Like it or not, the status of a city's cuisine is judged by the restaurants at the top—never mind that native Minnesotans might get a meal from such a place once a year on their anniversary, the top white tablecloth restaurants are where business types flying through town dine, and when they fly out again, it's that one-restaurant snapshot they take to broadcast word of the city's restaurant status with them when they go. Minneapolis, please note your national stature has just inched up significantly: La Belle Vie isn't just the best restaurant in Minneapolis right now, it's a homegrown triumph that shows what's good, and different, about Minneapolis. For one thing, we march to a different drummer: While other chefs in other cities do backflips trying to differentiate themselves with gimmicks within a crowded field, chef Tim McKee has the space and confidence to cook to any particular cooking trend or style: His food is bred of confidence, and he cooks whatever (pumpkin tagliatelle, lobster seaweed salad, bouillabaisse, rare seared elk, French fries) and however (no particular reliance on grilling, sous vide, or raw) he likes. In addition to marching to a different drummer, Minnesotans stick around: The team of co-owners and long ago co-chefs Josh Thoma and Tim McKee; partner, manager, and sommelier Bill Summerville; and pastry chef Adrienne Odom has been working together for so many, many years that the various parts of the restaurant work in glorious harmony, each principal knowing the strengths and habits of the other team members. Another few ways we're different, and how La Belle Vie expresses those? We've got Midwestern amounts of land, we don't mind spending money (if it's on high-end stuff at rock bottom prices—check out our downtown full of bargain Saks and Nieman's floor for further confirmation), we know wine, and we like desserts, and plenty of them. Consider that the next time you're contemplating La Belle Vie's vast, but very well selected and generally underpriced wine list, or as you note the luxurious acreage between tables, or the desserts, which combine fine technique (espresso semi-freddo with cardamom foam) and no-kidding portion sizes (big as a can of pop.) It's said that if you want to flatter someone effectively, you should choose something about that person you genuinely admire, and build from there. That high-level flattery is exactly what La Belle is right now providing the city of Minneapolis, and we're blushing and protesting, but delighted none the less.
La Belle Vie
Being a great chef is many things—and it's much more than being a great cook. It's leadership and charisma. It's the ability to work with other, usually younger chefs, to convey to them your particular vision, and inspire them to sweat and scramble to achieve it—because only then can you take a night off, or walk a circle through your dining room, sure in the knowledge that your food will be made to the level it must be. It's humility and the ability to cede control of parts of the restaurant to others with greater skill than you have, be it in the fields of valet parking, serving, bartending, or sommelliering, so that the people leaving your tables at the end of the night remember your food, and not the way the waiter dumped a tray of Banyuls on their heads or the valet filled the car with cigarette smoke. It's stamina, and the ability to stay on-message, through decades and endless cases of lettuce, never surrendering to the desire to hang the appetizers on wires from the ceiling, for something new. It's also the ability to stay fresh and creative, through all those cases of lettuce, and never throw in the towel and have your line cooks serve shrimp cocktail so you can stay home nights and watch Desperate Housewives. Tim McKee has all those qualities, as is obvious to anyone who stepped through the doors of the newly relocated, thrilling, subtle, utterly accomplished restaurant La Belle Vie. His food is exquisite, certainly—a pasta dish of garganelli with braised rabbit, guanciale, and truffled mascarpone with a bit of sweet and sour cabbage had a richness that made the depths of northern winter seem like the lushest and most vivid time to be alive. But in addition to the food, the rest of the restaurant, the service, the wine, the parking, the tabletop, the everything, the work of a hundred people, pushes McKee's vision forward as one unified delight. That's the height of being a chef, the glorious art, plus the all-too-human management, resulting in happy little tables full of happy little diners, blissfully ignorant of all the work that goes into their happy little night.
Adrienne Odom is nothing short of a genius, and, for years now, she has been dazzling diners with her pastry work at the La Belle Vie in Stillwater, and at the tapas bar Solera in downtown Minneapolis. The one glaring fault of her oeuvre, however, has been that you needed to eat dinner in order to get it. No longer! The lounge at the new Minneapolis incarnation of La Belle Vie is exactly the spot that dessert connoisseurs and amateur pastry chefs have long dreamed of: somewhere you can go and sample the art of the master, unfettered by the distractions of fish and fowl. What to try first? Of course, anything semifreddo, as Odom has lately been pursuing lots of experiments in the world of half-frozen, quasi-foam, quasi-ice-cream desserts. We tried an espresso semi-freddo unmolded from a rectangular mold, sprayed with milk chocolate, standing bolt upright on a brownie, crowned by a white chocolate disc, and surrounded by a moat of smoked chocolate soup that was bridged by a chocolate strap. Ay caramba! It was masculine, deep, powerful, chocolatey (of course), but more than chocolatey, it whispered and cried and shouted chocolate in a dozen ways, it was a whole chocolate opera, or chorus. Then there was the mango tasting platter, with six, count 'em six, tiny mango desserts all presented together. There was a tangerine soup with a mango mascarpone ravioli, which looked for all the world like a square of stained glass submerged in a consommé of sunshine. There was a teeny tiny mango smoothie, topped with cilantro foam. There was much more, but it was lost in the din of argument that erupted at our table, an argument which revolved around whether it would take you 10 years to learn how to make all the elements on that platter, or whether such marvels came not from education, but only from talent. See for yourself: Both those wonders cost $10, which is a lot to pay for dessert, but not much to pay for amazement and wonder.
There are quite a few remarkable wine lists in Minnesota. The deep, old, California red majesty of steak palace Manny's comes to mind, as does the unspeakably lengthy compilation of exotica featured at Stillwater wine bar Cesaré, and the astonishing Spanish breadth on offer at downtown Minneapolis's tapas restaurant Solera. Still, even thinking of all those excellent lists, the new wine list at the brand new location of La Belle Vie is something astonishing. Why? Simply because it takes the idea of service to the customer to a whole new level, by elevating the idea of something for everyone to new heights. For the connoisseurs and big rollers, there are all sorts of $200 bottles of things never before seen in Minnesota, rare older Bordeaux, say, or in-the-know eyebrow raisers, like cult Cabernets produced in microscopic batches that have been direct-imported specifically for La Belle Vie through local importers. For the learned but bored, there are wines no one else has, unusual Slovenian wines, say, or Gruner Veltliners with exotic top notes evoking fields in their native Austria. For the budget-minded, however, there's an absolute abundance of bottles in the $20 and $30 range, bottles that put the fine dining at La Belle Vie within reach of those whose wine taste must be paid for after grad school or day care bills. Much credit then to Bill Summerville, who spent several years before La Belle Vie's autumn 2005 opening dreaming up such a long, long, and terribly useful list. The thing we like most about this list is that it's not just about the wine—though it is about the wine. More, it takes service to the guest to a new level, anticipating the needs of all and sundry, and welcoming diners at whatever level they're most comfortable. There're wine smarts, which La Belle Vie has in abundance, and then there're hospitality and grace. What a joy to find a spot that unites them both!
