Twin Cities Dining Adventures

Porterhouse Steak and Seafood

2011-11-07T08:22:00.003-06:00

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

2011-10-27T11:06:00.004-05:00

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

2011-05-15T19:13:00.007-05:00

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

2010-12-04T22:18:00.004-06:00

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

2010-11-16T07:56:00.003-06:00

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

2010-09-19T22:14:00.004-05:00

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

2010-04-15T19:05:00.002-05:00

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.

La Grolla

2010-02-28T21:39:00.002-06:00

Years ago, when La Grolla first opened, my beloved and I went to check out the new neighbors. I remember enjoying myself, but it felt more like a fancy dinner than a night out for Italian. It was all fine, but we have other places that do that job, and we just never got around to going back. A couple of months ago one of my gentle readers commented on my Carmelo's writeup by saying that we should give La Grolla a try, since he thought the food and the prices were comparable. Well, far be it from me to ignore one of your suggestions, so off we went to dinner.

Maybe the intervening years have clouded my memory, but the La Grolla we experienced recently seemed like a very different sort of place. The room is a little darker, a little quieter. The atmosphere seems a little more relaxed, more welcoming than we'd remembered. Even the bill was a pleasant surprise. In short, somehow or other La Grolla has become my favorite sort of haunt.

We started the evening with a decent Chianti and an asparagus appetizer which was a little pricey at $11, but more than enough to share, and excellent. Grilled asparagus and grilled polenta, all blanketed in a gorgonzola cream sauce. If I wasn't sharing, I could have happily made a small meal out of this one. Another first course to die for is the Capesante, which involves two enormous sea scallops somehow wrapped in angel hair and fried, then dressed up with greens, basil oil and lobster sauce. It looks a little like a coral reef gone wrong, but it tastes way better.

Baby had the mixed grill special for dinner. This is not a good name for it. Something more like, "Dear God, this is more food than you can well imagine," would be closer, but I can see how that might cause problems on the menu. What they mean by "mixed grill" is a generous tasting portion of all of the fresh seafood options in the house. This turns out to be quite a large plate. Daunting really, although I think Miss J eventually got through it. I went purist and ordered the Bolognese. The pasta was perfect, and the sauce, though milkier than I expected, was perfectly textured and full of flavor. Also a good-sized portion, and also finished up just fine thank you very much. The only disappointment was that we were sadly incapable of considering dessert, and those of you who know me know how embarrassing it is for me to even have to say that.

Date night was a complete success, so much so that after a fine concert this afternoon, when the topic rolled around to dinner, I didn't hesitate to suggest La Grolla to my comrades. Again, it turned out to be a fine choice. The first thing I did was call and ask if they could fit "maybe six, maybe eight" in for dinner in about 15 minutes. They were unfazed. When we arrived, there was a perfect little table set up for us in the window.

Once again, everything was spot-on. The food was very good. Seafood ravioli, linguine with pesto cream sauce and tiger shrimp, fettuccine alfredo... I made darned sure to save room, but it was still hard not to attack everything I could reach. One minor food gripe here, and this is not specific to La Grolla- there is no good reason to serve shrimp in the shell. Tail-on I can live with, especially if they're fried. Makes a nice little handle. But large shrimp, with full shells, when they are already in the pasta and sauce? It may be pretty, and I suppose it saves some small amount of time in the kitchen, but it's a complete pain in the ass for everyone else. Generally speaking, we do not order pasta because we're thinking of finger food. There. I feel a little better now.

Anyone who's ever waited tables can tell you- it's hard work. You have to be a superhero and not make it seem like a big deal. Friendly, but not ingratiating. Knowledgeable, but not pedantic. Professional, but not stuffy. It's a fine line, but nothing will ruin a meal faster than a server who doesn't get it. La Grolla gets it. Rachel, our server tonight, was perfect. She rolled with everything we threw at her, was genuinely friendly and helpful, and knew her stuff when it came to the food and wine. We had a better time because she was there. What more can I say about that?

La Grolla is a gem. If you're looking for fine, adventurous Italian in a beautiful setting with an excellent staff, you can't go wrong here. Prices are a bit higher than Carmelo's, but not by much, and the portions are generous. If you were careful, and you stuck to iced tea and a couple of entrees, you could make it out for under $40. With appetizers, desserts, and a bottle of wine, you're looking at twice that, easy. It's nice though, and a rare thing, to find food this good in a place where you're not obliged to drop a fortune.

Oh, and those desserts we saved room for? Excellent call. Cannoli to die for.

American Burger Bar

2010-02-02T12:01:00.002-06:00

Last week I come home from work and the beloved informs me that she needs a Surly (the beer, mind you- she's got me all the time). The good folks at Surly were kind enough to return her email and let us know where we could find their nectar on tap. So, off we went to the American Burger Bar, in downtown Saint Paul. The restaurant is tucked away on Wabasha, frisbee distance from the courthouse, and around the block from Sakura, which I'll come back to later. I had never been to any of the establishments that have lived and died at this location, so I was excited just to see the inside of the place.

The inside did not disappoint. This is a beautiful room, or rather collection of rooms. Dark wood, leather upholstery, a "library" with real books on the shelves, this is the kind of atmosphere no one pays enough attention to any more. Other than a freakishly cold bathroom, the setting was satisfying on all counts. We ordered our beer, perused the limited menu (limited menu for a Wild game? What on Earth for?), and settled on a couple of burger options and an appetizer to share. Our server was a little over-the-top, but friendly, and we were enjoying what was, so far, a perfectly cozy date.

