rustic of the dishes, and my least favorite of the three. I've never been much of a fan of traditional "chicken & dumplings", and found the dumpling bowl to be a little heavy and muted, especially compared to the other dishes.

If you're not doing the tasting and absolutely must eat beef, go for the cheeks instead of the steak. Pull apart tender meat over a fermented potato pancake with bone marrow vinaigrette. *Drops the mic*

I can't believe I used to be some loser who never ordered dessert. I shudder to think of all the sugar I've missed out on. The classic "Snicker Bar" and Carrot Cake haven't changed, which I won't whine about, because both are so goddamn good. The fact that I can eat the carrot cake over and over and be blown away each time should indicate just how good it is. The Zuggernaut is one helluva chef.

I hope I one day meet a woman who can satisfy me like that cake.

There's a new challenger to the Iron Throne of desserts though, it seems. As the server places a plate in front of me that looked like The Shire from Lord of the Rings, two things strike me: I am a loser for thinking of The Shire instantaneously and I am about to be eating matcha, aka green tea, aka one of my favorite things. All together, it has a black sesame butter cream, white chocolate matcha crumb, rhubarb compote, black sesame ice cream, matcha microwave cake, pickled rhubarb, and a matcha meringue.

It, like the rest of the meal, is glorious. After years of avoiding the tasting menu, that's what I'm doing from now on.