It only took about a decade, but the core Twin Cities finally got a wine bar worthy of such a wine-smart metropolis. When the Riverview Wine Bar opened last year, we were impressed with the wide selection and stylish interior with its comfy fireplace and Tuscan color scheme, but the longer we've gotten to study the wine offerings the more impressed we've become. It's the "wine flites" that have done it. Currently the wine bar offers 12 flites, all priced at $9, each composed of four two-ounce glasses of wine. These flites are arranged around all kinds of interesting themes—Zinfandels from all over California; red wines made entirely in stainless steel (leaving out those usually so important oak flavors); Rieslings from New Zealand, Germany, France, and Washington state; all-organic, and so forth. These flites allow you to learn about wine through the only legitimate method—tasting—but they are also various enough that they meet you on whatever level you're up for. If you're exhausted from a long week with the kids and simply can't settle on a buttery chardonnay, there's a flite that allows you to try most of them. Speaking of kids, parents of toddlers have been delighted to find they can take a glass of wine from the Riverview wine bar into the kid-friendly café next door, and let the little ones crawl after toys while they catch up on some grown-up conversation. Please note that the Riverview also does great work as a beer connoisseur's sampling ground: They have more than 40 beers to offer, and owners David and Mara Bernick hosts occasional beer-tasting events such as a Bell's tasting that sampled various combinations of wheat and yeast strains. The Riverview has been working mightily this last year not to become a restaurant—simple salads, pizzas, and antipasto combinations are all they offer to complement their 80-or-so wines, which keeps the focus on the wines, where it should be.
It's hard to see past : Cafe Latté's glistening Italian fruit tarts and the shiny chocolate tortes, the lingonberry and lemon scones or the Dakota bread, but this bustling, urbane cafeteria has been serving up some of the Cities' best salads, soups, stews, curries and sandwiches pretty darn cheap for over 20 years. An anchor in one of St. Paul's oldest neighborhoods, Victoria's Crossing, Cafe Latté caters to busy shoppers, professionals, students, moms and grandmas with kids. The selections are long and eclectic; the only issue here is trying to decide. Grab a tray and sashay down the cafeteria line where salads are freshly tossed to order—chicken, artichoke, and pasta; crab and tomato; brown rice with cashews; and craisins in a chutney apricot yogurt dressing. Sandwiches are built to your pleasure, all on wonderful, just-baked, thick, hand-cut slices of bread. Handmade pizzas are topped off right before your eyes. Always fresh, ever inspired, Cafe Latté's food is consistently good and exceedingly reasonable. Though long, the line moves quickly; spare a little time to linger in a sunny booth over a glass of wine or beer, and save a little room for some of that insanely gooey caramel double chocolate fudge Turtle Cake.
The Riverview is the heart of the Longfellow neighborhood. That's not your neighborhood? That's okay. Pull up a chair. Weekend mornings at the Riverview belong to babies and toddlers and their sleepy parents, nursing lattes. (The Riverview's clean, carpeted kiddie area is unparalleled and kept comfortably separate from more sedate seating areas.) The afternoons give way to couples quietly sharing sections of the newspaper. Local live acts and the standout Riverview Wine Bar next door draw a grown-up crowd on weekend nights. Weekday evenings are ruled by book clubs, knitting klatches, and community groups. The Riverview's fare is standard coffeehouse stuff, plus real Thai coffee and some luscious cakes and torts. And, oh yeah, kiddie-sized bags of animal crackers.
Imagine being invited to Sunday brunch at the home of your most elegant friend. She makes a handful of dishes—a strata, a plate of sausage, some homemade scones—and sets them out on the sideboard. She makes you feel welcome. You serve yourself. You linger over drinks. It hardly seems right to call it a buffet. That's what Sunday brunch is like at Nathalie Johnson's place, the Signature Café in Prospect Park. The former policy wonk and her husband bought the neighborhood bistro four years ago. They've built a reputation for using seasonal, fresh, and local ingredients in dishes that skirt the line between comfort and elegance. Oh, and, just as you would with a friend, you need to call Nathalie ahead of time to make plans for brunch: Sunday mornings are strictly by reservation only, so she knows just how much to cook.
Sean's command of ground beans, water, froth, and heat is thorough enough to satisfy even the most fastidious 1/3-decaf latte fiend. He's fleet of foot and finger, too, thank goodness. Otherwise, the MCTC students who sometimes storm Espresso Royale's Hennepin store would have torn the soft-spoken, curly-haired barista limb from lanky limb long ago. Is he friendly? He introduces himself the first time you're engaged in anything even vaguely resembling a conversation—and always remembers your name. Plus, he's always up for a chat should your paths cross off-site. But all that's boilerplate tip bait. Where Sean really excels is music programming. Sure, he'll play Bob Marley at a customer's behest. But, left to his own devices, he's far more likely to drop the adventurous likes of Animal Collective, Akron/Family, and sundry other artists that send you running to him with questions. Best of all, he knows exactly where to put the volume: never conversation-impeding, always frisky enough to make you feel as though you're actually out, rather than just consuming a stimulant in public. For less than the price of a Miller Lite, it's royal treatment indeed.
Breakfast is the new lunch. Just ask the downtown Minneapolis business types, already stuffed into suits at 7:30 in the morning. They've got their planners spread out not on some polished wood conference table in a high-rise, but on a café table at Hell's Kitchen. Are they actually getting any work done? Impossible. Because they've got massive plates of huevos rancheros ($9.95) in front of them, with sides of thick, chewy applewood-smoked bacon that keep tempting their greasy fingers away from their silvery PDAs. Those huevos are scrambled, not fried, and blend perfectly into a bed of spicy beans and grated potatoes, all sitting on a couple of fried tortillas. On the weekends, Hell's lemon ricotta pancakes ($9.25) actually seem to come from the other end of the theological spectrum: so golden and light they defy physics. You might think those suits are going to be a little too stuffed to take on the world after their feast, but here's where they got really lucky: Hell's Kitchen serves serious coffee—a smooth, deep private-label French roast sure to get them back on track.
