St. Louis Eats and Drinks

The Grapes of Wrath

If you are – relatively – new to opera, you, in particular, need to see The Grapes of Wrath. It will change and inform your perspective for a long time, possibly even permanently.

This is a revised, shortened version of the opera that debuted in 2007. Composer Ricky Ian Gordon and librettist Michael Korie also changed it to a two-act form. Still, this premiere performance manages to express the deep feelings of the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel by John Steinbeck without leaving anyone feeling short-changed. Shaken, yes, but so does the novel and the impressive film taken from it.

It takes place during the Great Depression, a time when agricultural processes and meteorological occurrences coincided to produce the Dust Bowl, making the terrible economic situation even worse. The Joad family is losing their farm because nothing can be grown, and they decide to head out US 66 to California to look for work in the fields there. It’s a grim business, and nothing is sugar-coated in the retelling.

And yet...and yet. The music is wondrous, floating along, wonderful melodies and great voices. The libretto – oh, lordy, the words, as Ma Joad might say. It’s real people language, both in terms of grammar and pronunciation. Korie’s respect for Steinbeck’s characters is immense.

As in real life, not every moment is grim. There’s a rowdy duet early in the first act when Tom Joad, en route home from prison to see his family, meets up with Casy, a preacher who has lost his faith and is enjoying it with great cheer. But my favorite has to be an aria – it’s hard to call this an aria, but technically that’s what it is – that takes place in a diner when the waitress/owner’s wife sings about her love for truck drivers, pace Kitty Wells of “My Big Truck Drivin’ Man” fame.

Katharine Goeldner’s Ma Joad is indomitable, with a voice to match, a fine performance from all angles. Tom Joad, the lead and one of her quartet of sons, is Tobias Greenhalgh. If you remember the movie clip of Henry Fonda’s “I’ll be there” speech – Greenhalgh’s rendition of Gordon’s aria of that is just as stirring. The older Joad daughter, Rosasharn, Deanna Breiwick, young and hopeful and in love, shines. Geoffrey Agpalo, has a romp with the rowdy Casy, and is in fine voice. And a wave of the fancy crocheted-edge handkerchief to the waitress, played by Jennifer Panara.

Speaking of handkerchiefs, James Schuette’s costumes are drab and near-colorless, a logical interpretation of the situation, not beautiful but just right. The set, from Allen Moyer, works beautifully, from the great opening scene in a soup kitchen onward, including turning a piano into a tractor. (Also in the visual realm, the program has a fine Thomas Hart Benton painting of the Joads well worth inspection,.)

Conductor Christopher Allen and stage director James Robinson have pulled the elements together to give us a show that stuns and pleases. Perhaps more importantly, The Grapes of Wrath reminds us of what terrible times this country has gone through and survived. Perseverance is still important.

This one’s a real winner.

 

The Grapes of Wrath

through June 25

Opera Theatre of St. Louis

Loretto-Hilton Center

130 Edgar Rd., Webster Groves

314-961-0644

opera-stl.org

 

Crossin' Over

Crossin’ Over closes the Black Rep’s fortieth anniversary season. Created by the company’s founder and producing director Ron Himes and Charles Creath, it first appeared in the autumn of 2005. Described as “a musical with a measure of silent rebellion”, it’s a series of musical suites.

Himes directed and Creath is the musical director as well as playing keyboards for the show. They were part of the original company, and so were several of the actors seen in this edition, J. Samuel Davis, Kelvin Roston, Jr., and Leah Stewart.

The show begins with African percussion and continues from there marking the roots of the African-American experience. The Captivity Suite addresses the Middle Passage wherein people are captured and carried away on slave ships to the New World and the auction block experience and working in the fields. In this latter section, in particular, there are many songs that are familiar from childhood on for some of us. The arrangements are new, though, twining together, streaming along, keeping things more interesting than concert arrangements would be.

After the intermission, there’s a tribute to Thomas Dorsey, the prolific composer of much gospel music and some secular hits as well, followed by the Civil Rights Suite and the Contemporary Suite. There are some splendid sounds in all this, certainly, great harmonies and exciting rhythms. I was surprised, though, that in the relatively small auditorium that the Emerson Performance center at Harris-Stowe State University is, that the performers were miked. There were a few glitches with the sound, but that’s a fixable problem – I just would have been even more excited to hear these voices au naturel.

