Now that I have your brain spinning trying to figure out the commonality between those 3 diverse concepts…let me give you a clue…the new “The Inn” restaurant in Downtown Minneapolis.
Weather usually doesn’t affect my choice of a restaurant ….but the relentless frigid temps in Minnesota turn even the hardiest northlander into a snow bunny coward…so a friend and I changed our reservation from Heartland in St Paul to the across the street convenience of the newly opened The Inn in Minneapolis. Jack Frost conditions made the Inn seem warm and cozy…but I am finding my thoughts frozen regarding the experience.
I hurtled ice mounds and scuttled for the door…very appreciative of the warmth preserving double entry…and came into an intimate brick walled room that I fondly remember as “Le Peep” from years ago, then Hell’s Kitchen, and just recently as “Subo.” It was half-full except at the bar…but I like to sit at the bar to get more of the “flavor” of a new restaurant. Plus, at The Inn, you either sit at tables in the frozen street window section or perch at tall tables (hence the butt and leg numbing as the too tall stools cut off all circulation) opposite the bar…neither of which looked like good options that night. (Actually, there is a small bland back room…but the people watching is MUCH better out front!)
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My friend and I had already solicited opinions from friends who had already tried the Inn…both raved about the food….though one did defer that the portions were smaller. But I am fine with smaller….that means I can try more plates and not feel guilty or over full! A win/win situation! (I do avoid going back to restaurants that serve MINISCULE portions….i.e. Piccolo. But I adore The Sample Room!)
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So back to the review:
The menu is small…but covers some unusual ground…just not sure about meeting expectations. Sigh.
We chose the fresh baked cloverleaf roll with butter and marmalade as one of our starters. The roll had a joyous yeasty sweetness when I pulled it apart…heaven to the nose! Memories came flooding back of my Grandmother Ruth’s kitchen when she was baking bread….the alluring tangy scent of yeast baking was discernable from 30 feet outside the house and caused a ravenous horde of children to noisily crowd in looking for “just a sample, Grandma!” Rather a novel appetizer…very appealing to this farm-grounded foodie. Until………
The marmalade was…colorful at best…and at the worst….runny. Such a disappointment…we both tried to get it stay on the roll…but I felt more like I was eating that bizarre preserved fruit from fruitcakes.
The second plate was a default…we wanted the fromage on the menu…but it was “no longer in the kitchen.” Hmmmm. Did it leave with the fork and the spoon?
So we had the alternative cheese option. Spanish Mahon grilled cheese mini triangles presented with a sweet/sour dark cherry dry confit and a tousled pile of assorted greens with a glisten of tangy dressing. A pure winner in my book…each a single bite of melty, buttery goodness off-set by the fruity tang of the confit and the pleasant bitterness of the greens.
I also selected the roasted brussel sprouts…winner, winner, chicken dinner! Pan roasted in olive oil until darkened and sweet alongside toasted pine nuts and, I believe, green onion. Didn’t really pause to sort it out…it was THAT good! (Would have ranked a perfect…except it was weirdly served lukewarm.)
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Now to end the suspense on the second word…unitard. Remember I said the people watching was best where we were sitting? At the table directly behind us, sat a bearded gentleman (?) in a full one piece Spandex biking unitard!!! Including the attached hood…which he kept UP during the entire time! His dinner companion was Bunyon-esque…flannel shirt, bib overalls, knit cap, and waffle soled hiking boots.
Only in Minnesota.
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My entrée was the grass fed beef rib eye with Roquefort butter. I ordered medium rare…it arrived medium…no pink. The Roquefort butter was butter with a few salty blue cheese (note the distinction) crumbles stirred in…okay flavor…but not the creamy mélange it could have been. A poor partner to a decent rib eye.
My friend had the grass fed beef burger without the bun…too many carbs already…but with Swiss cheese melted on top. There weren’t too many “ummms” on her part…but we both cleaned our plates. (More due to fortifying ourselves against the slicing wind and painful temps we had to endure to get back to our cars.)
I needed a sweet ending to an otherwise so-so meal…thank heavens the chefs at “The Inn” bow to the superior dessert skill of Michelle Gayer of “The Salty Tart.” (She is a 2010 James Beard Foundation awards "Outstanding Pastry Chef" nominee.) With an eye towards the calories already consumed…we decided to share her decadent “Sticky Toffee Pudding.” Succulent and warm, the moist crumbs barely held together by a decidedly smooth, well browned toffee sauce with a surprising crunch of sea salt ribboned into it. Add a smooth scoop of rich vanilla ice cream spreading like river of melted velvet lapping the cake…I am certain I heard harps playing!! We took forks to this indulgence…slowly at first…and then with avid attention to achieving both toffee and ice cream in each bite.
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Lastly….being the wrong side of 35. The majority of the wait staff…including the craftsmen behind the bar…cannot be more than 30. It shows in their interaction with their clients…and in their over-heard conversations amongst themselves. We, being in the non-under 35 group…had to initiate conversations regarding the menu…actually saying “Excuse me. Excuse me,” more often that we should. But the scantily dressed girls seated to our left received copious amounts of attention from all the servers and the 2 chefs back in the kitchen…DESPITE their miserly shared drinks (really?), single shared appetiser and then another shared drink. We, on the other hand, were well past the $100 mark …well dressed and recognized by more than one fellow diner…wanting to connect with the restaurant. But the kicker was when a young man (who all the servers obviously knew…given their greetings) came in and sat to our right. The open-to-all discussion centered around another professional at the Graves…actually at Craftsman…who was only mixing “popsicle drinks”…and really wasn’t that great…for a full 5 minutes. Lovely….trashing another professional…within range of all. Shabby.
I have debated writing this review for several weeks…trying to explain away the inconsistancies…citing the weather…wanting to give The Inn a heartfelt “Yah!” But, truthfully, I cannot. Not when there are chefs like Jack at the Dakota, Vincent at Vincent’s and Isaac at 112 Eatery…not when there are friendly waitpersons like those at Mission, Barrio and the Local…
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