Bob and Joann Baehr loved going to the original Mainlander at the corner of Hanley and Bonhomme in the late 1960s to early 1970s Clayton. It was one of their regular haunts — a place they'd go before or after bowling at Tropicana Lanes or dancing at the Chase Park Plaza. They frequented the Polynesian Palace on the top floor of what was then the airport Holiday Inn and dined at Top of the Tower on Chambers Road, collecting matchbooks and coasters everywhere they went. They used those and other tchotchkes to decorate their post-war ranch house in Florissant, which was outfitted in green shag carpet, a green and yellow upholstered couch and framed botanical-inspired crochet artwork. The bathroom had one of those cushioned pleather toilet seats that cracked over time and scratched your ass, and the kitchen boasted a tree-trunk brown refrigerator, cornflower-patterned Corningware, embroidered doilies and enough mustard-yellow, avocado-green and burnt-orange Tupperware to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool.
I can't write a review of Mainlander (8 South Euclid Avenue) without bringing up Bob and Joann because, I promise you, my late parents were sitting at the table with me on the recent December evening I had the pleasure of dining at this gut-wrenchingly nostalgic yet fiercely modern restaurant. They were everywhere — in the glass-fronted china cabinet filled with vintage tiki barware, in the retro-teal fabric-covered chandeliers, the silver Christmas tree, the macrame plant holders, the pegboard wall adorned with metal Jell-O molds, the string-and-nail art schooner set against a black-velvet backdrop and outlined in a textured-brass frame (we had one of those, too) and even in the fancy dressing on the Manchester salad, which bore a striking resemblance to the homemade Thousand Island my mom made for special occasions. To say that owners Blake Askew and Gordon Chen gave me a trip down memory lane does not come close to capturing just how profound this experience was. They gave me a window into the people my parents were in the prime of their lives and caused me to miss a time that I'd never even experienced for myself.
My experience at Mainlander was deeply personal, without question, but it also embodies just how powerful a space Askew and Chen have created. That they can evoke such emotions means they are going beyond serving food and pouring drinks: They are creating an experience that transports you to another time, whether that means a moment in your own life or one that only lives in your mind's eye. It's a rare place that separates what's outside the front door from what's inside, and I cannot think of another restaurant that has pulled off the feat in this significant of a way.
Taking someone on a journey was the animating idea behind Mainlander, which Askew and Chen opened in a small storefront in the Central West End in July. For Askew, the genesis of the idea was the tiki bars he and Chen frequented living in the San Francisco Bay area — such as the original Trader Vic's, Smuggler's Cove and Pagan Idol that were (in many ways, problematically, Askew acknowledges) designed to take guests on a journey to a fantastical, made-up land and provide temporary respite from the real world.
However, Askew's path to Mainlander began much earlier and runs much deeper than those rum-infused outings. Though he went to school for music, he got into the restaurant business to pay the bills. He'd always loved cooking for people, but he took mostly front-of-house gigs because, at that time, a machismo-fueled locker-room culture permeated restaurant kitchens — something that made him feel unwelcome as a young gay man.
Askew was an avid viewer of Top Chef and had a chance encounter with one of its earliest contestants, chef Casey Thompson, which made him rethink his place in the professional kitchen and changed the course of his career. After running into her at a party, he found himself learning the ropes in her restaurant's kitchen in Dallas. It was the beginning of a close professional relationship that gave him the chops to work for Wolfgang Puck's restaurant group, where he rose through the ranks for several years before rejoining Thompson as her sous chef at a high-end restaurant in San Francisco. From there, he went on to work for Dominique Crenn and at other upscale San Francisco establishments up until the early months of the pandemic, when, like so many others, he found himself at a crossroads. Though he considered taking on another gig under an acclaimed chef, Askew knew that if he was going to open a restaurant, it was now or never.
Because their families are scattered far and wide, Askew and Chen felt free to decide where they wanted their restaurant (as well as Chen's chiropractic practice) to be. Askew had family ties to St. Louis and felt a connection to it; on cross-country trips searching for a place to call home, he and Chen kept coming back to the city, and decided to put down roots. After getting to know the area through a few stages and a lengthier stint at Bulrush — and time spent researching and developing the Mainlander concept through pop-up dinners — Askew and Chen felt ready to go all in. They welcomed their first guests to their take on a mid-century dinner party in July.
Askew is keenly aware that Mainlander is more an experience than it is a traditional restaurant; he believes it is a place to come because you want to feel something, not necessarily because you crave a particular dish. This is true in the sense that the prix fixe menu, which changes every month, keeps diners from developing a favorite item. But Askew's statement doesn't give the restaurant enough credit for turning out flawlessly executed dishes that give you the confidence to know that, no matter what you are eating at this dazzling place, it's going to be delicious.
On any given night, a Mainlander meal will be divided into three courses that consist of a series of tidbits, or appetizers, a main entree, called "supper," and dessert. On one particular visit, dinner began with funghi Rangoon, a magnificent play on crab Rangoon, filled with luscious cream cheese and deeply earthy mushrooms. In place of the usual wonton, Askew created a hand-kneaded dumpling-style wrapper that gave the offering heft and chew. The texture difference between the hand-kneaded exterior and a typical wonton was the difference between freshly made pasta and something mass-produced.
Baked Oysters Mainlander, another tidbit, were topped with a wonderful savory and slightly smoky bread pudding. This was followed by the Chive Box, a take on a traditional Taiwanese dumpling that was like a fried puffy taco filled with scrambled eggs and funky bean noodles. The plate was drizzled with an absolutely addictive sweet-and-spicy honey chili crisp.
For the salad course, Askew served a Manchester salad, which was a thrilling take on the 1970s-style greens that consisted of chopped hard-boiled egg and creamy ketchup-spiked dressing (Askew calls his version Fancy Sauce). Pickled beets vividly brought the dish to modern times.
For the main course, Askew presented a dish he feels represents a beautiful marriage of his and Chen's traditions: a pork steak, cooked char siu style. The stunningly marbled slab of pork was perfectly charred around the edges, then gilded with a mouthwatering, five-spice-scented glaze that is equal parts Taiwanese barbecue and Maull's-fueled backyard cookout. Askew served the pork with snappy wok-seared green beans and a sweet potato spaetzle mac and cheese that had so much funk from its aged-white-cheddar-cheese sauce I swear I heard Eddie Hazel playing from the great beyond.
Drink pairings, while technically optional, are a vital part of the Mainlander experience and some of the most thoughtfully put-together — yet still incredibly approachable — cocktails I've had all year. These included the lovely hot-buttered rum that was fresh-from-the-oven pumpkin pie in beverage form, the Last Word, an incredible mezcal-based concoction brightened with fresh lime and, in keeping with the spirit of the place, the Mai Tai-inspired Mainlander, which incorporated walnut and macadamia liqueur and was finished with a flaming orange garnish.
Joann was a gin Collins lady, but Bob loved rum. I assume that's where I got my taste for the sugarcane spirit, and I'm just as certain that the Mainlander is precisely the drink he would have ordered if he could have visited the lounge that bore that same name so many years ago.
I would have loved to experience that moment with them, and for those two hours at this absolute masterpiece of a restaurant, I felt like I did. That Askew and Chen were able to pull off such a priceless experience is beyond hospitality. It's a gift.
Open Wed.-Sat. two seatings at 6 p.m. and 8:30 p.m. (Closed Sun.-Tues.)
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