Face it, unless you had a night so bad that dry toast is an adventure in gastronomy, the best tonic for excessive partying is a quiet, hearty breakfast in a soothing setting. Like Roseville's Pippin's with its tiny, warm caramel rolls. Or the Local with its two-for-one Irish coffees, British sports on the tube, and creamy hash browns. But most times, Northeast's Keegan's Pub fills the bill the best. Sure, the decor is calculatedly quaint (the bar was shipped over in pieces from Ireland and assembled Stateside), but those padded barstools and squishy reproduction couches are terribly kind to hungover bones. The tie-wearing bartenders mix a strong Irish coffee, and intuitively know when to shoot the breeze or leave you the hell alone. They also assemble a Bloody Mary that could be a light meal for Atkins dieters: The drink is topped with a hardboiled egg, a strip of bacon, and enough vegetable garnishes for a salad. If you're still peckish afterward, the menu features an Irish breakfast with bangers and black pudding ($9.95), as well as a nicely made Eggs Benedict ($9.95), in addition to all kinds of lunch-y things. The real piece de resistance, though, is that staple of Army mess halls, creamed chipped beef on toast, a.k.a. S.O.S. Keegan's version sets tender, salty bits of rehydrated beef in an unctuous pale gravy of heavy cream laced with garlic. Dolloped over crisp white toast, paired with a side of fried potatoes, and accompanied by the hair of the dog of your choice, it's an alcohol sponge par excellence.
What if your corner taqueria (and in the Twin Cities in 2006, surely every corner, even in Shakopee and Orono, now has one) had not just flavor, but high style? What if each plate were composed to look as if it were the many-colored, multi-textured creation of an upscale chef? What if the tomatillo salsa, a Mexican standard for generations, m'ijo, were a little sweeter and a little more vividly green? What if, when it was used to nap a plate of chjilaquiles-sauce-smothered fried tortilla shards often topped, as here, with an egg, it was offset by a small mound of beef braised in a chile sauce so rich and concentrated its color was more chocolate than brick? What if the dish were arrayed here and there across a white rectangle of plate and served up in a techno palace of glass and tile? Accompanied by a thoughtful wine list, a long list of top-shelf margaritas and sangrias, and exotic fruit juices? If your corner taqueria were as stylish as all that you'd have Masa—where homey cooking and familiar flavors are gussied up with elegance, forward-looking design, and margaritas fit for a weekend on the yacht off the Acapulco coast. What's better than high style wed to familiar flavors? Nothing, and that's what makes Masa, downtown Minneapolis's newest Mexican restaurant, number one in our books.
Once upon a time, under a general misapprehension of sophistication and worldliness, we thought we knew Indian cuisine. We thought we tasted alchemy. All of those spices! All of that toasting and grinding! Then we learned a thing or two about cooking and realized that when we thought we were tasting richness and complexity, we were really tasting...butter. Butter with the frequent addition of cream. We were dorks of the first order, but not so dorky we couldn't recognize the real deal once we tried it. At Great India they rely on fresh spices, and complicated cooking preparations—not butterfat. Try one of the carefully crafted tureens of curry. Or the Goan coconut chicken with its light, sweet lilt, or lamb dumpakt, a pot-pie made with tender lamb and cashews, a dish that's so plain and good it's almost innocent. Or the "murg malai kabob"—marinated chicken served in a lemony sauce so light you might assume it's French, until you taste the distinct perfume of cardamom and fresh accent of cilantro. Indian food shouldn't be entirely beholden to butter and ghee, and at Great India it's not: Instead you taste lemon and tomato, almonds and cardamom, coconut and pistachio, cilantro and its seed-self, coriander, and a thousand other spices and flavors. Great India, indeed.
Brooklyn Center
763.566.8300
New King's Buffet is conveniently located next to a tire shop; if your wheels collapse after your visit to the all-you-can-eat explosion of food, you'll have immediate, convenient recourse. Equally packed at noon on a weekday or at 7:00 p.m. on a Saturday night, New King's swarms with gluttons and gluttons-in-training (three-, four-, and five-year olds are all charged different prices). Four giant islands of food glisten under the bright, fluorescent lights, and if the main events of crab, squid, and authentic Hong Kong chow doesn't interest you, please know that half an island consists entirely of things that are fried: fried dumplings, fried dough, fried onion rings, and trays of other crispy, tan treats. Sometimes it seems like the only greens on hand are string beans in a tasty, oily sauce, and the "salad bar" admittedly consists of iceberg lettuce, Jell-O, and fruit in various creams and/or syrups. But at $6.95 for lunch and $10.55 for dinner for adults, and pro-rated prices for kids, this is a frugal glutton's paradise. Ten-year-olds, hurry up and chow down! The price goes up the moment you turn eleven.
There are many ways to judge the excellence of a dim sum palace, but for us, the decisive factor has always been dumplings. Mandarin Kitchen has the most: chive flower dumplings, with their dark greens peeking through the translucent wrappers; cilantro dumplings, fragrant with herbs; pork dumplings that are fat and wide as grins; pork dumplings with quail eggs; pork dumplings with cheerful squares of carrot; dumplings topped with quivering sea scallops; soup dumplings, bursting with broth; and, of course, shrimp dumplings of every possible form and style. Of course, Mandarin Kitchen has everything else you want in dim sum: hot chow fun noodles, crunchy vegetables, taro cakes, sea cucumber salad, tiny red-oil squid, congee, sticky rice pressed with edible treasures into bowls and steamed inside leaves, and enough room to fit in you, your family, and everyone in your whole office.
Minneapolis
612.871.6801
You've driven past it a thousand times; you'd be forgiven if you thought it was a flower shop. This unadorned restaurant, in a basement on Nicollet below the flower shop, is simply the best Chinese in the Twin Cities. The owners are a Taiwanese Buddhist couple (she cooks, he serves) who dish up Taiwanese specialties alongside Chinese standards. The 3-cup tofu is a heap of silken, garlicky bites in tangy, toasty jackets, and the Vietnamese lemongrass mock beef is a platter of chewy strips suffused with bright lemony flavors—the best mock anything we've ever tasted. Also excellent: potstickers (vegetarian and non), the fresh, sprightly soybean paste noodles with bok choy, and the spicy, pork-laden Mapo tofu. For an authentic Taiwanese experience, ask for "hollow vegetable"—it's a leafy green vegetable served on the streets of Taipei whose Chinese name translates literally as "open heart." (They don't always have it, but it's worth a try—a more delicious green is not to be found). The restaurant is usually filled with Chinese expats, families, and grad students, and as most entrees are under $10, you could eat here every night. (Some do.) The restaurant has developed an especially loyal following in the vegetarian and vegan communities (vegetarian items are cooked in a separate wok), and on busy nights, customers have been known to leap from their seats to help take orders. Delicious. Affordable. May Evergreen prosper!
St. Paul
651.290.2585
Just inside Mai Village's exquisitely embroidered menus, before the lists of Vietnamese delicacies including sesame beef and steamed walleye in ginger-soy sauce, reads the sentence: "We are a family business concerned with your satisfaction." This tiny phrase says it all; from the wall of green bamboo stalks to your last course of seven-course beef, Mai Village's attention to detail is unmatched in Minnesota, and probably in Vietnam. Entering the restaurant, you traipse across a wooden bridge over a pond full of actual koi goldfish. You then sink into a cushy booth or a hand-carved chair inside a wooden re-creation of a community hall from Vietnam's last dynasty. You are attended to by a slender young man in black pants, and he brings you cuisine from the cities of central Vietnam: bouncy spring rolls with plum sauce and sautéed mock duck with a kick resting on a tangle of rice noodles and lettuce. Try the grilled fish with green mango; it's superb. And guard it carefully—as you cross the bridge on your way out the door, the koi rise to the surface of the pond and open their tiny mouths as if to inquire, "Leftovers?"
