For those of you who live outside of the Twin Cities metro area or never cheered "Go Gophers" from the student section of a sporting event, Dinkytown is a 4-block funky oasis that flanks the University of Minnesota to the north. The historic neighborhood is an eclectic cluster of used book stores, college bars, tobacco shops, vintage clothing outfitters, and restaurants sized for a college budget.
Nestled in the heart of Dinkytown, Kafe 421 is one of those special places that makes you fall in love again. The dimly lit front room is small but elegant, its front door closed off from chilly drafts and curious onlookers by a regal, horseshoe-shaped burgundy curtain. The back room is slightly larger but still intimate, with flickering table top votives projecting massive human shadows on the walls and bronze colored radiators wrapping diners in pleasant, drowsy warmth. And if the ambiance isn't enough to make you swoon over that special someone, Kafe 421 offers a short but smart wine list that has something for both connoisseurs and the budget-minded.
One great thing about this restaurant is that it's not just about the mood. Our waitress was friendly and attentive, striking that rare balance of giving you just what you need without perpetually disrupting your meal. She was professional and opinionated about how wine should be served, but was very approachable and managed not to come off as a snooty wine tart. The menu was short but varied, offering everything from a Chicken and Wild Rice Burrito to a traditional Bouillabaisse.
We weren't quite that adventurous - we skipped an appetizer and went straight for the good stuff. I ordered a Porcini Mushroom Risotto and it was a knockout. The risotto was soft but not soggy, buttery and savory with a strong white wine base, and topped with crispy leek flakes that nicely contrasted the dish with a salty crunch. A few Parmesan shavings laid delicately on top of the risotto as if they had just fluttered down and landed there... the entire dish was simple yet blissfully executed.
My dining partner opted for the Chicken Balsamico, a linguine dish with grilled chicken, asparagus, mushrooms, tomato, and feta all bound together with a creamy balsamic sauce. This was a strong dish with more of a "sock it to ya" type of flavor layering. I liked it but found it pretty acidic - I think if I were re-creating it in my own home I would substitute the feta for a cheese with less punch and would try to cut the tartness of the dish with more cream. (Because, let's face it... more cream can always make a good dish even better!)
Overall, I highly recommend Kafe 421 as a local staple for a high quality but approachable meal in a space that tells patrons "we care about you as much as you care about the person sitting across from you." And while this restaurant is a treat you won't find any gilded lilies here - Kafe 421 makes a statement about how well-executed simplicity makes a restaurant almost unforgettable.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Something New at Pizza Nea
In mid-August I moved into my first house. While the move just took me across the Mississippi River and a few miles west, the new neighborhood is still an adjustment for me. I had become accustomed to the decadent take-out counter at Kowalski's market, I knew where to get Pad Thai that was heavy on the fish sauce, and I knew were to get a pizza in 10 minutes versus where to get a pizza that was worth the wait. I'm sure that one day I'll get to that point in my new neighborhood, but in the mean time I'm still sampling, exploring, ruling things out and writing things in, all in an attempt to make this area feel like home.
Eager to try something new last Saturday night, my dining partner and I parked the car by Lunds and walked around the block to Pizza Nea on East Hennepin. Pizza Nea does offer valet parking, and this might be a smart option during the day. But by about 9PM on a Saturday there were several street side spaces that just required a few quarters in the meeter.
The restaurant had a sophisticated but relaxed vibe. Cheerful yellow walls were accented by modern maple tables, patrons were invited to seat themselves, and the specials were hand-written on note cards that managed to look quaint, neat, and tidy. Our waitress, however, was anything but relaxed. She must have asked us two times in 5 minutes whether we wanted anything to drink, then whipped out a pen and notepad as soon as she ferried our beers from the back of the restaurant. I felt rushed any annoyed.
We each ordered Peroni, a light and crisp Italian beer, then got to work on the menu. I selected Pizza Quattro Stagione, loaded with porcini mushrooms, prosciutto, artichokes, salami, and mozzarella. The fire roasted pizza had a crusty yet fleshy crust on the edges, and while I found the mozzarella to be a but lumpy and rubbery the crushed tomato underlayer provided just the right bite without the overpowering spices of a typical pizza sauce. The salty meat toppings paired nicely with the brinier artichoke flavor, and overall the dish was a moderate success. I was impressed by everything but the mozzarella.
I may sound picky about my pizza, but I will say that pizza restaurants in the Twin Cities have tough competition. Fans of St. Paul eatery Punch are a devout crowd with a "you can't touch this" attitude about their neopolitan style pizza, and with Pizza Luce's more recent expansions it's hard to be loyal to Papa John. I'd rank Nea between Punch and Luce... it's not a perfect pie, but the pizza is made to emphasize its simple, fresh ingredients and the menu gives patrons numerous white sauce options if they're tired of the same ho-hum. I'll go back to Pizza Nea but probably won't be craving it any time soon.
Eager to try something new last Saturday night, my dining partner and I parked the car by Lunds and walked around the block to Pizza Nea on East Hennepin. Pizza Nea does offer valet parking, and this might be a smart option during the day. But by about 9PM on a Saturday there were several street side spaces that just required a few quarters in the meeter.
The restaurant had a sophisticated but relaxed vibe. Cheerful yellow walls were accented by modern maple tables, patrons were invited to seat themselves, and the specials were hand-written on note cards that managed to look quaint, neat, and tidy. Our waitress, however, was anything but relaxed. She must have asked us two times in 5 minutes whether we wanted anything to drink, then whipped out a pen and notepad as soon as she ferried our beers from the back of the restaurant. I felt rushed any annoyed.
We each ordered Peroni, a light and crisp Italian beer, then got to work on the menu. I selected Pizza Quattro Stagione, loaded with porcini mushrooms, prosciutto, artichokes, salami, and mozzarella. The fire roasted pizza had a crusty yet fleshy crust on the edges, and while I found the mozzarella to be a but lumpy and rubbery the crushed tomato underlayer provided just the right bite without the overpowering spices of a typical pizza sauce. The salty meat toppings paired nicely with the brinier artichoke flavor, and overall the dish was a moderate success. I was impressed by everything but the mozzarella.
I may sound picky about my pizza, but I will say that pizza restaurants in the Twin Cities have tough competition. Fans of St. Paul eatery Punch are a devout crowd with a "you can't touch this" attitude about their neopolitan style pizza, and with Pizza Luce's more recent expansions it's hard to be loyal to Papa John. I'd rank Nea between Punch and Luce... it's not a perfect pie, but the pizza is made to emphasize its simple, fresh ingredients and the menu gives patrons numerous white sauce options if they're tired of the same ho-hum. I'll go back to Pizza Nea but probably won't be craving it any time soon.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
True Thai Falls Shy (kind of)
I'm generally pretty opinionated. It's hot or it's cold, it's black or it's white, I like it or I don't. But every once in a while I fall into a grey, lukewarm purgatory and find myself somewhere between "like it" and "leave it." Such is the case with my dining experience at True Thai, a Seward neighborhood hot spot and winner of several "Twin Cities Best" awards.