Watching J. Samuel Davis work is always such a pleasure that it’s nice to be reminded how rich his voice is. Amber Alexandria Rose tears things up with “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands”. Venezia Manuel’s dance is joyous to watch, smooth and flowing and creative.

It’s a lovely tribute to tribulations and triumphs.

 

Crossin’ Over

through June 18

The Black Rep

Emerson Performance Center

Harris-Stowe State University

314-534-3810

theblackrep.org

Flashback: Cafe de France

Classic French food in an elegant room in downtown St. Louis: That was Cafe de France. The city deserved that food. It needed that food. And Marcel and Monique Keraval made sure we got it. After I married my husband as he recovered from a life-threatening illness, it was where he chose for us to go for our first meal out as newlyweds. Dining has changed, certainly, but for its day and of its kind, it was utterly lush - especially the souffles. 

You can read more about it here.

Madame Butterfly

Madame Butterfly has returned to Opera Theatre of St. Louis. Is it a warhorse or a classic? It’s the sixth most-performed opera in the world, according to the website Operabase, which keeps track of these things. It’s also been lambasted as racist and sexist, and even now, there are serious efforts to re-think it, as shown in this New York Times article. It can’t be a warhorse to you if you haven’t seen it at least a couple of times, or didn’t grow up in a house where the music played frequently on whatever electronic, electric or manual device was around.

So what have we in this production? It’s early in the 20^th century and the place is Nagasaki, Japan. A young American naval lieutenant named Pinkerton (Michael Brandenburg) is, in effect, renting himself a house and a bride, both on short-term leases, quite legal at the time in Japan. The bride is Butterfly, also called Cio-cio San (Rena Harms), a geisha who is, we’re told, 15. Pinkerton arrives at the house for the wedding accompanied by the American consul (Christopher Magiera), who tells him he overheard Butterfly at the consulate the day before, and warns him that she sounds like she’s head over heels for the young man, something that’s more than the usual business deal. She arrives with an entourage and her family for the wedding and reveals that she’s even converted to Christianity for Pinkerton. Furor ensues and Pinkerton sends everyone else home so he can have a wedding night.

That’s the first act, and while much of the music is marvelous, it’s hard to figure out from her behavior if Rapier’s Butterfly is serious about all this or if she’s playing Pinkerton to, in effect, get an American husband. There’s a great deal of eye rolling when she’s not facing him and exaggerated expression when she is, as though she’s just going through the motions. The general lack of chemistry between the two of them is a problem, and even their voices don’t seem to mesh well.

Come the second act, it’s three years later, and while Pinkerton’s been gone a long time, he left money behind to pay the rent on the house for her – which says maybe he isn’t really the unfeeling cad that some might call him. Their servant, Suzuki (Renee Rapier) has stayed with her, and there’s a new member in the household. Yes, there’s a little blond-haired boy named Sorrow (Sam Holder, who is quite impressive). No sign of his father, but Butterfly remains optimistic. Then Pinkerton appears, with his (legal American) wife. Tears ensue, but Rapier seems much easier with this act than the previous one.

As is common with OTSL, the secondary roles are filled with some excellent voices, and first among them is Magiera as the consul, who also displays good acting chops. Rapier’s Suzuki shows strongly as the stalwart maid, and the rejected suitor Prince Yamadori (Benjamin Taylor) is more than satisfying. Even the rather sleazy matchmaker/rental agent/pimp Goro does well in John McVeigh’s hands.

This translation of the show was done by Maggie Stearns and the late Colin Graham, both longtime pillars of OTSL with national reputations in their fields, and the traditional three acts are manged in two. Robin Guarino directed.

If this is your first experience at an opera, bear in mind what someone once explained to my husband when he interviewed her. “Just think of it as magic realism.” Works for me.

