Food Lit: Heirloom

If there is one food that I adore it has to be fresh tomatoes, to the extent that I grow them on my patio. I feel horrible pangs of guilt that I can’t treat my tomato plants as well as I would like – the travel, lack of real earth to put them in, and my clumsy attempts at staking with chopsticks and dental floss are all signs of my poor tomato motherhood. But I love the feeling of pride when the tomatoes do usually ripen on the vine and that taste of the perfect sun-temperature tomato straight from the patio and on to my dinner plate. It was thus very clear to me that I have something in common with Tim Stark and why, even though I had never been to his Union Square Greenmarket domain in New York City, I was instantly attracted to reading his book Heirloom: Notes from an Accidental Tomato Farmer.

And now I want to throw in the towel and become a tomato farmer.

But, wait, no. There is the weeding, the pests, the temperamental weather (and neighbors), and the back-breaking hours of making it all happen and sitting at my desk just doesn’t sound so bad anymore. Maybe I could marry a tomato farmer instead.

Stark’s book is made up of bits and pieces, thoughts and opinions, emotions and facts – all about the trials and tribulations of growing heirloom tomatoes in eastern Pennsylvania for the gourmets of New York City. It is a collection of stories that, when you are finished reading, has built nicely (albeit circuitously) into a full story of how a consultant living in Brooklyn made his way into tomato farming and how he became (in spite of himself?) successful at doing so.

If you are a (former) reader of Gourmet magazine, you might recognize this man from the controversial story where he drowns a groundhog. I had an “ah-ha” moment of realizing that this was “that guy” and then I forgave him. Farming does appear to be a rough battle of man against nature.

Other interesting tidbits from the book include antidotes of the chefs that are Stark’s main customers, the crème de la crème of New York high food society – Bouley and Boulud amongst others. The passion they feel for the vegetables is addictive and I will feel less uncomfortable someday walking into their realms and requesting vegetable dishes, with some tomatoes please!

While this wasn’t the most eloquent book of writing in the food world, I appreciated its humor and take “it as it comes” attitude both in the protagonist himself and his writing style. And the appreciation of Stark’s chosen profession and the tomatoes themselves is really just so heartening and appetizing to see. This is a definite recommended read for the tomato and food lover.

Food Lit: Never Trust a Thin Cook

Ooh. I am not thrilled. Despite the fact that I truly enjoyed reading Eric Dregni’s Never Trust a Thin Cook and Other Tales from Italy’s Culinary Capital, I felt like I was taken in by the marketing of the book. I saw the title and then the blurb review on the back by Dara Moskowitz Grumdahl and anticipated cracking open a book focused on tales of eating in Italy. In truth, though, only a small portion of this book was about food. Instead it is a delightful set of incidents gathered over the author’s two or so years living in Italy. Delightful, yes. Food lit, no. Has food literature and gastronomy become such a hot seller that the best way to market a travelogue now is to misrepresent it? Guess so. Good thing I didn’t pay for the book (thank you U of MN press) or I might want my money back.

When food was mentioned in the book, though, it was a treat. I have a newfound respect for the Balsamic Vinegars of Modena, realizing that is unlikely that I have ever even had the real stuff (I am eyeing that bottle from Trader Joe’s on my shelf suspiciously). Since I do enjoy the “fake stuff”, I portend a love affair with the original. I also agreed with Dregni’s multiple mentions about real buffalo mozzarella. As I have mentioned before, the best upgrade that can be had in the Twin Cities is to take your Punch Pizza D.O.C. with the buffalo mozzarella the critical aspect of said upgrade.

As I travel the world I make my own anthropological observations about food culture and one thing I have noted and so clearly has Dregni, is the predilection of the coffee culture in Europe. Breakfast, have coffee. Meet someone on the street, have coffee. Have a meeting, have coffee. After dinner, have coffee. During my first business trips to Europe a few years ago, I quickly learned that my stomach and blood pressure couldn’t keep up. I would end days with my heart racing in strange hotel room beds, listening to floors creak rather than dreaming about the next day’s meals. I am impressed that a fellow Minnesotan could handle it all!

Basically, Never Trust a Thin Cook is a fun, quick read about the quirky incidents of an ex-pat in Italy. It’s fun but if you are looking for a serious book about the foods of Italy, this isn’t it.

Lyndale Taphouse

The pinup girls of Lyndale Taphouse have caused quite the commotion on the local blogs in the past couple of months. I feel the need to comment. I was a Women’s Studies minor in college and I am not offended by the photos – I think they are funny and cute. And if you are afraid your children will see them, here is the word on that: Lyndale Taphouse is a bar, not a restaurant, and you shouldn’t even be tempted to even take your kids to. The food isn’t worth it for you to even make an early evening exception. Instead, get a babysitter and swing by to check out the crowd and have a drink before it goes from slightly hipster to just another Champps-type place.

