Sizing Up Minneapolis, Bite by Bite
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Join Date: Sep 2000
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Sizing Up Minneapolis, Bite by Bite
(I would recommend both D'Amico Cucina and Aquavit based on personal experience during the 2001 Final Four Festivities)
New York Times, 8/12/01
nothing I like better than dining around in a city. It's such a telling way to catch the sociological pulse of a place. A sharp-eyed diner can learn much observing what people eat, how they dress and what kind of environment they create to entertain themselves.
And so, when I heard that a culinary conference I planned to attend was going to be held in Minneapolis, a city I hadn't visited in 25 years, I arrived early to complete most of my survey before the onslaught of hungry and inquisitive visitors.
I enlisted a few locals as well as some fellow conferees and food professionals, taking different people along for every meal (and carefully remaining anonymous). I have to say I was impressed with my findings. The dining scene reveals a city that is often stylish, sometimes bold, occasionally zany, and always welcoming. There's a standard of service in these restaurants that we who live in other cities can only wish for.
Now I know at least one reason Mary Richards gleefully tossed her hat into the air before every episode of "The Mary Tyler Moore Show." She had just dined out in Minneapolis.
Goodfellow's
Four of us glide through the restaurant's door just off Nicollet Mall, the pedestrian thoroughfare downtown to discover the Art Deco wonderland that was once the Forum Cafeteria, built in 1929.
Twenty-foot ceilings filigreed in silver over a sage ground cap a multilevel dining room. Chandeliers glow like crystalized wedding cakes hung upside down, shedding soft light on crisply linened tables. Large mirrors etched in floral patterns of soft green and pink line the walls. This was one fancy cafeteria.
Now the space houses Goodfellow's, whose executive chef, Kevin Cullen, is one of the city's top proponents of contemporary American cooking, which means a menu based on local, seasonal ingredients with hints of Asia and the Southwest. There is also an excellent and well-priced all-American wine list and waiters who have tasted enough of it to be fairly reliable guides.
Each dish has an intriguing touch. Among our appetizers, chili-barbecued walnuts fire up an arugula, frise and goat-cheese salad; a Serrano chile pesto adds zip to potato- wrapped walleye, its fire cooled by julienned celeriac and pickled cucumber salad. I love that walleye, a local freshwater fish from cold Northern waters with snow-white flesh and a clean, assertive flavor.
By the time our entrees arrive, the wine, a 1998 Foris Vineyards Rouge Valley pinot noir ($32) that was searingly acidic when first uncorked, has transformed into an earthy, smoky crowd pleaser, just as the waiter predicted.
We trade bites of grilled pork tenderloin from a plate garnished with hoisin-braised short ribs, and comment on the unusual and happy combination of seared scallops and venison ravioli in clam broth with a touch of bacon and cream. But the top honors go to a poetic herald of spring, a handsome filet of halibut that is basking in a creamy pool of smoked onion broth garnished with bright green fava beans and crisply fried leeks.
Desserts are consistently superb. Our collective favorite is the tropical fruit compote for its sensual passion-fruit cream sluicing from an almond tuile toward coconut sorbet. A lovely meal.
Kincaid's Fish, Chop and Steak House
Yes, I know, this is a national chain, not a locally owned restaurant, but it is so popular here the one in nearby Bloomington always makes the top 10 in the local news media that two of us head across the Mississippi (a $20 cab ride one way) for dinner at the newest outlet near the Xcel Energy Arena in St. Paul.
Just a year old, this Kincaid's is handsome, with the burnished-wood-and-shiny- brass air of an upscale steakhouse given playful twists, like a red plaid carpet and rose-and-mustard striped banquettes. It doesn't take itself too seriously, inviting patrons generally a who's who of the state capital to loosen their collars and unwind.
A basic chophouse menu offers playful twists of its own, like prime rib roasted in a salt crust and house-smoked fish. The compact wine list is well chosen, if a bit pricey. We decide on a 1998 Napa Ridge Coastal Vines pinot noir ($29), soft and fruity.
I'm always surprised when a house specialty is less than terrific, and that's the case with the night's prime rib gray and tasteless, as if that salt crust sucked the life out of it. But the orange duck is more successful, with spicy undercurrents of fennel seed and cinnamon, and the potato-crusted scallops make a happy, if unlikely, marriage with a blanket of sweet-and-sour onions.
