Trainwreck Saloon

314 Westport Plaza

St. Louis Mo.

http://www.trainwrecksaloon.com/Westport/home.html

Workday lunch edition.

Rob and I left behind an all-day pot-luck buffet at work. We were to join several folks we used to work with at that really large beer company (whose name I shall not speak). We do this from time to time. A few of our buddies were given the ‘opportunity’ to retire right after the company’s merger (sellout) with that other beer company (whose name I also shall not speak.) so they have lots of spare time. Most of the old bunch, like Rob and me, left the company for better pastures. That old company was very family like even though I spent only a little more than three years there. I made lifelong friends who like to stay in touch, frequently. At first the reunions were all downtown. That’s a long lunch commute for those of us that work out in the western suburbs. So recently the ringleaders have started staggering the lunches, one downtown, one out west, and Rob and I are able to at least attend the latter.

As much as I’d love, love, love to go to Chili Mac’s (I hear the ladies miss me) It’s a twenty-five minute drive each way, street-luck parking, and cramped seating. When we do go Rob and I are usually late and end up just sitting with each other, entirely missing most of the point of going. That’s why we don’t do that much anymore. The other downtown place they regularly meet, Hodak’s is much bigger, but I really don’t care for the food that much, even though most of the guys rave about it. I find Hodak’s chicken bland and greasy, a verdict that could potentially get me kicked out of St. Louis. I’ve tried other menu items there and was never really impressed.

So this time we were on the west side, at a place I’ve been to a half dozen or more times.

The Place:

Located in Westport Plaza just across the sprawling Page Avenue from where I work, five minutes max. It was dreary, breezy, a bit rainy. We parked in the underground lot to avoid a long walk in the unpleasant weather. The garage opens to the interior hotel/mall. We walked right past the restaurant named for a now-ex St. Louis Cardinal, a great first baseman, former National League MVP and two-time world series slugging star (whose name I shall not speak.*) Rob and I arrived at the Trainwreck to find a small clutch of three or four others waiting at the front. The organizer of the meet, Wings, was not there yet, but emailed us earlier and he’d said he’d made reservations since we were a large party. ‘Wings’ is his nickname, self-assigned since his consonant-heavy, quadrisyllabic, German last name is almost always mispronounced and misspelled.

As our numbers grew we checked and found out there was indeed a reservation, so we elbowed ahead of several other people and found our spot. The Trainwreck is popular and usually quite busy, this day was no exception.

Wings arrived after a short while as did others including Art and his lovely wife Linda. There were ten of us in all. I sat by Art, once the proper table challenges were solved by the staff. Art is one of my favorite people on this particular planet. He and Linda are both retired, Art after forty years at that very beer company. He started there after high school, never worked anywhere else. He’s a classy gentleman by appearance and demeanor, until you get to know him better. Great stories about the old days, and some great jokes that occasionally verge on embarrassingly disgusting.

The interior was decorated modestly for the holidays. The all-wood walls held fake Christmas packages, from the ceilings were suspended large ornaments. The overhead train was not running (drat!).  The place goes for a 1800’s saloon theme, though it’s really more like a dark wooden barn. When I think Saloon, I think wild-west. It takes more than dark wood to evoke that feeling, maybe some ‘pardners’ with six guns, wearing chaps, spurs and ten-gallon hats, spitting big brown globs of tobaccy juice into brass cuspidors. Okay, now that I think about it, I don’t really want to see that at all. In other words if it isn’t as depicted on the cover of a ‘Pure Prairie League’ album, I just don’t see ‘saloon’.

The Food:

The burgers at Trainwreck are excellent. I already had a favorite, the cheddar-bacon. That’s what I ordered, along with the seasoned fries. Others around me got the Reuben or a salad and one guy opted for the bison. Further downstream on the table I couldn’t quite make out what was being ordered. Art decided on the Chili.

A few of us opted for just water, a few went a little stronger.

Service time was slow. The place was busy and the fact that we were in a party of ten would naturally slow us down. This place likes to serve a full table at a time, so we were going to all be waiting for the slowest dish. Which was okay, we had catching up to do. Mostly this group’s catching up has to do with who’s gone to work where, and the status of a few lawsuits against former companies. Wings had marched in with a coupon offering a free appetizer. He ordered the Ravioli, St. Louis style, breaded and fried. He generously passed the basket around even though there were only about eight raviolis in it. I was told they were quite good.