Sometimes seafood likes to get dressed up fancy in white-wine sauces on snazzy china, and sometimes it enjoys being served up fresh in a red plastic basket with a nice cold beer. Stella's Fish Café specializes in the latter category—po'boy sandwiches the size of the mythical "one that got away" made with blackened catfish, fried shrimp, or fried oysters, and loaded with tomato, lettuce, and sauce, the whole gigantic assemblage loaded into a basket alongside servings of coleslaw and mashed potatoes or fries. (Stella's beer-battered shrimp so naturally fuse seafood and golden batter that it will make you wonder if shrimp can be consumed any other way.) You can also fight with your bare fists, in a battle fit for King Tritan, by ordering fresh crab legs or a cooked-to-order live lobster. If you're feeling fancy, the raw oysters (generally around $2.50 a pop) with a strong mixed drink allows you to dine with sophistication, though without pomp or pretense. Keep in mind, too, that with warm weather fast approaching, Stella's famed outdoor dining will soon be opening up—the building's rooftop is filled with tables, festive umbrellas, a full bar, breezes that could carry a seagull anywhere, and a lovely view of Uptown and downtown Minneapolis that looks prettier as every moment of the sunset deepens.
Sakura is a sweet restaurant in downtown St. Paul for people with Minnesota lifestyles but Tokyo tendencies. The hospitality swells at your entry: As soon as you're seated, a reed basket full of piping hot towels arrives at your table like Wet Wipes from heaven. Sushi appears on a simple wooden platter, accompanied by tiny eruptions of wasabi and ginger. The yellowtail and the albacore tuna dissolve on the tongue, and long creamy strips of tamago (egg custard) are heaped on rice that's just sticky enough. There are enough hot appetizers and nowhere-else-in-Minnesota bar snacks to sustain a year's worth of business drinks. The vegetarian selections are the widest in the state. Some of our oldest and most reliable favorites on this newly spiffed-up restaurant include the saba shioyaki (grilled mackerel) and vegetable sushi combo, as well as the vegetable tempura that's at once crisp and grease-free, and whose mushrooms and sweet potatoes, so muted-looking beneath their battery shells, surge with juicy flavor. Hai.
Fridley
763.571.7256
King's Fine Korean Cuisine is two great restaurants in one. It's your hometown joint where everybody knows your name—if your name happens to be "Park" or "Kim." Alternatively, for those of us with names more like Olsen, it's the place where you can order by number, or throw yourself under the tutelage of the kind waitress, who will walk you patiently through the bulgogi (sweet and tender marinated beef), dolsot bi bim bap (rice, marinated veggies, meat, and a fried egg served in a hot stone bowl), japchae (clear sweet potato noodles), and the endless fiery soups. On weekend nights, Korean families gather, pull tables together, plop kids in high chairs, and let the parade of little spicy pickled dishes begin. Even if you're a timid eater, once you see how fearless even those little toddlers are, "We'll have what they're having" seems a much safer bet.
Just when you feared that Thai food in these towns would never begin to match what you've had on one of the coasts, that you'd never get any help breaking out of the Bermuda triangle of rice noodles, coconut milk, and peanut sauce, along came Tum Rup Thai. The menu here offers all the standards, but if you insist on looking there, you're missing the boat. For there are also basil-shrimp rolls: fat shrimp wrapped first in veritable fistfuls of Thai basil, then in a rice wrapper, and finally deep-fried and served with a sweet-and-sour sauce and a limey jalapeño dipping sauce. There's a peerless selection of salads—the department where Thai ingredients really shine, in our view—including the Crying Tiger, in which char-grilled beef is tossed with lemongrass, chiles, mint, and roasted rice powder and served atop lettuce and cucumbers. Or you might try the Naked Shrimp, in which enough shrimp to please a linebacker are tossed with a hot and sour dressing, scattered with lemongrass meant to serve more as an ingredient than a condiment, and arranged on greens and vegetables. There's beer, wine, and sake, and speaking of things that are rare as hen's teeth, acres of free parking, despite Tum Rup's Uptown location.
No babysitter? No bright lights, no big city. Nope, not unless you make the trek to Chiang Mai Thai, sighing just ever so remorsefully at its arty, wood-lined dining room and the memory of your evenings traipsing through its bargain-studded wine list, as you pick up your food at the bar and drive home to your own cluttered and overly familiar surroundings. If you've hit this stage of life, dear reader, then you'll be grateful to know that the laab esan, a ground-meat salad enlivened by lime juice and roasted rice powder, travels beautifully, arriving at its destination just as room temperature as it was when you picked it up. (Unless you happen to have cranked the thermostat in your El Camino.) The fiery cashews are just as addictively salty and spicy tumbling out of a teeny white box. And the pad see yew, or noodles with eggs, broccoli, and soy, are just as resilient and sweet. Spread it all out on the coffee table, uncork your own house Gewurztraminer, and consider the backlog aging in your TiVo, and you just might start to make peace with this new stage of life.
St. Louis Park
952.922.4000
The thing you're looking for most when you trundle the kids off for a meal is solidarity. Oh yeah, you may want high chairs or some certainty that there will be mac and cheese on the menu. But, mostly, you want to know that when your Junior dumps his fries on the floor ("Uh-oh, Mama, uh-oh!") somebody else two tables over just missed having their Junior do the same thing, and so won't screw up his face in disapproval. By that measure, Yum! is positively crawling with solidarity. And little Juniors. When you go, however, make sure that the kids are good and distracted by their pasta. You're going to want a moment to concentrate on your own food: hearty tortilla soup that's all about the toppings, a crispy-juicy half chicken on lemony linguine, cunning little mini tuna burgers, rosy, flaky salmon. And, most importantly, your wine. Think about that next time you're contemplating drive-through Happy Meals. That famous red-haired clown never serves you wine. Yum!, run by longtime Twin Cities restaurateur Patti Soskin, also sells deli and bakery items (including the best challah in town).