I hate empty storefronts in my neighborhood so I was excited about the J.P’s building morphing into something new. The phrase “gastropub” was even floating around the ‘hood. My mind wandered over the pond to where chefs have been reinventing pub food with a local and fresh focus. I pictured gourmet sandwiches and burgers, fresh soups and beautiful salads relished by a crowd who cared about the food more than the game on the tube. Then I saw the pit beef sign and it seemed like an interesting twist that could go either way.

J.P. wouldn’t even recognize his old stomping ground, the bar now running down the long side wall of the building. We clearly know what the focus is here! A group of five of us dug into the menu and no one walked away overly excited. Our server stopped by to offer drinks and menus and then disappeared for almost half an hour, frustratingly leaving our stomachs rumbling. First up, apps. The white bean dip was nicely garlicky but left the table still half full. In terms of mains, my veggie sandwich choices were a black bean burger or grilled cheese. FOr some reason black bean brugers are the "of the moment" veggie burger around town. The grilled cheese was one of the better I have had in a while with a nice smokiness from the gouda good flavor from the red onion confit. But it was still grilled cheese and served with only so-so fried. My companions gave the mac and cheese and the pit beef less than substantial reviews.

It was at Lyndale Taphouse that I made a self-realization and that is that I don’t like to eat out of baskets. And Lyndale Taphouse made the mistake of baskets alongside cloth napkins. Huh? We aren’t talking about neat food here. It was hard to eat the messy sandwiches leaning over a basket smaller than a plate then use a cloth napkin to mop yourself up that you are then supposed to put back on your lap. They were also black napkins so I also couldn’t see if I was about to get a huge grease stain on my jeans – good thing it was pretty dark! The odd combination just wasn’t cutting it, even if it is better for the environment. Please let me have some paper napkins too.

I just don’t picture myself running back to Lyndale Taphouse for the food. Maybe for the bar, yes, but not for dinner.

Thumbs Up: Semi-open kitchen, another choice in the neighborhood, smoky flavor in the grilled cheese
Thumbs Down: Not a gastropub, so-so food

Lyndale Taphouse 2937 Lyndale Ave S Minneapolis www.thelyndale.com

The Anchor Fish and Chips

Okay, maybe you will think I am weird but I am a woman with long hair and one of my biggest pet peeves is when I walk out of a restaurant and my hair smells like the grease trap swishing in front of my face and making me blanche in disgust at myself (and consequently the restaurant that put me into said situation). I walked into The Anchor Fish and Chips and my initial reaction was to want to turn about face and march out upon seeing the “open kitchen”, fryers front and center. But considering I was with six other people, I stuck it out for the sake of decorum. And, I am amazed to report, seriously amazed, that I walked out not smelling like fried food!!! That is one heck of a ventilation system. Hope it stays that way after a few more months and years in use. Yup, I said years. The Anchor is here to stay.

Frying is fun! That would be my tagline for Anchor. This is not a menu of salads and soups. Vegetables were nary in sight… unless they were fried in my pastie. I pictured an empanada when I ordered but instead it was like a huge patty of mixed vegetables smooshed into mashed potatoes, dipped in the thick fish batter and fried until golden brown. I looked at these fried mashed potatoes sitting on top of my fried chips and the first thought that came to my mind was hangover heaven. Considering it was 9pm, I wasn’t hungover but I still did my darndest to put myself in said drunken mindset, my company’s hilarious rowdiness helping create the scene.

I love great big French fries. And The Anchor is now my Twin Cities winner for the best. Great big French fries (“chips”) cut from real potatoes that have skins. Fried til slightly crispy on the outside and then mushy delicious on the inside. Not overly salted. Vinegar and ketchup already on the table. Best my-kinda-fries around these parts. Now, everyone has their own fry thing (I will eat them but will not love them, those little skinny frites things), so to each their own on this one but if you think a fry should be the size of your ring finger and not pencil-thin, run fast to The Anchor to get in line (yes, there is likely to be a wait…).

I do have a gripe with The Anchor and that is the wine. It comes from a box. Why would you have Harp and Guinness and other good beers and then boxed wine? Even screwtops are better, especially from New Zealand. The Irish like their wine too, by the way (and the theme goes only so far considering the Native American art on the walls). Offering decent wine with fish and chips doesn’t make you a hypocrite, Anchor. I promise. Please?