 

Madame Butterfly

through June 24

Opera Theatre of St. Louis

Loretto-Hilton Center

130 Edgar Rd., Webster Groves

314-961-0644

opera-stl.org

 

First Impressions

What a romp they’re doing at Slightly AskewTheatre Ensemble. First Impressions is a take on Jane Austen’s classic Pride and Prejudice. It’s close to madcap, switching back and forth from scenes from the book to actors breaking the fourth wall to speak directly to the audience about their own (and others’) experiences with the book. Sound stuffy? Fugeddaboutit.

It’s the story of the Bennets, father, mother and five daughters, who live in Hertfordshire in the early 1800’s. Marrying the girls off is the constant drive for Mrs. Bennet. It’s less of a concern to her eldest three than to the younger ones, who are, as my own mother would have said, “boy crazy”.

It is, of course, a truth universally acknowledged that Colin Firth, who played the handsome Mr. Darcy in one of the several film versions, has brought new generations into the Austen realm to appreciate her. Those who haven’t read it usually aren’t aware of just how funny it is in an arched-eyebrow sort of way with exaggeration and irony, but First Impressions takes full advantage.

All the Bennet daughters, Jane (Cara Barresi), Elizabeth (Ellie Schwetye), Mary (Parvuna Sulaiman), Kitty (Jazmine K. Wade) and Lydia (Katy Keating) are delights. Schwetye’s Elizabeth is as smart and willful as she needs to be, and, yes, proud – as well as having a brief round of prejudice. As Lydia, Keating flounces rather than simpers, an interesting choice for her eagerness to have a suitor. Their mother (Nicole Angeli) would be a flibbertigibbet if she were less focused, but is truly no airhead, just showing the distraction of so many daughters on her list of Things To Do. Angeli also plays the fearsome gargoyle Lady Catherine De Bourgh.

But this is not just a show with women as the focus. The long-suffering Mr. Bennet is Carl Overly, Jr., warm and patient and showing just the right flash of temperament when pushed. Mr. Darcy (John Wolbers) has undeniable chemistry with Elizabeth, or Lizzie, as she’s frequently referred to, and it’s great fun to watch the two together. Andrew Kuhlman’s Reverend Collins is simultaneously and wonderfully both pompous and oleaginous.

A very minimalist-looking set that still manages to evoke the Regency period from Bess Moynihan, and fascinating riffs on the costumes from the period, crossed with modern things like vivid nail polish and serious eye liner, courtesy of Elizabeth Henning. Rachel Tibbetts directed the piece, which was conceived by her and Schwetye. They have a great deal to be happy with here. First Impressions is enjoyable enough to overcome even the wretched sound that’s inevitable at The Chapel. No one has mastered those problems completely, but you get enough of this that it’s worth the effort, certainly

 

First Impressions

through May 27

Slightly Askew Theatre Ensemble

The Chapel

6238 Alexander

slightlyoff.org

A Human Being Died That Night

A friend of mine (you know who you are) once went to a theatrical performance in Israel. It was an Irish play about the Troubles, those violent difficulties between Catholics and Protestants that have only in recent years halted. One hopes they’ve stopped rather than paused, certainly. At intermission in this country where buses get bombed and farmers on tractors routinely carry long guns, he heard one theatre-goer say to another, “My goodness, I’m glad I don’t live there!”, referring to Northern Ireland.

Thinking people all struggle with political difficulties, even if it’s just dialogue in one’s own head. Those difficulties are all around us these days. A Human Being Died That Night, now at Upstream Theater, is about the aftermath of South Africa’s abolition of apartheid. Their Truth and Reconciliation Commission attempted to bridge some of the immense gap by officially hearing individual stories of the consequences of the racial laws. Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela was a member of the commission, a clinical psychologist whose primary area of study was forgiveness. She wrote a book about her interviews with the commander of the state-sanctioned death squads, Eugene de Kock, after he was convicted. The play is based on those interviews.