Our appetizer arrived quickly and hot, a trio of meatballs (lamb, bison, and kobe beef), prettily presented, and each adorned with its own sauce. The sauces were interesting to look at, but didn't offer compelling flavors. The meatballs were good, but not great. They were also a little smaller than golf balls. Not a ton of food for the $11 price tag.

Next came the burgers. We were cautioned beforehand that these would be cooked to medium, so Miss J requested medium well. This medium burger business has long been an issue for me. I mean, it's hamburger. It might be really good hamburger, but still. Just cook it. Undercooking is not the only way to create a juicy burger. As it happened, we needn't have worried, since both burgers arrived well-done, dried out, and utterly unexciting. Mine featured cheddar cheese, and one of several bacon options. Miss J is a little more adventurous. Nothing extravagant, but there were vegetables involved. I didn't want to get too close. Accompaniments were another story. The skinny fries were excellent, and the house mayo very good. But it's the American BURGER bar. We kind of figured the burgers were the point.

After spending a leisurely hour or so over a couple of pints apiece, we decided against dessert, and asked for the check. This turned out to be the really disappointing part. Let's review. 1 small appetizer, 2 burgers, and 4 pints. And baby had the Surly. I was drinking Hamm's at $2 a pop. Total with tip? $60. That is not a typo. $60. I'm not at all averse to shelling out serious money for a meal, when it's clear what I'm paying for, and the substance is equal to the style. But that kind of money for a burger joint, even a purportedly high-class burger joint, is more than a little silly. At the aforementioned Sakura, we could have spent the same kind of cash, and stuffed ourselves without ever leaving the dumpling menu. That would have been a fantastic night.

No matter what you're selling, details are a big deal. American Burger is not paying enough attention to the right ones. Even the website doesn't work properly. I found three obvious mistakes on the front page, and I wasn't giving it a very thorough look.

Last week, after failing yet again to get a table at The Blue Door, we hit The Nook. We had easily twice the "Burger Experience" for half the price. If you're already downtown, and you want a romantic spot to have a drink, I can't recommend the American Burger Bar highly enough. It's gorgeous, and you'll love it. If you're hungry, spend your money wisely, and go somewhere else for dinner first.

Caspers' Cherokee Sirloin Room

2009-12-02T22:42:00.003-06:00

My love and I have a good friend in West Saint Paul who lives a half block from Caspers' on Smith Avenue South. We had heard good things about the steaks there, so it seemed like a no-brainer to give it a try. We had a fine time of course, because we were there with a friend, and there was never a shortage of laughter and conversation. Next time, though, we'll probably have Christy join us on our side of town.

It's not that we had a bad meal there. And it wasn't even a question of service. Our guy was new, and he told us so. He was very personable, and obviously trying, so we weren't bothered. And our food was a good value, as advertised. But we didn't have the time we wanted to have. Would it sound too new-agey to say the feel of the place was wrong?

First of all, Caspers' is basically atmosphere-free. You'd expect a place that's been there since just after the Earth cooled to have developed some serious personality, and that didn't seem to be the case here. I wanted a dim, cozy, comfortable chop house. What I got was formal night at the Legion Hall. The bar seemed reasonably inviting, but the dining room gave me the impression that a junior high dance might break out at any moment.

This would not, of course, have been that big a deal if the food had rocked my world. If no one bothered to decorate because they were all in the back exploring the nuances of the perfect steak, I would applaud that sort of devotion. And here we come to the heart of the matter for me, and this goes well beyond my experience with one local steak place. If the kitchen is getting it right, I will tell you how good the food is. And I love food, so if anything, I tend to err on the generous side. If a restaurant tries to tell me how good the food is, that's problematic. First of all, that invites criticism. Seriously. If I hand you a burger and wait patiently for your opinion, that's cool. If I hand you a burger and tell you it's the best burger EVER, you're almost obliged to start looking for problems.

I had a pretty average steak called (on the menu, mind you) "The Steak of the Millenium." How am I supposed to react to that? The fries were the same story. I was told beforehand that they would be the best I ever tasted. And they were just okay. Not very hot, and just okay. Miss J's steak and shrimp combo was a little more successful, and the au gratin potatoes were quite good.

The point is, if I ordered an unassuming, affordable steak and fries and got the same food I had here, I probably wouldn't complain. But steak and fries that tell me ahead of time that they're wonderful, and then aren't? I'm just a touch offended by that.

Maybe the problem is with the whole notion of the budget steakhouse. Good steaks are expensive, and there are good reasons for it. Go to Mancini's for the otherworldly ambience. Go to Lindy's for a steak that will feed you the next day. But if you really want a steak that will make your eyes roll back in your head, that's going to involve some scratch. No getting around it.

So take your $22, and go get Thai food, or Indian food. You'll eat like royalty. Plan ahead for the incredible steak dinner, and you'll have time to save the money you'll need. Better yet, find some wonderful meat, have the friends over, and do it at home. In that setting, everything will taste better anyhow.

