St. Louis Eats and Drinks

Eugene Onegin

 The entire range of Russian drama, from high ideals to low deceit, from love everlasting, where "ever" lasts about 20 minutes, to deepest perfidy, whose effects last forever, comes across the Opera Theatre of St. Louis in "Eugene Onegin," which opened last night at the Loretto-Hilton Center. It's another dramatic success, lifted by some glorious vocal work, and the Tchaikovsky opera will have six more performances through June 27.

Soprano Dina Kuznetsova and baritone Christopher Magiera (both shown here in an OTSL photo), making their OTSL debuts, are the ill-fated lovers, Tatiana Larina and Eugene Onegin, respectively, and they are simply terrific. Kuznetsova's Russian heritage may help her understand the Alexander Pushkin novel on which the opera is based. She shows drama in fine style, while Magiera is a seducer who collects women as if they were charms for a bracelet. Like most men, from Pushkin's hero of the1830s to Stieg Larsson's of the current decade, Onegin is convinced that once a woman falls for him, she never will forget him, no matter who she marries or how many years pass before they see each other again. In this particular case, however, Onegin is right.

Onegin and his pal, poet Vladimir Lensky (a thrilling Sean Panikkar), show up at a harvest party, complete with singing peasants, and he meets Tatiana and her sister, Olga (a charming Lindsey Ammann). Tatiana immediately sets her cap, and her ankle, for Onegin, but with a "Go away, kid, you bother me," attitude, he tells her to grow up.

Tragedy begins as Onegin then turns his sights on Olga, who is apparently scheduled to marry Lensky, but is happy to do a little flirting with Onegin. The men quarrel, of course, and schedule a duel, with Onegin turning into Aaron Burr and Lensky into Alexander Hamilton. Panikkar's soaring tenor was brilliant, and when the dark and handsome first walked onto the stage, my initial reaction was, "It's Rhett Butler." Not, but a glamorous figure.

Onegin leaves town for six years, while a few other things happen to those who have remained behind. He returns, however, only to be promptly hoisted on his own petard by Tatiana. This may be more plot than many people want, but opera is about singing and not about plot, and the singing in "Eugene Onegin" is glorious, with high marks also to Susan Shafer as the family nurse and Andrew Drost as a visiting French fop, a delight as he offers a comic song in French that does not get translated for the super-titles.

Allen Moyer's set is fascinating, constructed of wide wooden boards, with windows, that are stacked horizontally in sections that form a wall to separate the larger downstage area and provide what is almost a series of prosceniums, larger or smaller, that open to give us either an inside area and an outside one, or two rooms. It's especially effective in a scene that opens on a bare stage with ghostly figures moving on the other side of the wall, through misty windows. In a few seconds, the back wall opens, the singers move forward and the party swings from one room into the other. It's a wonderful visual image, complemented by Martin Pakledinaz' costumes and Christopher Akerlind's lights.

Kevin Newbury's steady direction avoided the pitfall of, perhaps, turning the aftermath of the duel into sentimental claptrap, and, as a matter of fact, kept the entire evening from sinking into a tear-stained swamp. David Agler conducted members of the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra.

"Eugene Onegin," presented by the Opera Theatre of St. Louis at the Loretto-Hilton Center, with performances June 2, 10, 19, 23, 25, 27

--Joe

Hamlet

The calendar wants us to wait a few weeks, but we had our own Magical Midsummer Night in Forest Park last night. A glorious full moon, ideal temperatures for sitting in the Shakespeare Glen on Art Hill, passionate performances on the stage and maybe some under the trees and out of sight as well. It was the pluperfect setting for opening night of the 10th Shakespeare Festival  St. Louis and a highly entertaining "Hamlet," produced with all due respect for what is perhaps the world's most famous play.

Bruce Longworth's direction was dead-on, with a little more humor and a little more rage than is often seen. Jim Butz delivered a sensational performance in the title role, and Anderson Matthews' Polonius was perfect. Matthews easily brought out the humor in the pompous posing of Hamlet's would-be father-in-law, and his rich, luscious tones added all the necessary emphasis. And yet, when he summed up everything in his paternal advice column, the one that sums up with, "To thine own self be true. . . .," the pomposity disappeared in favor of the passion of parental love, as strong as that shown by Butz after a visit from his father's ghost. And when you think about it, it's pretty good advice. Butz' rage was visible, and he moved beautifully back and forth between fierce anger and the silliness of the poses he struck and language he used in order to hide his plotting behind a mask of craziness.

It was an evening that should make St. Louisans very proud. Most of the talent, both in front of and behind the (imaginary) curtain, was locally grown, trained or seasoned. Jason Cannon, Whit Reichert, John Rensenhouse, Gary Glasgow, Terry Meddows, Aaron Orion Baker, Butz and Matthews are familiar acting names to St. Louis theater-goers, as are technical talents like Jim Burwinkel (set), Dorothy Marshall Englis (costumes), John Wylie (lights), Robin Weatherall (music), Champe Leary (stage manager) and Longworth. All are deserving of high marks. And as usual, there was a lot of younger talent from prestigious schools and theater companies, like Kimiye Corwin, Justin Blanchard, Matthew Folsom and Deanne Lorette.

For its 10th anniversary production, and the first under new executive Rick Dildine, the theater went all out, and succeeded on every level. Inglis' costume for Ophelia (Corwin) was gorgeous, as were the white ones for the Players. Burwinkel's set of the castle at Elsinore was simple, yet had room for a variety of entrances and exits that seemed natural. At the same time, while the Gravediggers (Reichert and Cale Haupert) made a proper entrance through the grass at stage left, it was only a small tussle before imagination took over and they dug the grave in the middle of the stage so that Reichert could delight with a speech to his shovel before he found "poor Yorick" in the grave. Reichert popped up in drag as one of the Players and generally brought a light-hearted note to the proceedings.

Jason Cannon, as Horatio, was a good and loyal friend, and Rob Krakovski was strong in two roles, as the Player King and the Ghost of Hamlet's father, also named Hamlet, who could therefore be described as the Ghost of Hamlet Past. Corwin's Ophelia had some high spots, as did Lorette as Gertrude, who loved not wisely but too often in a small nation. Rensenhouse, as the villainous Claudius, was a man possessed and pursued by Evil, but as he found himself in deeper trouble as the play went on, his voice became whinier, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar and not like someone who seduced his sister-in-law and poisoned his brother.

That last sentence shows how a play that features six murders and a suicide, with four different causes of death and lots of sex, violence, revenge, jealousy and all those other family values can be 500 years old and still going strong. Ripped from the headlines, indeed!

An outstanding production.

"Hamlet," by the St. Louis Shakespeare Festival in Shakespeare Glen (just east of the St. Louis Art Museum on Art Hill), through June 20, with performances nightly at 8 except Tuesdays and June 5. Free.

-Joe

Daddy Longlegs

Joshua and Benny Safdie write and direct films with an attitude--and a deep understanding--which comes from the fact that they are brothers, and that they are dealing with their own lives. Their feature, "Daddy Longlegs," previously titled and released as "Go Get Some Rosemary," opens today as part of the Webster Film Series, with nightly performances through June 3.