Okay, so the ambience isn't as romantic as W.A. Frost or the Black Forest Inn, and the views aren't as spectacular as a place like Café Lurcat, but Psycho Suzi's outdoor dining patio has other things going for it that some of the more obvious choices don't—like unpretentious personality and drinks so potent they are a mini spring break all in themselves. Part old A&W stand, part tiki lounge, and part Nordeast neighborhood beer-and-pizza joint, Suzi's offers an outdoor seating area that is a summertime trifecta of grass, poured concrete, and wooden multi-level deck. The menu includes not just pizzas, but also items found at any family picnic—deli sandwiches (including vegan-friendly Tofurkey and soy cheese), deviled eggs, and miscellaneous pickled items, as well as State Fair delicacies like cheese curds, red rockets (beer-battered mini-wieners), and onion rings that are never soggy or gooey. Throw in a couple of rum-loaded frou-frou drinks with names like Paralyzed Polynesian and Volcanic Eruption and you won't know whether you're in Cancun, Disney World, or just good old Nordeast. Pay a little extra and you can keep your clay mug (they come shaped like pirates, skulls, and tiki-gods) just like a vacation souvenir. Shouldn't dining outdoors always be like a little bit of vacation? At Psycho Suzi's it is, plus personality.
When one thinks "romance," one does not usually think "beer garden," but if you can snag a spot on the Black Forest Inn's outdoor patio in the summer, you and your sun-dappled sweetie (or sweetie-to-be) will be basking in it. As shadows play fetchingly on your darling's face, try a beer sampler (a neat array of tiny beer shots), or share a plate of tangy paprika schnitzel. The fresh multigrain rolls, served with sweet butter, are also particularly good. Afterward, feed him or her warm apple strudel—or, if the heady combination of sunshine and sauerkraut gets the best of you, retreat to the dark, Germanic bar for a sweet dessert of kisses near the taps dispensing all that delicious imported German beer. Then again, if you happen to steal a kiss between courses, probably no one will notice—your cover will be the sweet sounds of the burbling fountain and the happy chatter of other sun-dappled, or later, streetlight-dappled, diners.
If you're burning the midnight oil, but you'd really prefer your late-night fires were used to sautée noodles or heat up a plate of pad Thai, head to Azia, where you can gorge yourself on Asian fusion until 1:45 a.m. Night owls will be treated to high ceilings, dark-stained wood, moody lighting, and bathroom sinks graced with real towels and slender branches of red buds. For a three-course midnight snack, start with the cranberry puffs (crispy wontons filled with tangy cranberries and cream cheese), proceed directly to the hot coconut-milk-enriched Spanker Soup, and finish with sweet rice swirled with slices of fresh mango. (The tartness of the mango neatly offsets the lush, sticky rice in coconut milk.) For other late-night options, order some treats from the sexy, attached new sushi bar Anemoni, or slip into the adorable, also attached Caterpillar Lounge, where glowing red tables dot the floor like electric Kool-Aid popsicles.
It's not so much that Sapor is a vegetarian restaurant, or even a fish- and chicken-serving one with a veggie aesthetic. It's that Sapor does to meatless entrees what it does to all of them: Chef Tanya Siebenaler and manager and wine fan Julie Steenerson seem to turn everything they put on a plate or into a glass several degrees off any route yet traveled, making their vegetarian specials and seasonally replaced menu items really, truly new—and friendly. As of this writing, there's a black rice blini topped with a plum sauce served atop a bed of sautéed spring vegetables. There's a spinach torta in a potato crust, a lunch-sized salad of chiogga beets with Schwarz und Weiss blue cheese and arugula, and a semolina flatbread topped with a feta, onions, olives, and red wine vinegar. The bar-snack menu offers half a dozen creative, tempting, tapa-sized vegetarian items. And if you can do fish, you really can rule the world. Sapor also has a nicely priced wine list boasting unique bottles and accommodating by-the-glass prices.
When dining out as a vegetarian, sometimes we're thankful just to see a veggie burger on the menu, or something plain loaded with an impossible amount of cheese. Sometimes we're not even given a straight answer when asking about whether or not the "veggie" soup is vegetarian. At vegetarian-always-and-only restaurant Ecopolitan you don't even have to ask this question—but if you have others, they're happy to answer. Not only will your server be able to casually pick out gluten-free items from the menu, but he or she will be able to talk at length about why and how the wine is organic with no added sulfites, why a shot of wheatgrass is good for you, or just what the daily special is. This soy-free, processed-food-free, vegan, raw-food restaurant doesn't slack on any healthy lifestyle front: They have all their bases covered, from the filtered air to the enviro-friendly food-grade peroxide sanitation to the nontoxic caulk, glue, and paint used to construct the homey restaurant itself. Oh, and of course the food is surprising and lively—from the living pizzas made with sprouted and dehydrated buckwheat and herbs and loaded with things like avocado, spinach, and nuts; to the "Rawvioli" made with cashew "cheese," radishes, and ginger marinara. Many dishes are evocative of the "regular" dishes suggested in their name, and yet work as original stand-alone dishes themselves. So enjoy your fruits and veggies the way Mother Nature intended, naturally—impossible amounts of cheese and veggie burgers will still be waiting elsewhere for you.
Maplewood
651.777.7999
Singapore!
5554 34th Avenue South
Minneapolis
612.722.0888
Singapore manages to offer not one but two restaurants in the middle of nowhere: Singapore Chinese Cuisine in Maplewood and the more elegant (and emphatic) Singapore! in residential south Minneapolis. At the northern restaurant, try all the curry-rich treats of that former British colony; at the southern one, the menu is a remarkable combination of Malaysian and Ethiopian specialties. At either one, even in the dead of snow-tire winter, the roti prata appetizer alone is worth a journey of miles. That roti prata is a plate of crisp bread served with a richly spiced dipping curry so qualitatively better than any other curry you've had, it will reset your entire concept of the dish. Other options? Try the rendang daging berempah (beef in curry sauce) or the Captain's Curry (chicken and coconut and 27 spices), and you'll be ruined for other curry forever, as well as ruined for dining close to home.
Strange times have befallen downtown St. Paul, specifically in the area around Mears Park. It was just months ago that one could wander in a post-apocalyptic haze amongst the skyscrapers and empty parking ramps on the weekends and evenings and see nary a single life form. Nowadays, thanks to businesses popping up around the area, LoTo included, the locals have emerged from their cocoons to become social butterflies. Though at times conceptually overbooked, LoTo manages to pull off a variety of titles admirably, be it restaurant, coffee shop, deli, or bar. What this means for the average diner is that one person can enjoy a beer while another snacks on mini-burgers the size of meatballs and another consumes a super-rich brownie or croissant from the deli. Sit at the bar and watch the TV with some friends, and you may even find yourself having a friendly chat with a neighbor you never knew you had. Another perk is the easy access to the skyways and occasional happenings in the lounge area just outside of the restaurant. Plus, once the Lowertown farmers' market (just two blocks away) starts up again, the area will be even more hoppin'.