We dropped into True Thai around 8:30 on a Friday evening, and the place was bumping. Young dreadlocked couples were in the corner locking eyes over steaming plates of rice and vegetables, a group of 5 or 6 men clustered around a table, laughing as they waited for their food to arrive, several young children bobbled through through a busy maze of tables an chairs, and throughout the restaurant wide-eyed patrons were digging large spoons into savory fare. People were into this place. I was stoked.
We started our meal with an order of Curry Puffs. Stuffed with curried potato then wrapped up and fried like a pillow-shaped egg roll, this appetizer had lots of potential but just didn't do it for me. The crust was thick and doughy. The filling tasted almost exactly like the sweet, bean paste filling of a fried sesame ball. The cucumber relish accompaniment might have worked if it contrasted the sweet puffs with tart, piquant flavor, but instead I found the relish syrupy and sickeningly sweet.
For the main course I ordered the Wok-fried Bean-Thread Vermicelli with tofu. This dish was stocked with veggies like celery and tomoato, which one rarely sees in Thai cooking, but the tartness of the tomato and the crunch of the celery were nice against the heavy, smoky wok juices. Strangely enough the dish was served with a bowl of jasmine rice, which puzzled me since the dish was really too dry and too muted to necessitate rice. But I appreciated the gesture. Overall the Wok-fried Vermicelli was fine - it was palatable and filling, but I had a lurking suspicion that I just hadn't ordered the right thing. This restaurant is popular and has been adorned with numerous awards, but I didn't taste that in my dinner.
My dining partner, however, ordered the Red Curry with pork. Simply said, it was divine. The julienned vegetables were crispy, not soggy, while the curry was seasoned with just the right amount of coconut milk to make the dish sweet without rendering it overpowering or heavy. The pile of orange, red, and green vegetables, studded with chunks of pork and floating in the indulgent curry sauce was so tantalizing that I just wanted to reach over and grab his plate.
I feel strongly that consistency makes a good restaurant great. That in a great restaurant, patrons have confidence in the kitchen and don't hesitate to experiment with the new flavor combinations or techniques that the establishment has to offer. By that criterion I rank True Thai as "good," but not "great." I'll certainly be back, and maybe next time I'll be as impressed with my meal as I was with my partner's Red Curry. But I will still harbor some doubt, however small, that I could order something lackluster.
We dropped into True Thai around 8:30 on a Friday evening, and the place was bumping. Young dreadlocked couples were in the corner locking eyes over steaming plates of rice and vegetables, a group of 5 or 6 men clustered around a table, laughing as they waited for their food to arrive, several young children bobbled through through a busy maze of tables an chairs, and throughout the restaurant wide-eyed patrons were digging large spoons into savory fare. People were into this place. I was stoked.
We started our meal with an order of Curry Puffs. Stuffed with curried potato then wrapped up and fried like a pillow-shaped egg roll, this appetizer had lots of potential but just didn't do it for me. The crust was thick and doughy. The filling tasted almost exactly like the sweet, bean paste filling of a fried sesame ball. The cucumber relish accompaniment might have worked if it contrasted the sweet puffs with tart, piquant flavor, but instead I found the relish syrupy and sickeningly sweet.
For the main course I ordered the Wok-fried Bean-Thread Vermicelli with tofu. This dish was stocked with veggies like celery and tomoato, which one rarely sees in Thai cooking, but the tartness of the tomato and the crunch of the celery were nice against the heavy, smoky wok juices. Strangely enough the dish was served with a bowl of jasmine rice, which puzzled me since the dish was really too dry and too muted to necessitate rice. But I appreciated the gesture. Overall the Wok-fried Vermicelli was fine - it was palatable and filling, but I had a lurking suspicion that I just hadn't ordered the right thing. This restaurant is popular and has been adorned with numerous awards, but I didn't taste that in my dinner.
My dining partner, however, ordered the Red Curry with pork. Simply said, it was divine. The julienned vegetables were crispy, not soggy, while the curry was seasoned with just the right amount of coconut milk to make the dish sweet without rendering it overpowering or heavy. The pile of orange, red, and green vegetables, studded with chunks of pork and floating in the indulgent curry sauce was so tantalizing that I just wanted to reach over and grab his plate.
I feel strongly that consistency makes a good restaurant great. That in a great restaurant, patrons have confidence in the kitchen and don't hesitate to experiment with the new flavor combinations or techniques that the establishment has to offer. By that criterion I rank True Thai as "good," but not "great." I'll certainly be back, and maybe next time I'll be as impressed with my meal as I was with my partner's Red Curry. But I will still harbor some doubt, however small, that I could order something lackluster.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Kincaid's Offers a Luxurious Last Call
It would appear that I am buying a house. And while most people see homeownership as a step towards long-term asset building, I am nervous about kicking my Kate Spade habit to pay a monthly mortgage and am terrified about what I'll do once I sign on the dotted line and all of my appliances break. Greedy strolls through the aisles at Sephora, guilt-free splurges in the artisanal cheese section of Kowalski's market, and luxurious meals at certain local restaurants will take a back seat to my tiny slice of south Minneapolis. I am buying a house, so bring on the ramen.
To celebrate the onset of a frugal girlfriend, Jack took me out for one last fling of luxurious dining. Kincaid's certainly fit the bill.
Dining at Kincaid's is a stately experience. The inside is dark, embellished with mahogany, studded with brass, and layered with rich oil paintings. Patio diners can peek at a corner of the elegant St. Paul Hotel, the pink granite facade of the historic Landmark Center, and can peer into the windows of a nearby haberdashery. And while I had always been under the impression that Kincaid's was a steakhouse, I was surprised at the breadth of their menu. Dishes like Lobster Mac N Cheese put the culture in cult comfort food favorites, while the Spicy Ahi Toastada provides diners with more worldly adventure.
I opted for the Seafood Louie, a hearty salad topped with cold dungeness crab, small shrimp, and half a fillet of grilled salmon. The salad came served with a generous side of 1,000 Island dressing, but the veggies were so crisp and the seafood so flavorful that I only dabbed the dressing. My dining partner opted for the Bacon Wrapped Kobe meatloaf. I was skeptical as to whether it's really necessary to pulverize Kobe beef, mix it with meatloaf fixings, and stuff it into the oven for hours. But this dish was so top-notch that I was still thinking about it on the way to work today. The bacon was thick and meaty, yet didn't seem to make the meatloaf greasy. The meatloaf itself was soft and tender yet lacked that damp, Gerber-like consistency that is so common. My meal was great, but Kincaid's really hit meatloaf out of the park.
When our plates had been cleared and we had finally finished our after-dinner coffee, we walked through the front door of Kincaid's, crossed St. Peter and Market, strolled through Rice Park, meandered past a wedding reception at the Landmark Center, and slowly looped back to the car. I felt elegant. I felt established. And somehow, if even for a few hours, losing Kate Spade didn't seem so frightening.
To celebrate the onset of a frugal girlfriend, Jack took me out for one last fling of luxurious dining. Kincaid's certainly fit the bill.
Dining at Kincaid's is a stately experience. The inside is dark, embellished with mahogany, studded with brass, and layered with rich oil paintings. Patio diners can peek at a corner of the elegant St. Paul Hotel, the pink granite facade of the historic Landmark Center, and can peer into the windows of a nearby haberdashery. And while I had always been under the impression that Kincaid's was a steakhouse, I was surprised at the breadth of their menu. Dishes like Lobster Mac N Cheese put the culture in cult comfort food favorites, while the Spicy Ahi Toastada provides diners with more worldly adventure.
