The Bloated Belly

W.A. Frost: just decent, and that ain’t right.

Let me just state first off that this is not a lousy review of the venerable Cathedral Hill anchor, W.A. Frost and Company. Not at all. Everything I and the lady friend ate there about one week ago was just fine. The service was great. And if it weren’t for the middle-aged jackass trying to draw attention to himself and his money (snapping fingers for service—what a dick) at the four-top behind us, well, we didn’t have much to complain about the ambiance, either (we were seated romantically in front of one of the wood-burning fireplaces).

I suppose I should admit that, stupidly, I never dined at W.A. Frost during Russell Klein’s tenure as executive chef. But I ate there during Lenny Russo’s (he of Heartland) tenure, who began the old restaurant’s resurgence with fresh takes on traditional, Midwestern fare and use of local ingredients. Klein arrived and added to all that, returning Frost to the level of fine-dining prestige it deserved. Klein had been pondering opening his own joint, and that plan was allegedly hastened by Frost’s ownership whom, according to Kline in a City Pages article, “realized they could replace me with my sous chef for half the money.” Nice. True or not, who knows, but Klein was out on the street early in 2007, and later in the year opened Meritage in the former A Rebours spot in downtown St. Paul.

Into Klein’s old clogs at W.A. Frost stepped this former sous chef, Leonard Anderson. And, as luck would have it, on this evening our server informed us that this was the first night of Anderson’s own menu. I liked hearing this, even though I never tried Klein’s to compare it to.

What can I tell you? Well, the chef’s tasting menu, a seven-course affair with wine pairing for $110 didn’t grab me. I wasn’t repulsed by any item, I just wasn’t curious, and don’t recall anything about it. I also though $110 a bit steep. I had a five course at the dearly missed Restaurant Levain for $75, prepared by a chef and team with a reputation. Needless to say, I didn’t get Frost’s tasting menu.

But the regular menu was equally challenging. Perhaps it was our mood, or the distraction of the moron at the neighboring table, but the lady friend and I head trouble settling on a meal. Perhaps it was the Asian theme strung through the menu. Now, I’m not a menu consultant, but I don’t go to a classic, Midwestern/St.Paul restaurant like W.A. Frost for sushi and sashimi. Yet there it was on the “Shared Plates” section (titled Ahi Tuna Three Ways). There was gravlox in the “First Course” section, which is more the Midwest/Scandanavian heritage “sashimi” (yes, I know it’s not technically raw) that fits better in an environment with a roaring fireplace. But with squid ink mustard? C’mon.

Foams and froths appeared a few times throughout the menu (hasn’t that trend died?) within lengthy meal descriptions. I was left with the impression of someone desperately trying to attract attention.

We shared crab and ahi tuna cakes with a peanut-curry sauce, celery, mint yogurt and toasted cashews. Sound like overkill? It was. But not bad. Although the cubed celery swimming in the broth-like peanut curry sauce was…well, I’ll just say it: stupid. The lady friend went with a perfectly acceptable “Mixed Green Salad” with “citrus vinaigrette, port reduction, cherry tomatoes and julienne carrots,” and I the “Roasted Beet and Orange Salad” with “frisée, apple-horseradish vinaigrette, goat cheese, toasted walnuts and walnut oil.”

Know what? You had me at beets and goat cheese, man. Settle down back there and cook.

For the entrees, the lady friend went with the “Braised Café Sirloin” with “garlic potato purée, lemon scented spinach, horseradish sour cream, preserved meyer lemon gremolata and red wine reduction.”

Braised sirloin? Eh, just a high-falutin’ pot roast. Lemon “scented” spinach? Funny. It just tasted lemon-y to me.

I, in a moment of insanity, chose the “Vanilla & Chili Glazed Wild Acres Duck Breast” with “cranberry and coconut risotto, spicy haricot vert with mushroom tea broth, chive oil and chili thread garnish.”

I don’t even know what to say. It sounded ridiculous, yet I understand some of the flavors he was putting together. And, it wasn’t bad. Throw in the nice bottle of cab sav we had, and all in all, it was a decent meal. But not, after tip, $180 decent (that included a couple cocktails at the beginning, too).

