St. Louis Eats and Drinks With Joe and Ann Pollack

Mozart's Sister

From the Bachs to the Brubecks, from the Marsalises to the Hendrickses, musical talent often has run in families, and while Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart lit up the latter half of the 18th century with his genius, the style of the times pushed his sister, Maria Anna, known as Nannerl, into near-oblivion.

She still gets short shrift (Didn't someone once say that short shrift is better than no shrift at all?) in "Mozart's Sister," an interesting, tuneful, rather limited story about the Mozart Family's Traveling Concerts on a European tour, with the seven-year-old Wolfgang as the child prodigy playing his own works on violin while Nannerl, five years older, accompanied him on the harpsichord.

The costumes and castles are attractive, but the story is slender and the acting is less than inspirational. In fact, it's somewhat of a family endeavor, involving writer-director-actor Rene Feret and some of his own children. Marie Feret is the title character and Lisa Feret portrays Louise of France, daughter of Louis XV and friend to Nannerl. The director is seen as a music professor. Feret's screenplay "re-imagines" biography. He has used much of the published material on the Mozarts, but goes off into his own imagination for a great deal of the interaction and plot details

Nannerl apparently had considerable musical talent of her own, though a comparison with her brother eclipses her. He was writing and playing like a virtuoso when he was five or six years old, stunning the crowned heads of Europe with his performances. Father Leopold (Marc Barbe), an accomplished musician himself, lavished all his praise and encouragement on young Wolfgang, while Nannerl was not permitted to compose and was strictly an accompanist, or a listener, while her brother took center stage. Leopold even told Nannerl not to play the violin, describing the instrument as "unfeminine."

Young David Moreau works earnestly as the little Wolfgang. He plays (or appears) to play properly, and with proper genius-like expressions.

There's a lot of lovely Mozart music in the film, but the incidental and original music shoots its own dart at Papa Mozart. It's composed by a woman, Marie-Jeanne Serrero.

Mozart's Sister opens today at the Plaza Frontenac

-- Joe

The Addams Family Musical

"Are you unhappy, darling?" "Oh yes, yes! Completely."

This conversational fragment first saw life on a page of The New Yorker as a caption to a cartoon showing Gomez and Morticia sitting by the fireplace. Charles Addams, a cartoon artist for more than a half-century, developed the family of misfits, bad actors, sadists and other anti-social types, gave them his name, saw his one-panel cartoons become a highly successful television series.

And now it's a Broadway musical that's been running for a year and a half, despite reviews whose highest praise was to call it mediocre. However, it's been revamped, partly re-written, songs added, veteran director Jerry Zaks hired to replace the original directing team of Phelim McDermott and Julian Crouch, ran for few weeks last month in New Orleans and opened at the Fox last night, the first show of the grand old theater's 2011-12 season.

While it may be praising with faint damns, or damning with faint praise, and despite having read a lot of scathing reviews, I liked it a lot more than I feared I would. It's still not a great show, but the funny lines worked, thanks to some splendid timing by the cast and some snappy direction. The Addams family includes the parents, Gomez (Douglas Sills) and Morticia (Sara Gettlefinger), 18-year-old daughter Wednesday (Cortney Wolfson), pre-pubescent son Pugsley (Patrick D. Kennedy), Uncle Fester (Blake Hammond), Grandma (Pippa Pearthree) and Lurch the Butler (Tom Corbeil).

They enter in a graveyard, surrounded by ghosts of their ancestors in a variety of period costumes. That's also the chorus, of course (or of chorus), and they provide a great deal of fun with Sergio Trujillo's choreography.

But once we meet them, the evening turns into a standard musical comedy love story with a middle-American family (insert New York put-down jokes) and their son, Lucas (Brian Justin Crum) falling for Wednesday. She invites him and his parents Mal (Martin Vidnovic) and Alice (Crista Moore) for dinner (no, there are no malice jokes), telling her family to act like normal people, which plays out like a similar dinner party in "You Can't Take It With You."