By the way, my friends really liked their fish. One who had come a few weeks ago says it is even better now. You come for the fish. I will stick to the chips. Mmm… great chips.

Thumbs Up: Great chips, good atmosphere, less fry smell than expected
Thumbs Down: The wine comes from a box

The Anchor Fish and Chips 302 13th Ave NE Minneapolis www.theanchorfishandchips.com

Blue Door Pub

St. Paul has been feeling neglected. I could just tell. Well, more likely the St. Paul contingent in my book club was feeling ignored. I admit it. Yes, I do. I have been using book club to try new places in town. Unlike most of the locations we end up (the wine bars and casual diners – Sapor Café, Wilde Roast, Bad Waitress), at Blue Door Pub our table of women was surrounded by tables of … men. Hmmm… intriguing. So, this is where they are!

Sorry, got distracted there. Back to Blue Door Pub and not the men of Blue Door Pub.

The Blue Door Pub’s big burger reputation (their "juicy blucy") is in contrast to the surprisingly small space. We live in the Midwest so we like to build our pubs big (think the Local and Brit’s) so I was surprised at the two small, bright rooms that made up Blue Door Pub. Also unexpected was the Tuesday night wait for tables. This wait and the small place definitely made Blue Door more of a Diner/Restaurant than a Pub. When I think “pub”, I think the UK dark places with sticky floors where you can wile away the hours over a pint or three. Here, there were bright lights, lots of waiting people and a subconscious feeling that you better eat and move on so that the burger-hungry St. Paul-ites donn’t get feisty.

By the time we got seated, I was about to get feisty myself. But then something rare and beautiful happened. We had the very nicest of service experiences. The waitress and later the manager (owner?) were simply so sweet, open and welcoming. Amongst the hecticness and crowd, they could very well have been bitter and stressed. Instead the hubbub dissipated and we were free to enjoy our meal and take our time. It was a perfect example of how service can make (and not only break) a dining experience.

The menu is definitely about burgers but they also have apps, salads, and other sandwiches at Blue Door. I went the closest to burger that a vegetarian could by choosing the black bean burger with fries. The black bean burger was nothing special (I should have opted for an interesting sauce) and I thought the bun was too smooshy and boring, too similar to the ones from the Hostess plastic bags. Sorry, but Burger Jones beat out the Blue Door bun.

At the time I thought the fries were pretty darn good. They were medium-thick, skin on and all of the bits and pieces and ugly ones were served too. Mighty fine real fries. The problem is is that I had the chips at Anchor Fish & Chips a couple of days later and suddenly the BDP fries weren’t as fabulous as I thought. More on those Anchor fries soon…

I had fun at Blue Door Pub despite the fact that my Black Bean Burger wasn’t the best veggie burger I have ever had. It is my loss that I don’t eat “real” burgers considering the lines waiting for them. I am super sad that there isn’t more hanging out space at BDP, though, because I finally found where some of the men in the Twin Cities are apparently eating. Where do they go after those burgers?

Thumbs Up: Great service, fun atmosphere, good wine selection
Thumbs Down: Too bright, too small, the hamburger buns

Blue Door Pub 1811 Selby Ave St. Paul www.thebluedoorpubmn.com

Sidetrip: Mexico City

I write this blog post suspiciously… something, somewhere that I ate last week in Mexico City decided to wreak havoc on my stomach. And I have no idea what it was since it only hit about three hours after I landed in the US, effectively ruining a weekend with my mom in town and plans to sidle up to the bar at Saffron and brunch at Spoonriver. Instead, I writhed in pain on the couch, gripping my belly to keep the waves of nausea at bay. Sorry, Mom. I owe you a fun weekend.

But, what can I say? I have no idea what made me sick so it isn’t like I would do anything differently next time. As a vegetarian it is basically insane to attempt to avoid uncooked fruits or vegetables or other such nonsense. And the food, in general, tasted great.

Arriving late, we stayed in the hotel the first night and I was overwhelmed by the behemoth portion of underwhleming pasta I was served at Alfredo di Roma. It was a tube pasta dish with red sauce and dry eggplant. No temptation to return there, despite how nice the servers were.

The following evening we had a delicious dinner at El Bajio Cocina Mexicana in Polanco. It was suspiciously close to the Hard Rock Café and a huge space so I initially questioned if we were in tourist hell but once I tasted the salsas on the table, I knew we would be in for a treat. Those salsas were all super spicy, making me the only one at the table who was even sampling them. My Mexican colleague turned to me with a twinkle in his eye and asked if I wanted to try something “authentic” and promised it was vegetarian. Um, yes, I could hardly wait. Out to my seat came a plate with two big rounds of food on it, all covered in a deep, almost black, sauce. Breaking into one of the “patties”, I found a slice of cheese wrapped in an interesting web of fine greens that seemed to have a bit of a berry on them that looked like couscous. The pattie was fried and then generously covered with the dark sauce. It was delicious and when I asked what it was I was eating I never even received the full name, just told that I was eating the “Breakfast of Champions” of Mexico. What was I eating??? And, I want some more, loving the protein and greens combo.