There's something incongruous about being coddled, feted, pampered, respected, celebrated, and deferred and demurred to, in a shopping mall. And not just any shopping mall, but one that's home to an amusement park, an aquarium, and enough food courts to feed all the teenyboppers in the five-state region, all of whom seem to be there on any given weekend. There you are, trying to remember which level of Dante's inferno you left the Jetta parked on and just why it is that you expected Nordstrom's bra fitters to have time for you on a Sunday, when there it is, in all its lushly upholstered, jewel-toned splendor: a real restaurant with a real name-brand chef (Royal Dahlstrom) creating entrees out of real (sometimes local, even) meats and produce, and a really, really accommodating, pleasant, gracious staff. They'll take your coat, usher you into a big soft booth, help you navigate the gigantic California-specialist wine list without so much as a whiff of up-sell, and in general make sure you feel like it's an important Saturday night on the town and not a mid-spree stop for fuel.
You aced your Class B motor vehicle test. You won the Nobel Prize. You just found out Aunt Nedra left you the millions you thought were going to Mr. Chunky. You want steak. You'd prefer the steak to be the kind that yields to the gentle yet firm pressure of a silver butter knife. Murray's is your place. Its gleaming, mirrored walls and swishy pink curtains recall prom night 1946, or your grandparents' third dinner date. The restaurant is classy in a Nat King Cole kind of way, and the silver butter knife steak will drive you out of your mind and into your local credit union for a cash advance. At $85 for two, it's tender and perfectly textured, it gives completely at the tiniest tooth-mark, and food writers have been known to avoid writing about the thing lest their prose become inappropriate for a family newspaper. Ah, Murray's: The spirit is willing and the flesh is medium-rare (or, actually, however you like it).
Ingredients for a great first date: an atmosphere both relaxing and romantic, delicious food at reasonable prices, and conversation that sparkles like just-Swiffered linoleum. If that's what you want, put your best foot forward and head to duplex. It's a tiny, red jewel box of a restaurant in what used to be the Pandora's Cup coffeehouse, and it exudes good vibes like Oprah on Pontiac giveaway day. The prices are only a little bit more than what you'd pay at neighborhood cheapies like Quang, but the atmosphere looks like you're springing for La Belle Vie. The food is truly good, too. Try the panko-breaded chicken lazing in a pool of lemon beurre blanc. (Exclaimed one diner, "I could drink this stuff straight.") Try the eggplant and mozzarella appetizer, and the duck confit salad with candied orange zest. For dessert there's fresh, ripe fruit in crème Anglaise and, if the romantic lighting has done its work, all the innuendo you can handle. Even if the convo isn't all it could be, you'll look great in the romantic lighting. For instance, here's a real first-date conversation: "Can I ask you a personal question? Have you had a nose job?" If we'd been at duplex, the comfort, romantic sensibility, and energy of the restaurant would have prevented this. And if it hadn't, we could have just tossed said date off duplex's spacious balcony.
The coolest place in town, the prettiest snacks around—Café Lurcat raises the bar. With its wide-angle view of charming Loring Park and its spare, dramatic 21st-century Deco interior, Café Lurcat serves an eclectic selection of noshes, nibbles, snacks, and apps to match its refined menu of grown-up drinks (real Martinis) and more than 200 wines. Sure, Lurcat has great people-watching (and people-phone-number-requesting), but there's a strong argument to be made that appetizers are Lurcat's main charm. Take the warm cheddar cheese puffs, served snug in a thick white linen napkin, these airy pockets of melting cheese are both retro-cocktail party and damn good. Delicate panko-coated calamari is flaky and tender (not a bit chewy) and delicious dunked in a tangy chili-citrus sauce. This place takes crab cakes seriously—fat patties of crab meat, deftly seasoned, pan-fried dark and crisp. The salads are smart: The frisee one is classy and expansive, made rich with poached egg and tart with Sherry wine vinegar. If it's a show you seek, order the seafood platter—a tiered fantasy of Gulf shrimp, Maine lobster, mussels, and oysters. Deliciously whimsical two-bite mini-burgers, marvelous French fries with silky Bearnaise—all tongues considered, this place is a kick.
If you're looking for serenity, succulence, or a side of pomme frites, va to Vincent. Your bread will arrive in a little clay flowerpot, your salade Chinoise will arrive drizzled with an electric-green soy-peanut dressing, and your waiter may have just arrived from Provence last Sunday. (Ours did.) The food is a delightful mix of the traditional français fare you'd find in a Paris bistro (croque monsieur, anyone?) and the delicious experiments you'll find only here (raspberry lambic braised boar, everyone!). And l'ambience! The high ceilings, buttercream walls, and gentle murmuring of happy diners impart the kind of calm usually guarded by someone with a Pharm. D. (One five-year-old diner was so blissed out with his experience he climbed right under the table.) For lunch, try the Mediterranean fish soup, a tangy tomato-based number finished with melty squiggles of cheese, or a piece of snow-white chicken on a velvety cremini mushroom and roasted grape risotto. For dessert, a citrus tart topped with a zesty medley of red grapefruit and blood orange. The wine list is made for those cosmopolitan sorts who know enough about wine to trust a Frenchman to advise them on the wine of his homeland—chef Vincent Francoual is a native of the Cahors region, and his wine list is wonderfully strong on the wines from his part of the world. You know, when we reflect on it, it seems that even the butter at Vincent tastes a little bit sweeter than it does elsewhere. Viva la France!
Minneapolis
612.871.2111
214 Fourth Street East (Union Depot Place)
St. Paul
651.224.6000
www.christos.com
Who knew one kitchen could do so much with so little? Just as an orchestra takes seven notes and produces an infinitely varied stream of poetry, in the narrow kitchen at the back of Christos's Agean blue-and-white Minneapolis dining room, a bevy of cooks tease olive oil, lemon, oregano, rosemary, and garlic into many, many rich and boldly flavored concertos. (In St. Paul the regal dining room manages to be even more operatic.) There are dolmas, of course, redolent with lamb and cinnamon and napped with a puckery lemon sauce. There's lemony tabouleh that's more parsley than bulgar. Octopus baked with red wine and bay leaves. Earthy, rich trout roasted simply with the aforementioned herbs. There are fat, pleasantly gamy lamb chops cooked with olive oil and oregano. Calamari that tastes not of breading but of lemon and salt and a flash in a hot sauté pan. The mostly-Greek wine list is accessible and affordable. Opa, indeed.
A neighborhood trattoria that speaks the international language of pasta—fresh stuff handmade every day. (The menu warns against taking anything home to reheat; hand-cut egg fettuccini just doesn't revive nicely in the microwave.) Try any of chef Michael Rostance's traditional or original creations, like rustic spaghetti alla puttanesca with a hot anchovy kick from the southern end of Italy; tender risotto with porcini and sage from the northern end of the boot; or rigatoni with crab, sweet peas, tomatoes, and chiles from nowhere but here, now, and fresh. If you sit at the open kitchen's bar while the cooks sizzle garlic and toss linguine and twirl in golden peppers, scallops, and shrimp, it's not just dinner, but a show as well. The lines for a table can be long, but take heart: Service is brisk (though not rushed), and perhaps you can use the wait as an excuse to lounge on the patio with a nice (inexpensive) Chianti and a plate of olives. The sensible selection of Italian wines, available by the glass and half and whole bottles, prove that the good things in life are not always expensive.And on Mondays, if you're a kid dining with your parents, good food is free (until 6:30 p.m.). Once the pastas are cleared, simple, good desserts do nothing to detract from the sense of a world made plain and good. Perhaps, for you, a wide wedge of pear ginger torte?