Donatelli's Italian Resaurant

2009-10-17T17:33:00.007-05:00

Let's be clear about something. My blog is not a big deal. I can count my followers on my fingers (thanks to all 8 of you). I've been able to steer a few of you to a good meal, and I'm delighted about that, but do I think my good opinion is essential to any restaurant's reputation in the wider world? Of course not. But pretend with me for a second. Imagine that TCDA has become the collective voice of Twin Cities foodies. Minnesotans cannot begin the day without tuning in to see where I'm eating now, and what I think about it. Restauranteurs cannot sleep at night until they know I approve of their establishments. I can, with the most casual flourish of my keyboard, reduce a perfectly respectable diner to a smoldering ruin. Are you with me? Good. Excuse me for a second while I have a giggle about that whole idea.

Okay.

If all of that were true, Donatelli's would not need me. Wouldn't even notice. Because it seems that everyone who grew up north of 36 and east of 35E has been going to Donatelli's weekly for the last 30 years. And believe me when I say everyone. You cannot eat here without being part of the most diverse and interesting group of people you've ever seen in one restaurant at one time. The funny thing is, the rest of us in the Cities have likely never heard of the place. Again, not a big deal for them, because they're full virtually every night, but still, I felt a little cheated when some of my White Bear amigos finally tipped me off. I mean, have I not been one of the cool kids all this time? Can that be true? Well now I know, so rather than consider that possibility, I'll shut up and eat my pasta.

There is something inescapably charming about Donatelli's. It's not in the nuance, and it's not in the atmosphere. Most of the decor is built around a small army of stuffed Pink Panthers, most of whom seem to be engaged in some seasonally appropriate activity or other. You wouldn't find them at La Belle Vie, but they work here, like old friends you're happy to see again. Old, stuffed, pink friends. The staff is also unvaryingly friendly, and the mood is light, energetic, and sincere. Even the Boss, who's been doing this for 30 years now, still runs food out to tables, and will occasionally sit and chat with the customers. Ask him about the history of the restaurant, and you're guaranteed an enthusiastic account of the early days, when everything Donatelli's offered had to be stable enough to trundle through the pizza oven, because there wasn't any other equipment.

When a full house is a sure thing, service can go south in a hurry. Servers get complacent and condescending, and it doesn't take long to ruin what might once have been a wonderful place. Certainly many quality establishments have faded away over lesser sins. The staff here somehow dodges that bullet. It's as if they know they've got it good, and they appreciate you for it. They're having fun, and they take it personally if you're not. You might show up grumpy, but I bet you won't leave that way.

What to eat? Everything I've tried has been exactly what I needed. The Donatelli's Dunkers are a good place to start. They're slices of fresh Italian bread with mozzarella and a side of red sauce. Get them with the garlic butter. As if you need me to tell you that. For an entree, I can't seem to get past the baked mostaccioli. It's about what you'd expect. Pasta and red sauce, covered with cheeses and baked bubbly. Only the red sauce is way more interesting than you're prepared for, and the pasta is homemade and fresh. All of the pastas here, with the exception of the stuffed varieties, are made in-house, and you can tell the difference, even when the little guys have been smothered and baked. Your dinner will also be bigger than your head, so plan on taking something for lunch the next day, if you want to be able to walk to your car. This is comfort food of the highest order. Most of it is horrible for you, but it makes you happy, and when it ends up being two meals, that's not so bad, is it?

What surprises me are the details here. Everything is just a notch better than it really needs to be, and that's a rare thing. Homemade pasta. Fast, efficient service. Meals that arrive piping hot. Friendly people that really do care that you eat well. And of course an owner who is still there, still involved, and still having a good time making it all go.

If you somehow manage to save room, there's a full-service ice cream counter in the front of the house, and several Donatelli's favorites available to take home with you. Seriously, why would you ever leave?

Entrees go from $6.99 up to $17.99, the beer and wine is basic and a little more spendy than it ought to be. If you don't do a lot of drinking, you can feed yourself and a date very reasonably. So what are you waiting for? Go. Go early. You'll probably end up waiting anyway, but I bet they'll bring you pizza fries if you're nice. Yeah, those are perfect, too.

Maria's Café

2009-10-04T10:58:00.002-05:00

So many things going on this week, it's dizzying. My wife, who, by the way, is a superhero, ran the Twin Cities 10-mile this morning. I am immensely proud of her. I would not, of course, be writing about restaurants at all if it weren't for the lovely Miss J on the other side of the table. The Rose Ensemble is releasing their new CD, "Il Poverello," this weekend, so there are concerts aplenty to celebrate that. And we have Italian guests in town, and of course we have to do our best to show them why we think this is a marvelous place. For breakfast, that meant taking them directly to Maria's.

When the band was in Spain a while back, we were in the wine region known as Rioja. That was just fine, of course. The place was beautiful, the food was good, and the wine was wonderful, but you really had to like Rioja, because that was what you were going to get. Even in the stores, there weren't many options beyond that. Here, my accomplice Carrie and I were able to pack two Italians off to a Colombian restaurant to have Venezuelan corn pancakes. How cool is that?

By the way, I'm sure you've heard all sorts of people espouse this or that as a universal language. They're all wrong. It's pancakes.

Maria's is located in a group of shops and offices known as The Ancient Traders Market, on Franklin just west of 11th Ave. You can have your breakfast, then run across the parking lot for great deals on baking supplies at the Aldi. Parking is off-street and plentiful, always a plus in my book. It also doesn't hurt that they're kitty-corner from the Franklin Street Bakery, a wonderful place to stop while you're in the neighborhood.

