Porterhouse Steak and Seafood

I've been on the road with the band a lot lately, and I've learned some interesting things. Shock Top Pumpkin Ale is really good. The Blue Moon pumpkin offering isn't. No good reason for a beer to taste like Circus Peanuts. Come to think, there's no good reason for Circus Peanuts to begin with, but there they still are. I've also learned that, even if you keep weird hours, you can find some wonderful food in very surprising places. If you're in Crookston, hit The Shanty for a burger and a beer, or catch El Metate for fresh Mexican, and some truly wonderful salsa. Do not go to Bemidji if you don't have time to relax at Tutto Bene. And next time you find yourself in Brainerd, don't miss Prairie Bay Grill & Catering. Some wonderful, imaginative cooking going on here.

But no matter how well you're treated, and how well you eat when you're on the road, mostly what you learn is that nothing really beats coming home. After five days, I couldn't wait to see my honey. Date night was definitely in order. Never one to pass up your basic hunk-o-meat, we headed over to Porterhouse in Little Canada.

Steak houses are a puzzling subset of the restaurant world. In terms of class warfare, the traditional, dimly lit chop house is the mess hall for the one percent. There are good reasons for this, I suppose. Mostly, good aged beef is expensive. Professional servers deserve to make a decent wage. Commercial rents are atrocious. And if your meal is going to take two hours or more, the management will seat fewer tables in an evening. None of these things tells the whole story, but it is an inescapable truth that, in the world of restaurants, to some extent, you do get what you pay for. With steak houses (and, oddly, stereo equipment), you're also paying by the pound.

Porterhouse, brought to you by the Chianti Grill folks, does a lot of things right. The room is beautiful. Smaller than you'd expect, and nearly half of it is taken up by the bar. They recommend reservations, and they're not kidding. This place fills up. We stopped by on a lark and managed to get a table, but we were fortunate. The lighting is dim without being ridiculous, the stone is cozy, it's not too loud (a rare blessing nowadays), and the little two-person booths are adorable. The staff was plenty accommodating. Not always polished, but friendly, and like I said, they did find us a place to sit.

The menu is another victory. We are living in the age of "more is more," and it's surprising how often this carries over into the world of fine dining. Porterhouse doesn't play that way. The menu is small. It doesn't feel limited, but it's intuitive, and easy to navigate. Even on a first visit, it only takes a moment to check the options and assemble a meal for yourself.

Beginning at the beginning, we shared a shrimp cocktail and a split of Prosecco. Simple but fresh, reasonable, and enough to whet the appetite. Next came the salads. The spinach salad at Porterhouse is basically porn. I'm not a salad guy as a rule, but the combination of baby spinach, chopped egg, bacon, and warm bacon dressing just about did me in. I think it came with onions, which would, of course, have ruined everything. But as we ordered it, well...I would happily have eaten another one for dessert. For dinner, we both started with a 9-ounce Filet Mignon. I paired mine with a small lobster tail. Miss J, true to form, went for the scallops. The lobster tail was well-cooked and not messed with, just as it should have been. The scallops were also very nice, and generous, but the presentation was puzzling, and a little busy. Half a dozen sea scallops surrounded a small pile of almonds, field greens and blue cheese. Then the whole was drizzled with a balsamic reduction. Now, balsamic reduction and blue cheese are both outstanding, but they are strong flavors, and scallops, well, aren't. The accompaniments, in this case, were more of a distraction than a complement.

For veggies, Miss J had the sautéed root vegetables, which were excellent. I had a baked potato with plenty of butter and bacon. Do I need to tell you how that was? It's worth mentioning that both of these vegetable options, as well as the salads, were included in the entrée price. Right decent of them, if you ask me. We chose a very nice Malbec, also reasonably priced, and felt positively pampered.

The only misstep here was dessert. We shared the dark chocolate layer cake, a la mode. Now I obsess over chocolate cake more than most people, and I get that. But at the end of the day, it's not all that hard to make a good one. If the cake is moist, and there's chocolate butter cream all over it, there's not a lot of nuance that's really required. Here, the cake looked beautiful, and the ice cream was great, because it was ice cream, but the cake was a little dry. Not offensive or anything, just not on par with the rest of the meal.

