Eating in the Gateway City
Joanna Campbell Slan's recent article on St. Louis slang was fantastic, and it made me think about another aspect of my adoptive city that makes it unique. (No, I'm not talking about their penchant to pronounce fork as fark, forty as farty, and quarter as quatter—though I could go on and on about their ritual mangling of French pronunciation. Rather, I'm talking about the local cuisine.
I'll be upfront in my opinion: some of these things are godawful. That said, St. Louis has more than its share of fantastic restaurants and eateries. If you can't find a good meal in the Gateway City, you're not trying hard enough.
St. Louis style pizza—You've heard of thin crust pizza, no doubt. This is even thinner. Think saltine-cracker-thin, especially if we're talking about Imo's, the local pizza chain that is probably the gold standard when it comes to this style of pizza. It's so thin that a regular pie slice wouldn't hold up under the weight of the toppings. Instead, it's sliced into squares. They call it the square beyond compare-incomparably bad, if you ask me. The crust inevitably gets soggy and they commit sacrilege by topping it, not with mozzarella, but with Provel cheese. More on that later.
It's possible to have decent St. Louis style pizza, though. Joanie's Pizzeria in Soulard serves a great pie with thin crust that stays crispy, a sauce that's a bit sweet but has a lot of flavor, and thankfully, mozzarella cheese. That last bit may not make it truly St. Louis style, but it redeems it in my eyes.
Provel cheese—This is quite possibly the Worst Cheese Ever. Calling it cheese is criminal in my estimation, because it's pretty much tangier Velveeta, only white. It's a combination of cheddar, Swiss, and Provolone. What's so bad about it? Well, first there's the texture. When you bite into it, it's not gooey and stringy like traditional mozzarella cheese; the best word I can come up with to describe it is gelatinous. (Scared yet?) Then there's the flavor. Is it possible to be distinctive and bland at the same time? Even that's not the worst thing though, no. This is: It sticks to your teeth.
I have not encountered Provel outside of St. Louis. The rest of the world should be happy for this.
Toasted ravioli—St. Louis lays claim to this breaded and deep-fried ravioli, though that's open to debate. It may have originated at one of the many family restaurants on The Hill, St. Louis' predominantly Italian neighborhood. Local lore says it came into being at either Angelo's (now Charlie Gitto's) or Oldani's (now the home of Mama Campisi's). It's filled with either meat or cheese, breaded and fried. This is quintessential appetizer food here, served with sides of sauce for dipping. And really, how can anything breaded and fried be bad?
Mostaccioli—Now this is an odd one. First of all, though I wasn't planning to go here, let's talk about the pronunciation. Do you see a K in that word? No. And yet, when a St. Louisan says it, the word sounds like "muskaccioli." I know, it makes no sense.
Basically, this is a baked pasta casserole made with penne, marinara, and (often) ground beef or sausage, topped with mozzarella cheese. You can't go to a wedding in South County without encountering this dish. When I was growing up, my mother made something similar, only with elbow macaroni and it was called American chop suey. Put either of these in a can and it would be Beef-a-roni.
Gooey butter cake—Now you're talking. According to local lore, this was created, again by accident, when a baker making a regular cake accidentally reversed the proportions of sugar and flour. Thank God, I say, because this dessert is worth saving room for, and a little goes a long way. Locally, Gooey Louie and Park Avenue Coffee make some of the best-Park Avenue in particular boasts over 70 varieties.
Frozen custard—If you ever come to St. Louis, you cannot leave without going to Ted Drewes and trying this concoction, similar to ice cream but oh, so much better (and oh, so much worse for you, since the fat content is higher). Served as a concrete (similar to a Dairy Queen Blizzard but, again, so much better), this stuff is so thick the kids who work at the Ted Drewes stand will tip the cup upside down before they hand it to you. Not a drop will be spilled. It's that thick.
If you really can't stand the lines at Ted Drewes-to give you an idea of how crowded it gets, in the summer there's a police officer posted there to keep people out of the street-you can also go to Mr. Wizard's or Silky's. They're good too. Standing in line at Drewes, though, is part of the St. Louis experience. Why would you want to pass that up?
Continue the discussion on redroom.com