Dr. Gobodo-Madikizela is Jacqueline Thompson. The role demands subtlety and self-control and Thompson is in firm command of the whole thing. It’s not a showy portrayal, and it shouldn’t be. Her work is writ fine and in an exquisite style. Gene de Kock, shackled to a stool in the visitors’ room and wearing an immense orange jumpsuit, is played by Christopher Harris. De Kock was labeled in newspapers at the time “Prime Evil”, and participated in many of the murderous episodes related. Does he regret what he did, or is this a game because he’s in solitary? Does he have some type of personality disorder? How do people get to this point? Early in the first encounter between the two, De Kock says to the psychologist, “Does all this remind you of Jody Foster and Sir Anthony Hopkins?” A logical question, perhaps, and yet it doesn’t, really, remind one. Harris’ character has a wider range in which to work than Thompson’s. He handles it remarkably well, extremely believable in a performance that will be remembered a long time.

Patrick Huber gives us a set that’s more than the visitors’ room, thanks to Michael Dorsey’s media work that evokes both the old and the new South Africa. There is no accent coach credited, but the South African accents are quite workable. I would encourage reading the program to get some details that will add to one’s knowledge of what’s about to happen, but it’s not essential. Some of the words are Britishisms - “biro”, for instance, meaning a ballpoint pen – if that’s a concern. One act, 100 minutes.

Director Patrick Siler has given us a small, carefully wrought gold nugget of a show, very much worth seeing. And worth thinking about here in St. Louis.

 

 

A Human Being Died That Night

through May 28

Upstream Theater

Kranzberg Arts Center

501 N. Grand

314-669-6382

upstreamtheater.org

4000 Miles

4000 Miles opened last week at The New Jewish Theatre. It’s the story of an old New York radical whose 22-year-old grandson comes to crash at her apartment for a while. This all sounds warm and cozy, of course. But while it doesn’t fall into the realm of pathology, it’s very realistic in that things are never quite as tidy as they appear, especially when it comes to families.

Leo (Chris Tipp) has just bicycled cross-country from Seattle when he arrives in the middle of the night. Grandma Vera (Amy Loui) wasn’t expecting him – she knew he was coming to town but thought he’d be staying with his girlfriend. Actually, Vera is his step-grandmother; their grandfather was her second husband Joe, dead these ten years now. But she’s been around so long, they’re functionally hers. So she says what she thinks, and she’s not much for the warm and fuzzy. Especially when she’s awakened at 3 a.m. and doesn’t have her teeth in her mouth. And who among us can blame her for that?

The kid is still soft and un-formed, at loose ends, and his determination to “finish something”, meaning the bike ride, is uncharacteristic. But seeing his friend killed in an accident somewhere in Kansas might have begun a change.

Loui’s Vera is still pretty formidable despite having to reach for words frequently and fighting a hearing aid. It’s nice seeing an elderly character with some spine – osteoporosis or not – and Vera’s got it. Chris Tipp softens many of Leo’s rough edges. His youthful enthusiasms aren’t demands of Vera but suggestions in an effort to be helpful, or at least polite, although at times we can see anger bursting through.

Rachel Fenton is Bec, the girlfriend, or girlfriend-as-was. His presenting her with a wee squash is sort of emblematic of things between them as Bec’s fading interest continues to wane. Leo also picks up Amanda (Grace Langford), whom he manages to address as Amelia as soon as he gets her into the apartment. Things go downhill from there, and Langford’s timing in the scene works very well.

The apartment, from scenic designer Marissa Todd, is spot-on for the situation, the sort of rent-controlled place that newcomers dream of and mentally remove the crocheted afghans and wall art. Michele Friedman Siler dresses Vera, in particular, in a way that reflects her age and social style as well.

Good ensemble work, and director Ed Coffield’s touch with letting Leo be less prickly than he might have been works particularly well.

 

 

4000 Miles

through May 28, 2017

The New Jewish Theatre

newjewishtheatre.org

The Wool Family Studio

Jewish Community Center Staenberg Family Complex

2 Millstone Campus Drive, Creve Coeur

Half & Half: Breakfast

Half & Half is definitely a morning spot. And the food is way beyond the usual bacon/ham/sausage/egg orbit. Here's what I ate on a couple of visits with a pal.