We spent way too much time and money researching this item this year, visiting well known, super-spendy Italian restaurants throughout the metro. At one, we got absolutely sick on the abundance of oil, butter, and egg yolk—the thinking seemed to be: If you can't cook, why not just feed everyone savory forms of warm ice cream? At another we experienced an astonishing level of hit-or-miss; it was as if the cooks at different stations weren't just working with different manners of preparation, but at different restaurants altogether, some bad. What a joy then to return to tiny, beloved St. Paul family Italian restaurant Ristorante Luci, which embodies everything we love about Italian food and lifestyle. Yes, the tables are close together, but it's that closeness that connotes human warmth. Yes, the dishes are traditional, but when the saltimboca is this legendary, when the handmade pastas are this light, the mozzarella this fresh, and the wines on the list this reliably delicious, you're forced to conclude that this is tradition in the elevated sense of the word, not the fusty one. It's been nearly 20 years since the Smith family opened their first restaurant, and 10 more since they opened globally accented Luci Ancora kitty-corner, but with siblings Stephen, Daniela, and Maria in charge of these St. Paul treasures, we feel like the question of which is the best Italian restaurant in St. Paul might just be answered permanently.
Minneapolis
612.379.4069
When you enter Emily's the first thing you notice is the unassuming surroundings. Wood paneling, scenic photos, a display case filled with meat pies, baklava, and assorted olives. Place your order, however, and the whole universe shifts from unassuming to a dimension entirely fresh and flavorful; your plate arrives with a large wedge-shaped spinach pie with pillowy crust and a hint of lemon and a mound of fresh, chunky tabouli. Or hearty pieces of chicken breast paired with a zesty cinnamon-infused rice studded with lamb and pine nuts. The stuffed grape leaves, wrapped tightly like small cigars, are the spiciest around. The fresh hummus is tangy and provides a perfect complement to the other dishes. The menu also includes kabobs and, for the adventurous, raw kibbi, a sort of Lebanese steak tartare, in which the meat is mixed with onions, cracked wheat and spices. Emily's is a perfect neighborhood getaway where delicious family recipes are shared in a comfortable room that almost feels like an extension of the kitchen—in fact, it looks like home, but tastes like travel.
When 112 Eatery opened, it brought not just another new restaurant to the Twin Cities —it brought a new type of restaurant altogether. While we have had chef-driven restaurants of high cooking talent open on shoestrings before (Auriga); while we have had D'Amico Cucina alumni bringing their highfalutin foods to the masses before (Solera); while we have had fancy restaurants serve late at night before (Azia, Barbette); and while we have had restaurants priced for everyday dining that still serve excellent wines before (The Modern); we never had anything like 112 Eatery. Why? Eatery 112 is not just a chef's restaurant, but it's a restaurant by and for restaurant professionals. It was opened by longtime D'Amico chef Isaac Becker and his wife, Nancy St. Pierre, a longtime D'Amico Cucina front-of-the-house maestro, and the restaurant brims with the attitude of people who have done and seen it all, food-wise, and kept only the best bits of restaurant life. You'll see the no-BS approach in their wine list: It's all, and only, good, and has barely any bottles of the big-name, make-the-masses-comfortable variety—and all the bottles are presented on the list with their vintage year, unlike so many other irritating wine lists in town, because wine pros know that the difference between various '99s and '03s can be devastating. You see this no-BS, all-pro aesthetic in the food, where everything ended up on the menu because it's delicious, and for no other reason. Browned, sweetly caramelized cauliflower fritters served with lemon wedges and blanketed with a micro-planed snowfall of good parmesan ($7) are the kind of gee-whiz good that a chef works up and shows off to his line cooks: You'll never believe how good this is. Experiments like roast squares of buttercup squash made with lots of real maple syrup and jewels of pale gorgonzola are the kind of thing you'd never see at another, more conventional restaurant. At $10, this side dish costs more than many of the restaurants' entrees, but if you see them on the menu you know the price reflects the ingredient costs, and will be well worth it. In this case, the dark-roasted squash was the most delicious any of the people at our table had ever tasted. The no-BS attitude is alive in the entrees as well: The addictively fantastic bacon, egg, and harissa sandwich ($7) isn't there to show off the chef's skill or amp up the check averages—it's just there to be delicious. Of course, more complicated dishes are there for those who want them, like a Berkshire pork involtini ($18) or monkfish with chorizo and beans ($19). But the impression you get upon leaving the small, dark, and cozy spot in the Warehouse District is of having just dined at the chef's table, as the chef would himself later that night. And isn't that what all true food nuts really wish to do?
Neighborhoods are filled with nothing so much as lots ofs neighbors, and in Kingfield, those neighbors can pretty much be divided into two camps: those who have significant caches of rare vinyl LPs, and those who remember how things used to be, back in the day. All of these neighbors find happiness, respite, and succor in chef and owner Scott Pampuch's friendly little restaurant Corner Table, which has, for nearly two years, been working to be a little more than a restaurant—it's a community joy. The Sunday Night Suppers are remarkable—that's when Pampuch sets a turntable up on the wine bar and invites customers and neighbors, such as kitty-corner record store Roadrunner, to lend tunes for the evening, so that neighbors can enjoy wine flights along with their hearty entrees, such as a grilled pork loin made with figs and shallots and served with whipped butternut squash puree ($17). There's plenty on tap for those who remember how things used to be, for instance, that pork loin, as well as all the meats served at Corner Table, come from local farms, just like they did back in the day when food wasn't something provided centrally by Sysco. (Old-timers also appreciated the recent week that Corner Table dedicated to recreating the menu of a long-ago former occupant, the fondly remembered Lufrano's, replete with the restaurant's venerable meatball recipe.) Of course, Corner Table works for the neighborhood in other ways, such as cooking for 300 for a community fundraiser and art auction. As if it weren't providing enough community togetherness already, Corner Table just brought back its famous Sunday breakfast (don't call it brunch, but don't ask us why), offering rib-stickers such as creamy, toasty grits, made with Italian sausage gravy and served with fried eggs; or grill-finished braised beef and eggs. In other neighborhoods good fences make good neighbors—in Kingfield good restaurants do.