Using non-professionals who are passionate, the Safdies show themselves as fine writers and directors, going off on entertaining tangents from time to time, developing characters and situations that are fascinating, and more than a little creepy. Ronald Bronstein, a writer-director but not an actor, is powerful as Lenny, the father, and brothers Sage and Frey Ranaldo portray his children. The boys are about 18 months apart in age, like the Safdies, and their mother, actress and artist Leah Singer, acts as their movie mother, Paige, and their real father, musician Lee Ranaldo, is her husband, on- and off-screen.

We, the audience, are observers of the two weeks a year when Lenny has custody of his children. He's a movie projectionist, a man terrified of both his past and his future, not knowing whether he's a father or a playmate. Making things worse is the fact that he is totally irresponsible and completely unprepared for anything that happens in his own life. When something bad happens, and it always does to losers like Lenny, he goes into panic mode, leans on friends, does stupid and wrong things.

His girlfriend, Leni, (Eleonore Hendricks) is incredibly patient, but she doesn't seem ready to cope with the world either.

Lenny loves his children, but he is unequipped to be a parent, and a parent who watches the movie will experience more moments of revulsion than of joy. One sighs with relief when the two weeks are over.

Daddy Longlegs runs today-June 3 at the Winifred Moore Auditorium of Webster University, 470 East Lockwood Ave.

-Joe

The Marriage of Figaro

One of the longest-lasting and best-loved operas in the canon, with performances a constant since 1786, "The Marriage of Figaro" opened the Opera Theatre of St. Louis season last night at the Loretto-Hilton Center with a dazzling production. It will be repeated eight times through June 26.

It's a slightly unusual "Figaro" in its political and social point of view. OTSL Artistic Director James Robinson, also the stage director for the opera, works with a metaphor of social and political upheaval from the crack in the floor and the walls in the opening moments (oil leaking through the crack might have been a little too obvious) to some similar antics with a tree near the end which got a little confusing until second thoughts clarified things a little. In addition, conductor Timothy Long had to drop out at the last minute. OTSL Music Director Stephen Lord took over with only a single rehearsal and did his usual splendid work. An advantage of an often-performed opera like "Figaro" is that Lord has conducted it before, and worked with Long in an earlier production.

The vocal work and much of the acting was outstanding, led by Maria Kanyova as Susanna, an outstanding comic actor in the early going, working on top of 12 mattresses in a scene reminiscent of "Once Upon a Mattress," and later displaying glorious vocal depth in several arias. Christopher Feigum was a delight as Figaro, a nice reunion with Kanyova after they both sparkled in "Ghosts of Versailles" last year, with he as a different Figaro and she as Marie Antoinette.

Edward Parks was very strong as Count Almaviva, paired very well with Amanda Majeski as Rosina, his countess. Jamie Van Eyck excelled as the feisty, flirty Cherubino, and there was good, broad comedy from Bradley Smoak, as Susanna's uncle, the gardener; Jamie Barton as the housekeeper, Matthew DiBattista as the music master and John Matthew Myers as the lawyer, his character and actions unchanged in more than two centuries.

The story? Well, a lot of he-ing and she-ing, misplaced trust and honest lust, men and women meddling in the undergarments of the opposite sex and many other things that both preceded and followed the prose of Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais, who wrote the original play; Lorenzo da Ponte, who wrote the libretto; and Andrew Porter, who did the translation.

Bruno Schwengl designed the simple, but certainly adequate set, and the period costumes. Sean Curran's choreography drew on some familiar square-dance formations, and it was charming to see stars and do-si-do-ing, among other moves. "The Marriage of Figaro," first of a new OTSL cycle which will bring all seven of the collaborations between Mozart and de Ponte, was outstanding in every respect. The 2010 opera season is off to a fine start.

The Marriage of Figaro, an Opera Theatre of St. Louis production at the Loretto-Hilton Center, continuing May 26, 28, June 3, 12, 16 (matinee), 20, 23 and 26 (matinee)

-Joe

Princess Kaiulani

Calling it a mish-mash of history and of filmmaking is about the kindest thing that can be said about "Princess Kaiulani," a new film that pretends to relate a story of Hawaiian history, but which provides little more than some nice travelogue shots of Hawaiian scenery and an opportunity for Q'orianka Kilcher to portray another native.

Fresh from her role as Pocahontas in "The New World," the 20-year-old Kilcher wears some fancy 19th-century gowns, impresses President Grover Cleveland and Sanford Dole and spurns a wealthy and devoted English suitor because she is, after all, a princess. There really was a Princess Ka'iulani, whose full name was Victoria Ka'iulani Kalaninuiahhilapalapa Kawekiu Lunalilo Cleghorn. Her name was spelled with an apostrophe, unlike the movie or the Waikiki Beach hotel, which probably was named for her. Her mother was the queen of the islands in the second half of the 19th century, as the United States, in an expansionist mode, was increasing its empire.

Dole (Will Patton) and Lorrin A. Thurston (Barry Pepper), born in Hawaii of American parents, were instrumental in American annexation, primarily so that their land holdings could increase in value.

The princess, born in 1875, was 14 when she was spirited off the islands and sent to England for schooling and to be out of the way when American sailors and soldiers invaded the island in 1893. But writer-director Marc Forby, who should know better because his wife grew up in Hawaii, is not about to allow the facts to interfere with what he thinks is a good story. So he invents Clive Davies (Shaun Evans), who gets all sheeps-eyed about the princess who appears to be 18 or 20. Meanwhile, the rag-tag army of natives was no match for American soldiers and sailors, and annexation was a done deal before she returned.

Mixing fact and fiction the way Forby does is unfair to the truth and as a story. In truth, however, the real Princess Ka'iulani, though she did make a plea to an unhearing Congress, was strictly a tangential figure in the machinations of the annexation. And Kilcher lacks the maturity and the talent to do much more than look good in the gowns.

Opens today at the Plaza Frontenac

-Joe

Sanctuaria

 

Visiting Sanctuaria requires a slightly quirky sense of humor about décor as well as a liking for the flavors and spicing of Latin cuisine. The main dining room is strikingly handsome, but a number of the items placed around the room are Mexican objets d'art (our French is more efficient than our Spanish) for All Souls Day, or as it's more colloquially called, the Day of the Dead. A group of skeletal musicians strut along a shelf, and some of their friends hang out in the window.

Sanctuaria was created as a tapas spot, and while the food isn't necessarily what a visitor from, say, Madrid, would quickly recognize, we'd characterize it as pan-Latino small plates. But not very small; servings are generous to the point where Californians would consider most to be entree-sized. And that's a good thing, as tasty as most of chef Christopher Lee's work is.

He kicked things off with a bowl of posole, more a stew than a soup, the liquid thick with bits of chunky tomato, whose redness surrounded the golden hominy like a halo in a Renaissance painting. A generous amount of pork was braised gently to the point of tenderness, almost sweetness, and a full complexity of flavor that comes from an outstanding soup or stew. Lee then sent an off-the menu dish of chorizo and lamb meatballs in a creamy almond sauce. It was absolutely delicious, with meatballs so tender and juicy, the sauce was almost unnecessary, but it sure was tasty.

It's been amusing watching the word “slider” spread to upscale restaurants and acquire respectability. The small, grease-laden hamburgers exemplified by White Castle--and since we've put away our share of them over the years, we're not looking down our noses--have lost their singularity. Now, a slider is what a menu-writer calls just about any meat-and-bun combo a kitchen flings onto a plate. The Sanctuaria offers a “frita,” a Cuban hamburger. Made with pork and Lee has added chorizo, a traditional variation, topping the burger with a tangle of crisply fried potato shreds. The result is exquisite. There are two of these fellers on a plate, and it's a good thing; they're so tempting we would have had a hard time sharing just one.