The menu is not huge, but there's something for everyone here. If you want your basic eggs and toast, that's not a problem. If, on the other hand, you're after a plantain pancake, then you can do that, too. The coffee is good, and the array of exotic fruit juices will keep you entertained for weeks. I've never had anything here that wasn't wonderful. The salsa is to die for, the refried are excellent (vegetarians, don't say you weren't warned), the build-it-yourself plates are yummy AND fun, it's all just great, and almost beside the point. Because the reason you go to Maria's is the same reason everyone else goes to Maria's– the pancakes. Specifically the corn pancakes, or Cachapas Venezolanas. I really don't have words to describe these beauties. They're plate-sized, full of corn, sweet, salty, tangy, buttery, crisp on the edges, soft on the inside, and incapacitatingly wonderful. You can have them plain with butter, with syrup (not sure why, but it's an option), or (the way to go) with crumbly cotija cheese. The cheese is enough to share, so only one of you needs to order it. It sounds strange, I know, but be brave. You'll enjoy it. The only thing to be careful of is their deceptive size. They don't look dangerous, but trust me, you'll want to start with one. Once or twice a year, I'll convince myself that I'm hungry enough for two of them. I have never once been right about this. One, with a side of eggs or breakfast meat, is a perfect meal. Maybe not energy food, but certainly happiness food, and isn't that just as important?

The downside of Maria's is that everyone loves it, and once you go, you keep on going. Which means that, on the weekends, the place is packed, and I do mean packed. If you must go Saturday or Sunday, go early, or be prepared to wait. The mass of humanity is only one side of the problem. The building is not enormous, and neither is the kitchen. Being staffed with regular old humans, they sometimes have trouble keeping up. If you want to experience Maria's at its best, go for breakfast during the week. It's still busy, but it's much more relaxed, and the food will likely be that much closer to heaven.

Prices are reasonable. If you don't go crazy, two of you can do breakfast for under $20, and still leave stuffed. Isacco and Stefano did. Stuffed, and very very happy.

Old Chicago HarMar

2009-08-19T09:58:00.003-05:00

I make the HarMar distinction for a couple of reasons. Mostly, I don't know if I've ever been to another Old Chicago. Also, I don't normally pay much attention to chains. Doesn't seem like that should be the focus of my little blog here. But I also work for a very large company, and I'm fond of saying things like, "You know, to the customer that comes in here, we're not a faceless national company. We're just their store, full of people they know. Their relationship with us determines their satisfaction with our store, not our corporate identity, and blah blah blah blah....." I admit the possible cheesiness of that attitude, but I really do believe it, and that is the way I've always approached my work. So I think I need to put my money where my mouth is and talk about the OC. Not the corporate OC, which is meaningless to me, but good ol' HarMar, and the people who took care of me and mine.

A quick primer on Old Chicago, just in case you need it. It's a good, reliable pizza place. The menu is weighted toward domesticated Italian. It's a little more expensive than it probably should be. The food is unlikely to change your life, but it's also unlikely to disappoint. They're known for carrying an impressive selection of beer, which is absolutely true. If you're after a pizza-and-beer sort of evening, they're a home run. The post-work happy hour is also recommended, particularly if you have the sort of friends you can vent with. Isn't that what happy hour is for?

The artistic side of my life these days involves spending time with a fabulously talented group of musicians. Last weekend we had a friend come from Italy to work and play and record with us. On his last night here, we wanted to get together and have dinner. Trouble was, we had no idea how large our party would be. Anything from six to fourteen would have been perfectly plausible. I didn't know exactly how to go about making that sort of reservation. So I walked over to Old Chicago on a break and explained the situation to them. They did look at me a little strangely, but they didn't seem to think it would be a problem.

When I showed up later that evening, in the middle of their dinner rush, they had a table set for eight, with another empty in case I needed it. We did need it, as it turned out. We had one server who did an exemplary job, and a very kind manager who stopped from time to time to make sure everything was okay. Separate checks were offered and perfectly executed. We had a great time, and never had to worry about anything. That, of course, was the plan.

Maybe all of this is no more than a customer should expect. Maybe I'm impressed for no particular reason. But what the OC did for me was impressive because they took me and my pain-in-the-behind reservation, and did what needed doing. They kept it simple, and handled everything like pros, all the while being very nice to me and my friends. I have had much less satisfying evenings in much fancier places.

So I don't know about Old Chicago as a company. Which is all well and good, because the company will never have to feed me. But the gang at HarMar did, and do, and I appreciate them for it. If you need a good pie, or just a place to eat where they're nice to you and you can hear yourself think, don't pass them by because they're a "chain restaurant." Give them a chance to do their thing. And have a pint for me.

Carmelo's Ristorante

2009-06-30T21:34:00.002-05:00

Carmelo's has been a staple for me ever since I came to the Twin Cities. For the record, I'm not the least bit Italian. I have no grandmother to whose work I can compare Carmelo's creations. I go because I love the food, and I'm as amazed now as I was when I was a mere pup at the value offered at this Saint Paul hole-in-the-wall.