Marshall Brickman and Rick Elice wrote the original book; either they or Zaks tossed in all sorts of stuff they adapted from others, like an exit that comes from "The Sound of Music," a Peter Lorre accent here and there, a wig for Uncle Fester that gives him a John Madden hair-do, and later, the evening's biggest laugh. It's set up for two scenes. First, Fester sings "The Moon and Me," expressing his love. Then he comes back on stage in a primitive space suit, with a rocket attached to his back. Alice sets him up by asking where he's going and, after the proper pause, he utters Jackie Gleason's famous, "To the moon, Alice!" and promptly stops the show. Hammond is a sheer delight from start to finish. Sills is excellent as Gomez and although his relationship with his daughter turns over-sentimental, it touches a chord in all of us who have children, and especially daughters. Gettelfinger shows all the proper attitude, and while her costume threatened a continual malfunction, she managed to defy gravity.

Despite its problems, "The Addams Family" brought fun and entertainment to the Fox, and that's what theater is all about.

The Addams Family Musical opened at the Fox last night and will run through Oct. 9

-- Joe

The Block

Who ever thought that "the quiet little village of Webster Groves"would become a destination for diners? It seems to be moving in that direction, especially just west of the T-shaped intersection of Lockwood and Gore, where a large handful of new restaurants offers a wide variety. The most recent is The Block, as in Butcher rather than Cement or Building. Marc Del Pietro, part of a family that has been feeding St. Louisans at many restaurants for many years, has styled his new operation as “restaurant, butcher and bar.” Visitors are greeted by a meat case and then a bar. The dining room is just beyond.

With large windows facing the street providing plenty of autumn light, it seems quite popular with young families. The Block's menu, extremely carnivore-centric, attracts lots of youngsters, busy fueling up with moms, dads and granddads before returning to homework and pajamas. But it doesn't look like a restaurant aiming for children; its rustic, industrial, lots-of-wood interior goes nowhere near cutesy.

Creamy polenta, called grits in an odd choice for a family with an Italian heritage, was a base for what the menu described as crispy shrimp. Large shrimp wore a thin layer of cornmeal batter that slid off at the touch of a fork. But the shrimp were fat, flavorful fellows, and we just alternated bites of shrimp and coating. A drizzle of honey barbecue sauce, made in-house, was okay, but its sweetness didn't add much to the other components. Pork confit arrived in the suddenly fashionable glass canning jar. We expected a rich, soft dish of spreadable shreds of pork, but found crumbly bits of pork, not nearly moist enough to spread on the grilled bread that came alongside. And the bread was dry on one side, as though it had been sitting out too long, but saving the day were the pickled vegetables and tangy-sweet grape chutney. Slices of pickled red onion, radish and cucumber, the latter rather like an upbeat bread-and-butter pickle, were first-rate. The chutney was absolutely delicious.

 

The Block Salad chops tomato, greens, good housemade croutons, bacon (of course) and adds pieces of blue cheese about the size of a pencil eraser. Tossed in a buttermilk dressing, the crunch factor is a high one, a salad satisfying enough to make a good lunch entree.

The restaurant's grass-fed beef, from Rensing Farms in New Douglas, IL, offers a nightly special, and we arrived to be offered a 14-ounce T-bone ($23) cut about an inch thick. Good flavor, a little chewy, as grass-grazed beef usually is, and well-seasoned. It arrived sitting in a puddle of The Block steak sauce; the sauce was tart as well as savory, a thicker and more complex Worcestershire sauce, if you will. We decided it would be better with pork than beef, and that we'd order it on the side the next time, so that we could have the steak with or without the sauce and we, not the chef, could make the decision.

The house's garlic-rosemary fries come in a cone of paper, a nice visual that also keeps fries warm while letting steam escape so they stay crisper. But does rosemary really belong on French fries? We know garlic does, but it may be time to muse on rosemary.

The pork chop that deserved the steak sauce showed up resting on a little reduction of the pork juice with some sweet mustard. The sauce for the beef was better. The first-rate pork chop had a hint of pink in the middle, and was juicy and tender, obviously from a prime-quality porker. The promised potato-and-bacon hash showed quarters of red potato, fried or oven-fried, and dressed with something like a German potato salad, minus the vinegar. Not a hash, and rather a disappointment. The apple slaw was creamy style, the flavor of the dressing dominating that of the apple, lacking most of the necessary crispness.