Kincaid's jolly side is given full expression in the appetizer sampler. It's a conversation piece a whirligig of chipotle-rubbed shrimp with chili hollandaise, a crock of ultrarich crab dip, and a grilled pineapple quarter bristling with skewers of tasty red-cooked pork sprinkled with black and white sesame seeds, all served on a fish-shaped plate.
Desserts, like the crisp-crusted bread pudding with bourbon sauce, are homey and good. All told, the food at Kincaid's is not worth the cab fare from Minneapolis, even if the ambience is.
Aquavit
Minneapolitans don't quite know what to make of this two-year-old sister to Marcus Samuelsson's New York restaurant of the same name. They tell me that while the city has a big Scandinavian community, the chef's Swedish-fusion style is considered avant-garde. A love of lutefisk is one thing; rare seared tuna and scallops in beurre blanc foam is quite another. Still, I was dying to compare it with the esteemed original.
Like its older sibling, this Aquavit is a standard-bearer of Scandinavian design, fresh, light and airy. Beautiful curved-wood surfaces brighten the high-ceilinged dining rooms, and hand-blown glass vessels add touches of color. Surprisingly comfortable Alvar Aalto chairs set patrons at ease. On this night, the restaurant seems to be packed with visitors from the conference, making it difficult to discern how big the regular crowd might be, although my companion and I are confident we remain unrecognized.
Two of us test the waters by ordering the vegetarian and regular six-course tasting menus, along with a trio of aquavits, two housemade and one imported. Six courses blossom into nine when you count the various amuse bouches and other intermezzos, reaching a mighty peak in squab with lentils, wilted greens and a molten foie gras "ganache," about as rich a thing as I've ever eaten. Pierce this timbale with a fork and out flows molten goose liver, ready to be sopped up with the casing.
A few courses in this extravaganza fall short, like an undercooked risotto and an oddly liverish Kobe beef roll. But most are first-rate an oyster topped with icy tomato granit, fresh pea soup spiked with pickled radish, a salad of pickled fennel and avocado in chilled tomato broth, lobster medallions with a creamy corn and salsify garnish.
Dessert is spectacular, a chocolate wafer topped with butterscotch and chocolate ganache served with two hillocks of sorbet, one tart citrus and the other Szechuan pepper.
During the short walk back along Nicollet Mall to our hotel, I reflect that count for count, this Aquavit measures up well, with only slightly less finesse than the original. The cooking is playful and inventive, and it is true to the style of Mr. Samuelsson, who is executive chef for both restaurants.
Chino Latino
Humor and a jazzy menu of "street food from the hot zones" have made Chino Latino one of the hippest places in Minneapolis. A short cab ride south of the city in happening Uptown, the restaurant is dark in a cheery sort of way, and more than a little giddy.
A signature drink (since taken off the menu) captures the mood: Sorbet of Pigs arrives in a Pilsener glass of lime sorbet over which the waiter decorously pours a jigger of rum before uncapping a glass bottle of Coca- Cola to add a splash. It comes complete with a G.I. Joe action figure.
Immersed in a hot, youngish crowd on this Thursday evening, we might as well be partying in Havana in its heyday. The bar back glows saffron behind a plexiglass screen; banks of votive lights flicker along one wall; a well in the center of the dining room plunges down to reveal a communal dining table by the open kitchen. Even the waiters appear to be high on the vibe as they cut through the crowd with huge platters of Philippine paella, roast suckling pig and Phuket fried noodles.
Four of us are happily ensconced at a table on the far side of the bar, shouting at each over the uproar. Service is family style, so we order three appetizers and two entrees, enough, it turns out, for a small village. Korean bulgogi (barbecued beef) with fiery kimchi, crisp fried potatoes lashed with garlic and lime, corvina ceviche with orange segments, perfectly hot, tart and sweet we can't stop stealing bites.
The entrees are equally appealing. Shrimp curry with fresh coconut spews like lava down a mountain of rice over chunks of juicy pineapple and shards of sweet red pepper. And the jerk chicken marinated 24 hours, according to the waiter is juicy and flavorful over black beans, rice and fried plantains.
