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or years, Minnesota's fine dining has evolved in an unpredictably random way. Monolithic suburban restaurants sprouted up in vast expanses of prairie. Tiny chef-driven cafes opened and closed like shutters in a brisk wind. |
| The Atkins diet drove trends ranging from raw food to seafood.¶ But in 2005, new restaurants are following | ||
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a more discernible, and desirable, pattern. This seems to be the year of the bazaar-mixed-use marketplaces that bring together great food, wine,
liquor, lodging, cityscapes, and art. There are casual eateries adjoining fine dining rooms; coffeehouses, bakeries, and
sushi bars annexed to already established restaurants; wine shops, delis, and dance clubs side by side. It's a
movement that's been brewing for a while: both Osteria I Nonni in Lilydale and Turtle Bread Company in
Minneapolis have done business this way for years. We've seen a recent wave
of combination coffeehouse, wine, and dessert bars. But suddenly, the pace of this
culinary synthesis is picking up, and restaurateurs are bringing diversity and
gourmet
"fast" food to locations throughout the metro area. Even better, these carnivals
of cuisine and culture are being built in the neighborhoods where we live, work, and play.¶
Word on the street is that proprietors are committed to keeping even high-end fare and spirits within the reach of
real people. Competition inevitably breeds lower costs. And marketplace restaurants are about choices, so even
patrons who are dining together can order from vastly different menus. In addition to these "bazaar" concepts,
a number of new corner bistros and delis with classically trained chefs
are serving rare delicacies and epicurean comfort food at prices even workaday diners can afford.¶
The names of this year's innovators are familiar: David Fhima, owner of
Fhima's and Louis XIII; Wolfgang Puck, world-renowned chef to the stars; Stewart Woodman,
formerly of Levain; Isaac Becker, most recently of Cafe Lurcat; and Parasole
Restaurant Holdings, originator of Chino Latino and Oceanaire. But the concepts they've
dreamed up--featuring everything from New Orleans bayou culture to chef's
specials--are entirely new. And now. |
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EATERY The reviews of this humble 48-seat restaurant couldn't be better if chef/owner Isaac Becker were writing them himself. He's not. Frankly, he doesn't have time. Becker--formerly head chef at D'Amico & Partners' Cafe Lurcat--and his wife, Nancy St. Pierre, also a D'Amico alum, opened 112 Eatery in January. It was an ill-advised move, for many reasons. First, they were both leaving full-time jobs with benefits. Second, it was deep winter--the nadir of the dining-out season. Third, the wood-lined alley of a space they leased on North Third Street had a reputation as a black hole for restaurant ventures (the last to try its luck there, the Amsterdam Bistro, opened and closed within a matter of months). And to top it off, they had a brand-new baby at home. But Becker and St. Pierre forged ahead, seizing the erstwhile Amsterdam as a turnkey, painting the new name on the front window, and devising a menu based on things off-duty chefs like to eat. "I wanted the kind of place where people in the restaurant industry would like to eat after they get off work," says Becker. That meant exotic dishes such as sautéed sweetbreads in |
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porcini and clam sauce as well as the secret concoctions of midnight gourmands: Chinese fried eggs topped with oyster sauce and green onions, and a bacon, egg, and harissa sandwich in which morning-on-the-farm flavors are schmeared with a hot, garlicky, spicy goo. The best part? These delicacies are cheap! Ten dollars for the sweetbreads, $6 for a plate of cauliflower fritters or a serving of sweet potato puree. The roast pressed chicken for two is priced at a bewildering $19. Those lucky enough to find a spot at the seven-seat bar can order a glass of port for $6.50. Parking is next to impossible, and the area is dim at night, stranded between the freeway entrance and a blustery corner of north Hennepin. But people are flocking there. In order to get a table on a weekend, you should call at least two weeks in advance. These days, Becker's biggest problem is that fellow chefs--the people for whom he originally created 112-- have trouble getting in. | |