“Wicked good shrimp” might make readers of the L.L. Bean catalog think of the state of Maine, but the shrimp saute reminded us of the barbecued shrimp that originated in New Orleans. The juices, thankfully served with some grilled bread for dipping, are succulent, tangy and garlicky, not killer-hot but a little spicy and full of briny goodness. The shrimp were what we consider perfectly cooked, a little chewy and extremely flavorful. The only disappointment was the stuffed eggplant, slices of the battered-and-fried vegetable topped with habanero pepper jack cheese much more bland than we'd expected with a name that inspired thoughts of truly rowdy spicing. The eggplant was wet and a little undercooked inside its crunchy exterior. Only the tingly tomato sauce alongside showed the kitchen's talent.

Many fancy cocktails on the drink list, mostly moderately priced red and white wines from South America in addition to representation from the U.S. and Europe.

Affable service, and a good pacing of the meal. And our apologies for no photos. The computer ate them, not unlike the dog's treatment of our high school math homework.

 

Sanctuaria

4198 Manchester Ave.

314-535-9700

www.sanctuariastl.com

Dinner Tues.-Sun.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Poor

Smoking: No

Tapas: $5-$11

Today's Wine, May 16, 2010

 Dan and Margaret Duckhorn are celebrating the 35th anniversary of their winery this year, and to introduce some of their new releases--and to show off the glories of some older ones--Margaret visited St. Louis for a tasting one recent afternoon. It was a splendid experience; I've been a fan of the various Duckhorn wines since my first exposure and this tasting on a sunny spring afternoon reinforced my thinking.

And we had a slight edge on the other tasters; a year ago, on the same sort of perfect afternoon, we were visiting Margaret at the Napa Valley winery and tasting a few of these fine wines.

The Duckhorns, who pay tribute to waterfowl in a variety of ways, make wine at their properties in Napa and and Mendocino counties, the latter specializing in delicious Pinot Noirs under the Goldeneye and Migration labels. The Napa wines also are sold under several labels, with Paraduxx (a charming word play on "pair of ducks" and "paradox") the top of the line followed by Duckhorn and Decoy. The key Napa varietal grapes --Cabernet Sauvignon, Zinfandel, Merlot--are blended into various Bordeaux-style wines, using blending grapes like Cabernet Franc and Petit Verdot.

A pair of Paraduxx Napa Valley Reds, from 2003 and 2006, were rich and gorgeous, with plum and blackberry overtones, hits of leather and cedar in the finish. They were slightly different blends, but both were outstanding. The '03 was 63 percent Zin, 33 percent Cabernet Sauvignon, 2 percent Cabernet Franc and 2 percent Merlot. The '06 was 64 percent Zin, 27 percent Cabernet Sauvignon, 7 percent Merlot and 2 percent Cabernet Franc. The latter, even though younger, seemed a bit softer, probably because of the use of a little extra Merlot, but both were exciting.

The Duckhorn brand involves three Merlots, one from Napa, one from Howell Mountain and one from the Three Palms Vineyard, a classic old property in the middle of the county, with some venerable palm trees donating the name. All are mostly Merlot (the law says that for the wine to carry a grape name, at least three-fourths of it must come from that grape), blended with Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc and Petit Verdot. A classic '06 Cabernet Sauvignon, with touches of Merlot and Petit Verdot, is a brilliant tribute to the skill of winemaker Bill Nancarrow.

Decoy offers each of the California varietals; I was especially impressed with the Zinfandel, the Merlot and the Napa Red, which is 43 percent Merlot, the same amount of Cabernet Sauvignon, 10 percent Cabernet franc and 4 percent Petit Verdot, a delicious blend with mouth-filling flavor and body.

* * * *

RECENT TASTINGS: There's a lot of moderately priced wine out there, in retail stores or on restaurant lists. And prices have dropped on some top labels. Carry a little notebook and a pen when you're out. Write down the wines you like. It may be of even more value to write down then ones you don't like. The wine merchant, like the tailor and the bookmaker, were prime aides to young men of a certain class in England. In one-on-one relationships, they're all reliable and honest people.

As we get into summer, rose wines are growing in popularity. They're light and fresh, dry and fruity, excellent with chilled summer soups and salads.

When it comes to imported wine, check the labels and look at the importers. Kermit Lynch is one of the best. Based in Berkeley, Calif., www.kermitlynch.com sells via the Internet and has some wonderful bargains. He's big on roses, and a 2009 from Corbieres, Domaine de Fointsainte, is a terrific blend of Grenache, Carignane and Syrah, usually available for less than $20. Bobby Kacher, out of D.C., is another importer whose wines I like.

J Vineyards, in the Russian River Valley, with grapes growing between the river and Highway 101, is owned by Judy Jordan, who grew up at the Jordan vineyards where her father, Tom, made wine under his name. Her brother, John, now runs that winery. J has a 2007 Russian River Chardonnay that is more in the French style than that used by many of its California neighbors. Aged in Burgundian oak,winemaker George Bursick makes a Chardonnay that is crisp and tasty, with good fruit and a minimal amount of the buttery notes I consider unpleasant. Also available on line at www.jwine.com

And a couple of excellent Cabernet Sauvignons from Australia, a 2008 Phoenix from Penley Estate ($20) in Coonawarra, and a 2006 Kilikanoon ($30) from the Clare Valley. The latter, a couple of years older, shows its increased maturity by being softer and rounder, with the tannins fading. Plums and black cherries on the tongue. Kym Tolley uses the Penley name as a tribute to the two pioneer Australian winemaking families to which he is related, the Penfolds and the Tolleys. Phoenix remembers his great-grandfather, Douglas Tolley, who founded the Phoenix Winemaking and Distilling Company in1888. It's still youthful, with a large amount of berries on the palate and hints of cedar in the aroma.

-Joe

Exit Through the Gift Shop

Call him a street artist, or a graffiti artist, or an underground artist, or even a vandal, but Banksy, the reclusive Englishman who inhabits these titles, is a fascinating man, talented enough to gain a major reputation while hiding both his face and his voice, and to co-opt another director's movie, which he does in "Exit Through the Gift Shop," a title that will bring a chuckle to anyone who ever has visited a museum.

A hustling filmmaker, or a filmmaking hustler named Thierry Guetta who (eventually) goes by the nom de art of Mr. Brainwash, set out to make a documentary about Banksy and his cohorts, a group that includes Shepard Fairey, the man who devised the famous Obama-Hope graphic, and a lot of anonymous types who use names like Invader, Neckface, Coma, Swoon and Cheez. In fact, Banksy is directing Guetta, obviously enjoying the nonsense while Guetta busily sets up a scam for the gullible in Los Angeles. He collects a lot of junk, puts it in a fenced area and annunces he is selling art.

The best part of the film is watching Banksy and other guerillas doing their stuff on city streets and alleys, conquering some amazing challenges in climbing, hanging, balancing and spraying paint.

Not to be taken seriously, probably not even to be believed.

