The Commodore has been serving dinner in the Crossroads since 2019, and it still doesn’t get the attention it deserves.
I went in expecting a standard date-night spot — white tablecloths, safe proteins, a short wine list padded with California cabs. What I found instead was one of the more quietly ambitious kitchens in Kansas City, doing things with seafood that you wouldn’t expect to find this far from a coast. The room itself is warm without being precious: dark wood, low light, booths that feel like they’ve been broken in just enough. The vibe reads old-school supper club, but the menu is doing something different.
Chef Nick Wesemann changes the menu often enough that I’ve gone four times and ordered something new each visit. A few things have stuck around, though, and for good reason. The beef tartare is as clean and confident as any in the city. The lamb dish — when it’s on — arrives with accompaniments that actually complement the meat rather than competing with it. But the seafood is where the kitchen seems to wake up. I’ve had oysters, crudo, and a scallop preparation that made me reconsider whether I’d been ordering scallops correctly anywhere else in town.
One thing that surprised me: the bar program is serious without being self-congratulatory. The cocktail list is short but well-considered, and the person behind the bar on both of my weeknight visits clearly knew the menu well enough to steer you toward a pairing. Wine pricing is fair for this caliber of cooking — you can eat and drink well for around $80-100 per person, less if you stick to two courses and a couple of glasses.
The Commodore sits on Baltimore Avenue in the Crossroads, a block or two from a stretch that now includes more galleries and creative offices than the industrial buildings that used to define the neighborhood. Parking on the street is usually manageable on weeknights. Weekends fill up, and the dining room isn’t enormous, so a reservation is worth the thirty seconds it takes to make one.
Service has been attentive without hovering on every visit. There’s a pacing to a meal here that feels intentional — you don’t get rushed through courses, and nobody’s clearing your bread plate before you’ve finished the bread. It sounds like a low bar, but in a city where a lot of upscale-ish restaurants still treat dinner as a transaction to complete, it stands out.
I’ve sent three different groups of friends here over the past year. The response has been consistent: surprise, then a little mild annoyance that they hadn’t heard about it sooner. That’s about the best endorsement I can offer. Go on a Tuesday if you can. Order the tartare, ask what the fish looks like tonight, and let the kitchen do the rest.
