Raves from recent trip to St. Louis

[stevebody]

Sometimes the smallest things...

Got up our only Sunday in St. Louis and went up to the city's Italian neighborhood, The Hill, in search of brunch. We're not Catholic, so we didn't get that most of the neighborhood was going to be in church. We drove around for 45 minutes, swung through Dogtown and Forest Park, and came back to a street we had missed. We were VERY hungry and getting discouraged when we found a little place called Mama Cipriani's that had an Open sign in the window. They had no wheelchair ramp, which would normally make Judye turn right around but we were debating it when the floor manager came out and called two large boys to help us get in. Judye was embarrassed but game.

Long story short, I had the BEST Linguine Carbonara I've ever tasted, in 35+ years as a chef. It was impossibly light, perfectly balanced, and beautifully presented. Judye's pet Putanesca was as good as mine and only my overactive ego prevents me from saying it was better. The wine selection SUCKED. Hold onto your hats: They were pouring INGLENOOK CHIANTI!!! Judye heard the waiter tell me that and got that "Don't Start" look in her eye. For a woman who has limited use of her legs, that was a completely adequate kick she gave me under the table.

Later on, we had dinner at Llewellyn's Pub on Euclid and I had a killer Shepard's Pie along with a Felinfoel (sp) Double Dragon Ale. I was a happy Anglophile.

One bad patch: St. Louis, apparently, takes a great deal of pride in their special "thin-crust" pizza, which is basically gummy sauces and leathery cheese served on a large cracker. Our last two nights were spent in Chicago, where I found the antidote in Giordano's Deep Dish Special. Also of note were the Chicago-style red hots at a little Demon Dog, under the El on Fullerton, where I committed a heinous faux pas by asking for catsup. I swear to you, the entire place went quiet. A cop standing next to me asked where I was from. When I said Seattle, he turned to the room and said, "Oh, well, that explains it!" "It's for the fries!" I bleated lamely, but the damage was done.

General conclusions: Beer lovers whose tastes lean toward microbrews will find a hellish wasteland in St. Lou and only a slight improvement in Chicago. I found Red Hook but that's distributed by Budweiser, which is to say by the Devil. They have Red Hook in Afghanistan. No Pyramid, no Deschutes, no Rogue, no Sierra Nevada, no Anchor, no Samuel Smith. But there are not nicer people anywhere I've ever been in this country. Genuinely sweet, helpful, cheerful people who make you feel welcome.

Great trip, all in all. Thanks for your tips about dining out.