Our server was attentive and friendly. No stuffiness at all. Although, it is a personal peeve of mine when servers mispronounce wines. This is a simple enough training topic and getting it wrong is not charming. It makes you sound like you don't know what you're doing, and this is not, I expect, the impression that anyone wants to make.

And now, back to that steak house discussion. When I say that Porterhouse is an excellent value, I do not mean to imply that it's cheap. This is date night, and then some. With tip, we got out for under two bills, but only just. But think for a minute what was included here. One app, two salads, two combination entrées (with vegetable), dessert, and two different wines. And everything but the dessert (which was no hardship) was fancy-restaurant good. Will you get a better steak at Manny's? Absolutely. But you'll pay fully twice as much for your evening. Seriously, who can do that? Not I, and not most of the people I hang out with.

When some "nice" restaurants seem priced to keep the riffraff out, a place like Porterhouse gives normal people a chance to go out and have a fancy meal, and I think that's a big deal. Next time we can afford date night, we'll be back, and I can't offer you a better endorsement than that.

Shuang Cheng

There is so much Chinese food around the Twin Cities these days, it's surprising how seldom you find any that really satisfies. It's comforting, of course, to go almost anywhere and know more or less what you're going to find, and more or less how it's going to taste, but this is the reason that fast food chains survive, and there are all sorts of good reasons not to patronize those. Sometimes we need character, care, and individuality, even in our take-out.

On the recommendation of a soprano friend of mine, Miss J and I visited Shuang Cheng for the first time a number of years ago. It has been a staple of ours ever since. Unfortunately, I am a creature of habit, and once I find a dish I like, it's hard for me to break out of my rut and try something new. So I'm a little embarrassed that I can't really write the review I'd like here, because I can't really vouch for more than a few things on the menu at Shuang Cheng. But it's only because I am deeply in love with those things, and would happily share them with all of you.

On the face of it, this is not a restaurant that would turn your head. With the exception of the new dining room in the back, there's no atmosphere to speak of. None of the decorating has been updated, or even given a second thought, in twenty years or so. But in some cases, this is a good thing. No question of style over substance here. If a place looks like this, and is still busy, you know they're doing good work. And busy they are. Not just with students, either, but actual grown-ups, who are willing to deal with getting to Dinkytown and finding a place to park for the sake of eating here.

The specials board is a wonder. It will take you twenty minutes to read through, and I suspect that they are only limited by the size of the whiteboard. So while you're working your way through, try a couple of things off the appetizer menu. Everything we've tried has been wonderful. The egg rolls are actually not my favorite, but I only mention that so you don't think I've completely lost my head. Really, you can't go wrong.

As an aside, can I ask why we've been able to land on the moon and still can't come up with a teapot that doesn't drip all over you and the table and everything else when you try to pour it? Just curious. Same for coffee carafes. Puzzling.

When it's time to order, one of you can get whatever you like. The other has to have the Orange Beef. I'm serious. Other than Kraft Mac-n-cheese, there are not many things I would happily eat every day. The Orange Beef at Shuang Cheng is one of them. Tender, sweet, spicy, sauced but not smothered... it's just a marvel. In spite of my best efforts, and my earnest intention to branch out every time we go, this is what I end up ordering. And every time, I thank the heavens for my sound judgment, and scratch my head over the momentary instability that led to the possibility of any other choice.

Miss J usually gets some version of Chicken with Pea Pods, and is always pleased. She adds water chestnuts, and really, who can blame her? It's good policy to add them to everything, I think. A little crunch is always a plus. I should add that the good folks at Shuang Cheng are always happy to customize.

The service is efficient and friendly. The prices are more than reasonable. Unless you're me, you'll end up with lunch the next day. And the food...well, the food is just a cut above. You'll be happy you made the effort.

Oh, and if you're in Saint Paul, take the short cut. Go west on Como to 15th, and then go South. You'll get to Dinkytown right where you need to be, and where street parking is still a viable option. No freeway, no University, no stress.

Heartland

Have you seen "The King's Speech" yet? No question about it, fine film. But one of, to me, the most effective things about it was the use of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony during the big speech scene. It's glorious music. Nothing in the world like it. And if Beethoven is not your thing, then stop reading my blog, because you clearly hate freedom, and I'm not sure we can be friends.