For dessert, we go silly with s'mores, roasting marshmallows over a flame and sprinkling them with toasted coconut, macadamia nuts and caramel sauce. Other desserts are only slightly more sedate, as in the fried plantain-crusted banana macadamia nut ice cream with caramel sauce, and the Chocolate Krakatoa of tropical fruit sorbets with molten chocolate and almond cookies. At 11 p.m., the crowd is still frisky, spilling out into the street through patio doors flung wide.
D'Amico Cucina
All is understated and elegant at this Warehouse District restaurant. What first seems stark about the main dining room exposed concrete walls, a muted palette of gray, palest pink and white proves a flattering backdrop for the well- heeled Minneapolitans dining at this swank, modern Italian restaurant.
The cooking mirrors the trick; each plate looks deceptively simple, but delivers vivid flavor combinations. A lobster, artichoke and quail egg salad is sparked by celery leaves and plump capers. A masterful tapenade brings paper-thin slices of beef carpaccio to life. A forkful of English pea ravioli in roasted onion sauce is as entrancing as the first peas of spring fresh from the garden.
Our entrees are more complex in their schemes, equally delicious but not as crystalline in their flavors. Rosy slices of lamb loin are paired with sensational sweetbreads, creamy inside a delicate crust of pine nuts. Ahi tuna and artichokes have the jolt of salty green Hondralia olives and red-pepper pesto. And a gorgeous hunk of beef tenderloin is beautifully sided with smoked shallots, grilled radicchio and a barley risotto.
Service is near perfect, without a trace of the haughtiness that can occur in such a restaurant. Our waitress proves a reliable guide to the primarily Italian wine list, suggesting bottles that suit our taste and budget. Our final pick, a Fonterutoli 1998 Chianti Classico ($49), is a winner.
Desserts keep to the same high standards. This evening's steamed toffee date pudding is heady with lustrous Armagnac sauce, but it is a confection of meringue rounds layered with tangerine curd on a pool of blood-orange gele. No wonder 14- year-old D'Amico Cucina has such a devoted following.
http://www.nytimes.com/2001/08/12/tr...l?pagewanted=1
New York Times, 8/12/01
nothing I like better than dining around in a city. It's such a telling way to catch the sociological pulse of a place. A sharp-eyed diner can learn much observing what people eat, how they dress and what kind of environment they create to entertain themselves.
And so, when I heard that a culinary conference I planned to attend was going to be held in Minneapolis, a city I hadn't visited in 25 years, I arrived early to complete most of my survey before the onslaught of hungry and inquisitive visitors.
I enlisted a few locals as well as some fellow conferees and food professionals, taking different people along for every meal (and carefully remaining anonymous). I have to say I was impressed with my findings. The dining scene reveals a city that is often stylish, sometimes bold, occasionally zany, and always welcoming. There's a standard of service in these restaurants that we who live in other cities can only wish for.
Now I know at least one reason Mary Richards gleefully tossed her hat into the air before every episode of "The Mary Tyler Moore Show." She had just dined out in Minneapolis.
Goodfellow's
Four of us glide through the restaurant's door just off Nicollet Mall, the pedestrian thoroughfare downtown to discover the Art Deco wonderland that was once the Forum Cafeteria, built in 1929.
Twenty-foot ceilings filigreed in silver over a sage ground cap a multilevel dining room. Chandeliers glow like crystalized wedding cakes hung upside down, shedding soft light on crisply linened tables. Large mirrors etched in floral patterns of soft green and pink line the walls. This was one fancy cafeteria.
Now the space houses Goodfellow's, whose executive chef, Kevin Cullen, is one of the city's top proponents of contemporary American cooking, which means a menu based on local, seasonal ingredients with hints of Asia and the Southwest. There is also an excellent and well-priced all-American wine list and waiters who have tasted enough of it to be fairly reliable guides.
Each dish has an intriguing touch. Among our appetizers, chili-barbecued walnuts fire up an arugula, frise and goat-cheese salad; a Serrano chile pesto adds zip to potato- wrapped walleye, its fire cooled by julienned celeriac and pickled cucumber salad. I love that walleye, a local freshwater fish from cold Northern waters with snow-white flesh and a clean, assertive flavor.
