The first time I walked into the foyer of Gingham’s, I saw quotes from Oliver Wendell Holmes on the wallpaper and I smiled. Don’t ask me why; it just somehow pleased me, as though it were an omen of things to come. Then I saw the midmorning weekday crowd and forgot all about quotes from anyone.
Gingham’s is a busy place most mornings. Breakfast is served all day, and all night, too, but the morning-shift servers should get combat pay. Not that this is a rough crowd – far from it. One had the feeling that many of the gents are the sort who would defend a lady’s honor, even if she’s two generations his junior. To be sure, though, there are plenty of kids around, syrup on their faces as they snatch little brother’s bacon.
Why is traditional South St. Louis coffee weak? Does it have something to do with the old German thrift? (And what’s going to happen when the Starbucks generation becomes senior citizens? Will that change things?) Whatever the reason, the coffee’s weak here, but at least it’s hot and refilled happily. When I asked for real milk for the coffee, a small pitcher of it was brought out with the same enthusiasm.
My adventurous pal dived into some eggs Benedict, probably the most exotic item on the menu. The English muffins were fresh, it was real Canadian bacon and the eggs were properly cooked. Alas, the hollandaise was nothing a Frenchman could recognize, but the taste was inoffensive, an improvement over some I’ve run into, and away from, on this beat. Hash browns were the standard, frozen shreds but particularly hot. They were, I admit, just a little greasy, but grease is what gives this kind of potato flavor, and these were more flavorful than most of their ilk.
An order of biscuits and gravy was, surprisingly, a flop. Today’s diner expects biscuits and gravy to mean a considerable amount of sausage in the gravy – enough to make it a main course with significant protein. Maybe someone in the kitchen didn’t stir the pot before ladling the gravy out, but the gravy, while generously seasoned, lacked significant sausage. The biscuits were nicely tender, certainly. Eggs are treated as respectfully as they should be in a spot with big breakfast business, with sunny-side-ups perfectly cooked. Chicken-fried steak was tender with a crunchy crust and didn’t have the mushy chew of some preformed extruded patty.
The star of breakfast here has to be the pancakes. Shockingly tender for large pancakes, they loll on the plate like a courtesan on a “chaise longue,” waiting to be lavished with whatever gifts you choose. An order of bacon pancakes didn’t have the bacon imbedded in the batter, as I’d expected. Rather, a generous handful of shards of shatter-crisp bacon were scattered over the top, much better, I realized, than letting them get soggy inside the pancakes. The syrup was something close to Mrs. Butterworth’s, but even that didn’t cloud the deliciousness of these babes. Killer cakes, the best I’ve had in a long, long time.
And that mention of Mrs. Butterworth’s leads me to my quibble. Nondairy creamer, bubble-pack jelly, generic syrup and margarine rather than butter, although the menu explains that it’s available on request – that’s not “homestyle.” While this isn’t an expensive restaurant, it’s not a diner, and those biscuits, for instance, deserve something better, to say nothing of those pancakes that want to float off the plate.
Service is pleasant and manages to be speedy without giving customers the feeling that they’d really rather turn the tables and get you out. Despite the parking lot being nearly full on my visits and the foyer’s degree of busyness, there was only a short line once, as I was leaving.
There’s another Gingham’s Homestyle in St. Charles at Sherman Drive and Highway 94.
This article appears in March 2024.