Dessert pulled the chestnuts out of the fire, though, with an apple-date bread pudding that was fluffy, with pleasing pieces of apple, and date-ish flavor, although none were visible.

The Block boasts of its beer selections, and while there are not as many choices as one might want in a pub, there are enough good ones to meet the demands of a restaurant clientele. The wine list is right for a Lake Woebegon cafe, where the wines are above average.

Crisp service, including some fancy footwork by a couple of employees who had to swerve like wide receivers to avoid zooming-around children. What we liked, we liked a lot; removing the kinks is a necessity.

 

The Block

146 W. Lockwood Ave., Webster Groves

314-918-7900

www.theblockrestaurant.com

Dinner Mon.- Sat.                                                                                                                                                                  

Credit cards: Yes    

Wheelchair access: Good

Smoking: No

Entrees: $13-$15, plus “market price” steaks

No reservations

Passing Strange

It's an age-old story: A talented young man leaves home in search of. . . something.

Maybe it's freedom, maybe it's riches, or sex, or rock-and roll. He travels the world, meeting all kinds of people, enduring heartache and headache, pleasure and pain, still searching.

Sound like Candide? Or maybe Jacques Brel? Or perhaps Pippin?

There are some similar stylistic and philosophical moments, but at the end, "Passing Strange," is its own show, and an excellent one. It opened last night as a production of New Line Theatre at Washington University's South Campus Theatre, to run through Oct. 15. It's an exciting melange of musical styles, with seven outstanding performers sizzling across the stage, set in 1976 in the South Central area of Los Angeles.

Written by Mark Stewart, who has become Stew, as if he were a single-named Brazilian soccer star, wrote book, music and lyrics, with Heidi Rosewald credited as co-composer. The show earned seven Tony Award nominations in 2007, with Stew winning a Tony for best book.

The evening is practically all music, all the time, ranging across practically every style, and director Scott Miller has a good time with the ribald lyrics and sensual action that are an almost-constant presence. The cast is led by Keith Parker as the Youth, who leaves home and the Mother (Talichia Noah) who loves him. As he wanders, he is accompanied by a Narrator, played by Charles Glenn as a preacher, teacher and general adviser, singing in a rich bass voice that rolls out the notes as if they were chocolate chips in a cookie.

The other four actors, Jeanitta Perkins, Andrea Purnell, John Reed II and Cecil E. Washington Jr., each play a variety of roles, handling them with class and style. All come into conflict, or fall in love, or interact with the Youth. who is accused in a European sequence of suffering from "ghetto angst" because he did not live in one as a boy. There is a chant of "art is a mistake that only life can correct,"

Stew's writing is clever, with fine word plays, and Parker shows outstanding singing ability. Perkins, Purnell and Noah show off rich vocal strength, and Reed excels as the Rev. Jones in a California church and as Joop in an Amsterdam marijuana bar.

Justin Smolik, from the keyboard, leads the first-rate New Line band, with D. Mike Bauer and Aaron Doerr on guitar, Dave Hall on bass and Clancy Newell on percussion. Todd Schaefer's simple set involves sturdy tables and and chairs, moved by the cast into various combinations, and Kenneth Zinkl's lighting design emphasizes the action. It's an interesting, fast-paced evening of musical theater with an exciting score, typical of the off-beat, difficult-to- characterize New Line productions.

Photo: Jill Ritter Lindberg

Passing Strange, a production of New Line Theatre at the Washington University South Campus Theatre, opened last night and will run through Oct., 15

-- Joe

Rabbit Hole

Parents never truly "get over" the loss of a child, but they must keep their relationship open and their discussions honest if they want to get past the terrible event and live successful lives. David Lindsay-Abaire's outstanding play, "Rabbit Hole," looks at the event in the lives of a suburban family, and tackles the difficult subject with grace and honesty.

A first-rate production by the Insight Theatre Company opened last night at the Heagney Theatre on the Nerinx Hall campus and will run through Oct. 2

Christopher Hickey and Jenni Ryan are Howie and Becca. Their four-year-old son was killed eight months earlier; the family dog, in a normal action ran out of the yard in chase of a squirrel. The little boy, in an equally normal action, chased the dog, ran into the street and was hit by a car driven by a high school student on his way home.