I opted for the Seafood Louie, a hearty salad topped with cold dungeness crab, small shrimp, and half a fillet of grilled salmon. The salad came served with a generous side of 1,000 Island dressing, but the veggies were so crisp and the seafood so flavorful that I only dabbed the dressing. My dining partner opted for the Bacon Wrapped Kobe meatloaf. I was skeptical as to whether it's really necessary to pulverize Kobe beef, mix it with meatloaf fixings, and stuff it into the oven for hours. But this dish was so top-notch that I was still thinking about it on the way to work today. The bacon was thick and meaty, yet didn't seem to make the meatloaf greasy. The meatloaf itself was soft and tender yet lacked that damp, Gerber-like consistency that is so common. My meal was great, but Kincaid's really hit meatloaf out of the park.
When our plates had been cleared and we had finally finished our after-dinner coffee, we walked through the front door of Kincaid's, crossed St. Peter and Market, strolled through Rice Park, meandered past a wedding reception at the Landmark Center, and slowly looped back to the car. I felt elegant. I felt established. And somehow, if even for a few hours, losing Kate Spade didn't seem so frightening.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
India Palace (7/19/08) (The Subcontinent meets Roseville Parking Lot)
I have a rule against eating in any restaurant surrounded by a parking lot. It's not as stringent as some of my other rules, like "don't give your address to strangers" or "take a shower every day before work," but it's a rule I almost always adhere to. This may seem like the nit-pickiness of a canvas-grocery-sack-toting-urban-snob, but my rule is based on the following observations:
1) Restaurants surrounded by a parking lot are almost always located in the suburbs. Which means diners waiting for tables rarely have the luxury of a pre-meal stroll. There's no noteworthy architecture to admire, no neighborhood character to explore, and every patch of green is bounded by light grey concrete.
2) The parking lots surrounding these restaurants are generally filled with enormous SUV's, minvans, and Buicks. This means patrons with kids. Families. And I'm terrified of both.
3) Restaurants surrounded by parking lots generally have their menus created by some corporate entity outside of our metro area. This corporate entity buys ingredients in bulk, ships them, bundled in plastic and coated in preservatives, all over tarnation before they are run through the kitchen equivalent of paint by numbers and the meal lands on your table. This is not conducive to an innovative, seasonally-inspired meal crafted by hands that are passionate about food.
Liberal foodie rhetoric aside, India Palace is a locally-owned oasis in the middle of a concrete suburban desert. Bounded by a budget hotel, a frame of highways, and within minutes of a shopping mall, this place transports you from suburban ho-hum to exotica in a matter of minutes.
We arrived at India Palace around 8:15 on a Saturday night and were seated immediately. The restaurant was busy but not packed, with diverse clientèle and attentive waitstaff. To kick the mean off I ordered a mango lassi, a yogurt-based drink blended with sweet mango puree and usually a bit of water for liquidity. The drink was thick and refreshing, perfect for a warm July evening. For dinner I ordered Shahi Paneer, medium spicy, and the dish delighted. Paneer is a south Asian, unaged cheese with a tofu-like consistency and a mild, almost mozzarela-like flavor. It came cubed, drowning in yellow curry gravy, with toasted almonds for nutty crunch and raisins for a surprising bite of sweetness. This was served over a bed of fluffy basmati rice, which gave a nice, dry, grainy c contrast to the rich sauce. My partner ordered tandoori chicken, which was served sizzling in a round, skillet-like dish similar to how fajitas are often presented. I didn't taste his dish and was so enamored with my paneer that I didn't pry for the tandoori run-down, but judging from the bones left on his plate he must have been satisfied.
Overall, our experience with India Palace was commendable. The menu was varied and although we somewhat selected our entrees at random, we were both pleased with the outcome. Our water glasses were refreshed often, our friendly waiter checked on us just often enough without being intrusive, and for the duration of our meal I was convinced that Baliwood was steps from our table while the Rosedale AMC theater was several continents away.
1) Restaurants surrounded by a parking lot are almost always located in the suburbs. Which means diners waiting for tables rarely have the luxury of a pre-meal stroll. There's no noteworthy architecture to admire, no neighborhood character to explore, and every patch of green is bounded by light grey concrete.
2) The parking lots surrounding these restaurants are generally filled with enormous SUV's, minvans, and Buicks. This means patrons with kids. Families. And I'm terrified of both.
3) Restaurants surrounded by parking lots generally have their menus created by some corporate entity outside of our metro area. This corporate entity buys ingredients in bulk, ships them, bundled in plastic and coated in preservatives, all over tarnation before they are run through the kitchen equivalent of paint by numbers and the meal lands on your table. This is not conducive to an innovative, seasonally-inspired meal crafted by hands that are passionate about food.
Liberal foodie rhetoric aside, India Palace is a locally-owned oasis in the middle of a concrete suburban desert. Bounded by a budget hotel, a frame of highways, and within minutes of a shopping mall, this place transports you from suburban ho-hum to exotica in a matter of minutes.
We arrived at India Palace around 8:15 on a Saturday night and were seated immediately. The restaurant was busy but not packed, with diverse clientèle and attentive waitstaff. To kick the mean off I ordered a mango lassi, a yogurt-based drink blended with sweet mango puree and usually a bit of water for liquidity. The drink was thick and refreshing, perfect for a warm July evening. For dinner I ordered Shahi Paneer, medium spicy, and the dish delighted. Paneer is a south Asian, unaged cheese with a tofu-like consistency and a mild, almost mozzarela-like flavor. It came cubed, drowning in yellow curry gravy, with toasted almonds for nutty crunch and raisins for a surprising bite of sweetness. This was served over a bed of fluffy basmati rice, which gave a nice, dry, grainy c contrast to the rich sauce. My partner ordered tandoori chicken, which was served sizzling in a round, skillet-like dish similar to how fajitas are often presented. I didn't taste his dish and was so enamored with my paneer that I didn't pry for the tandoori run-down, but judging from the bones left on his plate he must have been satisfied.
Overall, our experience with India Palace was commendable. The menu was varied and although we somewhat selected our entrees at random, we were both pleased with the outcome. Our water glasses were refreshed often, our friendly waiter checked on us just often enough without being intrusive, and for the duration of our meal I was convinced that Baliwood was steps from our table while the Rosedale AMC theater was several continents away.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Mai Village (6/15/08) is Muy Accomodating
I know they say that yoga is good for you, but it just makes me look like hell. Sure - I strut down Grand Avenue with my spandex and water bottle and biodegradable floor mat, but I walk out of class marinading in my own sweat, feeling like jello, and looking like a disheveled train wreck. Now picture my boyfriend, who was recovering from a rowdy bachelor party, and stick us at the end of 4 hours worth of house hunting, and you'll get a feel for what we looked like when we walked into Mai Village on the east end of University.