Fast forward exactly one week later at Moscow on the Hill (just across the street), pops and I had a totally satisfying—and all around more expertly cooked—meal, the proteins carved from the same animals (duck and cow). The price, with cocktails and a decent bottle of wine? About half the price.

So, again, nothing was terrible with our meal. But for $180 for two, ya gotta be better than good. I’m not a chef, but I’d think a restaurant like W.A. Frost isn’t an audition, it’s tradition. Doesn’t mean a guy or gal can’t tweak and twist and make an eye-popping presentation—or, on a specials menu, offer something entirely different. However, when pork in any form is absent from the regular dinner menu, someone has drastically misunderstood what W.A. Frost—for decades—has meant to the Twin Cities.

Buster’s: Don’t judge a joint by its name

Now that the Holiday daze has subsided, it has occurred to Lewis to pick himself off the floor and sling his liver over his shoulder to relay a few dining experiences had in recent weeks. From the dim crag of memory, he recalls a surprisingly pleasant experience at a joint called Buster's on 28th in Minneapolis. Buster’s? That’s not a name that sticks. Kinda like James "Buster" Douglas. Remember him? Huh? Huh? You do now. But you'll forget again.

Anyway, t’was the first Christmas party of the year, the first Friday in December, but not for Lewis. No, t’was for his lady friend and her co-workers.

Lewis is a character who often doesn’t perform well in large groups, particularly among people who have extroverted personalities. He sometimes gets surly, and, with alcohol, the filter between brain and mouth—already smaller than regulation—shrinks further. Does Lewis get loud? No, he does not. But he tends to speak his mind to those that deserve it the most.

Your narrator will only speak in generalities here, to protect identities. But your narrator is not a tease. Did Lewis cause an argument? No. Did Lewis otherwise cause any kind of ruckus that evening? No, he did not. Lewis, after being engaged in a lengthy conversation he can no longer recall, tucked safely in the back corner of a long table, a Surly Furious (appropriate, no?) in his hand, followed by a second, and, eventually, a bison burger with chipotle cream cheese and a pile of tasty fries.

Most at the long table ordered burgers, but Lewis was engaged with reality enough to study the menu, and noticed, besides burgers and sandwiches with gourmet twists there were also a few entrees that could be considered eclectic for the environment, such as a pan-fried half chicken with “smashed” potatoes, a butternut squash risotto, and balsamic glazed beef shortribs with “smashed” (Lewis has had enough of that term on menus, by the way) sweet potatoes and spicy carrots. Not bad. Given the perfection to which his bison burger was cooked, Lewis decided he would give one of those entrees a shot next time.

And beers? Oh, heavens yes. A list of 27 taps, heavy on the Belgian varieties, and, he estimated, about 80 bottled beers. And there is a palatable wine list, for those who don’t like the suds.

The evening ended without Lewis offending anybody, which pleased the lady friend. He even behaved in as a Midwestern gentleman should once in a while—he cut himself off from the booze so the lady friend could tip back a couple more with her co-workers and later settle comfortably in the passenger seat for the ride home.

Eat this: Coffee cake

Jack Venus returns to his kitchen after yet another rigorous tour fighting crime and bedding Hollywood starlets to whip up a quick coffee cake for unexpected guests. —Lewis

Venus Coffee Cake

Ingredients:
1 cup sugar*
2 cups all purpose flour
1 cup vegetable oil
4 eggs
1/2 Tsp. salt
1 can pie filling (of your choice)
Cinnamon
1 9x13" cake pan

The recipe is actually pretty straightforward, mix the sugar, flour and salt together. 

Then add in the oil and eggs.  Beat together with a mixer or with a fork until well combined.  Viola. You now have the batter.

Spread half of the batter into the bottom of the ungreased cake pan and level it out evenly.

Open up that can of pie filling and carefully spoon about half of it over that bottom layer of batter.  Level the pie filling out, as well.

Carefully spoon the remaining batter over the top, until all of the pie filling is covered. Try not to leave any pie filling exposed, because it'll burn during the baking process.