They are still trying to deal with it. The child's room remains untouched, only a few of his toys and drawings have been put out of sight. Howie goes to family therapy, Becca tried but gave it up. They don't -- maybe can't -- deal with the important things in their lives.

Meanwhile, Becca's mother, Nat (a strong performance by Donna Weinsting) and her younger sister, Izzy (good work from Lara Buck) are in the mix. Izzy is pregnant by a boy friend and Nat is constantly over-riding the discussion by talking about the death of her son, brother to Becca. Rahamses Galvan is the teenage driver, but his presence adds little. Perhaps Lindsay-Abaire thought another character would improve the play, but it doesn't.

Hickey, grieving, puzzled by the event and not knowing where to turn, is excellent, and Ryan's portrayal is a fine match. There's a reality about their performances, perhaps brought about by Jason Cannon's calm, mature direction. Other nice tech work includes a neat two-level set designed by William Schmiel, proper costumes by David Gray and a fine lighting design by Sean Savoie.

Watching Howie and Becca come to grips with the situation is a tribute to the author's skill (the play won a Pulitzer Prize for drama in 2007), and there is eventual triumph as they take hands and decide to simply put one foot in front of the other on their way out of Alice's strange wonderland.

An excellent drama about a sensitive subject, handled with all the proper care.

Rabbit Hole, by David Lindsay-Abaire, produced by the Insight Theatre Company, will run at the Heagneyn Theatre at Nerinx Hall through Oct. 2

One Man, Two Guvnors

Britain's National Theatre, along with the Royal Shakespeare Company, the Metropolitan Opera or the Bolshoi Ballet, are national treasures, renowned throughout the world for their contributions to the arts.

Their work is brilliant, but not always classic or heavy -- and St. Louisans can see for themselves tomorrow and next Saturday when a filmed production of the National's "One Man, Two Guvnors," still running in London's West End, will be shown at the Tivoli, starting at 11 a.m., and running slightly over three hours because of musical entertainment and an intermission, during which there's a backstage visit and an interview with Nicholas Hytner, artistic director of the company and stage director of the comedy.

It's English music hall comedy, written by Richard Bean, based on the 1743 Italian Commedia dell'Arte classic, "A Servant of Two Masters," by Carlo Goldoni. It's rapid-fire in its pacing, bawdy and ribald in its language, amazing in its physicality, hilarious in its clowning. The English accents are sometimes difficult to understand in the early going, but things get better as it moves along and the result is a glorious piece of entertainment, set in 1963.

The opening is slightly confusing, or was at a screening I attended. With no titles at all, we suddenly see four young musicians on a stage, singing '60s-style material with a rockabilly beat. One song segues into a second, and a third, to the point where I was about to ask if I was at the correct film, when an introduction broke out and the comedy began.

Plot? Well, it begins with Francis Henshall (a glorious, hilarious James Corden, one of the finest physical comedians I've ever seen), who becomes a "minder" (kind of an executive assistant, or valet) to Roscoe Crabbe (Jemima Rooper, cute as the proverbial bug's ear). But Roscoe is dead, murdered by Stanley Stubbers (Oliver Chris), and his twin, Rachel (still Rooper), is wearing Roscoe's clothes and searching for the killer. Francis, constantly ravenous and constantly in need of cash, signs on to be Stanley's minder, too, with the goal of keeping the two from running into one another in the resort town of Brighton

Others in the action are Dolly (Suzie Toase), a buxom wench looking for a husband, and Lloyd (Trevor Laird), a Calypso-accented friend of Francis.

Nothing makes sense, of course, but the comings and goings, and the slamming dining room doors in the pub are excitingly funny, with waiters and others flying hither and yon and Corden masterminding the serving. At the same time, one of his employers is in one dining room and the other is across the hall in another. It's farce at its best, with fun and foolishness served up by all hands in glorious style.

One Man, Two Guvnors will show at the Tivoli on Saturday, Sept. 24, and Saturday, Oct. 1, at 11 a.m.