Carmelo's offers, not high-brow Italian exactly, but certainly elegant Italian. What do I mean by this? Well, there's no flash, no hype, nothing to distract you from the simple pleasure of well-made food. Heather and Mark know that good cooking speaks for itself, and they're content to let their menu do its job. Everything here is home-cooked. Wisely, their website hits you with this trivia right out of the gate. Pastas, sauces, even the bread on the table, nothing here is trucked in or farmed out. It's made on site, according to "generational" recipes. All of this might sound a bit stuffy if everything weren't so darned good. Try anything here. The staff, equal parts quirky and cool, will help you if you have trouble, and you really can't go wrong. Two things you simply must have. First are the arancini. I've had these for years, in all sorts of places, and for my money these are the best you'll find anywhere. They are piping hot, rich, breaded globes of arborio rice, with sausage and peas, baked in a pool of bolognese sauce and cheese. I can't say enough about these. They are literally giggle-inducing good. Try these first, and if you keep ordering them, and skip the entree, I will understand completely.

The second is the signature entree, chicken Carmelo, which consists of a breaded and baked chicken breast covered with crab meat, parmigiano, and lemon cream sauce, all atop a bed of angel hair and roasted seasonal vegetables. This isn't just good. It's completely unfair.

These two dishes alone are reason enough to come back to Carmelo's, but the best part happens when you get the bill. For some reason, nothing on this menu costs anywhere near as much as it should. The chicken Carmelo, the most expensive entree on the menu, is $16.50. That's silly. You can spend more than that on a pizza almost anywhere. With a bottle of vino, my love and I can have a wonderful dinner here and get out for under $75 with tip. It's not fast-food cheap, of course, but neither is it fine-dining expensive, and it should be. For the quality of the food, the calm and quiet atmosphere, and the nice people making sure your needs are met, Carmelo's is a steal. Always has been.

The best thing I can say about Carmelo's? My wife just picked me up at MSP after a two-week trip to Italy, where I ate nothing but pasta and pastry and wine and cheese. We drove from the airport to Carmelo's.

They are located, by the way, near the corner of St. Clair and Snelling, kitty-corner from the Broiler. If the drugstore on the corner is open when you leave, stop in for an ice cream soda. Seriously.

La Cocinita Restaurante

2009-06-27T21:13:00.005-05:00

As a rule, we don't ask a lot of Mexican restaurants. When we think Mexican, we're basically thinking of three things: cheap booze, cheap food (and more of it than we can or should eat), and no sense of adventure. When you order a bean burrito, you know exactly how you want that burrito to taste. You don't much care whose grandmother made it which way, or what the cook's regional proclivities might be. You just want a burrito, and other than maybe size, there will be no way to distinguish it from the one you'd get anywhere else in town.

La Cocinita doesn't play by these rules. They're not terribly fast, and they're not trying to be. They're not Ol' Mexico (meaning they seat about 35 people inside, not 1000). And the enchilada plate is $15. This fact alone implies that La Cocinita means to set the bar a little higher. It's also brave, because in my mind, a price tag like that invites criticism. Charge me $10 for a burger, and I'm going to start looking for reasons to judge you and your restaurant harshly.

Well I did, and I do, judge harshly, and La Cocinita is still fantastic. On our second trip, I had the red sauce enchiladas, because I wanted to go back to basics and compare apples with the sorts of apples I've eaten elsewhere. My beloved had the cornbread bake, a wonderful idea, with cheese and black bean chili piled on top of warm, fresh, homemade cornbread. The arrival of my plate made me smile, because all of the elements were in place: tortillas, sauce, cheese, rice, beans, that little salad I never eat, and of course a plate hot enough to remove skin if you accidentally grab it. Talk about apples to apples.

The first things I noticed were the sides. Of course we've all had them a thousand times, but how often have we ever thought about them? How often have they been worth thinking about? The rice was fresh, made from scratch, and lovely, with real bits of real onions and chilis. Clearly it had never seen the inside of a microwave. The beans were simply the best pintos I have ever eaten. No chance these are vegetarian, but oh my, are they good. A bowl of those beans would have done me just fine. By the time I got to the enchiladas, I was already impressed. One bite of these, and I knew that the beans were no accident. I ordered the ground beef, and was pleased to encounter, well, actual beef- finely ground, perfectly cooked and seasoned, intoxicatingly warm and comforting. The cheese was actually used to add flavor, not make up for the lack of it. The enchilada sauce, loaded with red chilis, was smoky and complicated and almost too beautiful to be called sauce. Let me cover that again. I'm raving about enchilada sauce. I didn't know that was a possibility. I kind of thought that only came from Old El Paso, in a can. In a nutshell, La Cocinita finds details where you and I have been trained to forget there were any. Then they execute them all with a smile and perfectly. That $15 isn't sounding so far-fetched any more, is it?

The secret, in my host humble and well-fed opinion, is that this is an intimate, welcoming, fine dining restaurant that just happens to be serving Mexican-inspired food. In this context, or really in any context save that of the "typical" Mexican restaurant, this is not an expensive place. It is a place to go with a loved one, if you want a beautiful meal at an honest price.

Service was friendly, efficient but unhurried, just the right note for the relaxed ambience of the dining room. If you have one drink apiece and tip like decent people ought to, expect to get out for $25 to $35 a head. La Cocinita is off the beaten path, on the corner of 5th Ave. and highway 95 in Bayport, just a couple of miles south of Stillwater. Take a drive, enjoy the river. Spend a day antiquing. Just don't eat too much. You're going to be happy you've got room.