Opens today at the Tivoli

-Joe

See What I'm Saying

"Are you deaf?" seems to be part of the vernacular, used as a jiving joke, when deaf people are conversing. Or maybe it's just among deaf entertainers, or maybe only among deaf entertainers participating in "See What I'm Saying: the Deaf Entertainers Documentary," a moving, sometimes depressing but usually uplifting movie that opens here today.

Filmmaker Hilari Scarl focuses on four entertainers and two events where they seek recognition, battling against a variety of prejudices, with one another. There are "degrees" of deafness in that insular world, as there are "degrees" of blackness in its equally insular one, and that's a particular problem to T. L. Forsberg, who wants to be a rock star, but is partially hearing and feels downgraded by both the hearing and the deaf communities. Her frustration is a constant as she struggles to break into the world of music. "I hear too well and sign too poorly," she says at one point.

And there's Bob Hilterman, drummer for a rock band of deaf musicians who whimsically call themselves "Beethoven's Nightmare." (For the few who need to be reminded, the composer Ludwig van Beethoven was very deaf.) Hilterman realizes his group is no threat to the Who, or the Modern Jazz Quartet, but he loves it, even though they have not played together for two years. He's just having a good time.

The mood is darker for C. J. Jones, a comic who is both deaf and black ("Double whammy!" he quips), and for Robert de Mayo, an actor with considerable talent who also is H.I.V.-positive because of a real-life tragedy. Jones works at a Deaf Theater Festival and the audience is pitifully small, which Scarl shows just in passing, but less than a minute of visuals, and no commentary, says all that is necessary about the position of deaf actors in a hearing world. De Mayo, one of 10 children, also was crippled by his mother, who refused to learn to sign, and thus cut the most basic communication with her son. Even when she is in her final illness, and he brings an interpreter to the hospital, she says things like, "Why are you looking at her?" Ultimate cruelty.

Scarl does excellent work. She makes her points, carefully and quietly, but without belaboring them. It's a joy to watch the actors work, but understanding the reality makes it a tragedy.

See What I'm Saying opens today at the Des Peres Cinema.

-Joe

The Square

Mostly well-made and taut in its tension, "The Square" is an Australian crime story that deals in adultery, money and murder. If that sounds like "Double Indemnity," my all-time favorite of similar movies, well, so be it. Nash Edgerton's direction gives the tale proper pacing, but the screenplay, by his brother, Joel and Matthew Dabner, is flawed and the scurrilous characters allow little relief, compounded by their heavy Australian accents and the fact that a lot of them seem to look alike.

Ray (David Roberts), a successful building contractor, is having an affair with Carla (Claire van der Boom), who may truly love her lover, or perhaps she's using him as a way out of a backwater town and a dead-end marriage to a boorish, violent, minor-league criminal. And then she discovers that her husband has somehow come into a large sum of cash. She makes a few withdrawals from her new-found bank, and she and Ray plot to find a future somewhere else. To cover their tracks, they hire an arsonist who shows more ethics than anyone else in movie and it's a fine piece of acting by Joel, the writing half of the Edgerton team.

Of course things go awry, as they always do, and so does the movie. It becomes filled with strange coincidences, a terrified expression on Roberts' face, stunts with heavy equipment and the like.

Opens today at the Tivoli

-Jo

Mazara

Mazara in Clayton hits the sweet spot between a loud singles-favored restaurant and a relatively formal dining experience. A far cry from the usual St. Louis Italian restaurant in terms of a décor that includes good lighting and modern art on the walls, the menu dances with some familiar dishes and some that are quite new. Overall, the mood is casual, with a television at the bar and pleasant, cheerful service.

In Italy, restaurant-goers often are greeted by a table spread with serving dishes of various kinds of antipasti, alluring-looking creations designed to set the stomach a-growling. It's not a buffet; the diner instructs the waiter about just what to fetch. At Mazara, instead of a buffet table, the menu begins with 11 different choices of antipasti, each priced from $1 to $3, so that a diner may pick his favorites. We tried marinated artichokes, roasted garlic, prosciutto from both Parma and Volpi, marinated peppers, shards of Parmigiano cheese and marinated olives. Yummy, all, and a good match with the rosemary-scented foccacia that starts each meal and is accompanied by tasty seasoned oil.

Continuing through first courses, we tried an involtini of eggplant, the grilled vegetable rolled with ricotta cheese that was studded with pine nuts and golden raisins, ingredients that talk about the Moorish influence on Sicilian cuisine. Its marinara sauce, described as having grilled vegetables, didn't show any noticeable smokiness, but was a chunky, vivid red with considerable sweetness. One visit's soup was a gazpacho, our first of the season, and very satisfying. Tart and with a pleasant zing of pepper, it showed more olive oil flavor than most of its kinfolk,

A particular shout-out to the fried calamari, an excellent version of this now-standard menu item. As promised on the menu, they were indeed just dusted with semolina flour, and arrived hot-hot-hot, tossed with a few leaves of greenery, paper-thin shreds of chili pepper, and shallots that had been marinated in balsamic vinegar. The red pepper aioli alongside was superfluous, but everyother part of the dish disappeared rapidly.

Canneloni at Mazara are filled with shredded veal shank, or osso bucco, rather than ground veal or beef, and that means it's another example of above-and-beyond. Sauced with the marinara used on the eggplant, as well as a mornay sauce just lightly cheesed rather than the gooey mess one sometimes finds, it was outstanding. The pasta tutto mare was spaghettini with scallops, shrimp, mussels and clams in a red sauce. Neither the seafood nor the pasta were overdone, and the sauce was well-seasoned, though there was far too much of it in proportion to the pasta. We know Americans expect our pasta to arrive heavy on the sauce, but large amounts in the bottom of the dish are a sign of excess.

Veal Marsala provides another twist. No sauce on the tender breaded veal cutlets. Rather, mushrooms and onions are cooked in the marsala and piled on top and alongside, giving the marsala flavor more to the vegetables than to the meat. That allowed the veal to retain its light, lovely flavor without the influence of the sauce, and the effect was delightful. Too often the sauce just sogs up the meat. It's just a little startling to those expecting the same old-same old. The side dish is a first-rate risotto with garlic and just a light punch of truffle oil. A nightly special of shrimp and scallops, each seared perfectly, came with a fascinating relish of pineapple, cucumber and a little green pepper. Savory rather than sweet, it was amazing, exciting to the palate and a fine example of what chef Todd Bale can do. A native St. Louisan, he studied and worked in New England for a number of years, thus his fine hand with seafood.

The wine list is on the small side, to be expected in a restaurant that opened in the fall of 2008, just as the markets were going south. Survival for almost two years is its own success story. Some pleasing values by the glass among both reds and whites.

Desserts are made in-house by Renee Gandara and, stuffed as we were, we had to try the goat cheese cheesecake, which arrived as two squares, one dipped in dark chocolate and the other in white. A little strawberry coulis could be used for even more spark, but we enjoyed how the slight tang of the “goatiness” went with the chocolates. Different and very good.

A worthwhile spot in a location that deserves a winner.

Mazara Bistro

7923 Forsyth Blvd., Clayton

314-725-3434

www.mazarastl.com

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

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Good

Smoking: No

Entrees: $16-$28

 

 

Young Frankenstein

Theater writers often honor talent by turning names into adjectival descriptions like Shakespearean, Brechtian, Chekhovian. Let's add Brooksian to the list. Define it? That's easy. Wild, wacky, over the top, derivative, rowdy, raunchy, extremely entertaining. There probably are more, but those are good enough to describe "Young Frankenstein," the Mel Brooks musical that opened last night at the Fox Theatre and will bring joy and laughter through May 23.