Okay, wait. Before you leave, let me acknowledge what may be your only excuse. In the world of classical music, "not liking" a piece doesn't really mean all that much. Because there are a lot of things that can be wrong, even with a great piece. Maybe the orchestra isn't all that good. Maybe the conductor doesn't like, or doesn't get, the music. Maybe the entire brass section walked out due to cantankerous union negotiations and got replaced with the local high school jazz band. My point is, if you don't like it, it might not be your fault. Might not even be the piece's fault.

Restaurants are like that. Miss J and I had a couple of lousy burgers at The American Burger Bar. Does that mean I don't like burgers? Um, no. I adore them. Makes it even easier to spot a dud. The sad truth is that, most of the time, you don't get a definitive experience in a restaurant. Even the good ones. So if you try a new thing, something exciting that you've never tasted before, and it doesn't work for you, who's to say what the problem is?

At Heartland, you're not going to have this problem. If you order a smoked chicken and blue cheese fritter here, and don't like it, you can sleep well knowing that you will never like a smoked chicken and blue cheese fritter. Why? Because Heartland, as far as I can tell, is not going to do anything wrong. In fact, they're likely to do everything so spectacularly right, that you'll have to catch your breath before you can even finish eating.

If restaurants were a religion (Now there's a subject for another post.), and you had to climb a solitary mountaintop somewhere to meet the One Great Teacher, Lenny Russo is the guy you'd find when you finally got there. Chef Russo is on a mission. Find fresh, wonderful, local stuff, think up interesting ways to use it, and then cook it all to perfection. Apparently that's all much, much harder than it sounds, because I can't think of anyone else locally who's even trying it, much less pulling it off.

What makes it all work for Heartland is its ability to be two different restaurants. You can go crazy and have a more or less traditional dinner, or you can hop around the small plates menu until they have to wheel you out. We took full advantage. Miss J had a three-course prix fixe. First up was trout, pan-seared, simple and tasty. The main course was elk roast. Elk was a new experience, but it was gorgeous, medium rare and wondrously flavorful. The fingerling potatoes made a fine complement. Dessert was a chocolate hazelnut torte, in a pool of creme anglaise and raspberry sauce. Miss J has no opinion about that one, because I ate it. Let me tell you- seriously good stuff.

I, on the other hand, was feeling more adventurous than usual, so I decided to play. We split a beautiful Wisconsin-centered cheese plate to go with our opening prosecco course. Fantastic cheeses, and some really surprising beets. From there I moved on to the small plates. I began with the aforementioned fritters, and it's hard for me to even talk about these. They're served up with a charred tomato aioli and a celery salad. I have one tiny issue with celery. I hate it. Like sunburn, or the Vikings. Hate hate hate. But I tried the salad, and it wasn't bad. I wasn't about to finish it, but it was a nice surprise. The fritters were straight-up food porn. I broke through the perfectly crispy crust to discover a snow-white pocket of melted blue cheese and smoked chicken. They were perfectly suited to the accompaniments, and conversation stopped completely while I meditated on these little gems. My second choice was the pork rillettes. Rillettes are basically deconstructed pork. They're salted and cooked slowly in their own fat, until they are as close to a beverage as meat can ever get. Decadent, flavorful, and unlike anything I've had. They were served up in a series of small bowls, along with curried mushrooms, fennel chutney (excellent idea), and a pile of little toasts. It was a beautiful little self-contained buffet, and I enjoyed every bite. Literally. If I could have come up with a gracious way to lick the bowls, I would have. Miss J finished up with strawberry & white peach sorbet. I went for the coffee, because I was lured by the little individual French presses that kept walking by. Both were unsurprisingly well done.