When chef Lenny Russo announced that he would be heading the new restaurants at the Guthrie Theater, you could almost hear the screams of anguish emanating from residents of Mac-Groveland: What about their beloved Heartland? Just when the renowned fine-dining restaurant opened its wonderful attached wine bar, featuring house-made charcuterie and unusual foodie treats like the odd cuts that resulted from the restaurant's practice of butchering whole animals purchased from local farmers—where else could anyone ever get house made garlic pork sausage or smoked lamb ribs with their pint of beer? Well, sit tight, you lucky Mac-Groveland denizens, it turns out that Russo and his wife and partner Mega Hoehn, who has always been in charge of the restaurant's wonderful wine list and smooth-moving dining room, have been planning this transition for quite a while. To that end Robb Moore, formerly a longtime Goodfellow's chef, has been working side by side with Russo for the last year, learning his tricks and treats, in preparation for taking over the Heartland dining room. Now Moore and Stephanie Kochlin, long responsible for Heartland's lovely amuse bouches and salads, are leading Minnesota's most locally committed restaurant into the new era.
It's been almost four years since chef Russell Klein took over the kitchen at St. Paul's most venerable old restaurant, W.A. Frost and Company, and in that time he has managed to transform a reliable and occasionally interesting restaurant into the most delightful and consistently surprising spot in St. Paul. Where to start? Klein's food is that rare combination of original and comforting—everyone loves homemade strudel, but when it's rendered as an appetizer filled with duck confit beside a spiced quince and port wine reduction, that's an exceptionally high level of cooking for everybody to love. The restaurant's cheese program is a marvel, offering between a dozen and two dozen rare, artisinal, or otherwise never-seen sorts of cheese. For instance, have you ever heard of Ubriaco Torcolato, a raw cow's milk cheese sprayed as it ages with sweet white wine? Neither had we. How about Rogue River Blue, wrapped in grape leaves, macerated in pear brandy and cave-aged for 12 months? No wonder all sorts of book clubs and such are meeting at Frost's instead of relying on their own couches and the cheese counter and wine shop at Byerly's. Speaking of shopping for wine, the restaurant's best-in-St.-Paul wine list has more choices than most liquor stores, with 1,000 or so options, many priced in the oh-so-important $30-something range, as well as a by-the-glass list which is not just well priced, but food-friendly, cheese-friendly, and wine-smartie friendly. (When we saw a recent tasting flight on the website that included the three most obscure wines we've ever heard of, we were forced to forward it to our friends in San Francisco with a crowing "Ha!" It included the Basque wine Txakoli, a Gruner Veltliner from Austria, and a Riesling from Hungary—you'd get a two-ounce pour of each for $9.75. Who'd have thought you could play stump-the-know-it-all in one of the coziest and most romantic spots in the Midwest—all those fireplaces in the winter, all that beautiful forest-cum-garden in the summer. It's remarkable to observe how Bob Crew, Frost's General Manager, just keeps tweaking and refreshing this deep and broad list—just when you think it's as good as it can be, the next year it's just noticeably a bit better. Same could be said for W.A. Frost as a whole. The place has a niche in the public consciousness as a "pretty patio," but if you haven't been to Frost and really experienced the food and wine in the past few years, you have no idea what you're missing.
Five years ago you could go into most of our top chef-driven restaurants like Alma, Zander, or La Belle Vie and see the chef of note hurling pans behind the line just like folk. Nowadays not only are open kitchens falling from fashion, but you really have to work hard to find a lot of big-name chefs in their own restaurants—they've got chefs de cuisine for that, thank you very much. Not so at Restaurant Levain! Long renowned as one of the most talented chefs to ever stuff a quail or sous vide a short rib, Steven Brown can be seen most nights right in the big open window, balancing rock shrimp on hillocks of risotto, wiping Banyuls reductions off the rims of plates, cracking jokes, giving orders, and, generally, putting all of the art and life into one of this regions most artful and life-enhancing of restaurants. Let the rest of the world experience Brown secondhand via the pages of Art Culinaire and the New York Times—for us, he's just a reservation, and a gap in the wall, away.
We think of this category as fantasy baseball for food-heads—what do you dream about when you're scrubbing up the lasagna pan on a Thursday night? How about the "Grand Menu Degustation," the 10-course everything-plus-the-kitchen-sink menu that showcases the upper limits of local wunderkind Stewart Woodman's abilities? Woodman made his name in New York City cooking with the greatest of the greats, including working as the opening sous chef at Alain Ducasse's Essex House, then came to Minneapolis where he was opening chef at Restaurant Levain. This past fall he opened his own multi-level, multi-function restaurant in south Minneapolis called Five, named after the former Fifth precinct police building in which it is housed. While you can sample Woodman's unique, elegant cuisine in the lounge at Five, and can sup widely upon it at the bistro at Five, it's the formal dining room where Woodman really lets his visions of earth and cream let loose. The "Grand Menu Degustation" lets you try one of everything the fine-dining room is making that night. Just looking at the sample menu posted on the website makes us drool—orchid mache salad under a crispy rice cloud with avocado and soy yuzu dressing, foie gras prepared four different ways, a smoked Maine diver scallop with grapefruit sorbet and leek juice, tuna tartare with sauce gribiche and American sterling caviar, sautéed Alaskan halibut with a parsley carnaroli risotto, sugar-cane skewered grilled pork tenderloin with braised cabbage, beef short ribs, lamb loin, and more more more—holy expense accounts! Sure, such a menu costs upward of $100 a person, but since it takes a good four hours and marshals the forces of Stewart Woodman and takes as its larder the whole universe, who's complaining?
The last five years have seen wine lists in the Twin Cities getting better and better. It's almost hard to remember the days when a restaurant's manager would just sit down with the biggest wine supplier in town and let them write the Ravenswood-and-Turning-Leaf-for-all list that used to be the norm. Today, wine selections are more diverse, more interesting, and sourced from more suppliers seeking out wine from more regions than ever before. So does this mean that prices are rising? Heck no! Prices have fallen, and dramatically. It's possible to find an excellent $20-something bottle at most of the Twin Cities' finest dining restaurants today, like 112 Eatery , W.A. Frost, and Café Barbette, to say nothing of the fascinating $20-something bottles available at places we have no reason to expect good wine at, like Chiang Mai Thai and Pizza Nea. However, when La Belle Vie, a super-fine-dining destination restaurant opened this year with an $18 bottle of French rosé on its list, we had to rub our eyes in disbelief. That's how much it would cost to park the car in other cities! Soon after that, the stylish downtown Mexican restaurant, Masa, opened, offering $21 Spanish reds to pair with your $23.50 steak. Then, Salut, the French bistro, opened in tony Edina with $12 carafes of crisp white to pair with their oysters and mussels. Budget wine for the Coach bag set? Who would have thought we'd ever see the day? It's been a phenomenal year for people who drink with their wits about them, so raise a glass—or two, you can afford it.
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