If Andrew Cisneros were a veteran chef well into the empire-building stage of his career, I might describe his new restaurant Brasas as a greatest-hits collection. Then again, drawing only from his early-pandemic pop-ups and his debut restaurant Jalea in St. Charles, Cisneros can already claim a no-skips collection of dishes. To craft a less dated analogy: maybe Brasas is the 鈥渄eluxe鈥 version of a hit album that today鈥檚 pop stars sometimes like to release.
Brasas, which opened in July on the east side of the Delmar Loop, takes its name from pollo a la brasa, Peruvian-style rotisserie chicken. Cisneros introduced his take on the dish four years ago at a pop-up at Mike Randolph鈥檚 late Clayton barbecue and Tex-Mex restaurant Original J鈥檚. Brasas, as it was known from the start, was an ember-roasted beacon in the darkest months of COVID-era dining. The marinated chicken transcended the commodity of the Costco rotisserie: crisp-skinned, smoky, succulent and herbaceous. You devoured it dangerously close to the bone.
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Brasas clearly had the juice to stand on its own, and Cisneros partnered with Ben Poremba in 2021 to open the concept as a food trailer in Botanical Heights. That project never came to fruition, but at the end of 2021, Cisneros opened Jalea in St. Charles, and his take on pollo a la brasa became secondary, if not entirely moot. Jalea features a compact but dazzling survey of Peruvian cuisine, Brasas-style chicken occasionally included. I named it 2022鈥檚 best new restaurant, and it has since claimed a spot among the area鈥檚 25 best restaurants in my annual STL 100.
Until now, if St. Charles鈥 historic Main Street wasn鈥檛 on your regular dining circuit, I would have told you Cisneros鈥 ceviche by itself was worth the trip. 鈥淐ooked鈥 in his take on traditional Peruvian leche de tigre, or tiger鈥檚 milk, the fish (often, but not always, mahi mahi) ripples with tart lime and hot chiles then beguiles you with deeper notes of its briny clam juice base and garlic and other aromatics.
Cisneros鈥 ceviche is also available at Brasas, and Jalea regulars will see other instances of overlap. More broadly, Brasas also follows Jalea鈥檚 example with a small menu. There are only four main courses, pollo a la brasa included.
Unlike Jalea 鈥 which, while not fancy, does evoke an upscale-bistro ambience with is low lighting and brick walls 鈥 Brasas fills its slender storefront with light and laid-back vibes. The bar, which of course leads its cocktail list with a pisco sour (and also features a tasty housemade nonalcoholic limeade), dominates the small dining area.
The Loop鈥檚 foot-traffic nature, not to mention the ever-changing crowds at the Pageant and Delmar Hall right across the street, might encourage a walk-in visit, but if you want to score an individual table during prime hours, reservations are available.
Pollo a la brasa earns its own half of the printed menu. The chicken is available as a quarter-, half- or whole bird, each served with two sides of your choice and sauces for the chicken. Marinated for 12 hours (minimum) with beer, herbs and other ingredients, the white and especially the dark meat retains the charry succulence I remember from the original pop-up. With its bright, citrusy top notes and a flavor that keeps chugging from skin to bone, compelling you to abandon fork and knife and move in with your fingers and teeth, this chicken is Cisneros鈥 pop smash, perpetually playable.
One of your two sides with the pollo a la brasa should be the steak fries. Crisper and fluffier than any other version of steak fries in town 鈥 which at most restaurants are rarely less than mediocre to begin with 鈥 these are excellent by themselves or dipped in fry sauce singed with the heat of rocoto chile or one of the chicken鈥檚 own side sauces, a verdant aji verde and the crema de polleria with black mint. A stew of tender mayocoba beans with smoked pork, either by itself or with garlic rice, provides a subtly soulful backbeat to both the chicken and fries.
Cisneros has previously worked for the most preeminent St. 不良研究所导航网址 chefs of the past two decades: Randolph, Poremba and Gerard Craft. He wears this experience with an easy confidence. You can appreciate the technical brilliance of his chaufa aeropuerto, Peruvian fried rice, or you can simply dig into an ample plate of rice with pork belly, beef rib-eye and shrimp topped by a light, tortilla-shaped omelet decorated with scallions and chili crisp.
Take apart the dish, and you admire the omelet鈥檚 ideal fluffiness, the luscious pork belly and hearty rib-eye, the delicate shrimp cooked until just opaque. The chili crisp leads the dish with its sultry heat and sticky crunch, but as you fold everything together, the dish reveals a through line of sesame oil and mild Peruvian soy sauce. (The dish also showcases the mark of Chinese cuisine on Peruvian dining, as distinct from Nikkei cuisine, the country鈥檚 Japanese-influenced fare.)
For another of the non-rotisserie main courses, Cisneros prepares a 鈥渃urry鈥 (the quotation marks are his) of chicken in a sauce with the heat, fruitiness and brilliant yellow color of Peru鈥檚 signature aji amarillo chile alongside a duo of coconut milk and lemongrass that evoke Indian or Southeast Asian curries with their respective silky sweetness and summery bite.
Cisneros also includes Peruvian botija olives in this curry. I raised an eyebrow at this ingredient on the menu, but the olive鈥檚 briny sharpness proves the ideal touch to bring together the dish鈥檚 influences. It reinforces that, as a chef, Cisneros鈥 only limits are those he sets himself.
At Brasas, Cisneros should keep pushing the potential of grilling over embers. Anticuchos, another traditional Peruvian grilled dish, delivers twin skewers of beef heart, the meat as brawny and as ideally pitched between tender and pleasantly chewy as your favorite cut of steak (the heart is as muscle, after all), streaked with a fiery rocoto salsa. I might not have visited Brasas for this dish, but its their tune I鈥檓 whistling on my way out the door.