--Joe

Moneyball

One of the rare sports movies that has an intelligent approach to baseball, and which does not end with a game, "Moneyball" is an interesting movie, even though it projects a concept that I abhor, the overuse of statistics by announcers, writers and others who are not skillful enough to properly describe what they are watching.

Bill James' use of statistics, the more arcane the better, may be a good way to judge talent, but those who use them to pontificate become very boring very soon. Maybe I'm a minority, but I don't care how many hits a batter has in his last four, eight or 37 games, or in which time zone at what hour of the day. Give me his season average and tell me what is happening on the field.

Based on Michael Lewis' book, subtitled, "The Art of Winning an Unfair Game," this is a surprisingly cerebral story, and the story of the making of the movie is almost as interesting as the movie itself. It began with the book, of course. Stephen Soderbergh signed on as director and worked on the screenplay with Steven Zaillian. Just before shooting was to begin, a couple of years ago, Soderbergh was gone, the great Aaron Sorkin was signed to write the screenplay and Bennett Miller, an Oscar nominee for the brilliant "Capote," was hired as the director.

The acting is outstanding. Brad Pitt is very good as Billy Beane, g.m. of the Oakland Athletics, though he is overshadowed by Jonah Hill, a sheer delight as Peter Brand, Beane's shy, round-faced, lumpy, statistics-happy assistant based on Paul DePodesta, who was Beane's assistant, and by Philip Seymour Hoffman, as Art Howe, manager of the team. But that's no trick; Hoffman always is the best actor in any movie he's in.

Beane's opportunity arises when he gets the Oakland job for the 2002 season and is given a budget of $41 million for players. In contrast, the Yankees that year had a budget over $120 million. So Beane studied the rosters, looking for definite low salaries and possible surprising ability. He found some, he convinced his coaches to teach others. He turned Scott Hatteberg into a passable first baseman, he got career years from several players, and he cajoled, coerced and convinced some others they were as good as they were supposed to be.

He had to cope with a group of old-time scouts who believed they could find talent better than he, he had to deal with owners who always wanted more, he had to work with a manager (Howe) who knew he knew more than his boss, the g.m. But Beane had some usable tactics, too, like suddenly, without notice, trading one of Howe's favorites to create more playing time for one of his. The confrontations are fun, and Hoffman, as the recalcitrant manager, is a gem. Brand (or DePodesta, but played with wondrous naivete by Hill), is hired away from the Cleveland Indians. He's young, in awe of some of the players and an innocent in the way the game is played off the field. A simply marvelous portrayal.

There are some Cardinal connections, even if they're rather slender. Howe finished his playing career in St. Louis as a reserve infielder in 1984 and 1985. Tony LaRussa managed the A's for 10 years, starting in 1986, and then came to St. Louis as the Cardinals' manager. Former Cardinal shortstop Royce Clayton turns actor, portraying Miguel Tejada. Bob Costas and Tim McCarver play themselves.

The Cardinals have used some of the statistical analysis, with some successes and some failures. But that's what usually happens in baseball. It has to be played on the field, not in front of a computer screen or in the counting room. And players have to compete on the field -- between the white lines, as they say.

Moneyball opens today on a number of screens.

--Joe

New Orleans: Pascal's Manale

Heirloom tomatoes. Heritage pork. Lots of old, traditional foods are being rediscovered and saluted, thanks to heroic cooks and restaurateurs who didn't let them die out. It's that way with restaurants, too, sometimes. And there are plenty of examples in New Orleans, a city where, like St. Louis, “We've always done it this way,” is a common explanation for all sorts of things.

Pascal's Manale has been serving Italian Creole for 98 years. A few blocks off St. Charles avenue and a few blocks beyond the Garden District, it's an unassuming spot from the outside, with a parking lot behind it and a modest entrance that leads to a large bar where folks knock back oysters and wait for their tables. Pascal's can fill up quickly during Mardi Gras, other festivals and holidays, and large conventions. The dining rooms looks as though they've not been changed much since, oh, perhaps the Kennedy Administration, simple and decorated mainly with clippings and photographs. Lots of clippings and photographs. The lighting is lower than one might expect, although we're told it was darker before the post-Katrina clean-up.