Once that's all done, sprinkle a bit of sugar over the top and a little cinnamon as well.  The sugar will caramelize and make the coffee cake extra tasty.

Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes and let cool.

Enjoy!

*I use Vanilla Sugar, which is just sugar that's been put into a container
with a vanilla bean or two.  The vanilla flavors the sugar and makes it very tasty, especially in coffee.

The deal with Zander…

First, let me state that I like Zander Café in St. Paul. Always have. I live just around the corner, you know. I liked the varnished plywood floor, the homey-yet-elegant feel, the great food at absurdly reasonable prices. I put up with the periodic, unexplained “Sorry, we’re closed” signs, because, hey, it’s a neighborhood joint and sometimes people have things to do. As I said a sentence ago, Alexander Dixon’s food has always been top-notch, inventive yet familiar, and priced to not bust your bank account.

So, when he began yet another remodeling of the joint earlier this year, I would plunk my face against the window, shield my eyes from the glare and try to figure out what he was doing. I saw carpeting going in. Carpeting?! Over that nifty plywood? Damn!

Then the lady friend and I ran into him one day as we were peering in, and he explained his project. The bar was moved to the west room, the main dining room remained in the middle, and the east side, where the bar, live music stage and the funky booths were, would be turned into a banquet-type facility. The carpeting was to cut down on the noise. All right, I could understand that.

So, about a week after he reopened, we wandered in with pops for dinner to see it was a now a white tablecloth joint. Wha?

We took our seats and saw that the inventive menu and reasonable prices remain, however. Now, this shortly-after-opening meal was back in April, So the memory is a tad hazy on details. I do remember pops had salmon en papillote (salmon and veggies cooked in a parchment bag), which he said was very good, the lady friend had a short rib special, which I recall was outstanding, and I ordered the beef tenderloin special, an eight ounce filet poached in red wine. The mat was damn near fork tender, perfectly cooked. But the flavor? I don’t know what I was thinking. It was tenderloin. Poached. It didn’t have much flavor at all. Tenderloing doesn’t have much flavor. That’s why you sear it, and often with black pepper.

Now, I only register that detail for background on our most recent meal there about a month ago. Again, t’was damn good, although the service was odd, a bit inconsistent, and the guy was just…I dunno. I really felt like punching him at the end of the meal. But hey. This review is a month late, I’ll focus on the food. I started with the three soup mosaic (roasted red pepper, cream of parsnip and sherried black bean arranged in a kind of three color zen sign) which was rich, textured and outstanding. Followed that with a roasted beet and cucumber salad—also outstanding. Entrees went like this: pops had the fish special (memory fails here, other than it was very good) I had pork tenderloin special, which came with a whimsical hash that made the entire meal a joy to eat. Good spice, cooked perfectly—I normally don’t order pork tenderloin at restaurants, because I can cook a pretty good one myself. But this sounded great, and it delivered.

It was the lady friend this time who went for the beef. The steak Dianne from the menu. An eight-ounce New York strip with a maderia wine herbed mushroom sauce, and served with herb and parmesan roasted potatoes.

It was only OK. Again, not that it was bad. It certainly wasn’t. But, I guess I’m to the point where, if I can pull it off at home, I’m not all that impressed. Is this a complaint? No. And the lady friend wasn’t, either. I mean, it was only 25 bucks. Considering the price of a nice 8 ounce hunk of black angus, plus the labor in cooking it and the sides from a damn good chef, it’s a bargain. But I gotta say, two times around, and the beef meals haven’t ben on the same par as the other dishes we ordered.

Hardly a negative review here, folks. My opinion is, Eat At Zander. But, maybe it’s the white tablecloth that throws me. Expectations are raised. I shouldn’t want to punch my server. We should have a steak that sings like everything else on the menu. Nice to see that the tablecloths are not present during the lunch hours.

Again, this ain’t a negative review. I’m damn lucky to have a joint like Zander within walking distance, and I think it definitely ranks as a “destination restaurant,” also.