The multi-talented Brooks, closing in on his 85th birthday (June 28), has been a great comic writer for generations, and even if he's recycling some of his favorite tunes, themes and jokes, they remain funny. He wrote music and lyrics for this tour of Transylvania, teamed with Thomas Meehan on the book and, I'm sure, helped with the casting and probably gave a lot of suggestions to the brilliant director and choreographer, Susan Stroman, most of which she wisely ignored.

With some fine acting that was mostly way over the top--and deliberately so--and splendid tech work that began with a dazzling set by Robin Wagner, mix-and-mix costumes by William Ivey Long and spectacular lighting design by Peter Kaczorowski, the tale of Frederick Frankenstein (Frank-en-Stine or Fronk-en-Steen, depending on the mood of the moment) isn't serious for a moment. He's a high-level physician and brain surgeon in New York when his grandfather, Dr. Victor von Frankenstein, dies and Freddie inherits his castle in beautiful Transylvania Heights.

Brooks also knows that sex sells, so we have a large handful of leggy, busty women, topped by red-haired New Yorker Elizabeth (understudy and fine singer Melina Kalomas), who defines her attitude with "Don't Touch Me." She's upstaged (figuratively) two songs later by the blonde Inga (Anne Horak), a Transylvanian tootsie whose assets only a Comstockian might describe as over-developed and over-exposed. She and Roger Bart (both shown below) are terrific in "Roll in the Hay," while Lawrence Alexander and Geo Seery, as sensitive, eager and highly responsive horses, do their best to steal the scene.

Bart is splendid in the title role, singing and dancing and clowning, and pairing delightfully with Igor, the hunchback servant whose protuberance moves around, though not as much as Igor. James Gray replaces Cory English in the role, but there is no dimming of talent; English was the dance captain and understudy to Igor in the Broadway original.

There are many other bright performances. Brad Oscar doubles as the police inspector whose prosthetic limbs only cost him an arm and a leg, and as the blind hermit who tries to entertain the escaped monster in some wonderful slapstick and physical comedy. Joanna Glushak is excellent as Frau Blucher, the caretaker in the castle, and Rye Mullis is the Monster, guaranteed not to scare anyone, and he does splendid work in a mammoth dance number to "Puttin' on the Ritz" (Irving Berlin, not Mel Brooks). Tap-dancing may be old-fashioned but it sure is fun, and the cast carried it out splendidly. And there are references to "Chattanooga Choo-Choo," plus songs and lyrics that will recall other songs and lyrics from Brooks' earlier productions. They make one smile, but most of the time, the musical draws real laughter.

Brooks always has pushed the good-taste envelope. Remember the flatulence scene around the campfire in "Blazing Saddles"? He's pushing again, early and often, in "Young Frankenstein," with language that has become so common it is losing the adjective of "bad," and with so much reference to sex that if it weren't for the double-entendres, there would be no entendres at all.

"Young Frankenstein," at the Fox Theatre through May 23

--Joe

The Sinker

"The Sinker," a new play by Jami Brandli, produced by Hot City Theatre, opened its premiere run at the Kranzberg Arts Center last night. The young playwright made an unfortunate choice of title, though the play does involve someone who is unable to swim. A really mean critic easily could have chortled, "Little Billy wasn't the only thing to sink in St. Louis last night."

Playwrights don't think the way critics do. After all, a few decades ago, David Mamet wrote a real sinker called, "The Lone Canoe," and opened it, believe it or not, at a critics' convention.

Brandli has a good ear for dialogue, does nice work building tension. She has a great difficulty reaching a credible conclusion, but even Shakespeare had that type of problem. She got no help, however, from whoever made the decision to cast Erica Feldman as Candi (short for Candace). Feldman looks right for the part. She's young, and pretty, with a smoldering sexuality, and she utters believable lies. But she is asked to smoke cigarettes, and Brandli considers the act important. However, it's obvious from the start that Feldman doesn't smoke. She's almost afraid of the act, she's not comfortable lighting up and she takes small, shallow drags, releasing the smoke from her mouth without inhaling it into her lungs. A veteran smoker will drag deeply, then exhale with an almost-orgasmic delight.

I am certainly not suggesting Feldman become a smoker just to get the part, but director Annamaria Pileggi usually is extremely cognizant of details, and as a 50-year smoker who has been clean more than 15 years, I never found the character to ring true.

We're in New England, in the midst of a blizzard ("nor'easter," corrects Rusty Gunther, as George), just a step away from "It was a dark and stormy night." Jason, an author who just sold his first novel and was the guest of honor at a party of friends the previous night, has, claims Candi, gone for lattes after apparently spending the night with her. Then George shows up, a charming creation by Brandli. He's a radio weather reporter--"I save lives with my broadcasts"--he insists with the dedication of a staffer on the Weather Channel, and while Gunther lacks the requisite dulcet tones, he has all the proper self-importance. He's a delightful spoof, and Brandli develops him very nicely.

George has some secrets, and we discover we're in living quarters shared by him and Jason. It the kitchen and dining room, I think, though Sean Savoie's set looks more like a highway roadhouse. Liz, played by Aarya Sara Locker enters last, also having spent the night. She's Jason's agent and editor, and she, like Candi, is wearing orange socks that apparently came from his drawer. It would be interesting to learn if the socks were loaned or given, and whether the presentation was made before or after, jointly or separately. Locker worked hard, but never seemed to inhabit the character the way she should have.

In some respects, Jason was a far more interesting character than then ones we met, but he never arrives. Maybe he's in a snow drift. Maybe's he's still waiting to be served. Sounds like the play, which will run through May 22, might be described as a case of too little, too latte.

"The Sinker," a production of Hot City Theatre at the Kranzberg Art Center, through May 22.

-Joe

Art

Art, like theater or wine or beauty, is in the eye of the beholder, and despite what critics or other so-called experts may say, it boils down to a single fact: If you (or I) like the painting or the play or the wine or whatever else we may be discussing, that's enough to make a judgment. If we don't, well, that's what "Art" is all about.

Yasmina Reza's play about a painting and its effect on three Parisian friends opened last night at the Grandel Theatre as a St. Louis Black Repertory Company production, to run through May 23. It's strong entertainment, hitting close to home on many levels, though Andrea Frye's smooth direction occasionally showed flawed pacing. Ron Himes, as Serge, who bought the painting; Robert A. Mitchell, as Yvan; and Tim Schall, as Marc, all delivered strong performances.

Serge paid 200,000 francs for the art in question, an all-white painting about four by five feet in size. The fact that the Black Rep is performing a play about a white painting, with a cast that is racially mixed, may be Himes' own little joke, or it may be a coincidence, but deeper meanings aren't obvious.

Serge is very proud of his acquisition, and shows it off to his friends. Marc hates it, and expresses his feelings in blunt, not-to-be-misinterpreted language, without euphemisms or diplomatic verbiage. Yvan is ambivalent; he doesn't understand it, but he doesn't want to hurt his friend's feelings. The discussion, fueled by white wine on an empty stomach, soon wanders afield. Attacks move from the painting to the people. Mitchell, pretentious and with his nose in the air both figuratively and literally, is a delight, and his lengthy monologue about women is a show-stopper. Schall, blocky in build, is a splendid physical contrast to the other actors. Himes, dapper and debonair, comes across like the New Yorker magazine's mascot and anniversary cover subject, Eustace Tilley.