Punch and Pizza Nea

2009-05-31T08:48:00.004-05:00

I used to think there were two distinct types of pizza, and that, before discussing the relative merits of any particular one, the first step was determining which sort you were dealing with. The two types, in my mind, were Neapolitan and Plain Old Wonderful Pizza. Then Black Sheep opened, and kind of screwed that up for me. Apparently there are three: Neapolitan, Plain Old Wonderful, and Gourmet American. Black Sheep, by the way, is the third one, and it rocks. Go there. More about that another day.

Punch and Pizza Nea are both purveyors of the Neapolitan Pizza. There are several things that make a pizza a Neapolitan pizza. They don't have sauce. They have olive oil and crushed San Marzano tomatoes. They're little, like 9"-10". This is actually the perfect size, because you can still get an appetizer and split one, but if you feel like downing the whole thing, no one will look askance at you or your gluttony. They don't exactly have crust, at least not in the doughy american sense. They're served on what would be focaccia if it didn't have a pizza on it. And they're baked fresh in an insanely hot, wood-fired, brick or tiled oven. They also make your eyes roll back in your head because they're so darned amazing, but that probably doesn't pass muster as any sort of scientifically valid assessment.

I thought I'd write about Punch and Pizza Nea at the same time for a couple of reasons. First off, when locals talk about Neapolitan Pizza, these are the places that come up. Pizza Nea is Punch's competition. If that wasn't obvious to begin with, it became quite clear when Punch had the cheek (one could also say poor taste) to open up a shop about a hundred feet from Pizza Nea on Hennepin. I'm all for expansion, but zheesh. No reason we can't all get along. The other reason is that if you park your car anywhere near Hennepin and University, it's no trouble at all to walk to one, eat, and walk to the other and eat again. The whole blog thing might lend that plan an air of respectability, but I suspect I'd have done it anyway.

Once I decided on a plan, I needed backup, since splitting pizzas would be involved, and I thought it would be a little tacky to take leftover pizza into someone else's pizza joint. My friend Meg gamely stepped in, and we set off for Punch, no easy feat if you start out in Saint Paul, since large stretches of Larpenteur and 280 are essentially missing right now. At Punch, we ordered a Bruni, half-onion, at the bar. This was a little off-putting, since I'm used to the flagship Cleveland Avenue location where you sit and ponder before some kind person or other takes your order. Our pizza, or rather the timing of its arrival, was something of a mystery. We paid up, went to get drinks and napkins and a seat, took the extra red pepper back up to the counter, and by the time I turned around again, someone was handing me a pizza. Now I know these cook quickly, but we're talking 60 seconds here, tops. And it was not right-out-of-the-oven hot (according to Meg, hot is half the battle). I was forced to conclude that (gasp) most of this pie was made ahead of time, then topped and given a quick warm-up. I am not even going to go into the list of reasons why this is not okay. I've heard from a number of friends who are devoted Punch fans that the pizzas are somehow never as good at the satellites as they are at the Cleveland shop, and I wonder if this might not be a contributing factor.

One of the risks of not providing table service, it seems to me, is that the patrons' entire experience in your restaurant is going to hinge on the quality of the food. That's a big deal, don't you think? "Here. I am going to hand you this pizza and have nothing further to do with you. You will be amazed, and return again and again because it is over-the-moon good, and you're lucky to get it." How many places have the guts to risk that? In my experience, most places don't even understand why that's a risk, and many who do risk it shouldn't.

So I'd like to write all about our time at Punch, but I can't. All I can talk about is that 9" pie, that came out instantly and not hot. I've got no other data. Okay, the iced tea was real, and very nice, and, um, my silverware was clean. The end.

Here's the thing, though. That pie? It was still a Punch pie, and even under suspicious circumstances, it was deliriously good. Sausage, spiced salami, onion (half, 'cause I can't stand them), oregano, and mozzarella, all perfectly balanced, and perfectly wonderful. There is an alchemy that Punch achieves with its pizza. I don't understand it, but outside of Italia, you're unlikely to ever have anything like it.

As nice as that was, we were in and out in twenty minutes, and off we went to our second stop. Everyone we talked to at Pizza Nea was nice as could be. Our waiter was very mannered, and a little odd, but oddly charming, and good at his job. We put him somewhere between Edward Norton and the little smarmy guy from Dirty Dancing. As an appetizer, we ordered the Polpette Napoletana, little meatballs in tomato sauce served with focaccia. These were evil, and I could easily have eaten seventy-five of them, but that would have seriously messed with the pizza course. The focaccia was also good. A little puffier than Punch's, but that helped it stand up to the meatballs.

For a pizza, we settled on the Salsicce- sausage, roasted red pepper, cracked red pepper, and basil. The pizza was hot and very well-timed. I credit the server for that. The roasted red peppers were a bit dry, but everything else seemed just fine. And that, I guess, was the trouble. It was fine, but it wasn't alchemy. The sausage was good, the cheese was good, the spice was good, the crust was good, and it all looked just perfect. But I wanted to be transported, and I got a good little pizza instead. In case it sounds like I'm complaining, I should also say that we had a great time, because the space is beautiful, the staff was friendly and professional, and the food was very good.

In the end, I suppose it's an apples-and-oranges problem. If I was in that part of town, and I was alone, or I wanted a pie to take home, I'd go to Punch. No question. If I wanted to impress a friend, or just have a quiet evening with my beloved, Pizza Nea would take the day. Then we'd go to Surdyk's and be irresponsible.