Mai Village has a few beebee holes in the windows that it sports like schoolyard scars - you just don't live in that neighborhood without getting a little scuffed up. But the inside is breathtakingly beautiful - a full-size bridge delicately arcs over a sizable koi pond, antique wooden shudders block out the University craziness, and an enormous, antique pagoda has been entirely reconstructed in the center of the main dining area. The restaurant decor gives the feel of eating in the Asian wing of a history museum - it is anything but cheesy - and would make the trip worthwhile even if the kitchen were closed. Even better, they let us in despite the spandex, flip flops, bleary eyes and slumped shoulders.
We kicked it off with an order of Royal Eggrolls. These were more petite than most (the length of a middle finger and the girth of Rolos) but came with a generous side of lettuce leaves, fresh mint, carrot, sliced cucumber, and a clear, sweet house sauce. Unsure of how to proceed, we treated the appetizer as if it were a lettuce burrito with eggroll in the middle, filling each lettuce leaf with eggroll, topping it with veggie garnish, rolling the whole thing up, and dipping it in sauce. Our survival skills paid off... the light veggies toned down the greasiness of fried eggroll and provided a satisfying crunch that contrasted with the soft, pork insides. The cool texture of mint and cucumber were a delightful compliment to the warm eggroll, and the sweet yet subtle sauce tied it all together. Overall, this dish was a success.
For the main course I ordered Bun, a traditional Vietnamese "salad" of vermicelli noodles, lettuce, carrot, green onions, peanut, and fresh basil. I chose a spicy sauteed chicken accompaniment and the dish was served with just enough to give it some bite, but not so much chicken that the flavor overpowered the more gentle vegetable ingredients. Again, the temperature really made this dish work. The chicken was warm, the noodles and veggies were cool, and the same sweet house sauce unified everything. While Bun is a great alternative to the heavier, saltier, saucier dishes, it does have one disadvantage... no leftovers. After a few hours in the fridge your lettuce will turn soggy and the Bun will lose that optimal texture, so I didn't even bother.
Leftover limitations aside, we were impressed with Mai Village. The restaurant provides formal flair with a laid back attitude, it offers a menu full of kung pao staples with plenty to satisfy diners looking for something a bit different, and it let us in despite the fact that we looked like hell. If you're looking for an elegant yet approachable restaurant to whet your Asian appetite, stop by this St. Paul eatery (and take an extra moment to gaze at those koi.)
Mai Village has a few beebee holes in the windows that it sports like schoolyard scars - you just don't live in that neighborhood without getting a little scuffed up. But the inside is breathtakingly beautiful - a full-size bridge delicately arcs over a sizable koi pond, antique wooden shudders block out the University craziness, and an enormous, antique pagoda has been entirely reconstructed in the center of the main dining area. The restaurant decor gives the feel of eating in the Asian wing of a history museum - it is anything but cheesy - and would make the trip worthwhile even if the kitchen were closed. Even better, they let us in despite the spandex, flip flops, bleary eyes and slumped shoulders.
We kicked it off with an order of Royal Eggrolls. These were more petite than most (the length of a middle finger and the girth of Rolos) but came with a generous side of lettuce leaves, fresh mint, carrot, sliced cucumber, and a clear, sweet house sauce. Unsure of how to proceed, we treated the appetizer as if it were a lettuce burrito with eggroll in the middle, filling each lettuce leaf with eggroll, topping it with veggie garnish, rolling the whole thing up, and dipping it in sauce. Our survival skills paid off... the light veggies toned down the greasiness of fried eggroll and provided a satisfying crunch that contrasted with the soft, pork insides. The cool texture of mint and cucumber were a delightful compliment to the warm eggroll, and the sweet yet subtle sauce tied it all together. Overall, this dish was a success.
For the main course I ordered Bun, a traditional Vietnamese "salad" of vermicelli noodles, lettuce, carrot, green onions, peanut, and fresh basil. I chose a spicy sauteed chicken accompaniment and the dish was served with just enough to give it some bite, but not so much chicken that the flavor overpowered the more gentle vegetable ingredients. Again, the temperature really made this dish work. The chicken was warm, the noodles and veggies were cool, and the same sweet house sauce unified everything. While Bun is a great alternative to the heavier, saltier, saucier dishes, it does have one disadvantage... no leftovers. After a few hours in the fridge your lettuce will turn soggy and the Bun will lose that optimal texture, so I didn't even bother.
Leftover limitations aside, we were impressed with Mai Village. The restaurant provides formal flair with a laid back attitude, it offers a menu full of kung pao staples with plenty to satisfy diners looking for something a bit different, and it let us in despite the fact that we looked like hell. If you're looking for an elegant yet approachable restaurant to whet your Asian appetite, stop by this St. Paul eatery (and take an extra moment to gaze at those koi.)
Monday, June 9, 2008
The Happy Gnome (6/8/08) Beats Staying at Home
It's no secret that I hate Sunday nights. Sunday morning is great for sleeping in, Sunday afternoon I'm still frolicking through the weekend, but by Sunday night the dread of another work week hits my stomach like bag of rocks. Most of the time this is compounded by severe remorse for overindulging myself the night before or nagging guilt over not finishing my reading for school.
Thinking that a place called The Happy Gnome must be a good antidote to the weekly bout of "I'm going to be sick and stay home tomorrow I swear to God I'll do it," we drove east down Selby and parked in their generous lot next to the St. Paul curling club. We seated ourselves on the outdoor patio, where tree cover was so thick that we didn't even realize it had started drizzling until we asked our waitress why everyone was moving inside. Suckers.
The Gnome has a notoriously long and quirky beer list, which I highly recommend as Step One in treating the Sunday blues. I opted for a Juju Ginger beer, which had a distinct gingery nose but finished light and crisp, just like a good summer beer should. I wouldn't recommend drinking three or four Juju Gingers, but one or two would be a refreshing accompaniment to fish, noodle dishes, or even old-school Chinese food.
We leaned back in what may be the most comfortable wrought iron chairs ever, gazed at the trendy locals in pixie cuts and retro 1950's eyeglasses, and sipped our beers until prompted to place our orders. The Happy Gnome has two menus: a Bar Menu with a full range of modestly priced one-course meals, and a Dinner Menu with heartier and pricier fare. I ordered tilapia tacos from the Bar Menu and was pleased with the choice - two crispy flour tortilla shells stuffed with cumin and pepper crusted tilapia, chunks of fresh avocado, generous sprigs of cilantro, and an underlayer of piquant yet sweet mango pico de gallo. The dish was simple and light, fresh and lively... the perfect pick-me-up on a sticky summer Sunday.
My fellow diner ordered curried beef tips from the Bar Menu, an adventurous dish of beef tips over orecchiette pasta, smothered in a coconut curry sauce and accented with broccolini. I had to taste a few bites before deciding whether or not it worked for me - the coconut milk and curry seeped into the beef tips and soaked nicely into the tender broccolini, but over orecchiette pasta? I ultimately decided that the pasta shapes were the perfect vehicle for cupping the sauce and got over the surprising contrast of dense, eggy Italian pasta pared with an Asian-inspired topper. After all, this is the age of multinationalism, right?
After we cleaned our plates, emptied our glasses, and signed the check, I looked around and wondered how long we could stay before becoming conspicuous. Under the thick tree canopy you could hardly see the gray clouds hanging ominously over St. Paul. The patio lights strung between the branches were going to come on soon, people were laughing and chatting at tables of family and friends, and I neither knew nor cared how much time was left before the clock tick-tocked into Monday morning.