The argument rages, with all three men doing a terrible job in terms of following rules of debate, but excellent work in terms of cutting-edge attacks. Himes rips into Schall's wife, both of them team to a rant about Mitchell's fiancee and their role in a wedding only a few days away. On the debit, side, the escalation of anger and heat seemed to go too fast. A slower build-up might have been more effective.

Tech values were outstanding. Dunsi Dai, working with far more space than most local theaters allow him, has kept everyghing clean and modern, to the point where the painting might almost have belonged. Linda Kennedy's costume design was appropriate, and someone --lighting designer David K. Warfel and/or technical director Ethan Shavers, perhaps-- deserves a lot of credit for a complex scheme that made other paintings appear and disappear from the walls, and for the light painting of a skier that served as somewhat of a metaphor.

Solid acting from all three actors, and good entertainment for those who love to eavesdrop on other people's arguments.

"Art," by the St. Louis Black Repertory Company, at the Grandel Theatre through May 23.

-Joe

Babies

Just in time for Mother's Day, heee-res "Babies"!! Put the DVD on the gift list for a new Mom or an older one. Thomas Balmes' film, a fixating documentary, will teach her one key thing: The baby will grow up, will be happy and healthy, will learn to cope with the world.

Balmes and some highly talented camera operators follow four infants from shortly after birth until they're toddlers. The children--Hattie, from San Francisco; Mari, from Tokyo; Ponijao, from Namibia; and Bayarjargel, from Mongolia--are astonishingly alike in how they respond, what they do, what they try to do. All four are well-loved, well-fed (to their family standards) and from two-parent families. Hattie and Mari are modern "civilized" children, with expensive strollers and teams of physicians and caretakers. Ponijao lives in a hovel in the desert, sucking on a bone after the dog has tossed it aside, watching the flies crawl over his body. Bayarjargel is barely disturbed when a goat wanders up and drinks from his bath water. Hattie has a temper tantrum and Mom beams.

There is almost no dialogue because this is a film about babies, and none of these four is ready to speak (besides, as the old joke goes, since they get everything they want without being verbal, why should they bother). Bruno Coulais has contributed some excellent music, and Calmes merely moves from child to child, observing them while they study their feet, watching them interact with pet animals who allow themselves to be mauled because they understand babies. The Mongolian boy is part of a nomadic family, but his family dog is cool when the child sticks his hand into the animal's mouth. The Namibian child benefits from what might be called group nursing. There are many women in the community; almost all are bare-breasted (they might have served as National Geographic models) and if a child is hungry, the feeding mechanism is at hand.

If Calmes is making a point in his fascinating movie, it is that the American parents, and the Japanese to a slightly lesser degree, spend far too much time and energy hovering and trying to deal with every want as soon as the child thinks of one. Feed the children. Love them. Cuddle them. Protect them from real danger and don't worry about imaginary threats.

As someone once said, "The kids will be all right."

Opens today at several theaters

-Joe

The Secret of Kells

"The Secret of Kells," which sneaked under the radar to gain an Academy Award nomination for animation, didn't win, but it's one of the most beautiful animated films I've ever seen. Directed by the Irish artist, Tomm Moore, it was put together by artists in Belgium, Hungary, Brazil and France, and it's a slight twist on the Irish legendary volume that resides in Dublin.

Moore and writer Fabrice Ziolkowski have collected a group of characters that are so imaginatively and expressively created that they almost overwhelm the story, and its relatively short running time (75 minutes) is like a breath-taking journey through a museum. We have a young boy, Brendan (voice by Evan McGuire) who lives with his uncle Collach (Brendan Gleason) in an abbey, learning to be a monk. A monk named Aidan (Mick Lally) arrives with an unfinished book and a magic crystal, and he persuades Brendan to go out in the woods to find berries, a source of a primitive ink, so he can finish.

Once out there, Brendan meets a sprite named Aisling (Christen Mooney) and a variety of pagan creatures. Their conflict and resolution make for a fascinating tale, but no matter how interesting it might have been, or could be, it remains in the shadows of the masterly work created by many artists.

A glorious visual experience.

Opens today at the Plaza Frontenac.

-Joe

Mid-August Lunch

Gianni Di Gregorio really has bitten off a large mouthful in "Mid-August Lunch," a light, frothy tale with an uncommonly hard backbone. He's the writer and director, and the leading actor, and he is trying to deal with four very elderly women, all non-actors, one portraying his 93-year-old mother, with whom he shares an apartment.

The action takes place in Rome, during Ferragosto, a feast day that marks Aug. 15. Gianni, who does not appear to have a job, spends his days socializing with his friend, Viking (Luigi Marchetti) and other people in his Trastevere neighborhood. One day the landlord approaches and points out that Gianni is three years behind in his rent. But the landlord will forgive the debt if his mother can spend a few days with Gianni and his mother while the landlord attends to urgent family business out of town. Gianni agrees, of course, and Mom--and her unannounced sister--move in while the landlord heads out of town, convertible top down and blonde in the passenger seat.

When the doctor pays a visit, guess what he wants? Yep, another elderly guest. The four women interplay nicely, and scenes of Gianni preparing meals for the elderly quartet are simply charming. Not much happens, but it's fun to watch and Gianni Di Gregorio has worn his three hats with great success.

At the Plaza Frontenac, opening today

-Joe

Kampai Sushi Bar

 

Tucked away on the ground floor of a large, rather anonymous modern apartment building, Kampai Sushi Bar seems to be a very neighborhood-local place. The only business on the West Pine block between Kingshighway and Euclid, it chugs along quietly, or so it seems. But we suspect they're hoping for a little late-night action from their mostly young clientele, since there's a nicely funky-looking flyer posted announcing late-night music on Sunday nights. Meanwhile, the restaurant is dishing up sushi and more.

And the sushi itself is of high quality, with good fresh fish, careful construction (no falling-apart rice) and the expected lovely presentation. Our only serious quibble was that the spider roll (soft-shell crab with its claws representing the spider's legs) was not nearly crabby enough. The crustacean was crunchy in its tempura batter, but the delicate flavor of the meat was lost in waves of that batter.

Happy dabbling in the appetizers yielded two kinds of squid, a salad that was nicely spicy and a whole grilled squid not, perhaps, for the faint of heart but tasty in its firm texture and careful cooking. Japanese chicken wings were baked to proper crispness, brushed with a teriyaki glaze and served with a shower of green onion rings. Tempura involved several different vegetables and some outstanding shrimp. And best of all, at least for folks like us who love fish that tastes like fish, was what the menu calls hamachi kama. Hamachi is yellowtail, one of our favorite kinds of sushi, high in those (dare we say it?) healthy oils that give us another excuse to dig in. Kama is the jaw, which holds a surprising amount of meat and which is grilled to crispness. There is no polite way to eat this; just think of it as being like ribs and start munching. (See photo below.)

