Mpls.St.Paul Magazine - Eat + Drink - Restaurant Reviews

Burch: A New Steak House in Town

Thu, 02 May 2013 10:50:46 GMT

Red Cow

Thu, 25 Apr 2013 10:50:43 GMT

Red Cow

Born in an old Blockbuster building in south Minneapolis, Red Cow is a worthy exchange. Luke Shimp, formerly of the Blue Plate Restaurant Company, has thrown in his money and given the space a bit of a shine with a light industrial tavern feel.

It's mainly a burger story they are telling, but instead of entering the local battle for Juicy Lucy domination, or even treading too far into the beef-blend battle of snooty foodists, they are playing a slightly different game. Only about a third of the burgers are beef, and the rest are creative innovations that just might make you retool your definition. The earthy elk burger is done Wellington style in puff pastry with brie—it is a good and rich match. A salmon patty is formed with risotto, a better binder than bread crumbs, and given a lift by arugula and truffle aioli. The lamb burger didn’t really work for me, but the turkey burger with sliced radish and pistachios was a juicy world better than others I’ve had. And the curried chickpea veggie patty held a ton of great flavor, although it was a bit cheated by the bun to patty ratio. Of the beef burgers, the Barcelona was my favorite, with prosciutto, manchego, peppers, and smoked aioli. It was just the right kind of smoky, nutty flavor additions in a goodly mess that brought something new to the burger.

The rest of the menu has grinders and po’boys, fish ’n’ chips, and poutine, all the things you need in the modern tavern. And of course there are plenty of craft beers. But more important is the awesome tapped wine system, which allows 32 fresh wines by the glass. Burger and a beer might become burger and a burgundy before you know it. 3624 W. 50th St., Mpls., 612-767-4411, redcowmn.com —S. M.

Hmong House

Tue, 02 Apr 2013 14:53:21 GMT

I am perversely drawn to one particular detail in the lavish murals that decorate the walls at North St. Paul’s new Hmong House, and it’s not perhaps the nicest detail to pull out for deeper consideration. The extravagant, expansive murals that offer hand-painted wrap-around views of Indochina in the spring, rendered in a hundred shades of pale and first-rains-of-spring green, make it appear not so much like you are looking down from a great height into the perfect misty valleys of Laos or Thailand, but more like you’re looking down from the left hand of God to heaven as it was made material in southeastern Asia. And heaven is hard to behold, in the mind, in art, anywhere, which is why I think I am so perversely drawn to a particular detail of the mural, off to one corner, where electrical outlets have been incorporated in a sort of trompe l’oeil effect into the pillars of a rough sign and barricade in a bit of brutal, splintered, and realistic prison-edge that makes the yards and yards of heaven lovingly rendered all the more heartbreaking. This is what you want, this is what you get. The heaven of a free lush countryside, the awful mechanics of war and exile.

Of course, I could be projecting a romantic bit of nonsense unsupported by the electrical outlets. But there’s so much going on at Hmong House—visually, culinarily, culturally—that first visits can feel like the first hours at Disneyland. Everywhere you rest your eyes there’s something so extraordinary to see that the mind can’t begin to take it all in. So you have to make sense where you can.

Overhead, for instance, there’s a pillar ringed by 18 candy-colored streamers, each anchored with a glittering cardboard pendant fashioned to display the 18 Hmong clan names. To the west there’s an imposing double portrait of owner Pa See Yang and his wife, Kay, done in the hyperrealist, looking-to-the-future style favored by modern Asian totalitarian dictators—a portrait that becomes even more drenched with unnerving significance by the incessant presence of Pa See Yang himself, who typically pops by every table, at every meal, nodding and friendly, working the room so easily he practically seems to twinkle as he goes. With the picture and the man, the mind reels.

The place is also the size of a high school gym and sometimes the young Hmong ladies will avoid you, feeling shy—so you have to find Yang, who twinkles at you and frowns at them, sending them running, which is a lot to think about too. There is often a musician playing an amplified keyboard, crooning Hmong pop. Once, a dozen young Hmong ladies on a bachelorette outing dropped by and line danced in slow, synchronized lope, as if they were dancing underwater.

We’ve never had a Hmong restaurant like this in the Twin Cities. Hmong are, of course, the people who were chased out of their homeland in mainland China generations ago, eventually settling in the hills of southeast Asia, where they became staunch allies of the West through several wars. The Hmong helped the French fight the Axis powers during World War II, then helped the French and Americans fight Communists in Vietnam. When the Vietnam War was abandoned, the triumphant Communists launched a campaign of genocide against the Hmong, driving many surviving Hmong into Thai refugee camps. Eventually, they were resettled in the lands of their former allies, especially the United States and France.

The 2010 census put the number of Hmong living in Minnesota at more than 66,000, though many argue the number is greater, because of the difficulties in counting a population whose members may not speak English, might distrust government, and move frequently. In any event, with 66,000 people you think we’d have a restaurant or two—but that hasn’t really been the case. Or at least not the sort of restaurant that serves appetizers and entrees, has a liquor license, and takes credit cards, as Hmong House does. The only place that people have been able to buy Hmong food has been at a few grocery store grab-and-go counters and the food courts at the two big Hmong multi-vendor malls: Hmongtown, near the state capitol building in St. Paul, and Hmong Village near Lake Phalen.