Thinking that a place called The Happy Gnome must be a good antidote to the weekly bout of "I'm going to be sick and stay home tomorrow I swear to God I'll do it," we drove east down Selby and parked in their generous lot next to the St. Paul curling club. We seated ourselves on the outdoor patio, where tree cover was so thick that we didn't even realize it had started drizzling until we asked our waitress why everyone was moving inside. Suckers.
The Gnome has a notoriously long and quirky beer list, which I highly recommend as Step One in treating the Sunday blues. I opted for a Juju Ginger beer, which had a distinct gingery nose but finished light and crisp, just like a good summer beer should. I wouldn't recommend drinking three or four Juju Gingers, but one or two would be a refreshing accompaniment to fish, noodle dishes, or even old-school Chinese food.
We leaned back in what may be the most comfortable wrought iron chairs ever, gazed at the trendy locals in pixie cuts and retro 1950's eyeglasses, and sipped our beers until prompted to place our orders. The Happy Gnome has two menus: a Bar Menu with a full range of modestly priced one-course meals, and a Dinner Menu with heartier and pricier fare. I ordered tilapia tacos from the Bar Menu and was pleased with the choice - two crispy flour tortilla shells stuffed with cumin and pepper crusted tilapia, chunks of fresh avocado, generous sprigs of cilantro, and an underlayer of piquant yet sweet mango pico de gallo. The dish was simple and light, fresh and lively... the perfect pick-me-up on a sticky summer Sunday.
My fellow diner ordered curried beef tips from the Bar Menu, an adventurous dish of beef tips over orecchiette pasta, smothered in a coconut curry sauce and accented with broccolini. I had to taste a few bites before deciding whether or not it worked for me - the coconut milk and curry seeped into the beef tips and soaked nicely into the tender broccolini, but over orecchiette pasta? I ultimately decided that the pasta shapes were the perfect vehicle for cupping the sauce and got over the surprising contrast of dense, eggy Italian pasta pared with an Asian-inspired topper. After all, this is the age of multinationalism, right?
After we cleaned our plates, emptied our glasses, and signed the check, I looked around and wondered how long we could stay before becoming conspicuous. Under the thick tree canopy you could hardly see the gray clouds hanging ominously over St. Paul. The patio lights strung between the branches were going to come on soon, people were laughing and chatting at tables of family and friends, and I neither knew nor cared how much time was left before the clock tick-tocked into Monday morning.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Drive by Chai's Thai (6/3/08)
I wouldn't be nearly as effective driving down Cedar Avenue if I hadn't grown up playing Paperboy. Pedestrians dart out from the sidewalk, random objects lay abandoned in the the middle of the street, and the side streets sport potholes the size of bathtubs. I can skillfully maneuver my Civic around these obstacles but have yet to master the art of driving in a straight line while craning my neck out the driver's side window and yelling for my passengers to look for "that place." Which is what one will probably do when venturing to Chai's Thai on the West Bank.
It's a tiny place, easy to miss despite the huge green awning that advertises "Chai's" (my passengers can vouch for this), and while it's not quite a hole in the wall the decor is anything but plush. Knowing that the restaurant only holds about eight tables of patrons, I made reservations for three at 7:30 on a Tuesday night. We would have been seated immediately even without the reservation, but I still recommend calling ahead if you're dead set on Chai's - the place is so small that eight full tables can leave you waiting for over an hour.
My friend, Susan, and I started the evening with a coconut full of fresh coconut juice. Needless to say, fresh coconuts are a novelty up here and the drinks sparked stories of exotic trips to Hawaii, Puerto Rico, and Ghana. But drinking from coconuts in Minneapolis must be like eating lutefisk in Mazatlan... the juice tasted a bit flat, the coconut flesh was rubbery, and neither of us drained those nuts. My boyfriend, Jack, ordered a pot of green tea and was similarly disappointed as the tea hadn't completely steeped by the time it was served.
Undaunted, we kicked the meal off with a round of crab and avocado rolls. We were each expecting something packed with fresh avocado and crab, but what came was quite different - a thick-shelled eggroll with light crab and a small trace of avocado, topped generously with a heavy, spicy, cilantro sauce. My fellow diners gave the appetizer a tepid review but I really liked it (although I have given it a lighter, crispier shell, more avocado, and sauce on the side.)
Chai's is a tiny place with a huge menu, so it I agonized over me entree for quite a while. I ultimately opted for a noodle dish packed with squid, shrimp, scallops, then topped with a brown sauce reminiscent of pad see yew. You would think this dish would spawn paragraphs of critique around the seafood, noodle texture, or sauce complexity, but there really wasn't much to say. It was fine. I liked it. But I wouldn't go out of my way for it.
Susan ordered pad thai with shrimp tempura. The dish was stunning - a white, square plate, covered with half of a banana leaf, pad thai piled in the middle, six inches of shrimp tempura propped against the pad thai as if forming the frame of a tepee, and a small white bowl of sauce on the side. The shrimp was perfectly battered and fried, crispy but not too cakey, yet the pad thai base tasted a bit like canned tomato paste, was too heavy on the peanut and too light on the fish sauce.
Jack opted for a stir fried mix of chicken, white onion, and green pepper drenched in an unusual yet delicious chili mint sauce. I found the sauce too salty, but since western mint dishes are often sweetened it was a treat to chase that mint flavor with the warm, spicy taste of chili.
Once we paid and scavenged the enormous doorside candy bowl, we lumbered down Cedar, past african markets, seedy bars, and apartment towers affectionately known as the "crack stacks." We reached my Civic and as I sank into the driver's seat I realized that aside from the first-rate company, my impression of Chai's was much like my entree. It was fine. I liked it. But I wouldn't go out of my way for it, and unless I happened to be in the neighborhood looking for a meal, I'd probably just drive by.
It's a tiny place, easy to miss despite the huge green awning that advertises "Chai's" (my passengers can vouch for this), and while it's not quite a hole in the wall the decor is anything but plush. Knowing that the restaurant only holds about eight tables of patrons, I made reservations for three at 7:30 on a Tuesday night. We would have been seated immediately even without the reservation, but I still recommend calling ahead if you're dead set on Chai's - the place is so small that eight full tables can leave you waiting for over an hour.
My friend, Susan, and I started the evening with a coconut full of fresh coconut juice. Needless to say, fresh coconuts are a novelty up here and the drinks sparked stories of exotic trips to Hawaii, Puerto Rico, and Ghana. But drinking from coconuts in Minneapolis must be like eating lutefisk in Mazatlan... the juice tasted a bit flat, the coconut flesh was rubbery, and neither of us drained those nuts. My boyfriend, Jack, ordered a pot of green tea and was similarly disappointed as the tea hadn't completely steeped by the time it was served.
Undaunted, we kicked the meal off with a round of crab and avocado rolls. We were each expecting something packed with fresh avocado and crab, but what came was quite different - a thick-shelled eggroll with light crab and a small trace of avocado, topped generously with a heavy, spicy, cilantro sauce. My fellow diners gave the appetizer a tepid review but I really liked it (although I have given it a lighter, crispier shell, more avocado, and sauce on the side.)
