That's a Winner

Culinary star David Slay teams up with baseball great Ozzie Smith to produce a terrific dining experience

Dining at a new David Slay restaurant is like seeing the latest Tom Hanks pic: Your high expectations are usually met. Smith & Slay's combines former baseball Cardinal Ozzie Smith's deep pockets and showmanship with Slay's culinary skills and cachet. But the restaurant's menu is no more or less a part of the package than the ambience and the service. The food, like Castaway and The Green Mile, is an entertaining, big-budget production, but it's not experimental or even terribly serious. That very approachability is what makes the formula work -- most folks don't want to have to invite Jacques Derrida along to deconstruct their movies or their food.

Smith & Slay's is on the second floor of Clayton on the Park, a new "vertical neighborhood" of apartments and hotel rooms overlooking Shaw Park. During the months before the restaurant's opening, rumors about its theme abounded. The restaurant's planners needed to solve a demographic problem: How could they appeal to the young professionals who are the bread-and-butter of the Clayton restaurant scene without turning off the wealthy older patrons who would live at Clayton on the Park? Their clever solution was to model Smith & Slay's after the supper clubs of the 1940s and '50s. Slay, who once owned a restaurant in Beverly Hills, might have had in mind Perino's on LA's Wilshire Boulevard, or maybe the old Hollywood celebrity hangouts the Trocadero and Ciro's.

The supper-club trend began in the late '90s as cigars, swing dancing and classic cocktails came into vogue. Places such as Club Lucky and the Moonlight Cafe in Chicago, Aces Supper Club in Sacramento and Parker's Bar in Boston are pulling off this theme with pizzazz and hauling in the box-office receipts. The National Restaurant Association reports that old-fashioned menu items such as vichyssoise, Caesar salad and Dover sole have surged in popularity. The idea is kitschy enough to draw the chic crowd, yet it's familiar to older patrons who remember smoking Lucky Strikes and dancing to big-band sounds at cabarets such as New York City's Rainbow Room.

At Smith & Slay's, the supper-club concept is carried through in every detail.
Jennifer Silverberg
At Smith & Slay's, the supper-club concept is carried through in every detail.


Salmon-tartare cone $11
Shrimp fritters $9
Sweet-corn pudding $4
Pan-fried chicken $17
Lamb chops $29
Mascarpone-filled chocolate cake $6

314-721-3585. Hours: breakfast, 6-10 a.m. Mon.-Fri., 8 a.m.-2:30 p.m. Sat.-Sun.; lunch, 11 a.m.-5 p.m. daily; dinner, 5-11 p.m. Mon.-Sat., 5-9:30 p.m. Sun.

8025 Bonhomme Ave. (Clayton)

The supper-club concept is carried through in every detail, beginning with service. Each waiter sports a blue tie whose tail is tucked into his marine-blue shirt with a natty half-twist, the way a WW II soldier wore his uniform. Instead of delivering plates by hand or lugging tray jacks, like waitresses at the IHOP, the waiters wheel around their plates, condiments and supplies on silver guéridons, or trolleys. We generally don't care for dining-room theatrics -- cooking and saucing should be done in the kitchen -- but the waiters do perform a few tableside maneuvers, such as deboning the Dover sole.

Every detail in the dining room has been as carefully selected as a prop on a movie set. Like the servers' uniforms, the room is gussied up in shades of sapphire, with accents of frosted glass and almost reddish wood paneling. The colossal overhead lighting fixtures are crafted from telescoping ivory lampshades, with each of the inner hoops hanging a bit lower than the one around it. The high-backed, crescent-shaped banquettes along the interior wall are intimate enough for a romantic date or an anniversary dinner. Most of the tables are covered with crisp white cloths and set with striking cobalt-glass charger plates. The tables in the center row of booths are left bare to expose their spiffy blue finish. Near the French doors, freestanding tables are accompanied by angular chairs upholstered in an indigo fabric randomly dotted with circles, like fizz in a Champagne glass.

The "Bon Bar" in the restaurant's name is a neo-hipism coined in homage to the old Bonhomme Hotel, which was razed to make way for Clayton on the Park. The bar itself is shaped something like one of those staples with a kink in it. The nifty barstools have a spiky silhouette that tapers from the small round seats to the tiny chrome footrest that encircles the stem. Overstuffed chairs clustered here and there create the easygoing mood of a private cocktail party. The overall look falls somewhere between Starbucks and The Jetsons.

Most of the menu complements the supper-club theme, but a few dishes break formation. The most innovative item on the menu is also the most artfully presented: a cone slipped into a form-fitting coil that looks as though it might be part of a Harley's exhaust system. To make it, a wonton skin is placed in the coil mold and baked until brittle. Then the cone is filled with finely diced salmon tartare mixed with Thai chiles, scallions and mayonnaise. It's garnished with radish sprouts, chives and silvery-gray osetra caviar. Such savory cones, first conceived by chef Thomas Keller at his famed Napa Valley restaurant the French Laundry, were all the rage on the West Coast a couple of years ago.

Many of the dishes on the menu are retro favorites featuring classic flavor combinations. As a first course, we opted for a salad of roasted pears and mesclun charmingly tied into a bundle with a ribbon of leek greens. A round of goat cheese coated with crushed pistachios has a salty, racy tang that underscores the pear's sweetness. Shrimp "fritters" turned out to be merely fried shrimp served with a spicy scallion mayonnaise. We were disappointed -- until we tried them, that is. We were so keen on the delectable, airy little morsels that we couldn't stop eating them. Our final choice from the appetizer list was bacon-wrapped scallops. Slay updates this traditional pairing with mild applewood-smoked bacon, giving the dish an earthy edge that punctuates the scallops' briny flavor.

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