The Blue Duck

One block in Maplewood seems to have become Spicy Chicken Central. Part of that is happening at a place named for another kind of poultry. The Blue Duck is located in part of the large space where Monarch once was. It’s a sibling of the Blue Duck in Washington, MO. But this isn’t the same menu; it’s much more contemporary.

Its space is large and open, with a bar and tall tables in part of the ell-shaped room and a capacious, high-ceilinged dining area. The well-spaced tables mean conversation is possible, although I’ve not been there when the room was packed. (What isn’t noisy these days?) It’s family-friendly, with a kids’ menu, but I saw several after-work gettogethers, too.

For foodists, the idea of blue duck brings to mind the shocking-forty-years-ago idea of duck breast quickly sauteed and served rare – bleu in French. Not on the menu here, and I have yet to try the two duck-y items that are, a sandwich and a braised, ginger-laced quarter. But I will, particularly that latter.

There are plenty of tempting things on the menu beyond quackers. Corn bread on the appetizer list comes as a couple of mini-muffins, the size that come from what used to be called gem pans, plus a square that has corn kernels and a little chopped jalapeno. It tastes as though there are two different batters used, one for the muffins and another for the standard-sized cornbread. Alongside are honey butter and smoked apple butter, the whole thing quite fun. Fried pork belly belies its humdrum name. Large dice are slowly fried to crisp them up, rendering out a lot of the fat to leave soft, unctuous meat. They’ve been seasoned with a barbecue rub and arrive arranged in a dark barbecue sauce, nice but superfluous, the pork itself is so good.

Smoked trout lolls across whipped ricotta on a tartine, that paleness upgraded with snow peas and pink pickled shallots, a lemony vinaigrette spooned across it all. It’s a nice mixture of textures and flavors. And speaking of textures, consider, if you will, the spiced chickpea salad, an absolute carnival both of textures and color. The chickpeas have been roasted enough to add additional chew, but not enough to turn them into the sort of pellet that could be dangerous to teeth. Spinach, artichoke hearts, tomato, red onion, all added up to satisfaction. The generous size would do for a lunch entree.

Sandwiches beyond the duck/lettuce/tomato/fried egg? Why, yes. The pork burger is succulent, slightly smoky from some bacon and smoked maple aioli, and very moist. What’s called a Don Hamm sports house-cured ham, blue cheese, onion rings, arugula and some sweetness from a date spread with a little sorghum molasses. The cure on the ham is very mild, and most of the flavor comes from the cheese, arugula and the sweet notes. It’s good, if not nearly as exotic as the list of ingredients might lead one to think.

For those of us who like big-flavor items, the don’t-miss entree has to be the chicken. Described on the menu as smoked hot fried chicken, it’s two boneless pieces, a thigh and a breast. Boneless often signals wimpy when it comes to chicken, but that’s not the case here. First of all, the chicken’s brine has actually penetrated into the flesh so that it’s noticeably seasoned as well as being smoked. That’s seldom the case most of the time, in my experience. As to the crust, it’s firm, crunchy rather than thin and crispy, and well-seasoned as well. It contains crushed Red Hot Riplets (that’s a potato chip, non-St. Louisans) and I wonder if perhaps there are some crushed nuts in there as well, considering its flavor. The chicken also passed the refrigerator test, meaning it was good cold the next day. Sides are plus/minus. “Smoked fried potatoes” were two red potatoes that had only a touch of smoked flavor, but had been deep-fried, one of them not quite long enough. Meh. The red cabbage under the chicken, however, was delicious, sweet and slightly sharp. Pickled pepper gravy, their phrase, didn’t do much for me, but I admit I never was a milk gravy girl. This has more character than many of its ilk, but I spent my calories elsewhere, like on the bread-and-butter pickles, which also had a little hit of heat. I could have eaten (a lot) more of them.

The idea of a pie du jour is a good one. I hit a gluten-free salted caramel apple tart, with a surprisingly good shortbread style crust and lots of topping, More apples would have been nice, but overall it was satisfactory.

With the fried chicken, I’d ordered Noboleis Autumn Blush Rose. It turned out to be a little sweet, not my preferred style of rose, but was a good match with the palate action of the chicken. All’s well with that combo.