Barbecued shrimp originated here. It's become identified with New Orleans, but it doesn't involve smoking or tomato sauce. It's not an ancient dish, either, but dates from 1955 when a customer came in and talked about a dish he'd had on a trip. The kitchen tried to re-create it. They didn't quite manage, but the result became a classic.

We kicked things off with, in the menu's phrase, a combination remoulade. It's a cocktail dish of boiled shrimp and lump crabmeat, topped with remoulade sauce over the crabmeat in the center and cocktail sauce over the shrimp that surrounded it. Remoulade sauce, in its Creole manifestation, is a mayonnaise that's kicked way up with chopped aromatic vegetables, Creole whole-grain mustard and (sometimes) horseradish, plus whatever magic each particular kitchen decides to use. The seafood was cold and fresh and moist, the sauces both with a little bite to them but not enough to demand anything beyond a cool beverage of choice to offset things.

Oysters Bienville, with a cheese-mushroom-shrimp topping, weren't remarkably handsome; they seldom are. But the oysters were fresh, large and juicy, and the topping nothing short of succulent. Bienvilles have served as a gateway drug to oyster neophytes, and this would be perfect for them. Old New Orleans Hands also revel.

Now, about those barbecued shrimp: While you can find them all over town these days, we thought it important to try them here. Joe has eaten them many times in many cities since his introduction here in the run-up to Super Bowl IV in 1970; this was Ann's first visit to the motherhouse.

Huge. Heads on. Yes, heads on, unshelled, feelers waving merrily as they swim in a Lake Ponchartrain of butter. The butter is seasoned generously with garlic and pepper and probably other things, although it, too, was not vigorously spiced, unlike some other versions. Each serving arrives with two waiters, one to place the dish and the other to ceremoniously tie a plastic bib around the neck of the customer. Extra napkins, too, are brought to the table, because there is no way to eat these with knife and fork. Fingers and plenty of bread are the weapons of choice. Occasionally the shrimp can be overcooked, but these huge crustaceans surely weren't.

Indeed they do need to be shelled. The heads also need to be pinched off. Those who understand and obey the Crayfish Commandment, “You gotta suck dey heads”, may follow the same advice here. The succulent heads are the richest part of the shrimp, but not everyone is up for such Faustian indulgence. Despite the generous amount of bread given and refilled as requested, it's close to impossible for one person to consume the entire dish, given the lashings of butter. (The waiter said the kitchen melts 50 pounds of it at a time.)

Of course there's pasta. A dish simply entitled Crabmeat and Scallops brings capellini tossed with bay scallops, lots of crabmeat, a little green onion and a touch of sweet red pepper, some olive oil, a little cream and certainly a jot of white wine. The result was practically as rich as a proper fettuccine Alfredo, and so wonderfully flavorful, tasting of the sea, the onion and the mysteries of the wine. The capellini was close to being overcooked, but with a sauce like that, we were in a forgiving mood.

In retrospect, it's hard to imagine why we went for a dessert. And yet, thinking about the dessert, we are more than glad we did. This was the best bread pudding we had this visit. Light and moist and, to be sure, rich, it sported a few raisins and was topped with a scoop of brandy butter that also gave a serious nod to vanilla. We later discovered the bread pudding recipe the restaurant gives out calls for a pound and a half of butter for three loaves of French bread. We keep meaning to check on how often the American College of Cardiology meets in New Orleans.

Service is keen-eyed but not formal, and happy to explain dishes to newcomers. But on a normal weeknight, it's easy to tell that most guests are locals, and regular visitors. Not much of a wine list, but that's not what folks come for. We suggest reservations no matter when you visit.

 

Pascal's Manale

1838 Napoleon Ave., New Orleans

504-895-4877

link

Lunch Mon.-Fri., Dinner Mon.-Sat.

