Hot Plates

Boogaloo is so sexy and fun, it practically leaves lipstick on your collar

Comments (0) By Rose Martelli Wednesday, Nov 2 2005

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Timed right, tapas is the embodiment of too much of a good thing. It's a happening, a party, and the black-clad waitstaff at Boogaloo, enthusiastic and eager and willing, were more than happy to play along. (A minor complaint: They could stand to be a mite more attentive when it comes to cleaning tables and clearing plates between courses, especially as a messy tapas feast progresses.) Our waitress teased us into ordering dessert -- though, truth be told, by then we were putty in her hands and would've said yes to anything.

And so we crammed our pieholes evermore, this time with a rum cake that may as well have been Betty Crocker dunked in Bacardi 151 (oh Betty, you tart!), a pudding-soft Key lime pie, a "Creole" pecan pie that was, well, pecan pie, and an incredible, memorable guava flan whose fragrant fruity essence lingered, like the whiff of cologne left behind on the collar of a lover's shirt, after every mouthful.

Mark Gilliland

Don't be fooled by the demure storefront -- Boogaloo will seduce you.

Location Info

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Boogaloo

7344 Manchester Road
Maplewood, MO 63143

Category: Bars/Clubs

Region: Maplewood

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Details

Conch fritters $7.25
Smoked salmon ceviche $7.50
Andouille sausage $7.95
Ropa vieja $12.95

314-645-4803. Hours: 11:30 a.m.-1:30 a.m. Mon.-Fri., 5 p.m.-1:30 a.m. Sat., 5 p.m.-midnight Sun.

7344 Manchester Road, Maplewood

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Monday morning still hadn't come, and already our week was ruined. We were ruined, spent. I did manage to get it together, though, for another dinner at Boogaloo a few nights later. This was with my boyfriend and his brother in attendance, and I'd be damned if my sweetie was going to see me get all hot and bothered as I had been the time before. It was entrées and appetizers for us, therefore, though appetizers actually meant ordering off the tapas menu (wink wink). I even opted for the chicken, as docile a meal as one can get at Boogaloo, just to prove I could control myself. Marinated with garlic and a little lime juice, with some jicama on top providing a little green flavor, it was fine. The BF had the ropa vieja, a heap of braised flank steak served on a downy bed of Cuban rice. He moaned and cooed through the whole thing, submitting himself to the brisket-tender beef, to the point where I, with my relatively tame breast of chicken, actually got a little jealous.

At the end of our first meal at Boogaloo, my friends and I spilled forth onto the sidewalk gleeful and giddy, flush with love for our latest restaurant crush. We felt a little silly walk-of-shaming it back to our cars, embarrassed by how much we'd consumed, how boisterous we'd been, how much fun we'd had. There's really no shame in loving Boogaloo this much, though. In fact, don't call it shame. Call it afterglow.