Service was very attentive, and servers seemed to know the menu well. One did point out to me that any of the by-the-glass wines can be sampled before committing to a full serving, always a nice touch. Reservations only for parties of eight or greater except Friday and Saturday evenings. And they say they’re going to be staying open late. Maybe a stop coming home from Opera Theatre?

 

The Blue Duck

2661 Sutton Ave., Maplewood

314-769-9940

http://blueduckstl.com/

Lunch & dinner Tues.-Sun.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Good

Smoking: No

Entrees: $16-$31

Small Craft Warnings - and more

Small Craft Warnings does not tell a tale with a tidy story arc. Tennessee Williams’ 1972 play was expanded from an earlier, shorter work of his called Confessional. That title may be more relevant than the newer one.

In a real dive bar, not the kind populated with hipsters, somewhere along the Southern California coast, we find Monk (Peter Mayer), the owner who lives upstairs, preparing to open for another day of business. Dunsi Dai’s set looks so right, we can almost hear shoes sticking to the floor. Long-time customer Doc (Jeremy Lawrence) is the first to arrive. Doc is clearly down at the heel, rather shabby in his dress and shambling in his gait. He’s there on business, and it’s not to assess Monk’s rather alarming-sounding cough. He’s there for a drink or ten, sometimes using it to wash down a benzedrine tablet. Williams himself played Doc at one point of the play’s first run, and benzedrine was one of his personal drugs of choice.

Soon there appears Bill (Eric Dean White), another frequent flier at the saloon, nattily attired in a tropical shirt and sienna-colored trousers so tight one waits for the sound of ripping seams. He’s the unemployed man toy of Leona (Elizabeth Townsend), a beautician who lives with him in her trailer so small the two of them use bunk beds. She, too, has a fair thirst, and when she arrives to find Bill being manhandled, so to speak, by the waif-ish Violet (Magan Wiles) she’d befriended, battle ensues.

This is late Williams, and at a number of points, action pauses, Michael Sullivan’s lights change slightly and focus on a character who talks about what they’re thinking, trying to explain things to themselves and to us. There’s a deep sadness and cynicism in all this, and yet an openness – two gay men, newcomers who walk into the bar, talk more openly about their sexuality than in any Williams play I can recall.

Director Richard Corley has evoked some particularly fine performances. Chief among these is Townsend as Leona, who gives nuance to the blowsiness and a constant edge to everything she does. White’s Bill would, if he had a job, be a first-rate lounge lizard, slick and ego-laden and sure of himself, despite evidence to the contrary. Lawrence shows us a Doc whose brain hasn’t entirely been pickled but whose sense of ethics certainly has – and yet, somehow, remains slightly sympathetic. And then there’s the Viola created by Magan Wiles, such a creature as we haven’t seen for a while. Is she mentally ill? Developmentally delayed? PTSD’d? She clings to men with the fluidity of a sheet with static electricity, hanging on them even as she goes limp.

These may not be people we care about – but Williams manages to make us curious about them, which is about as far as most of us can go. The run on this goes through next weekend, another of the extended performances that are such a good idea.

 

Another note here – the last performance of Bertha in Paradise was Sunday afternoon, so I can’t send you there. But this cabaret performance, by Anita Jackson, playing Bertha, the prostitute who seemed to be dying in last year’s St. Louis Rooming House Plays, was pretty stunning. Jackson was belting numbers like “I Want a Little Sugar in my Bowl”, the old Bessie Smith tune more recently sung by Nina Simone and Queen Latifah, and morphing seamlessly into wonderful Cole Porter like “I’ve Got You Under My Skin”. Charles Creath was at the piano, Donna Weinsting was Goldie, the madam, who sang a little as well, and then there was Joel, the stage hand, who did a lot more than adjust the microphone. Definitely adult material, but in a town that loves cabaret, that doesn’t matter. If something like this comes up next year, put it on your schedule, please.

 

Small Craft Warnings

through May 14

tickets

the .ZACK

3324 Locust

Will Mr. Merriwether Return from Memphis?