On our last night, we had another gargantuan meal at Solea, the modern Mexican restaurant in the W Hotel. Like any W in the world, the scene was modern and the music progressively became louder and louder the later it got. We started once again with their excellent guacamole (had had it in the bar before!) and a cheese plate of Mexican cheeses. They ranged from a soft shredded Oaxacan to some flavored varietals, spicy to sweet. Beyond simple white melting cheeses, I never thought much about Mexican cheese and now I am intrigued to investigate further. I moved on to the “enchilada bar”, the menu option that allowed you to pick your tortilla flavor, filling and sauce. This is my kind of heaven so I selected the house specialty chile corn tortillas with a cheese filling, topped with a black bean sauce. While this might sound odd, the dish was absolutely gorgeous in presentation, the sour cream served encapsulated with a touch of unexpected molecular gastronomy. My fellow diners with their huge steaks instead ooh-ed and aah-ed at the appearance of my relatively simple layered (versus rolled) enchiladas.

Another gastronomic (and, yes, of course, actual work) success of a trip to Mexico City although it did wish me quite a fond farewell with a gift to keep the memory of the trip alive for quite a long time. My stomach is still gurgling 8 days later.

Bar La Grassa

The hottest ticket in town these days is a reservation at Bar La Grassa in the Warehouse District. When I sat down last Saturday and looked around the room, I could barely hold back a laugh because of the number of people I knew who were in the room ... and when we left around midnight, the place was still crowded. Now that is what I call city living and love it.

The folks from 112 have done me good with Bar La Grassa, reversing their stubbornly held anti-vegetarian option menu philosophy to offer me so many choices at Bar La Grassa that I was a bit overwhelmed. To accompany a bottle of Moscato d'Asti (you need no excuse for a bottle of bubbly...) we started with two antipasti and two bruschetta. The Beet and Avocado with Citrus was delicious and I also adored the Tallegio Bigne with Braised Apple. The Bigne were bite-sized cheese beignets, their saltiness complimented with the sweetness from the braised apple "salsa" below the bignes. It was a little bite of heaven.

From the Bruschetta column of the menu we ordered the Ricotta and Roasted Tomato and the Artichoke Caponata (two caponatas in as many weeks! see D'Amico Kitchen - new trend?). While I liked them both, they were a pain to eat. In the effort to make the plates pretty, the two slices of bread were daintily stacked perpendicular on top of one another and then the toppings on top of that. Now picture us at the table having to pretty much decompose and remake our own bruschetta, gracefully not attempting to use our fingers to to touch the food that everyone would eat. Annoyingly unnecessary, especially since other plates that came to the for our pasta course weren't plated "pretty" at all and barely wiped down on the edges. Weirdly inconsistent.

Citrus obsessed. Yes, I am. A co-worker warned me in advance about the Gnocchi with Cauliflower and Orange. I was salivating all week in wait, thinking about the fluffy pillows from 112 Eatery in a buttery orange sauce. The dish was good but didn't fully live up to my expectations - it smelled of orange but the flavor didn't come through as strongly as I wanted to taste it. I suspect that whoever controls the microplace zester finishing the dish controls the customer experience. Would love to do it myself...

We finished off the meal with the desserts and the winner, by far, was the lavender lemon frozen mousse. It was the perfect combination whereby the lavender highlighted the citrus without turning the dessert into a bar of shower soap. It made me sigh in happiness. The other dessert was so much less memorable that I can't even remember what it was.

So the food was good with even greater potential as the opening hecticness wears down. Our service was a bit pitiful but I forgive them so soon after opening and luckily we were in no hurry at all and were happy to have a three hour dinner. The space is also amazingly refreshed - we spent a lot of conversation time discussing how different it felt than the salsa-obsessed Babalu that used to claim the space. I really can't wait to go back and just hang out there, watching the chefs from the pasta bar or the other patrons from the bar near the entrance. It is hopping and I hope it stays that way.

Thumbs Up: Vibrant and beautiful space, good food AND open late, lots of small plates to try
Thumbs Down: Our service that night was off, precarious bruschetta

Bar La Grassa 800 North Washington Ave Minneapolis www.barlagrassa.com