Review: Balaban’s in Chesterfield

Before the recent changes at Balaban’s, I had never seen such positive buzz or fanfare surrounding an ownership change at a 35-year-old restaurant. There seem to be three big reasons.

The first was bringing executive chef Andy White, who rocked it at Harvest Seasonal Market Cuisine, in to helm the kitchen. Next would be co-owner Brendan Marsden, the man who opened Modesto right after I moved back home from Chicago and craved small Spanish plates like some kind of junkie. Finally, most people have great memories of Balaban’s and don’t want it to fade away like Lutece in New York after longtime chef Andre Soltner left.

So, you ask, what’s been changed? The vibe is the same and the wine list is evolving, both pluses. Cosmetically, you may notice a new bar, bar stools, fresh paint, mirrors, more light and a general deep cleaning. But what first caught my eye was how cool the new menus looked folded over the napkins. Upon opening the menu, I noticed the selections had nearly doubled since I reviewed Balaban’s a year ago, and a raw bar had been added. The number of everyday seafood entrées, however, had been reduced by 60 percent, and only two remained.

Crusty, chewy bread coupled with tangy, stone-ground-mustard-accented butter set the table (pardon the pun) excellently for our meal, which started with thin, crispy, chewy pizza dough topped with a layer of faintly herby, super-creamy (triple cream) Explorateur cheese. That was topped with a layer of salty smoked salmon topped with tart pickled onions topped with super-thin, little, crunch-tastic potato chips. However, the ricotta and spinach dumplings were the complete opposite: bland, showing no real distinction between ingredients other than the olive tapenade vinaigrette on top.

The balsamic drizzle came at me strong in the first spoonful of mushroom soup, nearly causing me to set it aside, but then I took another bite and another and then I couldn’t stop as the remains blended in, and it became this silky, earthy, chunky creation with a flutter of sweet and sour.

My little soup interlude was enough distraction for my family to ambush me and steal almost all of the truly awesome grilled merguez sausage topped with deeply smoky and sweetly spicy harissa on a bed of couscous that popped with the meat. Luckily I managed to get ahold of some sausage, but the pipérade – a wonderful-sounding Basque dish of tomatoes, onion, garlic, pepper and eggs – that came with it had simply gone missing, thanks to my dad.

A roasted beet salad arrived as a very pretty napoleon presentation with layers of sweet chunky beets balancing the sharp, creamy goat cheese topped by watercress and
orange vinaigrette.

I ran into a potential issue with a couple of the entrées on my first visit when the meat came out rarer than ordered. Both the roasted leg of lamb – with a slightly minty coriander pesto and thick, rich rosemary broth and grilled rapini – and the Balaburger, a fine burger but nothing super-outstanding, arrived rare instead of medium rare and medium, respectively. I was OK with the lamb and the burger was gladly taken back and fixed. On subsequent visits this problem had been rectified.

The Saturday special of spice-rubbed pork tenderloin wallowed in the star of the dish, an earthy sweet potato-mushroom cobbler, whilst sweet port syrup melted into
everything. Marvelously tender braised pork shank on a bed of house-made sauerkraut, caramelized Fuji apples and mustard jus should have been a sweet-and-sour masterpiece, but the very subdued sauerkraut left the mustard jus alone to impart tang and thus failed the dish. Don’t get me wrong, this is still a pretty tasty dish – even my mom who hates sauerkraut liked it – but it lacked balance and thus didn’t reach its potential.

Moist, tender pan-roasted rainbow trout harmonized with a barely tart, fantastically cooked lemon-dill Spätzle and zingy rémoulade sauce, while wilted escarole acted as the stage. The Thursday special of turkey potpie was served in a bowl with a Mardi Gras mask-shaped chewy, flaky pastry floating on top. Fresh vegetables highlighted this
intensely savory dish.

Now, before I get to dessert, I have to throw a shout-out to certain of my readers who verbally kicked me in the shins in December for deriding anyone who enjoys french fries without the added benefits of sauce or cheese or bacon slogged on top that would obscure the crunchiness or fluffiness of a truly great fry: These naked fries rock! On a side note, with Liluma, Terrene and now Balaban’s, the Central West End seems to be making a play to become St. Louis’ french fry district.

I’ve written about the chocolate fritters before so this is just a recap: fried dough balloons filled with molten chocolate dusted with powdered sugar. A far more subtle but no less delicious dessert, the rum babas, consists of three small muffins soaking in a jar of very fluid rum syrup. Initially a bit challenging to get out of the jar, they are sweet with floral, citrus and caramel notes as they dissolve on your tongue, a great way to end a great meal.

By way of full disclosure, I do need to mention that my natural aversion to Ruth Reichl-esque theatrical disguises did me in as I was recognized on half of my visits.