As a whole, Heartland offered up as perfect a meal as you could hope to encounter. But lest I turn you all off with my unabashed praise, I feel compelled to mention a couple of things. First off, Heartland is not a big-portion sort of place. If you want to leave a restaurant in pain, look up the nearest Cheesecake Factory, and have fun with your leftovers. This is seriously fine food, but quality is the issue here, not quantity. Second, you need to be prepared to spend some money. If you feel like a drink, stop by the bar. A couple of martinis and a small plate or two, and you could actually do Heartland without breaking the bank. The burger, we noticed, was ample and reasonable, and will help your cause here. But if your goal is dinner, it's best if you're not worried about how much you're going to spend, because you're going to spend plenty. Normally this doesn't bother me, at least not when I understand what I'm getting for that money. But here are two observations. A dish of sorbet, unless it's made from saffron and topped with edible gold leaf sprinkles, should not cost anyone ten bucks. Just shouldn't. You could leave Izzy's with two pints for around that much, and I expect I don't need to tell you how good that would be. And my little press pot, as good as it was, was offered without a refill, and basically furnished one eight-ounce cup of coffee. This, in my book, does not constitute a five-dollar experience. No matter how wonderful your restaurant is.

There. Two small gripes. But seriously. If it's date night, and you want to enjoy some beautiful food, you will not soon forget Heartland. Oh, and sit in the bar. You get a whole extra menu, and it's cozier (and quieter) than the dining room.

Scusi

Miss J was nice enough to fetch me at the airport this evening, and somehow the initial text, which I believe was, "Baby wants a good burger- Nook?" became, "You know what we should try? Scusi." Never one to run from an adventure, I readily agreed. The Nook will be just fine, after all, and it won't take us long to make it back there.

Scusi has been the source of much buzz since it opened up a few months back, mostly because it is brought to you by the good people of The Blue Plate Restaurant Company, caretakers of several of the most consistently satisfying cafés in the cities. Highland Grill has been a favorite of ours for years. I could live on that breakfast burrito. But I digress. Scusi, as the name would imply, offers the Blue Plate take on Italian. Now, I have all sorts of opinions on Italian food, but with the possible exception of head cheese, anything is worth trying once, so off we went.

I had heard that it was impossible to get a table at Scusi. This was not the case. They were quite busy, but not overwhelmed, and we were promptly provided with an out-of-the-way table for two. Well, against the wall, anyway. Nothing can really manage to be out-of-the-way in a big square room. We began with a bottle of Italian red and a "pick three" special from a nice selection of cured meats and cheeses. The tomato jam was a perfect addition here. There's also an olive menu, if you are so inclined. I should also mention that there were three Italian reds available by the bottle for $20 or less, no small feat in this town.

I was about to say that the idea of dining at Scusi is not unrelated to the approach at Buca di Beppo, but that's not really true. You'd be better off thinking of The Sample Room. Once you start ordering hot food, things are set in the middle of the table and you share them. Nothing is enormous, which gives you room to try several different things. If this is a trend, I must say I'm a fan. Everything we ordered was portioned perfectly for two.

Everything was also very, very good. We started with gnocchi in a veal Bolognese sauce. I seldom have good experiences with gnocchi in restaurants, but these were heaven- light and potatoey and a perfect vehicle for rich, meaty goodness. The sauce may have been the one small misstep. A good Bolognese cooks for hours, and the crunch of the carrot and the texture of the meat both suggested this was not the case here. Still, it was darned good. Just not exactly what I expected. Next came the Lasagna, with spinach, ricotta, red and green peppers, eggplant, and a wonderful San Marzano tomato sauce. Last but not least there was the squash risotto, with butternut, gorgonzola dolce, spinach and parmigiano reggiano. I've heard from quite a few friends and authors that risotto is not difficult. I think they're all either lying or on drugs. In my experience, there is about a five minute window between creamy bliss and wallpaper paste. This was exactly right- easily the best I've had. This dish alone would have been enough to get me back in the door.

The other cool thing here, and I was skeptical about this at first, is that the hot dishes all come out as they're ready. This works surprisingly well, and it means that this food is landing on your table when it is better than it will ever be again. With food of this quality, that is a distinction that matters.

Dessert was a pumpkin bread pudding. This was a joy. Nothing too sweet, nothing smothered, nothing numbingly heavy. Just moist and light and wonderfully flavored. Definitely recommended, although it was a special, so who knows when you'll see it again?