Credit cards: Yes

Smoking: No

Wheelchair access: Poor

Entrees: $18-$35

Fin Japanese Cuisine

St. Louis has slowly reached a comfortable number of sushi restaurants; fans of the style, and of Japanese cuisine, do not have to make a lengthy journey to eat well. It also means that little things can make one place stand out over another. Fin Japanese Cuisine, across Clarkson Road from Chesterfield Mall, welcomed us with a dining room that seemed warmer and nicely lighted, less spare than Japanese restaurants often are, and continued at that pleasant level throughout the evening.

And, as elaborate as sushi menus have become, we were pleased to see the explanations on the back of the menu; 27 “special maki” rolls, for instance, deserve their individual descriptions. Sitting at the bar, watching talented, speedy chefs at work, we saw plenty of those rolls, er, rolling out, and handsome they were, too, although we admit we sighed when we saw drizzles of mayonnaise being applied. Yes, it's used in Japan these days, but somehow, it just seems to adulterate the taste.

We prefer to have sushi as an appetizer and then go on to other parts of the menu, but sometimes it's tricky to accomplish. We ordered our whole meal at one time since we had another engagement, and although we indicated we wanted the sushi first, the octopus salad, a cup of miso soup and a green salad arrived almost immediately. We think this occurs, especially on busy evenings, because sushi preparation takes longer, and if it comes first, it slows down the entire meal and prevents turning tables as rapidly. The octopus salad had thin, tender slices of meat in a toasted sesame dressing; good balance and a very tasty dish. The green salad, mostly iceberg, had a teaspoon or so of a dressing made with minced ginger poured over the center. Not much flavor to the dressing, but at least the greens were fresh and crisp. Miso soup was more flavorful, more intense, than most versions we have been served. Its characteristic, salty flavor stood out, balanced by a few pieces of spinach waiting in the bowl with the tofu cubes. Nice and hot, we'd add.

Grilled smelt were another tasty dish. Three little fish, about six inches long, were cooked to perfection, crisp skin covering sweet flesh and a few crunchy bones. Each is good for about three bites (four if you like the heads), and they are definitely fish.

Then the sushi, the usual nigiri sushi, fish draped over perfectly cooked rice with fiery green wasabi, pickled ginger and soy sauce alongside. Delightful, fresh mackerel led the way, with almost-sweet flounder, slightly chewy octopus, tasty clam and succulent sea bass also perfectly trimmed and looking lovely. Salmon roe was a standout, the fish oil squirting into the mouth as teeth clamped down on the red-orange spheres. Slightly disappointing were two dishes billed as "spicy." A scallop hand roll, in a cone made of seaweed, filled with diced scallop in an orange sauce, had nice flavor but wasn't spicy to our taste. The same problem befell a yellowtail roll, though it stood out because there was just a bit of pickle running through it, adding crunch and a little tartness. The rice was moist, and just the correct almost-room temperature.

The soup and salad were included with the bento box. The Shogun brought a piece of grilled black cod brushed with miso sauce, four pieces of tempura (shrimp, broccoli, sweet potato and squash), and three pieces of sashimi, including some first-rate tuna. Everything, including the sashimi, was very close to room temperature, rendering the tempura soggy and what might have been a lovely piece of grilled fish quite mundane. The fact that our order arrived in a rather slap-dash fashion, soup and salad, followed by sushi and the bento box,may have contributed. We ate a lot of sushi, one of the better examples we've seen, which may have kept the final course sitting too long.

The room is marked by a long bar, one end of which serves cocktails and offers a lengthy sake list; beer remains our favorite accompaniment to Japanese meals. Servers were all extremely busy, but mostly managed well and with a nicely courteous note. As a side note, it was good to see several families with children, from stroller size up. The idea of young diners learning the pleasure of ethnic food beyond pizza fills us with smiles.

 

Fin Japanese Cuisine

1682 Clarkson Rd., Chesterfield

636-536-4228

www.finstl.com

Lunch Mon.-Fri., Dinner nightly

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Good

Smoking: No

Entrees: $9-$20

Another Piece of St. Louis History Gone

This summer, we were in London and attended the funeral for Fran Landesman, one of the proprietors of Gaslight Square's legendary Crystal Palace, poet and songwriter. (Barbra Streisand, for one, gives her big props.)

She was quite a woman, and the funeral was...quite an experience. You can read the whole tale here in St. Louis Magazine's blog.