Entrees include miso soup and a salad. The soup, while pleasant, is unremarkable. The salad, a standard iceberg mix, wears a dressing that seems to be based on the red “French” stuff that plagued our younger days. Sweet, with perhaps a very little grated ginger stirred in, it takes up space that could be used instead for fish, and the fish was terrific, headed by a simple, almost boneless fillet of perfectly grilled mackerel, juicy and full of flavor. Almost as good was donkatsu, slices of juicy pork tenderloin (yes, it is possible to keep that cut moist) breaded and deep fried. It's served with an Asian plum sauce. Niku tofu is a mixture of shredded vegetables, beef and tofu in a slightly thickened soy broth, more of a stew than a stir-fry, the mixture being sweet-salty, bolstered by a little hit of ginger.

 

Fine service, even when things were busy, and a list of Asian-esque cocktails that can be fun.

Kampai Sushi Bar

4949 W. Pine Blvd.

314-367-2020

www.kampaistl.com 

Lunch Mon.-Fri., Dinner nightly

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Fair

Smoking: No

Entrees: $11-$19

Lunch Mon.-Fri., Dinner nightly

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Fair

Smoking: No

Entrees: $11-$19

 

This Week's Wine, May 5, 2010

The old and the new blend nicely in Hermann, Missouri, and a weekend spent among spring flowers and old friends, with the added benefit of good wine and food, always lifts the spirits. The last weekend of April has become a regular trip to celebrate the release of a new vintage of Norton, Stone Hill Winery's prime red wine, and to re-taste some of my favorite older ones.

Stone Hill, which Jim and Betty Held have led and operated for a half-century, was among the first topics a rookie wine writer discussed. The year was 1973, and I did my first tour of the state's wineries as I added wine to my writing portfolio.

For the last 22 years, Stone Hill has been host to a 10-year vertical tasting of its Norton, from a native American grape discovered on the East Coast by early settlers. The formal name of the grape is vitis aestivalis, as compared with European classics like Cabernet Sauvignon and Chardonnay which are vitis vinifera, or America vines like Concord and Catawba, which are vitis lambrusca. The vertical tasting, which involves the same wine for a number of years, included 2009, the most recent vintage, which still is in process, and 2008, still in the barrel. The 2007 was released the day of the tasting, and we sampled each vintage back to 2000. A horizontal tasting, by the way, involves many wines from the same year.

Most of the wines I tasted are very good, a few were superb, the younger ones show signs they will mature into excellence. And once again, as it has been for the last five or six years, my favorite was the 2002. It's an amazing wine, full-bodied, rich and bold. The hard tannins have vanished, to be replaced by a dark cherry aroma and blackberries, leather and cedar on the palate. There's spice and great length in the finish. It's one of the best wines that Dave Johnson, the long-time Stone Hill winemaker, ever has made. My second choice was the 2005, a rich, plummy version whose tannins are fading and is a superior accompaniment to steak or fat, juicy hamburgers right off the grill. The '03 is another potential winner, as is the barrel sample, from 2008, which shows signs of great maturity ahead.

All the wines, even the 10-year-old 2000 vintage, still were tasty and drinkable, but if I had any 2000's in my basement (a more accurate word than "cellar," for the place where I store my wines), I'd work to finish them within a year or so, before they start over the hill.

The Held family brought out another new release, a 2009 dry Vignoles, and it was brilliant. At 14 percent alcohol, it's a little higher than most white wines, but the crispness and acidity give it fine balance. It shows some mineral texture, sharp citrus notes in the fruit and a smooth finish that makes it shine with spicy food, like Asian curries, or with a roast chicken well rubbed with garlic to heighten its flavor. The wine also works by itself, well-chilled, as a superior summer aperitif.

From the Stone Hill lawn, high above the town, the view includes just about all of Hermann, right to the Missouri River that flows past it. Sometime in the 1830s, it was settled by German immigrants who had been told they would think they were right at home alongside the Rhine. Wine was an integral part of their lifestyle, and they brought the love and the skill to make their own. With the exception of a 25-year interruption for Prohibition, the Great Depression and World War II, they've been doing it since.

Downtown Hermann, across First Street from the river, is home to Hermannhof Winery, rescued from oblivion by Jim and Mary Dierberg, who are rehabbing, rebuilding and upgrading much of the riverfront. In addition to the winery, the Dierbergs remodeled the old Festhalle into an elegant hotel, conference and party space, moved several old homes--stone by stone--and turned them into bed-and-breakfast accomodations near the winery, made an old grain elevator and warehouse into the Tin Mill Brewery, run by their daughter, Ellen, and created a park for sitting and picknicking. Hermannhof makes lots of wine across the spectrum, from dry to sweet.

Dierberg's wine interests go beyond Hermann, and Hermannhof visitors can sample excellent wines from his property in the Santa Ynez Valley of Santa Barbara County. Classic vinifera grapes grow there, and the wines are delightful. Winemaker Nick de Luca uses three labels, Star Lane, Dierberg and Three Saints. The featured wine is the Star Lane Astral, a Cabernet Sauvignon whose grapes come from three specific blocks growing at the highest point of the vineyards. The 2005 vintage shows the balance and style that age will contribute. It's a rich and wondrous wine.

Star Lane also makes Cabernet Sauvignon from other areas of the valley, and Syrah and Merlot as well. The Syrah, tasted against an Australian Shiraz, showed a little more body and depth of flavor, though the fruit-forward style of the Aussies was very good.

And if you're in Hermann, and anxious to stock up on meats for home consumption, put your cooler in the car and visit Swiss Meat and Sausage, 12 miles south of Hermann on Highway 19. Swiss used to be a town of its own, but Hermann annexed it some years ago. Mike Sloan and his family make terrific bacon, hams and sausages of all types. The Sloans have dozens of different sausages and bratwurst, from buffalo, pork, elk and other animals, plus salamis and bolognas that seem to go on forever. Samples abound, and a lunch counter offers a variety of sandwiches and snacks. It's a small detour for a very large treat.

-Joe

Korean BBQ Burgers

 Bloggers are a source of many of the new cookbooks, and I've found a favorite from a blogger I haven't read – until now.

Jaden Hair's The Steamy Kitchen Cookbook, from her blog steamykitchen.com, offers Asian flavors that can be created in American kitchens. Not such an unusual idea, but sometimes a set of recipes seem to particularly cause the mouth to water, and that's what happened here.

Last night I threw together some Korea BBQ-style Burgers from her book, a recipe she semi-credits to Sarah Gim of tastespotters.com. The flavor is the slightly sweet, salty-savory delight often found on the Korean-style ribs at Korean restaurants. It translates well to the hamburgers, which were good enough we didn't even use buns. The fast pickle that she suggests alongside or on top is easy and a nice contrast. Joe said it was tasty, but its light flavor made him think more of a relish or a salad than a pickle.

I say “threw together” because pretty much everything I needed was in the freezer or pantry. I used ground chuck for the beef. As to the minced garlic and grated ginger, purists will sneer, but I succumbed to the temptation and ease of keeping a commercial jar in my refrigerator. No, I agree, it isn't as flavorful as the fresh stuff, but sometimes we all succumb to the lure of quick. As to what Hair calls “high-heat cooking oil,” I keep peanut oil on hand for just such times, and it worked fine. Don't be afraid to use it; when the burgers were done, they hadn't sucked up any of the oil. In fact, there was more fat in the pan after cooking. And the burgers didn't stick. They also can be grilled on a barbecue, of course.

For the best texture, hamburgers should be handled lightly, so what I did was mix all the seasoning ingredients together in a bowl and then crumbled the ground beef into it. I tossed it gently until the seasonings were well dispersed, and then gently formed the mixture into fat patties.