For all of the ambience, you might just as easily be at the Macaroni Grill. I'm not a huge fan of paper on tables, and the battery operated tea lights were very nearly unforgivable. My visiting Italian friend also had a great deal of trouble with the name. Can't blame him, really. I suppose if I went to Milan and found a burger joint called "Sorry," I wouldn't exactly knock the door down to get in. But the service more than makes up for the style choices. Everyone was very kind and very professional.

Quality-to-price ratio here is exceptional. If you're not drinking, two of you can have a ball for around $50. With a decent bottle, you can adjust accordingly.

Once again, the Blue Platers did not disappoint. If you feel like Italian, check it out. Try something you've never had. Go out on a limb here. You can afford it, and Scusi will not let you down. You will leave with a much better idea of how this cuisine is supposed to work when it's done well.

The Sample Room

This week, I needed a place that would be quiet and calm and roomy enough to have a working meal. Our late lunch had turned into something more like an early dinner, and we didn't have a lot to get done, but we didn't need music blaring (Seriously- what's with the loud music everywhere? Have you been to the basement in Macy's lately? Don't even bother.), or someone hovering over us trying to get the table turned. I thought of the Sample Room at the last minute. Hadn't been there in a few years.

So glad I went back.

What a wonderful place this is. If you don't already know about it, you're unlikely to have ever noticed it, tucked away against the river on Marshall in Northeast. It doesn't draw a lot of attention to itself. What it does do is a fantastic job, casually, quietly, and with the kind of seemingly effortless attention to detail that is, judging by visits to any number of other establishments, much harder than it looks.

First off, the concept is inspired. In keeping with the name, this is the place you always wanted every other restaurant to be. How often have you looked at a menu and been equal parts thrilled and frustrated because you had to choose something, thereby denying yourself some other delight? Here, they see that coming, and give you an easy out. You can, quite literally, sample. The entire menu, if the mood strikes. I get a little tear in my eye just typing that.

Such an option, admittedly a stroke of genius, is almost a necessity when you grab your unassuming, one-page menu and start reading. This is not everyday fare. Feel like a burger? How about a half pound of house-ground beef stuffed with pork belly and smoked gouda? Nachos? Try bleu cheese and peppered bacon melting slowly over warm kettle chips and caramelized onions. This is food to make you giggle, it's so good. Even the charcuterie is house-made, and I don't know about y'all, but if you start making me sausage, you are pretty much my best friend. Can you read a word like "applewurst" and not feel a little bit better about the whole world? I can't.

Part of what makes all of this even more wonderful is that The Sample Room may be the world's least pretentious restaurant. Walking in, the first impression is more classy bar than fine dining. The lighting is dim but adequate, booths are ample, nothing feels crowded, and did I mention the noise? There isn't any. How wonderful, and how rare, to sit across a booth from someone and hold a conversation without raising your voice. The whole place feels like an oasis, a place to check out of your crazy day for a while and remind yourself why you work so hard the rest of the time.

As if all of this weren't reason enough to go, The Sample Room also offers a surprisingly good value. The most expensive small plate on the menu was $9. Three of us shared those crazy nachos, hummus, an artichoke gratin, wild mushroom fettuccine, red curry pork shank, sublime pot roast and four or five grown-up drinks. With a generous tip, we rounded up to $75. I don't think you could get three apps and three entrees with drinks at a Chili's for that kind of money. And even if you could, you'd still be at Chili's, and I would weep for you.

Next time you're feeling overstressed, make the pilgrimage to Northeast and take a couple of hours to recharge your batteries in this remarkable café. Your soul will be happy you made the trip.

Amore Victoria

I have an unnatural fear of Uptown. It's not that I don't enjoy it well enough once I'm there, it's just that it never seems like a good idea to leave the relative safety of my home to go. But a friend of ours has a role in a show at the Jungle, and it seemed like a reasonable idea to combine an evening of theater with a decent dinner somewhere, so I did what any properly equipped twenty-first-century nerd would do.

I fired up my GPS app and asked it where to eat in Uptown.

What I found was Amore Victoria. It seemed from the photo like a sweet little Italian place, and since Miss J has been training for her latest marathon, we've become partial to pasta joints. I had never heard of it, but the menu looked good, the people on the phone were nice to me, and trying a new place is always fun. So, smart phone in hand, we made sure our papers were in order and set out for Lynlake.