The food eventually arrived. Their burgers are half-pounders, not for the timid. I new this going in but had decided I could stop halfway, or get a box. The thing about this burger that I like so much is not the size, I could easily be as pleased with a smaller one, but the cheese. It’s real, sharp cheddar, and there’s lots of it. This is a messy meal, order extra napkins. It was served in a basket filled with fries, leaving virtually no room for a pool of ketchup. I had to restack the fries and bank the burger to hold it all. About halfway through the thing it started to disintegrate, the moisture from the tomato and cheese turning the undersized bun into a pasty mush.  Like I said, it’s messy.

I asked Art about his chili, it looked pretty good. “Good but not spicy.” He said, then quickly adding: “But not nearly as good as Linda makes me at home.” Smart man, they’ve only been married a couple of years, he still publicly compliments his wife.

All around me the meals were disappearing, I lagged a little, as usual, since I was taking notes. Nothing was sent back, I heard no complaints, plates were cleaned. I saw no signs at all of dissatisfaction from anyone, including the dude that ate the bison.

Summary:

The price was lunch-friendly, my bill came to eight dollars and change. The food is exceptional at Trainwreck. The cheddar-bacon is about my favorite burger in the world. It’s the cheese. Sloppy, too big, but very, very tasty. I’ve never seen anyone disappointed with their meals here. The staff is busy, professional, but overworked.  Drink refills were scarce, too late, or non-existent. Time between order and delivery was slow. Probably because its such a busy, crowded place. It’s like a ‘Who’ concert, if you want peace, quiet, no crowds, and easy, fast in and out, forget it. But the food is simply great. Even though some of it is not quite as good as your wife makes for you at home.

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* I frankly am not angry at Albert Pujols for leaving the Cardinals. He's at his peak and had the opportunity to grab an even shinier brass (platinum) ring. Good for him.

Paul Mineo's Trattoria

Westport Plaza

St. Louis (Maryland Heights) Mo.

http://www.paulmineos.com/

One of the perks of being a contractor is that though I work at one company, I work for another. My contracting company, my pimps*, handle my actual paycheck, insurance, taxes, etc. The company I actually work at, the one that owns my schedule, my cubicle and the systems I administer, sends my contracting company a single check each month, based on the approved and actual worked hours I put in, no responsibility for deductions or benefits. For this reason I only get a percentage of the amount that I am actually valued at, but my contracting company manages all the paperwork and accounting.  So on my ‘employer’ block on tax forms, I enter my contracting company, even though I’ve only ever been to their offices once, and I don’t even talk with the nice people there very often.

Since the contracting company wants to make sure I’m happy, healthy and comfortable, they take me out to lunch once in a while, three or four times a year.  I work alongside a few other worker-bees from the company but only a very few of us make it to the lunches regularly. Tuesday was special; I was the only one of the small group that could make it.

The two ladies, who I will refer to cryptically as Cori and Haley, were waiting for me when I arrived.

The Place:

Located in Westport Plaza. If you are from the area, that’s all you need to know. It’s a Hotel/restaurant/comedy club/office complex, sleek and modern. It has an open courtyard surrounded by some very good restaurants. Baseball phenom, Albert Pujols’ eponymous eatery is there, as is ‘The Funny Bone’ comedy club.

Paul Mineo is regionally well known based on his father’s long-standing Sicilian restaurant. Paul opened up this large, reasonably upscale establishment in 2007.

The weather was cold, gray, windy and wet. Though the local thermometers said 44, it seemed colder. Not a good sign for the first game of the World Series, which I was told, was occurring downtown later in the day.

The place was tastefully decorated, not really themed, just nice, dark carpet and walls, ensconced dried flowers and tasteful, though forgettable artwork hung on the walls. The large windows on two sides looked out on the courtyard. The tables were kitted with cloth napkins, artfully folded, silverware and heavy stemmed glasses filled with ice water. The menu was a simple single page. This was a lunch menu, so the more upper-scaley dinner items and prices were not available for review.

Both Haley and Cori are quite garrulous, they have to be as they are essentially salespeople. I am comfortable around them though, able to relax and crawl out of my comfortable, quiet shell. Cori had her first child five months back, so all I had to do was inquire as to its well-being and that took care of 80% of the conversation. For some reason, lots of first time moms like to talk about their offspring. I don’t mind this really, as I was a parent of young ones myself as best I recall, and can hold up my half (or less) of the conversation. Unlike when I’m around sports people where, as I mentioned before, I tend to drift off into my own thoughts.

We waited for one more guy to arrive, but after about fifteen minutes decided he would be a no-show.