Chai's is a tiny place with a huge menu, so it I agonized over me entree for quite a while. I ultimately opted for a noodle dish packed with squid, shrimp, scallops, then topped with a brown sauce reminiscent of pad see yew. You would think this dish would spawn paragraphs of critique around the seafood, noodle texture, or sauce complexity, but there really wasn't much to say. It was fine. I liked it. But I wouldn't go out of my way for it.
Susan ordered pad thai with shrimp tempura. The dish was stunning - a white, square plate, covered with half of a banana leaf, pad thai piled in the middle, six inches of shrimp tempura propped against the pad thai as if forming the frame of a tepee, and a small white bowl of sauce on the side. The shrimp was perfectly battered and fried, crispy but not too cakey, yet the pad thai base tasted a bit like canned tomato paste, was too heavy on the peanut and too light on the fish sauce.
Jack opted for a stir fried mix of chicken, white onion, and green pepper drenched in an unusual yet delicious chili mint sauce. I found the sauce too salty, but since western mint dishes are often sweetened it was a treat to chase that mint flavor with the warm, spicy taste of chili.
Once we paid and scavenged the enormous doorside candy bowl, we lumbered down Cedar, past african markets, seedy bars, and apartment towers affectionately known as the "crack stacks." We reached my Civic and as I sank into the driver's seat I realized that aside from the first-rate company, my impression of Chai's was much like my entree. It was fine. I liked it. But I wouldn't go out of my way for it, and unless I happened to be in the neighborhood looking for a meal, I'd probably just drive by.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
The Longfellow Grill (5/24/08) Exposed (Won't you be my neighbor?)
No matter where you live, everyone has one: the comfortable, laid back venue that serves as a default when you can't bear the thought of cereal for dinner (again), when you don't want a hassle, and when you don't know what you want but you know you're really hungry. My default is the Longfellow Grill on East Lake. Their diverse menu spans breakfast foods (both sweet and salty), familiar sandwich favorites (some with a twist), home-style entrees (meatloaf, anyone?), punchy salads, plus some of the best beer-battered green beans around. And a full bar.
We arrived at the Longfellow on a beautiful spring evening - bikers paraded up and down the river trails, families strolled with kids and dogs, the neighborhood along West River Road smelled of charcoal, and the Dairy Queen line snaked down East Lake. Miraculously, my guest and I scored a patio table right away.
I ordered a turkey burger and sprang an extra buck for a side of sweet fries. Whenever I have attempted to cook turkey burgers I throw the grey stuff in a Forman, slap it on a whole wheat bun, then pile it with cheese and ketchup so I forget that I'm are eating a ground up lump of over-cooked poultry. But the Longfellow Grill has this burger down to an art. The turkey was tender and juicy with a dash of tumeric for kick and finely chopped jalapeno for spice. It was topped with a thin slice of gruyere cheese, and was so hearty that I felt like Kobayashi after just half. The sweet fries, which are really just sweet potato fries, were sinfully oily and rich but provided just the right balance against a mildly spicy burger. Trust me folks - it is well worth the extra $1.
We generally try to keep to ourselves when dining out, but patio tables at the Longfellow are situated very close to each other so we couldn't help but overhear the couple next to us. Their son, a bus boy, kept dropping by to check on how well they liked their food. They knew our waitress from a local swim team. They flagged down some friends sitting across the patio and reeled them in for a rather spirited conversation about shower grout. And although the couple's probing questions about the "50 meter free" kept our waitress holding our check for a bit longer than one might have hoped, this couple exposed the Longfellow for what it truly is: a local joint, a neighborhood grill, and a place you can count on whether you're looking for a night out with friends or simply can't be bothered to cook.
We arrived at the Longfellow on a beautiful spring evening - bikers paraded up and down the river trails, families strolled with kids and dogs, the neighborhood along West River Road smelled of charcoal, and the Dairy Queen line snaked down East Lake. Miraculously, my guest and I scored a patio table right away.
I ordered a turkey burger and sprang an extra buck for a side of sweet fries. Whenever I have attempted to cook turkey burgers I throw the grey stuff in a Forman, slap it on a whole wheat bun, then pile it with cheese and ketchup so I forget that I'm are eating a ground up lump of over-cooked poultry. But the Longfellow Grill has this burger down to an art. The turkey was tender and juicy with a dash of tumeric for kick and finely chopped jalapeno for spice. It was topped with a thin slice of gruyere cheese, and was so hearty that I felt like Kobayashi after just half. The sweet fries, which are really just sweet potato fries, were sinfully oily and rich but provided just the right balance against a mildly spicy burger. Trust me folks - it is well worth the extra $1.
We generally try to keep to ourselves when dining out, but patio tables at the Longfellow are situated very close to each other so we couldn't help but overhear the couple next to us. Their son, a bus boy, kept dropping by to check on how well they liked their food. They knew our waitress from a local swim team. They flagged down some friends sitting across the patio and reeled them in for a rather spirited conversation about shower grout. And although the couple's probing questions about the "50 meter free" kept our waitress holding our check for a bit longer than one might have hoped, this couple exposed the Longfellow for what it truly is: a local joint, a neighborhood grill, and a place you can count on whether you're looking for a night out with friends or simply can't be bothered to cook.
Monday, May 19, 2008
T's Place (5/19/08) Offers Friendly Fare with Ethiopian Flair
Twin Cities residents are visibly twitchy these days. After several late snows and unseasonably cool weather, we've finally had some sunny spring days and the lilacs are just starting to bud. Yet this year, unlike most, we still haven't had the luxury of walking outside sans jacket and feeling warm sun against our skin.
Which may be one of the reasons I found T's Place so refreshing - this restaurant is the antidote to anything glum and ho-hum. The walls of this East Lake eatery are a deep persimmon hue, the original molded ceiling glows with gold, popular Amharic songs beat from the speakers, and the cheerful waitstaff all flash thousand watt smiles.
We were seated immediately and started with a round of Meta beers, a popular lager from Ethiopia. They were light and refreshing, almost fruity but not as blatant as a Blue Moon or a shandy. My fellow chow hound ordered a dish with cubed lamb, garlic, turmeric, and jalapeño peppers, which came beautifully plated on a platter with two rounds of injera bread, rolled in half, flanking the main dish. The flavor was complex and not for the faint of heart since that jalapeño gave it quite a kick.
My meal included a bowl of spiced ground beef and a bowl of a creamy yet tart sauce with chopped spinach, each flanked with rounds of injera bread. For my western palette it was an unusual combination of flavors, but after one bite I was hooked. I had injera bread once before at Fasika and wasn't a fan, but T's Place really takes it to another level. T's bread was delightfully light and spongy, slightly sour (just as it should be), and was the perfect vehicle for sopping up those ground beef juices.
We also ordered a roti appetizer, which consisted of a fried flat bread and a curry-like sauce with steamed vegetables. I could feel my hips getting wider with each bite, but the crispy bread and heavy, robust curry might tie with macaroni and cheese as the ultimate comfort food.
This restaurant embodies several of my favorite things about the Twin Cities: a penchant for boldness, dedication to quality, an opportunity to significantly expand your horizons just a few miles from home, and really nice, friendly people.