The first good news was the parking lot. Parking is one of the reasons I fear Uptown. So, one problem solved. The restaurant is very pretty. If you were outside, and not paying careful attention, it might seem small and cozy. Inside, it stays cozy, but the room is surprisingly spacious, with a bar at one end, two main rooms for dining, and more space downstairs that looked like it might be for private parties. The atmosphere was nice, and quiet when we arrived (why don't more places realize this is a good thing), although it turns out Amore is quite the popular destination. When we left, they were lined up, and the place was darned loud. I was glad our table was a bit out of the way.

There are, as far as I can tell, two rules in Italian cuisine. 1: start with good stuff. 2: don't screw it up. Seriously, there is something gloriously uncomplicated about good Italian. I suppose that's the luxury of growing up in a garden. Good food is near at hand, and beyond a certain point, finesse is not really required. Contrast that with French food, and you'll see what I mean. My friend Tim once described French food to me this way: "Here are all the wrong parts of a cow. Go." A generalization to be sure, but you get the point. Technique becomes a bigger deal when you have less to work with. This is why I will always be suspicious when confronted with expensive Italian food. If you don't make it abundantly clear to me what I'm paying for, your going to end up on my bad side. Not that I'm particularly threatening or anything, but still. Karma will catch up to you sooner or later.

Which is not to say that Amore Victoria is expensive. Far from it. Prices were very reasonable, given the portions (they're not skimping) and the quality. But our meal was perplexing, mostly because of my Two Simple Rules. First up was an appetizer of pan-seared gnocchi, with white wine, garlic, parmigiano, pistachios, mushrooms, and a partridge in a pear tree. Seriously, it was like someone forgot the gnocchi, and wanted to distract me so I didn't notice they were missing. To be fair, all of this was awfully good. The pistachios lent a surprising bite without overcomplicating the flavor, parmigiano is nearly always heaven, and there's really no need to discuss the combination of wine, garlic, and mushrooms. Suffice to say that the dish worked. Hard. The funny thing was, the weak links here were the gnocchi. It's not a stretch to expect potato gnocchi to taste, well, like potatoes. These were on the doughy side, clearly over-floured. Not terrible, but not what they should have been (see rule #1).

For dinner, I ordered the Tortellini Alla Panna. These were large, house-made, stuffed with beef, veal and spinach, and accompanied by prosciutto, all in an unapologetically rich and wonderful cream sauce. I made a fine choice. If my plate had been any larger, I would have finished up with a nap right there at the table. Miss J went with a scallop and linquini dish in a tomato-based sauce with asparagus and enough garlic to season a side of beef. The sauce was also surprisingly spicy, which seemed odd, since neither the menu nor our waiter mentioned that. Spicy doesn't seem like the sort of thing that should be a surprise.

The scallops were perfect, the flavors were compelling, and the asparagus (my one true love in the vegetable kingdom) still had enough snap to make me happy. But now we come to rule #2. We were informed almost as soon as we sat down that all of the pasta was homemade. They are proud of this, and justifiably so. But the linguini that served as the basis of this wonderful dish was flavorless and overcooked. Badly overcooked. It was barely able to provide a texture. Now this is a good old-fashioned head scratcher to me. If you believe that there is virtue in making your own pasta (and I do), why on earth would you cook it into oblivion? One of the truly glorious things about fresh pasta is that you barely have to cook it at all. The bite is part of the joy. So, what should have been the centerpiece of a wholly successful dish ended up seeming like an afterthought. This is where I sigh out loud, even as I'm writing.

We split the dessert, which was a very well-done creme brulee, along with a nice bottle of Cesanese. One quick note to the server (not ours) who thought table-side creme brulee was a nice idea: it's not. All of that sugar doesn't become a crust until it cools down. And the torch, see, is really hot, and...oh, never mind. The one we got was carried out to us complete, and it was excellent.

So thanks for the recommendation, iPhone. We had a great time, and with a couple of puzzling exceptions, the meal was a treat. Beautiful space, good value, nice atmosphere (volume notwithstanding) and kind, professional staff. That's a good night in my book. If we were in the neighborhood, we'd stop in again. If we started out on our own side of the River, there are other places we'd try first. It would be a perfect spot for a first date, if you find yourself needing such a thing. Dinner, then a show at The Jungle. If you can find another parking place, you might as well make a night of it.