Hair suggests offering the usual burger condiments, making sure the mustard is a hot one (think about the fiery English mustard that comes with egg rolls), as well as kimchi and sriracha, that Asian hot sauce sometimes called rooster sauce, along with the aforementioned pickles. We found the hamburgers so tasty that, they didn't need anything except the pickles, whose cool, slightly crunchy tartness made for an exceptional side.

 

3 Tbs. finely minced garlic

3 Tbs. grated fresh ginger

2 ½ Tbs. soy sauce

2 ½ Tbs. brown sugar

3 Tbs. finely minced green onion

2 tsp. sesame seeds

fresh-ground black pepper

2 tsp. high-heat cooking oil

1 ½ lbs. ground beef

 

Mix the ingredients together and form into 4 patties a little less than an inch thick. Set aside and let rest for 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat a skillet on high heat until a bead of water sizzles and evaporates. Add the oil and shake the pan to allow it to cover the surface.

Place the patties in the pan so that they are not touching. Cook the patties 5 to 7 minutes on each side for medium. (I did 5, and they were excellent, juicy and slightly pink.)

Makes 4 burgers

Quick Cucumber Carrot Pickle

1 c. matchstick-cut carrots

1 c. matchstick-cut cucumber

½ tsp. sesame seeds

4 tsp. rice vinegar

½ tsp. Sugar

Toss the ingredients together.

I cooked two of the patties when I made the mixture and refrigerated the other two for the following evening. The burgers seemed even more flavorful after standing, so don't hesitate to do them ahead of time. On the other hand, the pickle loses crispness, so it's better done fresh.

-Ann

Tartuffe

The play may be almost 350 years old, but "Tartuffe" is as contemporary as this morning's news, and as a classic play, it receives a proper classic treatment at the hands of Deanna Jent and the Mustard Seed Theatre. The play continues through next weekend at the Fontbonne Theatre.

Using the brilliant, light-hearted translation by Richard Wilbur, which delivers in sparkling rhyming couplets, Moliere's satire about hypocritical religious fanatics who use their theologically honed rhetoric and the faith of other believers to steal and seduce is right out of current headlines. Tartuffe, played with all the necessary roguish charm by Gary Wayne Barker, pairs perfectly with J. Samuel Davis as Orgon, the wealthy merchant who rescues a down-and-out from the streets and starts falling deeper and deeper into the pit dug by his evil tongue.

Orgon's mother (an excellent Peggy Billo) is as charmed as he is, so the family fight matches those two against Orgon's wife (faithful and determined Kelley Ryan), their children, (Zoe Sullivan, lovely under a head covered with blonde ringlets, and Kareem Deanes, fierce of temper and intemperate of speech), Sullivan's mouthy maid (a perfect part for the glib, sarcastic Colleen Backer) and his brother-in-law (fine work from Michael Brightman). David Chandler and Sullivan portray the young lovers, and they look as if they just stepped out of a Watteau painting.

Tartuffe's greed and lust know few bounds. He convinces Orgon to end his daughter's betrothal and order her to marry him. At the same time, Tartuffe is busily attempting to seduce Orgon's wife. It's good, perhaps, to note that both objects of his desire are women, though one might worry about his servant, Laurent, played by Jackson Mabry,a fourth-grader who has no lines but who eats well.

Jent's direction is outstanding; the play is beautifully cast, and it's nice to see the talented Davis working more widely around town. Barker understands his characters better than most local actors, and Backer is bright and feisty, her eyes and brows as expressive as her voice. Dunsai Dai, a near-genius at designing sets in small spaces, has more room here, and it looks right, especially when filled with the actors in JC Krajicek's period costumes. There are many funny lines, equally as many that stab with their universality, and it's fascinating--and rather sad--to realize that after at least 346 years, men in power are still trashing their public values as they try avidly to exercise that power in the bedroom.

"Tartuffe" by the Mustard Seed Theater at Fontbonne University, through May 10

-Joe

Avenue Q

It's rowdy and raucous, sexy and sophisticated. It promotes love, both free and C.O.D., and it tries to add at least one new word to the audience's vocabulary. It's imaginative and high-powered, preaches that kindness and tolerance are superior to hate, blends puppets, who look a little like Muppets but whose language and actions would never make it on TV, with some fine young actors learning the rigorous world of a bus-and-truck tour.

That's "Avenue Q," a splendid musical that opened at the Fox Theatre last night to run through the weekend. Named for a street in Brooklyn, it features a charming, delightful young woman, Jacqueline Grabois, who misses being named for a major local street by a single letter (clue: the correct and incorrect letters are side by side on a keyboard). She's the puppet handler and voice of Kate Monster, our sweet heroine, and of Lucy The Slut, our salty non-heroine. She handles (both literally and figuratively) several other characters, too. Four of the actors are both puppeteers, actors and singers; the other three simply sing and act.

 
It opened off-Broadway in 2003, earned a promotion to Broadway in only a few months, then scored three Tony Awards (Best Musical, Best Score, Best Book) out of six nominations.

With book by Jeff Whitty, music and lyrics by Robert Lopez and Jeff Marx, the show's success lies in its ability to deal with serious subjects in a very non-serious manner. We have an unemployed college graduate who is realizing just how useless a B.A. in English can be; a reclusive porn addict, a young woman who is a kindergarten teaching assistant; a gay Republican investment banker who won't come out of the closet; a 32-year-old man who still is an aspiring comedian; his live-in girl friend, a Japanese therapist with only one client. All standard types, but written by Whitty with real style and considerable class, and with a stroke of genius he adds a character named Gary Coleman, once a national television star but, as he puts it, "washed up at the age of 15," and now is the "super" (New York verbal shorthand for an apartment house janitor and handy-man, known more formally as the superintendent), brilliantly played, with superb timing, by Nigel Jamaal Clark.

Lopez and Marx deal with the usual issues of racism, unemployment, seduction, out-of-towners facing New York realism, finding apartments, all the topics that have fascinated writers into creating "My Sister Eileen," "The Out-of-Towners," "Barefoot in the Park" and dozens of others, but their score, including "It Sucks to Be Me," "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist" and "The Internet is for Porn," among others, indicates that we're more alike than we are different, if we would only recognize it--and admit it--in ourselves.

The use of a handful of video effects, with animated figures and letters, works nicely, with director Jason Moore carefully keeping them infrequent so they remain a pleasure, but they're at their best in a song called "Schadenfreude," a German word meaning to take pleasure from the misfortunes of another, especially if there's someone in your life whose misfortunes you especially enjoy.

Grabois is terrific, as is Lisa Helmi Johanson, cast as Christmas Eve, the gorgeous Japanese therapist, who actually is half Finnish and half Korean. Both women, however, were harsh and almost unpleasant in their upper registers, but that might have been due to the Fox's sound system or troubles in the work of the sound engineer. Michael Liscio Jr., stood out as Nicky and Trekkie Monster, and so did Brent Michael DiRoma, working as Princeton, the lonely English major, and Rod, the gay Republican. Kerri Bracken glowed as the other puppeteer-singer, while Tim Kornblum was properly hapless as the hopeless comic. Tech work stood out, too, with fine costumes from Mirena Rada and a delightful set by Anna Louizos.

"Avenue Q," opened Friday at the Fox Theatre, will run through Sunday

-Joe