By the time our entrees arrive, the wine, a 1998 Foris Vineyards Rouge Valley pinot noir ($32) that was searingly acidic when first uncorked, has transformed into an earthy, smoky crowd pleaser, just as the waiter predicted.
We trade bites of grilled pork tenderloin from a plate garnished with hoisin-braised short ribs, and comment on the unusual and happy combination of seared scallops and venison ravioli in clam broth with a touch of bacon and cream. But the top honors go to a poetic herald of spring, a handsome filet of halibut that is basking in a creamy pool of smoked onion broth garnished with bright green fava beans and crisply fried leeks.
Desserts are consistently superb. Our collective favorite is the tropical fruit compote for its sensual passion-fruit cream sluicing from an almond tuile toward coconut sorbet. A lovely meal.
Kincaid's Fish, Chop and Steak House
Yes, I know, this is a national chain, not a locally owned restaurant, but it is so popular here the one in nearby Bloomington always makes the top 10 in the local news media that two of us head across the Mississippi (a $20 cab ride one way) for dinner at the newest outlet near the Xcel Energy Arena in St. Paul.
Just a year old, this Kincaid's is handsome, with the burnished-wood-and-shiny- brass air of an upscale steakhouse given playful twists, like a red plaid carpet and rose-and-mustard striped banquettes. It doesn't take itself too seriously, inviting patrons generally a who's who of the state capital to loosen their collars and unwind.
A basic chophouse menu offers playful twists of its own, like prime rib roasted in a salt crust and house-smoked fish. The compact wine list is well chosen, if a bit pricey. We decide on a 1998 Napa Ridge Coastal Vines pinot noir ($29), soft and fruity.
I'm always surprised when a house specialty is less than terrific, and that's the case with the night's prime rib gray and tasteless, as if that salt crust sucked the life out of it. But the orange duck is more successful, with spicy undercurrents of fennel seed and cinnamon, and the potato-crusted scallops make a happy, if unlikely, marriage with a blanket of sweet-and-sour onions.
Kincaid's jolly side is given full expression in the appetizer sampler. It's a conversation piece a whirligig of chipotle-rubbed shrimp with chili hollandaise, a crock of ultrarich crab dip, and a grilled pineapple quarter bristling with skewers of tasty red-cooked pork sprinkled with black and white sesame seeds, all served on a fish-shaped plate.
Desserts, like the crisp-crusted bread pudding with bourbon sauce, are homey and good. All told, the food at Kincaid's is not worth the cab fare from Minneapolis, even if the ambience is.
Aquavit
Minneapolitans don't quite know what to make of this two-year-old sister to Marcus Samuelsson's New York restaurant of the same name. They tell me that while the city has a big Scandinavian community, the chef's Swedish-fusion style is considered avant-garde. A love of lutefisk is one thing; rare seared tuna and scallops in beurre blanc foam is quite another. Still, I was dying to compare it with the esteemed original.
Like its older sibling, this Aquavit is a standard-bearer of Scandinavian design, fresh, light and airy. Beautiful curved-wood surfaces brighten the high-ceilinged dining rooms, and hand-blown glass vessels add touches of color. Surprisingly comfortable Alvar Aalto chairs set patrons at ease. On this night, the restaurant seems to be packed with visitors from the conference, making it difficult to discern how big the regular crowd might be, although my companion and I are confident we remain unrecognized.
Two of us test the waters by ordering the vegetarian and regular six-course tasting menus, along with a trio of aquavits, two housemade and one imported. Six courses blossom into nine when you count the various amuse bouches and other intermezzos, reaching a mighty peak in squab with lentils, wilted greens and a molten foie gras "ganache," about as rich a thing as I've ever eaten. Pierce this timbale with a fork and out flows molten goose liver, ready to be sopped up with the casing.
A few courses in this extravaganza fall short, like an undercooked risotto and an oddly liverish Kobe beef roll. But most are first-rate an oyster topped with icy tomato granit, fresh pea soup spiked with pickled radish, a salad of pickled fennel and avocado in chilled tomato broth, lobster medallions with a creamy corn and salsify garnish.
Dessert is spectacular, a chocolate wafer topped with butterscotch and chocolate ganache served with two hillocks of sorbet, one tart citrus and the other Szechuan pepper.