For those in search of something they certainly have not seen before, Will Mr. Merriwether Return from Memphis? runs this weekend as part of the Tennessee Williams Festival St. Louis. It’s at the Stockton House, the venue for last year’s very successful The St. Louis Rooming House Plays. Mr. Merriwether hasn’t been done anywhere in the last fifty years, so the odds are good it’s new to all of us.

Like so much of Williams, it’s about yearning and that thin line between reality and beyond. Julie Layton is Louise, in whose house we are. She’s a young widow with an adolescent daughter, Gloria, played by Molly McCaskill. Not only is Louise dealing with an adolescent in hormonal storm, she’s storming some on her own, over her former boarder, a traveling salesman named Merriwether who accepted a job in Memphis. Louise is tense, chronically mildly agitated, and, we eventually realize, barely functioning.

Their neighbor Nora is Kelley Weber, an older widow. She and Louise have gotten in the habit of summoning apparitions of an evening, as they would doubtless term it, and Kelly fusses over Louise as much as allowed, which is very little. Gloria sashays off nightly to the public library to work on her English theme and be followed by a pack of admirers.

This all doesn’t sound like much, but details like one of the apparitions turning out to be Rimbaud, the poet – not that the ladies recognize his name – and Gloria’s scenes in both the library and the schoolroom, where one of her admirers, a young man with a stutter, Jacob Flekier, helps her out, perk things up. And some of the dialogue is wickedly funny.

The three actresses are all remarkably good, and the evening is deeply strengthened by the supporting players. Terry Meddows, Sophia Brown and Bob Harvey do yeoman work, although in this case, it should be yeoperson work, as there is a great deal of cross-gender activity going on. Harvey’s librarian could pass for Van Gogh’s l’Arlesienne. Meddows’ Mrs. Eldridge on her way to a club is a crowd-stunner. The French influences here come to a head with Sophia Brown’s French instructor, and all three join forces as crones, lacking only a specific discussion of eye of newt to tidy things up. Don’t bother keeping track of exactly who does what until the show is over, just go with the current.

Jef Awada directed the production and keeps us on the first floor of the house, moving us from room to room but avoiding those climbs up and down staircases that marked last year’s work. Robin McGee’s costumes are deliciously done, and James Robey choreographed the considerable dance work done by the young ones. The young, unnamed banjo player adds yet another bit of pleasure.

There is little seating, and a great deal of shifting about, part of the fun but something to be kept in mind.

Not one of Williams’ greatest works, but a fine example of making the most of what one has. The run on this goes beyond the Festival itself.

 

Will Mr. Merriwether Return from Memphis?

Through May 21

Tennessee Williams Festival St. Louis

Stockton House

3508 Samuel Shepard Drive

tickets 

Tennessee Williams Festival St. Louis: The Food

As the Tennessee Williams Festival St. Louis goes on in high gear, there are a couple of ways to participate that involve food. Both occur on Sunday.

There are still tables available at the jazz brunch The Dark Room at the Grandel is doing. If you’re going on to a matinee and show your tickets, you’ll get a free mimosa, too. It kicks off at 11 a.m., and you can learn more about it here. 

Later in the day, Slide Piece food truck will be parked at the .ZACK. If that’s a venue that’s new to you, it’s at 3224 Locust, the location for several of the festival events. In addition to their regular menu, which you can see here 

they’ll have sliders named in honor of Williams’ works. They’ll be operating 2:30-5 p.m.

And don’t forget, two of the plays in the Williams Festival, Small Craft Warnings and Will Mr. Meriwether Return from Memphis, will run beyond this weekend.

Lemon Lemonies

It’s no secret that I like lemons. I did even before I acquired the last name in a previous marriage. Even as a kid, my love for all things tart extended to rhubarb and gooseberries. Lemon bars didn’t exist in that world, but if they had, I would’ve been right there.

I came across this recipe somewhere on the internet, via www.averiecooks.com. It’s not a lemon bar, it’s more like a brownie that isn’t brown. I first came to appreciate the combination of lemon and white chocolate (normally my least-favorite form of chocolate) one winter when Li-Lac Chocolate in Greenwich Village was dipping lemon slices in white chocolate. That seemed pretty strange but when I finally tasted one, cold from having been carried around New York City on a cold January day for a couple of hours, it was like eating crunchy lemonade.