One of the best things about both of these establishments is that they offer an excellent value. Our bill for both outings combined was about $45 with tip. For the quality of the food involved, you'd be hard pressed to beat that anywhere.

Maverick's Real Roast Beef

2009-05-20T22:50:00.003-05:00

When I was a kid, an outing to Grandma and Grandpa's house was one of the biggest possible deals. And if there was the chance of a sleep-over involved... that would mean more happiness than I thought my little eight-year-old heart could contain. No matter how much fun I could have in my own neighborhood, it always seemed like there was more to do at Gran and Gramp's. You could go to the market. You could feed the squirrels (now that I'm grown up, I am certain they're just rats with better agents). You could grab the unicycle that you were once small enough to ride and take a tour of the block. Or, if you were really lucky, and begged long enough to be persuasive and not long enough to be locked in your room, Gran and Gramp just might take you to the mall. Now, I was never much for shopping, even then, but a trip to the mall almost certainly meant a trip to Arby's, and for me, that was as close to heaven as I ever imagined I'd get.

Now before you begin your next sentence with, "What the hell...," let me remind you that, before Arby's fell victim to the cost-cutting corporate yahoos who think that chopped, formed, and simulated beef is a good thing, there was a time when they served the real deal. Not surprisingly, it was wonderful, or at least I remember it being wonderful. It's been years.

If you, too, remember that time, and remember enjoying it, get yourself to Maverick's, stat. This is truly a Saint Paul jewel, and it's a cryin' shame that more folks don't know about it. Tucked into the same strip that houses 'Ol Mexico and Red Wing Shoes, Maverick's is a pretty unassuming little storefront. You could drive right by without noticing. But if you did, you'd be missing some of the best meat in town. Take a chance next time you're heading up Lexington, and stop by. They're open till eight, and they'll take care of you.

Maverick's is all about the meat. Vegetarians, don't bother. You'll only go away frustrated, and I like many of you. I'd hate to see that. For the rest of you, you can choose from roast beef, barbecue, pulled pork, turkey, and brisket, with no end of trimmings. Last time I looked, you could add horseradish, onions, two different pickles, and four different peppers, then top it all off with three or four sauces from basic barbecue to sassy chipotle. All of this, of course, is utterly beside the point. If it's your first time, you need plain roast beef, and you won't need to put a thing on it.

Maverick's roasts are a thing of beauty. They're rare and beautiful and sliced paper-thin right there in front of you. They'll build you an open-faced dinner, with gravy and mashed, but you'll be just as happy having them throw it on a bun. This is a sandwich for the ages, and a perfect example, like the whole place, of substance over style. The decor is a perfect match for the food: warm, welcoming, and wholly without pretense.

It's good to be in a restaurant that trusts you. Here, there's no pomp, there's no floor show. No jukebox, no uniforms, no flat-screen TVs in the corner, and no long-winded descriptions telling you exactly why you should appreciate the food. There's just good, honest grub, and Maverick's trusts that you will get that, and come back for more. Judging by the lunch rush every day, lots of folks are doing just that.

Maverick's isn't dirt cheap, but there's nothing at all unreasonable about the price to quality ratio here. $4.49 gets you a regular roast beef. A few bucks more, and you can make it a combo with a drink and fries that are made to order. Slightly higher than fast food, but infinitely better. When was the last time anyone offered to make you fresh fries?

Try Maverick's once, and it will become a staple. The people are friendly, the food is beyond good, and you'll feel like you're in on a very tasty secret. If you liked Arby's as a kid, it will take you back. If you've never had anything like it before, then I envy you. That first bite is going to change everything.

Thoughts on service

2009-05-13T12:27:00.001-05:00

The sad truth of our over-saturated retail environment is this: you can buy just about anything just about anywhere. This is true whether you're selling clothing, electronics, toys, or food. Blindfolded, I don't think most of us could tell the difference between the offerings of half a dozen casual chain restaurants. A waffle fry is a waffle fry is a waffle fry....

So how does a restaurant set itself apart? I'm excluding the very high end here. Certainly there are places where the whole point is the luxury of the ingredients and the inspired preparation of each dish. But for most of the places where most of us can afford to eat, what makes the difference? When we go out for a meal, we're not paying for boneless buffalo wings or a bacon cheeseburger with fries. We're paying for an experience, and you can't separate that from good, old-fashioned human interaction. In a word, service.

Oddly, what most establishments overlook, especially the fancy ones, is that, for many of their patrons, a night out is a special occasion. We've got jobs, and kids, and all sorts of commitments. Often it takes a great deal of creative scheduling even to find time for a nice meal. For starters, what we need is a server who understands the importance of the event. That server may have had a horrible day, and nine terrible, cheap tables before ours. But that is all trumped by the possibility that we may be in their restaurant for the very first time. If you sell anything to anyone for a living, this is an extremely important thing to remember.

Here, in broad strokes, are what I consider the immutable laws of the server/patron relationship.

For Servers

1. Be human

I'm not sure why this is confusing or difficult, but it's amazing how few places get it right. What do I mean by this? For starters, scripts don't work. We can all see them coming a mile away, and they're rubbish. You're a real, live person, and that's one of the things I like best about you. Talk to me. And you can relax. I don't need you to entertain me. I'm just hungry, and I already appreciate the fact that you're willing to work with me to fix that.