In the meantime, we’d pretty much made up our minds and treated ourselves to the warm French bread slices that had been served in a wicker basket wrapped in what could have been a cloth diaper. Delivered along with it were several condiment packets of butter/butter-like spreads. They were hard as a rock. The bread was warm, so I scraped the butter out of the little tub and let it warm up on the bread. It never did melt completely. (I hate that.)  The tea was fantastic, perfect. Clear, fresh and a bit on the strong side. In comparison, the tea at Mineo’s was a hardy stout vs. a domestic ‘lite’ beer served by nearly everyone else.

The young man that was charged with refills (and doubled as the fresh-ground-pepper guy)  did a fine job of keeping my glass topped off.

The Food:

I ordered from the non-menu’d specials. Tilapia**, lightly breaded and broiled served in a garlic and herb butter sauce, with a simple pasta on the side and the house salad. Haley ordered the same thing, Cori fancied a dish featuring eggplant along with the soup of the day. I lost interest in her choice at ‘eggplant’. I can no more be objective about dishes that contain eggplant than I can if asked about my favorite Kardashian. Both are so anathematic to me that I have nothing at all nice to say about them regardless of how they are presented.

The bread was excellent, a crispy crust and pillow-soft middle and was quite good in spite of the iceberg of butter that still had not melted completely.

Service was slow for worker-bee lunch. Executives and salespeople might be able to routinely get away with a ninety minute lunch, but those of us that are on a schedule, and only get paid for the actual time we are working, much less so. They serve lunch like they serve dinner, paced, with lag-time between courses.

The salads and soup arrived first. This was a Sicillian/Mediterranean style salad, greens, tomatoes, onions doused in a olive-ish vinaigrette. I had to compare it with Trattoria Giuseppe’s and Poppy’s Ristorante. It was very good, but not quite as good as those other places, the vinegar was a little too pronounced.

We finished those up, Cori oozed lavishly about her soup, something-tortellini and beef stock from what I could tell.

There was another extended wait before the main course arrived, long enough that each of us, while still engaged in conversations about babies and dogs and Haley's constant and complex home improvement projects, could be seen searching the floor for the wait staff.

It was worth waiting for though. The fish was lunch-sized, not too big, very thinly breaded and sitting in a small puddle of herb-y butteriness. To one side was a small serving of penne pasta, (medium length tubes with ridges, cut diagonally at both ends) topped with only a spoonful or so of red sauce and garnished with a thin sprig of some Mediterranean weed or herb. The fish flaked apart perfectly and when tasted with a single lightly-sauced penne, was exquisite. Smooth, tender, buttery with a slight tomato-y kick. Not too much or too little of anything. More tea was poured, more cute baby stories gushed, and before I was aware of it I was full. I’d managed to get through three quarters of the fish before my brain said ‘stop’.

Summary:

The meal was overall, excellent. The salad dressing was a bit strong, but not to the point of being bad. The service was slow, but I think that was how it was designed to be. The staff was attentive to detail and usually there when needed. The atmosphere was quite nice. As for the price, well, I can’t really speak to that. Haley picked up the tab and I forgot to peek. I do know that from reading the menu that each meal was going to be at least ten to fifteen dollars with drinks, which is not terrible, but it is a bit more than I care to pay for a typical lunch. Casa Gallardo, across the courtyard serves a sub-ten dollar lunch that will have you busting wide open at the gut, and next to it ‘The Trainwreck’ serves a cheddar cheeseburger that will literally explode your arteries for about that much as well. As for dinner prices, I can only imagine.

So if you want a pretty darn good meal, Italian/Sicilian-style, and your pimp is picking up the tab, I strongly recommend Paul Mineo’s.

 From Cori: "I really liked the décor and ambiance.  I think the food is good for the price. I like that it’s a family owned business too. The service is good, not great."

From Haley:

"I have dined at Mineo’s several times and the food is usually much better than it was this week. I thought the salad dressing was just red wine vinegar and they forgot the olive oil. The tilapia was okay and the service was a little slow. I was not impressed this week."

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*Pimp: In this context this is not an insult. It’s just a ground-level, contractor standard term. Contracting companies connect people in their employ with certain skills and talents to companies that are seeking out those very services. The contracting companies take a percentage of the income of those providing the service, you know, like a pimp. (I do not know if they will bail us out of jail.) I mean no disrespect. Of course, to extend the metaphor, if my contracting company is my pimp, then that makes me a . . .

** Tilapia: A freshwater Cichlid, originally found in African lakes. They require warm water (78-82 degrees F.) and thus are only commercially farmed in the U.S. in southern climates. They are omnivores and unlike other fresh water food fish will eat floating vegetation, such as algae, and thus are used as non-competitive pond and lake cleaners. They breed fast and grow fast so they are to edible fish what pine is to lumber.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tilapia