Fittingly enough, Hmong House’s owner, Yang, got his start in food at Hmong Village, which he used as a business incubator to try out his fresh-every-day rice noodles for the traditional dish pad se-ew. They were as big a hit as Yang had hoped. He moved here from Atlanta—after a Thai refugee camp, resettlement in Hawaii, high school in Wisconsin, college in Illinois, and stints working in Kansas City and Georgia—to pursue his dream of owning a Hmong restaurant, a career change from prior stints in airlines and hotels.

Yang sold his Hmong Village noodle stand and poured everything he had into this new spot, hiring a young chef, Yia Cheng, and bringing in a cousin to paint the murals. Hmong House opened last summer, and it’s a must-visit for anyone living in the Twin Cities. Though not necessarily on a Saturday night, as most of the restaurant’s business is in fact Hmong weddings, for which it closes down nearly every Saturday (just call ahead to make sure it’s open to the public).

When you do go, start with an order of papaya salad, made in the Thai way with lots of cherry tomatoes and often with other fresh vegetables like peppery eggplant. Add an order of pad se-ew—slippery, gossamer rice noodles as tender as custard, made with your choice of fried squares of tofu or thin stir-fried slices of meat—and you’re off to a great start in understanding Hmong food, the earthy, garden-driven beauty of it, the hearty simplicity and joy of it.

For any old hand with Asian restaurants, one of the issues with Hmong food is that you immediately try to identify what’s Thai and what’s Chinese—don’t do that. After a few years of eating Hmong, my best advice is to think about it the way you would Alsatian food. Hmong has an adjacency—some similarities and some differences—to the other southeast Asian cuisines in the same way that Alsatian food has many similarities, many overlaps, and some differences from French food.

One of the truly, uniquely Hmong dishes is the Mother’s Herb Whole Chicken Soup, a vast tureen of soup traditionally given to Hmong mothers after the birth of a child. The broth for the soup is cloudy, plain, and pure, just chickeny and good. There are skin-on segments of chicken in every bowl, the plain broth and boiled chicken deepened with dark tangles of bitter herb. Purely Hmong too is the celebration dish of sweet pork and eggs, here called Five-Spice Sweet Braised Pork, an insanely rich concoction of well-lacquered pork belly chunks, hard-boiled eggs, brown sugar, five spice powder, and scallions, all of which come together in a hot pot. Read on the palate as the richest, most luxurious dish ever concocted—it’s like a chocolate pot de crème, for an entrée. It’s made to share.

For solo dining, another uniquely Hmong dish is the excellent larrb salad, here made with cooked chicken torn into tiny pieces and tossed with lots of fresh cilantro, mint, and basil. It’s less lemongrass and chili soaked than most of the other local versions, and I like it better, as it has a kitchen-garden freshness and forthrightness that makes it elemental. Another Hmong dish is the changbang stir-fry—a tumble of meat and chili peppers that reminds a restaurant hound of Sichuan food, with graceful herbal notes.

Hmong barbecue, as popularized at the food courts, has become something of a local cult sensation. There are a few excellent versions on Hmong House’s menu, not to be missed by any local carnivore. First there are the thin-sliced, crisp-grilled beef short ribs, which are beefy and deep-tasting. Then there’s the tangy, plump Hmong sausage, made with lots of lemongrass, an undeniable triumph of plump, salty lemon richness. Still, it’s Yang’s own invention called PaTxhim slow-cooked ribs, perhaps inspired from his years in Kansas City and then Georgia, that I think is the restaurant’s strongest dish. The chef takes a rack of pork ribs, steams them, glazes then roasts them, and serves the ribs with candied walnuts and everything you need to make lettuce wraps, including big lettuce leaves, herbs, and finely chopped vegetables. On the side, the hot sauce the staff only calls Hmong pepper is a finely chopped combination of chili, cilantro, garlic, fish sauce, sugar, and magic that brings heat, light, and unity in a way that only the greatest condiments can.

I requested take-home containers for my Hmong pepper on my last visit, so I could look at this at home without distraction. I saw minutely cut chili and garlic, finely minced cilantro, a wealth of lavish detail that’s all but impossible to appreciate in the moment. Still, as delectable as the Hmong pepper was at home, I prefer it in its natural environment, one of a hundred details, any of which can overwhelm you, and any of which can open you to a world of lavish, unimaginable joy.