Which may be one of the reasons I found T's Place so refreshing - this restaurant is the antidote to anything glum and ho-hum. The walls of this East Lake eatery are a deep persimmon hue, the original molded ceiling glows with gold, popular Amharic songs beat from the speakers, and the cheerful waitstaff all flash thousand watt smiles.
We were seated immediately and started with a round of Meta beers, a popular lager from Ethiopia. They were light and refreshing, almost fruity but not as blatant as a Blue Moon or a shandy. My fellow chow hound ordered a dish with cubed lamb, garlic, turmeric, and jalapeño peppers, which came beautifully plated on a platter with two rounds of injera bread, rolled in half, flanking the main dish. The flavor was complex and not for the faint of heart since that jalapeño gave it quite a kick.
My meal included a bowl of spiced ground beef and a bowl of a creamy yet tart sauce with chopped spinach, each flanked with rounds of injera bread. For my western palette it was an unusual combination of flavors, but after one bite I was hooked. I had injera bread once before at Fasika and wasn't a fan, but T's Place really takes it to another level. T's bread was delightfully light and spongy, slightly sour (just as it should be), and was the perfect vehicle for sopping up those ground beef juices.
We also ordered a roti appetizer, which consisted of a fried flat bread and a curry-like sauce with steamed vegetables. I could feel my hips getting wider with each bite, but the crispy bread and heavy, robust curry might tie with macaroni and cheese as the ultimate comfort food.
This restaurant embodies several of my favorite things about the Twin Cities: a penchant for boldness, dedication to quality, an opportunity to significantly expand your horizons just a few miles from home, and really nice, friendly people.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Bon Vie (5/18/08) is Fit for a Queen
Bon Vie 5.18.08
My mother is the self-appointed Queen of Fattening Breakfast Food. A connoisseur of eggs, gravy, hollandaise, and potatoes, she has been known to devour a plate of eggs Benedict, slouch back in her chair, hang her arms so low that they almost touch the floor, and groan with exhausted delight. So when my mom says it's good, you know it's good.
We arrived at Bon Vie around 10:30 Sunday morning and were surprised that the wait was only 15 minutes. When my father explained to the hostess that we were going to walk around the block and would return shortly, she patted his shoulder and said, "That sounds lovely - I'll hold a table for you if something opens up while you're out." That gesture of accommodation is the type that makes patrons feel comfortable and welcome; it did not go unnoticed.
We returned a few minutes later and waited a short while to be seated, but the hostess immediately brought cups of fresh coffee and thanked us for waiting.
Bon Vie is decorated with a French theme, but the menu is a bit more intercontinental than one might expect. I think the only French item on the menu was a quiche, which the French don't typically eat for breakfast. But items such as Tuscan Hash, Louisiana Benedict (a Cajun take on the traditional eggs Benedict), Migas (think nachos with scrambled eggs), and Strawberry White Chocolate pancakes are so tempting that I soon laid the "this theme is inconsistent" concern to rest.
My father and I ordered the Tuscan Hash, a melange of hash browned potatoes, Italian sausage, sliced kalamata olives, celery, and grape tomatoes, all topped with a poached egg. The dish was delectable. Rather than tasting like salty fried fat, as some rich breakfasts are wont to do, the briny olives cut through the oily sausage and potatoes, the light grape tomatoes put a little spring in each bite, and the celery added a flavor dimension that I never expected.
My mother, true to form, ordered the Eggs Benedict. The hollandaise had more of a lemon dimension than many takes on the classic sauce, which really lifted the flavor. Our family firmly believes that the perfect Benny is topped with a runny, not a firm, poached egg - this is as core to our belief structure as "thou shalt not steal" and "wash your hands after using the restroom." But the hollandaise sauce was such a knockout that my mother didn't even mention the firmness of her egg until several minutes into the meal. And the second egg, by the grace of god, was divinely runny.
We walked out of Bon Vie feeling just like one should on a Sunday morning in May - delightfully full, blissfully satisfied, and ready to take it easy. As the Queen hopped into her passenger side throne, she slouched back in her seat, clasped her well manicured hands over her belly, and groaned, "that was good." And I knew, as usual, that she was right.
My mother is the self-appointed Queen of Fattening Breakfast Food. A connoisseur of eggs, gravy, hollandaise, and potatoes, she has been known to devour a plate of eggs Benedict, slouch back in her chair, hang her arms so low that they almost touch the floor, and groan with exhausted delight. So when my mom says it's good, you know it's good.
We arrived at Bon Vie around 10:30 Sunday morning and were surprised that the wait was only 15 minutes. When my father explained to the hostess that we were going to walk around the block and would return shortly, she patted his shoulder and said, "That sounds lovely - I'll hold a table for you if something opens up while you're out." That gesture of accommodation is the type that makes patrons feel comfortable and welcome; it did not go unnoticed.
We returned a few minutes later and waited a short while to be seated, but the hostess immediately brought cups of fresh coffee and thanked us for waiting.
Bon Vie is decorated with a French theme, but the menu is a bit more intercontinental than one might expect. I think the only French item on the menu was a quiche, which the French don't typically eat for breakfast. But items such as Tuscan Hash, Louisiana Benedict (a Cajun take on the traditional eggs Benedict), Migas (think nachos with scrambled eggs), and Strawberry White Chocolate pancakes are so tempting that I soon laid the "this theme is inconsistent" concern to rest.
My father and I ordered the Tuscan Hash, a melange of hash browned potatoes, Italian sausage, sliced kalamata olives, celery, and grape tomatoes, all topped with a poached egg. The dish was delectable. Rather than tasting like salty fried fat, as some rich breakfasts are wont to do, the briny olives cut through the oily sausage and potatoes, the light grape tomatoes put a little spring in each bite, and the celery added a flavor dimension that I never expected.
My mother, true to form, ordered the Eggs Benedict. The hollandaise had more of a lemon dimension than many takes on the classic sauce, which really lifted the flavor. Our family firmly believes that the perfect Benny is topped with a runny, not a firm, poached egg - this is as core to our belief structure as "thou shalt not steal" and "wash your hands after using the restroom." But the hollandaise sauce was such a knockout that my mother didn't even mention the firmness of her egg until several minutes into the meal. And the second egg, by the grace of god, was divinely runny.
We walked out of Bon Vie feeling just like one should on a Sunday morning in May - delightfully full, blissfully satisfied, and ready to take it easy. As the Queen hopped into her passenger side throne, she slouched back in her seat, clasped her well manicured hands over her belly, and groaned, "that was good." And I knew, as usual, that she was right.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Al Vento (5/17/08) SE Minneapolis Stalwart gives a shaky ride
Al Vento: 5.17.08
Until recently Al Vento was the restaurant equivalent of the Little Black Dress: a simple yet elegant "wower" that suited most any occasion and never failed to impress. But lately the venue has lost some of its luster.
Our party of four arrived at 8:00 PM on a Saturday without a reservation. We were prepared to wait for what could potentially be a long time, but were not prepared to stand jammed between each other and a glass front door that flapped in the strong wind. This restaurant is simply not suited for the reservationless - there is nowhere to stand, only one small two-seater bench for sitting, and since the restaurant allows patrons to dine at the cramped bar at the back of the restaurant good luck finding a seat (good luck even finding a place to stand that doesn't leave you with risotto all over the seat of that Little Black Dress).
