Beth Dooley: "Get Changed! We're Going Out!"

Ever since I could tie my own shoes, I’ve delighted in that refrain. My father relished taking us to dinners in New York’s finest restaurants, and I learned early that behaving well and trying new foods was a small price to pay for a chocolate éclair. It’s a lesson we’ve passed on to our sons, who, for the most part, like to join us. (At five, our youngest shunned the kids’ menu.)

Now, with one in college and two busy teens, dinners away from cell phones and sports are special affairs. As the lone female in this household, I also welcome girls nights out, grazing on appetizers, sipping wine. Mornings, I find good coffee (and inspiration) away from the “home office” (AKA kitchen). Come week’s end, my husband and I may meet or join friends for a drink and bar food. Here are some of the many favorites
I’ll hit when I want to settle down at a place that feels like part of my family.

To this day, our eighteen-year-old son dives his “airplane” fork into the signature kamikaze pancakes (loaded with blueberries, walnuts, and bananas) at The Egg and I, just as he did at three. Not much has changed, thank god. The servers are sassy, yet they won’t make a fuss over a toddler’s spilled milk. I can swap sections of the paper with a nearby table of band members. On school release days, my thirteen-year-old and I will drop in for eggs and hash browns. Saturdays and Sundays, the lines are long, winding out onto the sidewalk, even in the midst of a snowstorm, but it’s always worth it.

The first thing my laptop and I hit is Gigi’s, where the barista knows my latte order, smiles, and makes my day. Patches of sun spread over the wide wooden tables, which are great for meetings, piling up files, and reading the paper. Saucer-sized cookies, brick-sized bars, and thick slices of bundt cake beckon us back in the afternoon, and we’ll leave with rib-sticking turkey-and-garbanzo chili for dinner. Cheap wine and good soup make it a great place to hold our book group. Some nights, it’s easier to get homework done out of the house (with flourless chocolate cake as a reward).

La Belle Vie’s Lounge in the stately 510 Groveland hosts a bar with cozy banquettes, a glowing fireplace, and sheer gold curtains—it’s gracious, yet up-to-the minute hip. The eclectic wine list and hand-shaken cocktails (a stiff ginger mojito will chase away any chill), plus terrific finger food—polenta-crusted prawns, hand-cut rosemary potato chips—makes for elevated “grazing.” Drinks and snacks equal the cost of a meal elsewhere, but for a lot of good reasons, we always leave satisfied.

In Dublin, we look for “the local” when seeking good company and a good ale. Kieran Folliard’s The Local is as big-hearted as any of his homeland’s pubs. Separated into five different areas—one of heavy wood and stained glass, another with a cozy fireplace and overstuffed chairs, the small Whiskey Lounge—this is the watering hole for a good cross-section of the city. Odd as it sounds, the Waldorf salad is traditional pub stuff, as is the ample shepherd’s pie. I like meeting up with friends here and often meet someone new.

Named for the famous iconoclastic yearly parade, May Day Cafe is one sweet and fiercely independent spot at the edge of Powderhorn Park. The vegan scones are not an oxymoron—try the cherry pecan or banana walnut—they’re as crumbly and rich as any around. Bulging burritos, fresh soups, and various treats will please the vegan and vegetarian and those who prefer their food wheat- or dairy-free. I love the chewy, sweet-salty peanut butter cookies, perfect with steaming chai tea. It’s edgy yet cheerful here, with interesting local art on the walls and local talent on the stage—live jazz, poetry readings, and neighborhood happenings such as the Fringe Fest’s Bring-Your-Own-Venue-Show.

The Monte Carlo (“The Monte” to most of us) is as clubby, boisterous, and old-boy as ever—a genuine slice of Minneapolis’s past, where lumber, milling, and brewery fortunes were made. Its polished copper bar, with bottles lined up to the pressed-tin ceiling, fronts a narrow cozy dining room flanked by generous red booths where all five of us like to snug in for the biggest, best-tasting chicken wings in town. One son goes for steak, another the salmon, someone always orders a meat loaf sandwich—but give me the great big caesar, and I’ll sprint to dessert.