Zander Café
525 Selby Ave.
St. Paul, MN 55102
651-222-5224

Lurcat: Hold the salt, please

A quick note to a very good restaurant:

Dear Café/Bar Lurcat:

You are a very fine restaurant. I enjoy you very much, and recommend you to friends. But what happened last Saturday night? Two of my party of four ordered mixed baby green salads with the lemon shallot vinaigrette and were taken aback, saying, “This is salty.” I tried them. They were. Salty, but not inedible, nothing to complain about on a busy Saturday night. It was jam-packed in there. My apple, cheese and chive salad was just right, though. We also had that buckwheat crepe appetizer and those fancy sliders of yours (was that butter in those burgers?) that were just fine. Then the entrees. Salmon for the lady fiend, shrimp for pops, sea bass (I think) for his wife and rack o’ lamb for me. My lamb arrived cooked a perfect medium rare, and I dove in for the first bite and…Wow! Salt! I mean, it was, Wow! Salt! Not inedible (I did eat it), but for a great hunk of meat (with a $34 tag), what the heck is all that salt doing on there? Way. Too. Much. Salt. Water please! Just leave the pitcher!

Just thought I’d mention it only because I’ve had many a nice meal with you. Never has there been an overpowering of any one thing in any dish—always well balanced. And, like I said, it was edible. Just not $34 edible. Next night went to Christos in Minneapolis with pops. He ordered their rack of lamb. Didn’t look quite as pretty, but was ten bucks cheaper. Cooked to a nice medium rare. Tasted great.

Don’t worry Lurcat, This isn’t a rant or a skewering—everything else was fine, including the service. I won’t abandon you. Just tell the folks dealing salt that evening to dial it back a notch.

Sampling samples at The Sample Room

Finally. Your humble blogger kept meaning to dine at The Sample Room in Northeast Minneapolis for years. He’d met the original chef, Michael McKay, at food events around town and eaten his samples he brought to said events, but never ventured to the restaurant where he earned praise from all the local critics. But what most impressed was the praise from Anthony Bourdain, who happened by the restaurant while on a press junket a couple years ago.

Still, Lewis could not get his ass into the restaurant. What gives? Oh, count his faults—they are numerous and obvious. Heck, timeliness is one of the biggies—this meal happened at least a month ago. Anyway…McKay left, and was replaced in recent months by Peter Maccaroni. The news piqued the interest of friends, who suggested they test the new chef’s wares. So, one Saturday night, two couples eager to try many different plates entered The Sample Room. (Well, actually, the couples entered separately, Lewis and his lady friend arrived a half-hour late, because Lewis was convinced the restaurant was located on University Avenue, when, in fact, it’s found a couple blocks west on Marshall.)

No matter. They all waited quite a while after that for a table. No reservations taken at The Sample Room. But set a Grey Goose martini with a twist in Lewis’ hand, he doesn’t complain. He’s easy.

From what your narrator could see, the Sample Room has a teeny-tiny kitchen, yet plates were cranking out as fast one could imagine, and all looked fantastic. How would they taste?

When the group finally climbed into their booth, they set about the task of ordering from each section of the menu: cheese, meat, vegetables and seafood. Order three plates from each for set price, and save a little dough. So, that’s what we did.

The cheese: warm Camembert with caramelized onions, Brunkow aged cheddar with brandy apple mustard, and baked Stickney Hill goat cheese with oven dried roma tomatoes and basil oil. Each were, as one might imagine, richly flavored but very well balanced—nothing overpowered.

The meat: braised pork ribs with whiskey tomato sauce, roasted beef served with two sauces—spicy horseradish and mushroom and braised leek glaze, and a pork and bacon terrine with a bourbon mustard sauce. Out of these, it was tough to pick between the ribs and the terrine for the top honor—both were excellent, and nearly fought over for the last bites. The sauces with the roasted beef were excellent, but the sliced beef itself was a bit tough, and lacked flavor.