Once a table was available, we were ushered into the back room. It was so uncomfortably humid and warm that after 5 minutes everyone at our table was drowsy and one person was wiping beads of sweat from his brow. After 10 minutes we were served water, after 20 minutes we met our waitress, and after almost an hour our first round had been served.
At this point the sun had gone down and the small glass votive in the center of the table was simply not emitting enough light for me to determine which of our two appetizers was before me. While most restaurants entice patrons with food design and plating, this room was literally so dark that all visual stimuli were lost.
Appetizer #1, a crostini loaded with morel mushrooms drizzled in truffle oil and topped with fresh romano shavings, was delightful until the first morel hit my molars - the mushrooms hadn't been properly soaked and I was literally chewing gritty dirt. For those of you who have never chewed sand, the sensation sends chills down your spine and is so unpleasant that you are unlikely to soon forget it. Appetizer #2, consisting of two crab cakes stacked beside a simple taste of mixed greens, tasted so fishy and salty that I couldn't help but wonder whether the crab had come straight from a can and plopped on our plate.
Feeling hot, sticky, hungry, and already partially disappointed I elected to steer clear of the exotics and order something on the simple side. But my pizza of roasted red pepper, red onion, and Gorgonzola left more than a little to be desired. This was a very thin pizza, yet the crust was soggy and provided hardly any contrast in texture with the toppings. With some bites the Gorgonzola flavor was so overwhelming that I could neither taste nor smell anything but Gorgonzola for several minutes. With other bites I felt as if I had sunk my teeth into a salt lick. And with every bite in between I tasted a decent tomato sauce topped with cold, leathery, "fresh" mozzarella. Simply stated, it was revolting.
Two in our party ordered the risotto with wild boar, and again this dish missed the mark. The risotto was crunchy in the middle and the white wine flavor completely overwhelmed the more delicate, buttery, slightly gamely flavor that the dish could have (and should have) offered.
The fourth member of our party opted for the more conservative spaghetti with a tomato-based "Mother Sauce," topped with two enormous veal meatballs. Even a simple staple dish like this disappointed. The meatballs were lukewarm, mushy, and offered little structure or resistance. The tomato sauce was mediocre and lacked dimension. The only positive with this dish was the spot-on spaghetti texture - it offered just enough bite and was perfectly al dente.
Our dismal food experience could have been partially salvaged by exquisite service, but our server visited rarely, came to take our order as she was holding a handful of beers for a table on the other side of the room, left us without full sets of silverware, and never minded the dirty napkins from previous diners that were scattered beside our table.
But the coup de grace for me was the state of the main restroom. The tiny bathroom reeked of mildew (perhaps a result of the air conditioner?), a welcoming committee of small back bugs crawled over the light fixture, and I literally had to shuffle through used paper towels that were overflowing from the trashcan before I reached the toilet.
I find it difficult to explain this perfect storm of poor service, inadequate facilities, untidiness, and disappointing food by pointing to unusual circumstances such as "waitstaff went missing," "delivery truck didn't arrive," or "new chef in a new kitchen." My recommendation is to steer clear of al Vento and let everyone else wait uncomfortably for a seat at their table. This restaurant needs to scale down, spread out, up the lighting, boost attentiveness, and focus on food quality again. Otherwise the Nokomis area can take this Little Black Dress to the thrift store.
Until recently Al Vento was the restaurant equivalent of the Little Black Dress: a simple yet elegant "wower" that suited most any occasion and never failed to impress. But lately the venue has lost some of its luster.
Our party of four arrived at 8:00 PM on a Saturday without a reservation. We were prepared to wait for what could potentially be a long time, but were not prepared to stand jammed between each other and a glass front door that flapped in the strong wind. This restaurant is simply not suited for the reservationless - there is nowhere to stand, only one small two-seater bench for sitting, and since the restaurant allows patrons to dine at the cramped bar at the back of the restaurant good luck finding a seat (good luck even finding a place to stand that doesn't leave you with risotto all over the seat of that Little Black Dress).
Once a table was available, we were ushered into the back room. It was so uncomfortably humid and warm that after 5 minutes everyone at our table was drowsy and one person was wiping beads of sweat from his brow. After 10 minutes we were served water, after 20 minutes we met our waitress, and after almost an hour our first round had been served.
At this point the sun had gone down and the small glass votive in the center of the table was simply not emitting enough light for me to determine which of our two appetizers was before me. While most restaurants entice patrons with food design and plating, this room was literally so dark that all visual stimuli were lost.
Appetizer #1, a crostini loaded with morel mushrooms drizzled in truffle oil and topped with fresh romano shavings, was delightful until the first morel hit my molars - the mushrooms hadn't been properly soaked and I was literally chewing gritty dirt. For those of you who have never chewed sand, the sensation sends chills down your spine and is so unpleasant that you are unlikely to soon forget it. Appetizer #2, consisting of two crab cakes stacked beside a simple taste of mixed greens, tasted so fishy and salty that I couldn't help but wonder whether the crab had come straight from a can and plopped on our plate.
Feeling hot, sticky, hungry, and already partially disappointed I elected to steer clear of the exotics and order something on the simple side. But my pizza of roasted red pepper, red onion, and Gorgonzola left more than a little to be desired. This was a very thin pizza, yet the crust was soggy and provided hardly any contrast in texture with the toppings. With some bites the Gorgonzola flavor was so overwhelming that I could neither taste nor smell anything but Gorgonzola for several minutes. With other bites I felt as if I had sunk my teeth into a salt lick. And with every bite in between I tasted a decent tomato sauce topped with cold, leathery, "fresh" mozzarella. Simply stated, it was revolting.
Two in our party ordered the risotto with wild boar, and again this dish missed the mark. The risotto was crunchy in the middle and the white wine flavor completely overwhelmed the more delicate, buttery, slightly gamely flavor that the dish could have (and should have) offered.
The fourth member of our party opted for the more conservative spaghetti with a tomato-based "Mother Sauce," topped with two enormous veal meatballs. Even a simple staple dish like this disappointed. The meatballs were lukewarm, mushy, and offered little structure or resistance. The tomato sauce was mediocre and lacked dimension. The only positive with this dish was the spot-on spaghetti texture - it offered just enough bite and was perfectly al dente.
Our dismal food experience could have been partially salvaged by exquisite service, but our server visited rarely, came to take our order as she was holding a handful of beers for a table on the other side of the room, left us without full sets of silverware, and never minded the dirty napkins from previous diners that were scattered beside our table.
But the coup de grace for me was the state of the main restroom. The tiny bathroom reeked of mildew (perhaps a result of the air conditioner?), a welcoming committee of small back bugs crawled over the light fixture, and I literally had to shuffle through used paper towels that were overflowing from the trashcan before I reached the toilet.
I find it difficult to explain this perfect storm of poor service, inadequate facilities, untidiness, and disappointing food by pointing to unusual circumstances such as "waitstaff went missing," "delivery truck didn't arrive," or "new chef in a new kitchen." My recommendation is to steer clear of al Vento and let everyone else wait uncomfortably for a seat at their table. This restaurant needs to scale down, spread out, up the lighting, boost attentiveness, and focus on food quality again. Otherwise the Nokomis area can take this Little Black Dress to the thrift store.
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