Hmong House
2112 11th Ave. N., North St. Paul, 651-492-0451

The French Hen

Thu, 28 Mar 2013 11:03:03 GMT

The trend of everyday brunch is happily alive at 518 Selby. The spot that was once Bon Vie is now under new ownership as The French Hen, owned and operated by the Rivard family, who also own the adjacent flower shop. It’s a warm, friendly neighborhood café with a casual, laid-back ethos, perfect for the brunch set. Eggs are your best bet, and the poached set that came with the Creole Market Hash ran perfectly into the spicy root vegetables and smoked ham, making a delicious mess. The egg crowning the Croque Suzette wasn’t as perfectly cooked, but the sandwich is a rich monster of airy bread, Gruyère, and bright mustard, making it a substantial meal. On a croissant, the French Quarter breakfast sandwich is an eye-opener with andouille sausage, onions, Cajun spice, and cheese. Omelets, as well, ring tried and true, as this is a place for an honest morning of hearty food. 518 Selby Ave., St. Paul, 651-222-6201, frenchhencafe.com

Ward 6

Thu, 28 Mar 2013 08:20:16 GMT

While we all can’t stop talking about the hot and popping food neighborhoods in the cities (Linden Hills, Lowertown, and North Loop come to mind), there are so many more ’hoods that desperately need just one little place to up the ante. Honestly, that’s what it feels like over on Payne Avenue on the East Side of St. Paul, which someone realized was an area worth popping.

There’s a little bit of both brilliance and risk in the idea that you should serve some outside-the-line food in a neighborhood that is served by Little Caesars. But it ends up that the force behind Ward 6 chose wisely. The rehabbed tavern has been packed since day one with families, beer-o-philes, oldsters, and the like seeking warmth, comfort, and something a little more, a little different.

Now let’s not get expectations out of whack—it’s still a tavern, one with a local beer focus. In fact, one entire section of the menu is called Food for Drinking—I can respect that. Here you will find the solid in a weekly meatball, some crispy-gorgeous fries, and hands-down amazing beef-fat-fried fish ’n’ chips with a destructively flaky, crisp coating. Maybe too far a reach, pork belly skewers with lemon gastrique didn’t quite reach the right quality, and poutine just fell thin and flat. Consistency might be the biggest challenge.

The grilled Camembert sandwich with pears and arugula was quite refreshing and surprising, as was the frighteningly devilish Fatty Melt, which uses grilled cheese sandwiches as the bun for a burger. What can I say, it was a bomb, and it worked. Bigger plates include some nicely spiced pork ribs with Korean-style slaw and a flavorful Cicero stew, a vegetarian and gluten-free option with tomatoey chickpeas and sweet potatoes over rice that was more than a token on the menu.

The service is very friendly, the atmosphere warm and inviting, and it seems clear the neighborhood has been starving for something like this, so who knows what could pop next? 858 Payne Ave., St. Paul, 651-348-8181, ward6stpaul.com

Next Best Thing

Wed, 27 Mar 2013 14:49:27 GMT

3 Tiers Bakery Bistro

Fri, 15 Feb 2013 10:02:57 GMT

Sometimes it’s daunting to keep up with the harried and crazy food scene in town. There’s so much going on with this chef and that opening or some crazy new food that everyone is talking about, that sometimes it’s necessary for a foodist to get off the grid. Everyone has their little neighborhood joint, their hole-in-the-wall where they go when they need to return to base, to touch home. I seek one when I have an enormous amount to write (like in this issue) and just want to eat and scribble by myself. I can say I’ve found a home in 3 Tiers.

The bakery bistro has been around for a while, and here’s the kicker: it’s not even in my neighborhood. This is great—no pesky neighbors. For a long while, I thought it was just a bakery, until someone tweeted about eating ramen there. Interest piqued. My first morning started with a big cup of coffee, and because I said I’d be ordering food in a bit, the counter girl started me a tab. Thank you. While I sipped and wrote, the kitchen started heating up its bakery production and the air became all buttery sweet. I dug into an eggy breakfast sandwich with Canadian bacon and Sriracha mayo that was hot, elemental, and right on. I popped by again on a snowy day at lunch and huddled up to a bowl of the ramen. It was basic, but the housemade kimchi kicked it up, and the egg was poached perfectly. Among my fellow slurpers were delivery drivers and young moms. Dinner found me one night sitting at the small bar. By night the place is transformed into something cozy and intimate, with service at your table and flowing taps of both beer and wine. A meatloaf sandwich delivered an herby, generous hunk of loaf slathered with horseradish mayo. On the lighter side, a spinach quiche with artichokes was custardy brightness. And then WHAM, a clam and Fisher Farms chorizo pasta with saffron and white wine—it was playful and zinged with lemon, a better clam pasta I couldn’t remember.

Many things here are hit with a bit of Asian spice, a swath of chili spice here and a touch of miso mayo there, but somehow everything from the red velvet cupcakes to the tuna poke makes sense together. Maybe because it’s tied up in the neat little bow that is this find, this small kitchen cooking with joy, which I will now have to abandon to you.

5011 34th Ave. S., Mpls., 612-746-1767, 3tierscakes.com

Louis at Cossetta

Mon, 28 Jan 2013 08:46:35 GMT

The Lynn on Bryant

Thu, 10 Jan 2013 13:20:27 GMT

Generation Next: Gray House, Nightingale

Thu, 10 Jan 2013 10:15:22 GMT