You really don’t taste the chocolate here, but it contributes very much to the texture of the soft, chewy base. This is a very intensely-flavored sweet, like eating lemon drops. Cutting an 8” pan into 16 squares gives pieces that might even be too big. Next time I may go for 9 squares and cut each diagonally. The glaze is soft, and after these set up, it may well drift slowly down the side of each piece. That’s okay with me. It gives some indication of the sensuality of this sweet.

I can’t imagine using bottled lemon juice for this. Besides, you really need the lemons for the grated peel. I weighed the chocolate, in case you want to sub another type of white chocolate for the chocolate chips.

Now, about that glaze: It’s really the heart of this recipe; much of the lemon-ness of the dish is there. Anyone who’s made a powdered sugar glaze knows how tricky that balance of liquid and sugar is, to get it the consistency you want, whether it’s really wet or barely pourable. The directions given made something that, to me, was far too wet. So I cut back on the lemon juice, with the admonition that you can always more, a little at a time, to get things just right.

You’ll want to make this in advance, to give the glaze time to set up and sink into the base. I let the glazed bars sit overnight before I remove the bars and slice them.

 

LEMON LEMONIES

base:

¾ c. (6 oz.) white chocolate chips or equivalent

½ c. unsalted butter (1 stick), melted

2 large eggs, room temp, lightly beaten

¾ c. granulated sugar

¼ c. lemon juice

1 ¾ c. all-purpose flour

pinch salt

glaze:

2 c. confectioners sugar

about ¼ c. lemon juice and more as needed

about 1 tablespoon lemon zest

 

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line an 8” baking pan with aluminum foil, making sure it comes all the way up over the sides because you’ll use it to lift the cookies. Feel free to fold it back or crumple it down. Spray with cooking spray.

In a large, microwave-safe bowl, melt the butter if you haven’t already, add the chocolate, and heat to melt. Do this gently; white chocolate is more temperamental than the darker stuff. Hit high power for 1 minute, stop and stir, and continue in 10- to 20-second bursts, stirring each time, until chocolate is smooth. It will not blend completely, but as long as the lumps are completely gone, you’ll be okay.

Let this cool a bit and add the sugar, eggs and lemon juice. Whisk until combined. (You don’t need a mixer for this.) Add the flour and salt, stir just until combined.

Turn out into the prepared pan. If you need to, smooth the top with a wet spatula, or just tip the pan around and drop it from a couple of inches onto the counter.

Bake for 27-28 minutes. A toothpick should come out clean, or with perhaps a few moist crumbs, but not with any batter on it. Set aside on a rack and make the glaze. Don’t wait until this is room temperature, just forge on ahead.

In a medium bowl, whisk the powdered sugar and ¼ c. lemon juice. It should be fairly thin, pourable rather than spreadable, so add more lemon juice as needed.

Pour it over the base, tipping the pan to make sure the base is covered. Sprinkle the lemon zest over the glaze. Set aside to cool uncovered for at least 2-3 hours. Overnight is better, but once it’s room temperature, cover it loosely.

Remove from pan, using the foil, and set on a cutting board. You’ll need a spatula to lift each bar off the foil after slicing. The glaze may well, as I said, drift down the side of some pieces.

They keep, airtight at room temp, for a week, or can be frozen for up to 6 months. (I’ve used a little cooking spray on the center of my plastic wrap for these, to keep the glaze from coming off when I unwrap them.)

Yield: As many pieces as you wish from an 8” square pan.

Flashback: Blue Water Grill

It's not Throwback Thursday but could we talk about the Blue Water Grill? The cozy confines of the old Dairy Queen? The difficulty of explaining (and maybe even understanding at first) the concept of "small plates"? Heaven forfend we should call them tapas. The big change when they moved to Kirkwood? I have great memories of late afternoon wine tastings there, and dinners before going to Stages. I was, of course, always particularly happy when they seated us directly under that mural on the north wall that had a lemon directly above my head. 

Here's more from the Dining Blog at St. Louis Magazine.