During the short walk back along Nicollet Mall to our hotel, I reflect that count for count, this Aquavit measures up well, with only slightly less finesse than the original. The cooking is playful and inventive, and it is true to the style of Mr. Samuelsson, who is executive chef for both restaurants.
Chino Latino
Humor and a jazzy menu of "street food from the hot zones" have made Chino Latino one of the hippest places in Minneapolis. A short cab ride south of the city in happening Uptown, the restaurant is dark in a cheery sort of way, and more than a little giddy.
A signature drink (since taken off the menu) captures the mood: Sorbet of Pigs arrives in a Pilsener glass of lime sorbet over which the waiter decorously pours a jigger of rum before uncapping a glass bottle of Coca- Cola to add a splash. It comes complete with a G.I. Joe action figure.
Immersed in a hot, youngish crowd on this Thursday evening, we might as well be partying in Havana in its heyday. The bar back glows saffron behind a plexiglass screen; banks of votive lights flicker along one wall; a well in the center of the dining room plunges down to reveal a communal dining table by the open kitchen. Even the waiters appear to be high on the vibe as they cut through the crowd with huge platters of Philippine paella, roast suckling pig and Phuket fried noodles.
Four of us are happily ensconced at a table on the far side of the bar, shouting at each over the uproar. Service is family style, so we order three appetizers and two entrees, enough, it turns out, for a small village. Korean bulgogi (barbecued beef) with fiery kimchi, crisp fried potatoes lashed with garlic and lime, corvina ceviche with orange segments, perfectly hot, tart and sweet we can't stop stealing bites.
The entrees are equally appealing. Shrimp curry with fresh coconut spews like lava down a mountain of rice over chunks of juicy pineapple and shards of sweet red pepper. And the jerk chicken marinated 24 hours, according to the waiter is juicy and flavorful over black beans, rice and fried plantains.
For dessert, we go silly with s'mores, roasting marshmallows over a flame and sprinkling them with toasted coconut, macadamia nuts and caramel sauce. Other desserts are only slightly more sedate, as in the fried plantain-crusted banana macadamia nut ice cream with caramel sauce, and the Chocolate Krakatoa of tropical fruit sorbets with molten chocolate and almond cookies. At 11 p.m., the crowd is still frisky, spilling out into the street through patio doors flung wide.
D'Amico Cucina
All is understated and elegant at this Warehouse District restaurant. What first seems stark about the main dining room exposed concrete walls, a muted palette of gray, palest pink and white proves a flattering backdrop for the well- heeled Minneapolitans dining at this swank, modern Italian restaurant.
The cooking mirrors the trick; each plate looks deceptively simple, but delivers vivid flavor combinations. A lobster, artichoke and quail egg salad is sparked by celery leaves and plump capers. A masterful tapenade brings paper-thin slices of beef carpaccio to life. A forkful of English pea ravioli in roasted onion sauce is as entrancing as the first peas of spring fresh from the garden.
Our entrees are more complex in their schemes, equally delicious but not as crystalline in their flavors. Rosy slices of lamb loin are paired with sensational sweetbreads, creamy inside a delicate crust of pine nuts. Ahi tuna and artichokes have the jolt of salty green Hondralia olives and red-pepper pesto. And a gorgeous hunk of beef tenderloin is beautifully sided with smoked shallots, grilled radicchio and a barley risotto.
Service is near perfect, without a trace of the haughtiness that can occur in such a restaurant. Our waitress proves a reliable guide to the primarily Italian wine list, suggesting bottles that suit our taste and budget. Our final pick, a Fonterutoli 1998 Chianti Classico ($49), is a winner.
Desserts keep to the same high standards. This evening's steamed toffee date pudding is heady with lustrous Armagnac sauce, but it is a confection of meringue rounds layered with tangerine curd on a pool of blood-orange gele. No wonder 14- year-old D'Amico Cucina has such a devoted following.
http://www.nytimes.com/2001/08/12/tr...l?pagewanted=1
#2
Goodfellows is top-shelf all the way.
D'Amico has some other smaller places, such as D'Amico and Sons, which are high-end cafeteria style places with great food. Also highly commendable down the street from Chino Latino is Campiello.
D'Amico has some other smaller places, such as D'Amico and Sons, which are high-end cafeteria style places with great food. Also highly commendable down the street from Chino Latino is Campiello.