The seafood: seared rare tuna with wasabi aioli, seared sea scallops with almond cilantro sauce, and pan fried crab cakes with red pepper sour cream. Again, sauces were king on these plates. The best protein was the tuna. The scallops were tender as all get out and prepared perfectly fine, but, this scribe found them to have a hint of chlorine taste—that’s a frequent complaint he has with scallops around town, except those at the really high end joints. Not the fault of the chef, but of the supplier. Living in the Midwest, you pay premium price for ultra fresh product, or you deal with the flavor nuances of lesser product. It wasn’t bad, but when your palate still has fresh memories of a recent trip to a West Coast port city, one notices those things. Crab cakes were perfectly acceptable, but nothing memorable.

The vegetables: an Heirloom tomato special; a roasted fresh veggie torte—flaky pastry stuffed with zucchini, tomatoes and goat cheese, served with red pepper sour cream; and sautéed green beans with ginger tamari sauce. All these were excellent.

The Sample Room also offers neat three-piece wine flights for under ten bucks to sip; the “Nomadic Reds”—a valpolicella, shiraz and petite sirah was ordered and enjoyed by two at the table.

Overall, a nice experience. The dining room is high-ceilinged and loud, but still, the ambiance is comfortable. Showing the menu the following Monday to a friend who frequents the joint revealed that the items offered hadn’t changed much since McKay’s departure, but by now, Maccaroni has surely put more of his own stamp on it. A nice experience, and the group shall return.

The restaurant also serves soups, salads, sandwiches and full entrees if you’re not in the sharing mood.

The Sample Room
2124 Marshall St.
Minneapolis (Northeast)
612-789-0333

Wayzata Eatery, a suburban surprise

Suburban dining. Yeah. Doesn’t sound so hot. Applebee’s, Chili’s and T.G.I. Friday’s. Not my cup o’ tea, to be sure. But there’s a surprise out there in Wayzata. Well, actually another surprise in that general area to join Istanbul Bistro.

This second surprise? the Wayzata Eatery. Yes, I can wholeheartedly recommend this joint, located south of 394 (if you’re traveling west, take the south 101 exit and turn left), sharing a free-standing building with a Brueger’s Bagel’s in the middle of a parking lot, surrounded by the ubiquitous suburban strip mall. But walk into the joint and you forget about said parking lot. It’s a cozy bistro setting with dark wood, local art on the walls, a counter looking into the open kitchen (if you don’t want to sit in the dining room) and wine racks lining the west wall.

Pops and his wife live about a mile away from the place, and had already been there twice, shortly after it opened. They asked me and the lady friend to join them for a meal about a month ago (yeah, shock, this is late). In a word, outstanding. I went with the beef tenderloin of the day (which was served with a bourbon cream sauce and vegetables) and the lady friend the chicken saltimbocca, pressed with serrano and fresh rosemary, with spansh roasted potatoes and romesco sauce. Tricky dishes? Not when you compare it to what fancy pants Tim McKee is doing at La Belle Vie, of course. But they’re still dishes that require prefect execution to make them memorable, and not just OK. The chicken was tender and juicy, as was my steak (cooked to a perfect medium rare) and the surrounding flavors complemented perfectly—nothing over- or underwhelmed.

Apetizers were equally fine, which included lamb chop lolly pops with chimmichurri and a wheat berry timbale (“timbale” is French for a lump of stuff molded into a round or drum shape).

Service was attentive and knowledgeable—the wine recommendation was spot-on, too. So, how does a restaurant open its doors with near flawless execution? Well, the story behind it is, it’s owned by Taher Inc., a higher-end foodservice company. You’ve seen their trucks cruising around, I’m sure. They’re based in St. Louis Park, and operate hundreds of kitchens in offices, hospitals, private schools and other places in several states. But, they’re jumping into the restaurant game, and will soon open another joint in the old Shelly’s Woodroast, to be called, according to the banner stretched across the old sign, The Alaska Eatery. Taher Inc. is an interesting company, absorbing menus and dishes from across the globe, and those influences are subtly (and not so subtly) on display at the Wayzata Eatery.

'Tis the season

Know where this is going? (Sorry about the horizontal image, can't seem to fix it.) Just look at that tomato!
 

Fresh, ripe, juicy tomatoes and hickory smoked maple bacon from the St. Paul Farmers' Market. MmmmmMMmmmmmm.