The Blue Door Pub

Sometimes I suppose it is impossible for a restaurant to live up to its hype. In fact, this is probably true more often than not. It's not the restaurants' fault, of course. We invest these longed-for experiences with a kind of mystical importance. We are sure that the one burger/steak/curry/salad/burrito/dessert we haven't had yet will be The One, the one that will at last make sense out of our troubled and confused existence. What can one poor beer-and-burger joint do in the face of expectations like that? In a word, nothing. It's our fault for being such eager and melodramatic dorks to begin with.

So really, the only trouble with The Blue Door, tucked away just off the corner of Selby and Fairview, is that it took us four tries to get in. This repeated failure was due to two things. First, The Blue Door is wildly popular. Smack in the middle of a residential neighborhood, it is one of the few quality places within walking distance. Second, it is roughly the size of a walk-in closet. The combination of these two circumstances makes it a sure bet that, whenever you go, you're going to have a wait. And there isn't really much of a waiting area. You're going to be tucked into an even smaller closet in the back, or, unless you're brave enough to stake out your spot in the middle of the floor and stand there (I am not), you're going to wait outside. We arrived a little after 8:00 and waited no more than ten minutes. The staff was great. A series of friendly people made sure that nine and a half of those ten minutes were spent with cold beers in our hands. When we left, at 10:00, there were still people lined up out the door. Very popular, very tiny place.

So this time, our fourth time, by God, we were going to wait it out. And I knew, I mean KNEW, that the clouds would part, the angels would weep, and I would have the sort of burger that I would be telling my grandchildren about. Or someone's grandchildren. That part's a little murky. But it was going to be, in the words of Boromir of Gondor, a Gift. A gift for my weary soul. I had three beers and a good burger. My soul, alas, is unimproved. But as I said at the outset, I have no one to blame but myself.

The Blue Door serves up a dizzying number of variations on the theme of the Juicy Lucy, the Twin Cities' principal claim to culinary immortality. I went with what The Blue Door considers their flagship burger, the Blucy (we may or may not return to the topic of my general distaste for menu puns). This little beauty is stuffed with bleu cheese and chopped garlic. Bleu cheese? I'm not sure about using "bleu" if you're already speaking English. "Fromage?" Then sure, knock yourself out. But we've already settled on "cheese," so I think you can go with "blue," and everyone will be okay. But back to the topic. The burger was very good. Flavorful and, true to its moniker, juicy. I would have been happier with a slightly larger stuff-to-burger ratio, but this is quibbling. The only burger complaint I will register is that the poor thing was overcooked. Not killed, just on the well-done side. Even this would not have been an issue, except that we were warned that they would be medium, and asked if this was okay. Classic setup for disaster. Don't say a word, and we don't have an issue. If you tell me medium, then I expect medium. This is reasonable. Baby had a basic cheeseburger. She did get medium, and it was also very very good.

We had three different sides between us. The fries were hand-cut and first rate. The battered and fried green beans were also excellent. Not so heavily battered that they were over-greasy. Not health food, mind you, but not immediately fatal. The third option was the buffalo tater tots, and these were less of a hit. Fine flavor, and real blue cheese dressing, and God bless them for offering tater tots in the first place, but tater tots are a not a particularly rugged food. If you sauce them, even if the sauce is very good, you get a soggy tater tot. Not really a texture I'd come back for.

The beer selection is very good. The wine list is quirky and interesting, and more fairly priced than any I've seen in the cities. The staff, as mentioned earlier, was on top of things. You can tell they're used to a busy place. The food is also reasonably priced. We drank rather a lot, and still got out for around $50. Subtract five pints of beer, and you're looking at a sub-thirty-dollar dinner. Not bad at all.

The Blue Door is a very nice bar, with an interesting menu of very nice bar food. Will it change your life? Of course not. Will it make you give up The Nook? Probably not, unless you live in the neighborhood and don't mind the wait. Was it worth four attempts? I'd say so. It's always good to have the experience. But when we go back we'll pick a day when we can get there for lunch, and stay for dinner. Everything will taste better with someone standing there waiting for me to leave.