Dining-Drinking

Petit Pigalle in St. Louis (4209 Lindell Blvd.) is a basement hutch of the checkered tablecloth, guttering candle school. A good many artists, visiting show folks, musicians and newspaper guys hang out there, and beards are almost as common as ears. There's always an exhibition of paintings hanging on the walls, and the atmosphere is just about as carefree and Left Bankish as you can get. A fiddler wanders around the tables sawing out the romantic, the nostalgic or the gay, and there's always a disarming little floor show featuring a folk singer. If that isn't enough, and you're properly charged with a couple of Marseilles Slings, you can vault up on the bandstand and demonstrate your own particular brand of genius. All this is coupled with American steaks and first-rate French chow moderately priced (par exemple: escargots in garlic butter, $2.85). That Marseilles Sling? Prepare it with two ounces port wine, two ounces cognac, one ounce of Cointreau. Guaranteed to make anyone burst into song.