Margaret BauerCut to the heart of every American metropolis and you will find the neighborhood-the particular burg, if you will-that serves as that city’s pulse-its beating heart, an incandescent life-force behind the skyscraping hustle-and-bustle. New York has its Brooklyn; Chicago its Gold Coast. Here in St. Louis, perched evocatively on the edge of the Mississippi, a number of districts could lay claim to such a status. One stretch of city, however, a mere stone’s throw from our own Wash. U, fits the civic bill more cleanly than any other. With its vibrant collection of residences, homegrown vendors, and friendly eateries, it welcomes the visitor in with open Irish arms, greeting the regular with a Gaelic familiarity.
This neighborhood, of course, is Dogtown.
You may know the place, just a brisk walk from the doors of the Hi-Pointe Theater, a genteel backdrop to the sandstone animals that border I-64. Dogtown bridges the considerable gap between Skinker and Hampton Avenue, identified unmistakably by its wind-weathered light post banners and its laneless narrow streets. Two-story houses crowd the curb at every corner, and it always feels like a balmy summer evening, no matter what the season. D’town is St. Lou’s own little slice of Southie, and-lucky for us-it’s just around the corner from our prestigious college home.
No examination of Dogtown would be worthwhile without an investigation into its seemingly innocuous name. “Dogtown” seems certainly no more loaded a handle than “Clayton,” or, especially, the unimaginatively labeled “Central West End.” Scratch at the surface of this cuddly moniker, however, and a seedy, bloody, medium-rare history of canine cruelty reveals itself as ironic inspiration.
Dateline: 1904. The World’s Fair has come to Missouri amid a flurry of worldwide fanfare and attention, and St. Louis is abuzz with visitors from across the globe. As the legend goes, a swarthy tribe of exhibitors from the Philippines, aboriginals generally referred to as “the Igorot,” take up residence for the fair’s duration in what’s now known as Wydown Terrace, and take to devouring (in line with tribal custom) the pet dogs of nearby neighborhoods, such as Clayton. Controversy blazes around the affair, and a local branch of the Women’s Humane Society cries out against the unchecked ingestion of puppy flesh within their dominion. Their protests are to no avail, however. Mythology relates that no less than future heavyweight President William Howard Taft approves the allotment of twenty dogs a day to the hungry Igorot. The World’s Fair shrugs at the activities of its most popular attraction, and a quiet part of a St. Louis town is branded forever with a deceptively furry name.
Since then, thankfully, Dogtown natives have graduated from amateur canine preparation to more traditional means of nourishment, such as beer, and the streets of the D are today filled with amiable grills, pubs and bars that service well the surface of the tongue without the unsavory addition of, say, Golden Retriever.
Seamus McDaniel’s
The undisputed king of D’Town cuisine, Seamus McDaniel’s (colloquially referred to as “Seamus’s”) offers unbelievable burgers that very well might make even the most devout of non-Gentiles drop to their knees and praise Jesus along with the (largely Catholic) locals. Tender, juicy, and as big around as a bread plate, a well-made Seamusburger slides down the gullet with ease, even more-so when washed back with a pitcher of Schlafly draught. The accompanying french fries are almost equally good, but a quiet bowl of excellence can reliably be found in the Seamus house salad, which comes covered in shredded Provel and, if you so desire, drenched in a house dressing so sweet and vinegary that your eyes might just water with joy. The crowd at the pub is generally a friendly one; areas exist for both smokers and their clean-lunged counterparts, but a true Seamus fan is always willing to accept a little Camel smoke if it means sitting in the darker, cozier, cigarette-friendly section. Beware the bizarrely narrow restrooms, but rejoice upon sight of “Golden Tee ’05,” already a fixture at the front of the bar.
1208 Tamm Avenue
314-645-6337
Pat’s Bar
Running a close second to Seamus’s for pure culinary Dogtown ambience, Pat’s sits at the corner of Tamm and Oakland, beckoning in the tentative diner with its curious banner memorializing dead members of some Freemason clan, or something. The house specialty is chicken, fried in any number of fashions (1/2 chicken, whole chicken, drumsticks, breasts, thighs, and any other plate combination imaginable), served good and greasy with a dollop of mashed potatoes. Generally, it needs a little salt, but shake away and you’re in for a meal that puts KFC to shame. Deep-fried fish is also a favorite, even with the days of Lent now officially behind us, and the bar is a deep mahogany, fully stocked. If things get a little too crowded, you can grab a barstool and take your meal there, in the process feeling a little like Tim Robbins in last year’s “Mystic River.” As with many local establishments, you may need to look out for the appetite-killing presence of Fox News on some of the TVs, but it wouldn’t be a bar without sports somewhere, and these days the playoff-pushing Blues and pitching-poor Cardinals are a reliable sight on the scattered Pat’s screens.
6400 Oakland Avenue
314-647-6553
Felix’s
New to the D’town social scene, Felix’s sticks out like a neon, slightly flamboyant thumb at the corner of Tamm and Clayton. Nobody seems to know exactly why the proprietors of this hipster martini bar wedged their place smack-dab in the middle of an old-fashioned Irish stomping ground, but the lights are always on and business appears to be good. It’s a little slice of Delmar about a mile-and-a-half south.
6335 Clayton Ave.
314-645-6565
The liquor store
No trip to Dogtown would be complete without passing by the corner liquor store, a slightly skeezy-looking place that sits at the edge of Tamm and West Park, greeting most anyone who parks on the street with a fluorescent glow and the promise of bottled booze. Nobody on record to Cadenza has actually stepped into the fabled store, but legend has it that anyone who dares set foot inside eventually emerges with less money than they walked in with.
Chuy Arzola’s
Nah. Don’t even try. But if you do…
6405 Clayton Avenue
314-644-4430
Too preoccupied are Wash. U students with the liberal charms of Delmar, or the bland appeal of the Clayton-Big Bend plaza. Just a jaunty walk from the dorms and the 40 sits the true heart of this river city; do yourself a favor-step on down and admire the scenery. Dogtown: where nightlife happens!