Every time we visit The Piccadilly at Manhattan, we feel the time warp. Except for the automobiles, three of the four corners feel like Maplewood 1962. That’s fun, and the feeling is reinforced when entering the restaurant which, not so coincidentally, is at the corner of Piccadilly and Masnhattan. It’s not so much the décor, which is sort of timeless-nostalgic, as it is the atmosphere, which feels neighborhood-y. There always are regulars on hand, and when it’s crowded, people sit on the screened front porch to wait, and it almost feels as if they live there.
We stopped by recently on our way to the Rep, and even at 6 o’clock on a Friday evening, things were hopping. Couples with small children, guys who might have been on their way to the bowling alley or a quarter-ante poker game, well-dressed older folks–everyone, it seems, comes to visit with the Collida family. The food, not surprisingly, is mostly traditional American, but with riffs to accommodate a more adventurous palate, and, perhaps, keep the cooks from boredom, always a good idea.
Onion rings are huge, greaseless and crisp, the rings in a crunchy batter that probably has some cornmeal. They’re thick-cut, which always seems to make the onion texture more of a factor in the chew, but adds to the flavor as well. While spinach-artichoke dip with housemade crostini was a temptation, the chilly evening made us succumb to a cup of chili. It’s from Edmonds, that old St. Louis favorite, thick and a little spicy, just right. On a menu that tells everyone the kitchen makes all its salad dressings, the acknowledgement of brands like the Volpi salami, is pleasantly honest, and a sign they honor those brands.
The fried chicken flies out of the kitchen at The Piccadilly, always a good sign. Four pieces, half a chicken, arrives with mashed potatoes and green beans. The batter is crunchy, seasoned with just a light hit of black pepper, but it’s the chicken itself that grabs attention with its juiciness. Could it be that they’re brining it? Good stuff, and good the next day at lunch, too. The mashed potatoes have just a few small lumps, and don’t taste of instant. A ladleful of yellow chicken gravy tops them, just like the cafeterias of yore, and the green beans, soft a la granny rather than tender crisp, fit right in with the theme. Meatloaf, a beefy, tender mixture, comes with the same sides.
One of the nightly specials was smoked trout hash with a poached egg. Large chunks of the mild-flavored trout, along with chunks of fried potato, sweet red pepper, and onion, had been stirred together, the trout obviously added late in the process to avoid cooking to the point where it falls apart. The egg yolk always acts as a sort of sauce with hash, and this was nicely done, the yolk hot and still a little runny. A Cajun-flavored sauce surrounded it, too, mild rather than deeply hot-spicy. Our sole quibble was that the trout’s basic flavor, even with the smoke, is so mild that the peppers, onions and even the potatoes overwhelmed it.
Desserts, too, are made in house. The chocolate raspberry torte was so smoothly cut and carefully plated that we had doubts, but it tastes fresh and homemade. It’s a real torte, too, a single dense layer of chocolate cake split in half and sandwiched back together with a creamy layer of raspberry mousse. The glaze over the top seems to have a hit of Chambord, the black raspberry liqueur. Nicely moist and unsweet, it charms. Individual blackberry cobblers sit in their ramekins, a real cobbler, not fruit with a cake batter poured over it, a flaky-crumbly crust on top and – oh, shades of Stone Street and Ann’s grandmother – crust on the bottom as well, a seeming rarity in cobbler styles. Good berries, their juices with a slight gleam of shortening that enhanced the flavor. (When the cobbler was served warm when Ann was a kid, her mother often offered a little butter to melt over it, a yummy overkill.)
Three beers on tap, a short wine list, and a full bar for beverages and seats where some regulars seem to congregate. Great service. Check the website for a map; they’re a few blocks off McCausland below Arsenal. And, oh, yes, they’ve started serving Sunday brunch.
The Piccadilly at Manhattan
7201 Manhattan Ave., Maplewood
314-646-0016
Lunch & Dinner Tues-Sat., Brunch Sun.
Credit cards: Yes
Wheelchair access: Poor
Smoking: No
Entrees: $8-15
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The two times I’ve had the fried chicken at Picadilly, it was bone dry so I’ve given up on that, but they do other excellent dishes. Their pot pie is to die for. I do find it painfully noisy inside, however, so that tends to keep me away unless I know I can sit outside. If you like “neighborhood-y” and excellent American food, you might try Lazy River Grill at Big Bend and Sulphur Springs in Manchester. They do the most delicious things with grouper and walleye, their fries are mildly seasoned and perfect, the slaw is the best I’ve had anywhere and their hamburger cannot be beat. And it’s relaxed, pleasant, friendly, local and the prices won’t break the bank.