Yep. It's prime BLT sandwich season, folks. Toasted wheat bread (or whatever bread you like), the gentlest swipe of mayo, a little bit of ground pepper and this is one of the best meals of your life.

Wha? Huh?

Busy month folks. Y'all loyal readers keep checking in and even leaving comments. Nice to even see one from Doc Biggles, a man who knows cookin' meat better than many working restaurant chefs. Nice that folks like that check in on this here inconsistent bloggity blog.

So, dang if I didn't start looking around for some side writin' to pad the pocketbook and actually landed a few gigs. Because of that, I think I've got more half-started blog posts than anyone on the planet. One thing I'm pondering reporting on here is how I'm building this little side bid'ness, perhaps working this ol' blog into it.

Just thinking out loud.

Have I been cookin'? Oh yes. There's this "Ode to Pig" meal I put together that I just gotta get on this thing. Secret ingredient? Figs.

Once the day job deadline is wrapped next week, The Belly gets some lovin'.

Thanks for checking in, folks.

Il Vesco Vino, part two

Madame Broccoli was so timely with her post, turning it in on Friday, June 29, the day after her dining experience. But, alas, I was not timely in posting it. So now, without further delay...(and, read the first Il Vesco Vino review here).
—Lewis

Il Vesco Vino: Friendly to children and vegetarians but far too expensive for either!

Perhaps I was particularly crabby having turned 42 years old, but at last night's birthday celebration I was not all that impressed with my experience at Il Vesco Vino, dining outside in their newly opened patio.  The service was very good and the staff friendly, in particular to my charming three-year-old son, Miles, but it was not the right choice.  The evening was kept relatively short because Miles decided to sit at the bar with a glass of water and flirt with the pretty bartender for most of dinner. This, of course, would have been fine (even encouraged) except that he alternated between five minutes in the bar chair and climbing through the rock garden!  However, in a very short period of time we managed to accumulate a bill exceeding $100—and this for just two adults and one small child!  Just to give you some perspective, our selections included a child's size portion of pasta, one glass of milk, two glasses of $8.00 wine, one appetizer and two entrees.  No frills and excesses here.

Now, if the experience had been thrilling and food excellent or if I were celebrating my 22nd birthday rather than 42nd and my date did not share my bank account, I would not have given it a thought but this was not the case.  The appetizer was the best thing about the meal.  My husband and I shared a very generous starter from the "fried snacks" portion of the menu, Arancini—ragu rice balls stuffed with mozzarella and spicy tomato garlic sauce.  For my entree, being a vegetarian who generally avoids seafood, it was a difficult choice.  My only real option was the Alaskan halibut (I will only eat fish from a "chemical free" source) and the one noted on the menu, served with spicy smoked pancetta and cauliflower orzo sounded pretty good. However, that option was not available and I instead had to order the Alaskan halibut from the "specials" which included sides of corn and a grapefruit sauce side which sounded horrendous, but I was trying to keep an open mind.  The halibut was cooked to perfection but the sides were not, in my opinion, palatable.  Extremely spicy and not very good.  No water was served with the meal, forcing me to initially guzzle my $8 wine until I caught the attention of my server and requested water with the meal. My husband ordered some sort of meat item and being a vegetarian I just looked away. He requested it be cooked medium and it arrived medium rare (even more appalling for a vegetarian so I continued to avert my eyes). He placed his sides on my plate because he despises vegetables (with the exception of "Madame" broccoli, of course!).  According to the menu, the side was to be creamed potatoes but clearly they were not.  I consider potatoes to be my absolute favorite food item on the planet and yet I could not eat them.

The staff was so very sweet to my little boy but I am afraid he will have to wait until he has his driver’s license to return. I am sure the bartender will have moved on by then (as well as Il Vesco Vino) but he can dream about her in the meantime. No doubt, she will be conducting a train rather than serving drinks!  My recommendation would be to stick to Il Vesco Vino as a place to meet friends for a glass of wine and some appetizers. Anything more may be pushing your luck and pocket book.

~ Madame Broccoli