2. Be honest

No, I don't want to hear about it if you don't like my jacket. I do want to know if you have your doubts about the quiche. If I know I can get a straight answer, I will value your opinion. If you tell me everything is just wonderful (see #1 about scripts), I will probably not consult you again, and my experience will be less enjoyable for not really being able to talk to you.

3. Be kind

Some of us are dense. It happens. It might be our first time in your place. We might be unfamiliar with the cuisine. We need you. Condescension on your part will do nothing to improve this situation. Be patient with us, and help where you can. This is the very best way to win a return customer.

Miss J and I went to Pei Wei a while back on the recommendation of a friend. We had a perfectly nice meal, but what made the experience worthwhile was watching the interaction between the hostess and an elderly couple who came in while we were eating. They had obviously never been in before, and they were adrift, staring at the menu board like it was written in another language. Another 30 seconds, and they would have walked out and never come back. Instead, they were greeted with a smile by the hostess, who came to them in order to say hello and welcome them. She asked them what sorts of vegetables they liked, how much spice they were interested in, whether they enjoyed rice. She walked them through the menu, and made sure they were happy with what they ordered. In short, she took a situation that would have been awkward and embarrassing, and turned it into an adventure. None of these things were very hard to do. She saw what was needed, and jumped in, that's all. But she made two people very happy, and I'm sure that wasn't the last she saw of them. We were so impressed, we dropped them a note to say how much we appreciated it, and we weren't even involved.

For Patrons (Just in case you thought you were off the hook)

1. Be kind

This gets top billing for customers, and for good reason. Basically, you owe it to your server (and to the rest of us who have to share a planet with you) not to be an ass. Serving is hard work. The good ones make it look effortless, but nothing could be further from the truth. That person taking such good care of you is running their tail off, making sure that everyone in their section is having the experience they expect. I believe Dave Barry said, "A person who is nice to you but rude to the waiter is not a nice person." I couldn't agree more.

2. Be clear

If your server was telepathic, they would be in vegas, not taking care of you. Be reasonable, and if you have special needs, make sure everyone has the information they need up front. A good staff will do anything they can to help you, if they know how.

3. Be fair

Servers don't make a huge hourly wage. They rely on your generosity. If you appreciate the service, pony up. There are worse things than being known as a good tipper. And remember, if you have some sort of coupon or gift card that lowers your bill, you need to be tipping on what you would have paid, not your revised total.

So locally, where do you go for good service? Two places come immediately to mind. Carmelo's in Saint Paul is a gem. It's one of our favorite date spots. The staff is quirky, but friendly, helpful, and fun. You also can't beat the food for the price. More on that later. For a more formal occasion, W.A. Frost & Company, on Selby down by the cathedral, always seems to get it exactly right. They're a wonder.

Tanpopo Noodle Shop

2009-05-12T22:56:00.000-05:00

All of us have places we return to again and again. Sometimes it depends on what you're craving. If you want a burger and a beer, go to The Nook (I'm serious. Right now. Go.). Sometimes it depends on the mood you're in. If I'm already depressed, I'll find something vegetarian. Trust me, that's a story for another time. If you've had a stressful or just not-really-great day, and you need a meal to make you feel warm and easy again, it would be hard to beat Tanpopo. This lovely noodle shop is tucked away in downtown Saint Paul, down by the farmers' market, on that little tail of 4th street where it stops really being anything. My friend Keith, who grew up as the child of missionaries in Japan, tells me that if you pop into a noodle shop there, this is what you get. I grew up in Ohio. Other than some really weird regional chili, I don't know from authentic. But I know yummy, and this is it.

Tanpopo is not a sushi joint, but there are two nightly sushi specials (get there early, they typically run out), and occasional sashimi. Don't think for a minute that these are an afterthought. They are expertly prepared. The restaurant even offers sushi classes for those of you brave enough to try this at home. There is also a special teishoku. Teishoku are complete meals, home-style (if your home is in Japan): entrée, rice, miso soup, salad, and vegetables. The presentation is beautiful, typically in an enameled, segmented tray. If TV dinners dreamed, this is what they would dream.

Starters are varied and wonderful. Get the Edamame, 'cause it's good, and more fun than you ever really get to have with beans. The Spinach with Sesame is also wonderful, fresh and nutty and good for you. Can you stand it?

The reason you go to a noodle shop, however, is the noodles, and this is where you should start, at least your first time here. There are several preparations, and most come with either udon (wheat flour) or soba (buckwheat flour) noodles. Choose your noodles, choose your broth, and then choose what you'd like on top. Miss J's favorite is the Nabeyaki Udon, which includes shrimp tempura, chicken, shiitake mushrooms, fish cake, Japanese omelet and wakame. All of the toppings are excellent, although unless soggy fried shrimp is your thing, ask for this on the side. Tonight I went for the Shrimp Tempura Soba. This of course involves shrimp, but also wakame and shiitake. Wakame, by the way, is seaweed. I don't really like seaweed, but I eat it because I figure it's good for me, and I don't get much in the way of vegetables. Miss J seems to like it just fine.

For dessert, I'd recommend the Green Tea Tempura Ice Cream. I mean really, where else are you going to get to try such a thing? The ice cream, by the way, is from Sonny's, and the tea is from the Tea Source. Full marks for supporting local treasures.

The building is open and airy, the service friendly and calm, and the whole experience will make you feel better about your day. Money-wise, plan on $20-$25 a person with appetizers, unless you're drinking, and then, well, you know...