Porter & Frye

So, of course, with all the controversy, I just had to go check it out. Luckily, my attorney and occassional brother in law, invited Matt and I to meet him for lunch this week. Even though I was lucky enough to get today off of work (Spring Day! WOO HOO!), I had no problem making the trip into downtown Minneapolis for the chance to dine at Porter & Frye in the Ivy. There was no menu available online and every review I've read thus far has been for dinner. I had no idea what to expect.

We're experiencing this annoying March snow storm. The heavy, wet snow is beautiful, but it's also everywhere. I think we're supposed to get 9 inches in all. We parked accross the street from the restaurant in what had been for a very long time, that abandoned builded accross the street from the parking ramp attached to the orchestra. "God, I've always thought this was the ugliest building," I said.

"Really? I've always thought it was really cool. It looks so old and different. It's always been chillin' doin' it's own thing."

"It's a giant rock collection. It's pavement." I squinted and was sloshed our way accross the street to the entrance. "Please use the Ivy entrance" the sign informed us. So, we aimed for the next nearest door. It was locked. Great, the Ivy's entrance was around the corner and practically about a block away. It was sopping wet and cold. My shoes were soaked. What was I thinking wearing the cute ones on a day like today?


The double doors slid open and there were four black clad men standing there. Heads still down, we marched towards the lobby. One guy broke away and was trying to stand in front of us, "Hello, how are you doing today?" Fine (cold, wet and hungry, but fine.) "May I help you with anything today?" No... no we're good. Please stand aside - I need food!

"Hello, how are you today?" Two women were blocking the entrance. "Yeh, hi - there he is!" Matt said and we tried to weasel our way around them and get to the table where Patrick was waiting for us.


"Oh, your party has already arrived." Like he's a VIP or something? "May I take your coats for you?" Okay, yes, that was nice.


We settled into our seats. I looked around the room. It was nicely lit and pretty. Despite the concrete surroundings, exposed piping and walls, mostly painted off white. The wood was dark and polished on the tables and chairs. There was a little divider between the dining room and the bar. There was a gorgeous flower arrangement there. We talked to Pat about his work day - he was excitedly looking foward to suing some people this afternoon. He really likes his job. He asked after my good friend, who is a paralegal. I said she's good - getting married this summer, we're all happy for her. Matt was telling him about some of the classes that he's taking at the U - he was explaining some of the different directions he could end up going - watershed management would most likely be involved. Back off ladies, this one's taken.


Not in any of this time does anyone show up at the table and offer so much as a glass of water. After a couple of attempts, I finally grabbed a guy and said, "Can I get some water?" I was really parched.


"Oh, no one has brought you any water yet? Do you have a server?"


"No," what kind of a question was that?


He grabed a guy that was walking past and steered him to our table, he put his hand on my shoulder, which, for some reason felt creepy.


"How are we doing today? May I get you something to drink?"


"Yes. Please. I would like some water."


"Sparkl-"


"Just tap is fine." Finally somebody showed up with a cold pitcher and I downed it fast. It's been like 20 minutes so we were more than ready to order our food. I wanted the Chicken Little sandwich and the chowder to start with. The chowder wasn't clam, but prepared with shrimp and sausage. Matt ordered the Ceaser salad and the arctic char with jalepeno sofrito. Pat had the Greek salad and the gnocci. When the waiter took our menus the wine list in the middle knocked the tiny salt shaker over for about the fifth time. I thought, "Hey, I don't have to work. Why not?" I started to look over the list when the waiter grabbed the menu out of my hand. "Um, I was reading that."


"Oh," he handed it back.


They continuted to talk family stuff while I started studying the other tables. A man and woman that had walked in after us were tucking into their salads. Hey, was that bread? I looked around. Hey! They have bread! And it looks good... We're past the half hour mark and I'm sipping my ice water jealous of bread. At this point, I'm getting crabby and thinking of all the other first impressions that I've read of this place. Yes, it's still a new place, but come ON!

Our waiter reappeared, "I am so sorry. We are all out of the shrimp roll."

We looked at each other and all re-ordered. "And I had the chowder and chicken sandwich." He crossed out French Onion and wrote down c-h-o-d-e-r.

I went back to reading the wine menu. It was a different set up than what I've seen before. There were four different catagories, each listing red, white and sparkling wines. Each different catagory has a different price. You can order 3 oz, 6 oz pour or a bottle. I grabbed the waiter guy and requested a 6 oz pour of a middle priced red. Matt did the same.


We went back to waiting. Fifteen more minutes of breadless waiting. I couldn't even pay attention to what they were talking about at that point. "I don't want to be an asshole," it felt odd swearing in such a nice restaurant, "but am I going to have to go behind that pour my own glass of wine?"

"Yeah, what is going on with this place?" Pat asked. I think he was a little relived that I was ready to drop the charade and acknowledge that this service was terrible.


The waiter re-appeared on cue carrying a tray with two glasses, a wine bottle and a glass of Coke on it. He strolled over to another table, delivered the Coke and seemed to be having a lovely little chat. What.the.hell. Seriously. Eventually, he came over to our table. "Would you like a bottle, or just the two glasses?"


I wanted to hit him. Matt laughed in his great disarming way.


"No, we'll just go with the two glasses," Matt said.


A nervous young man set a white bowl full of sliced bread in front of us.


"We do get bread!" Pat squealed. We lobbed the little balls of butter at each other and began stuffing them into our faces. I was starting to get worried about Patrick. He had to be in court later this afternoon. I wondered if he was ever going to be able to get fed.


Just then our first courses arrived. Matt was presented with a plate of charred romain covered in cheese. Patrick got this really odd plate with a wedge of Iceburg lettuce, a peeled whole tomato and two little ribbons of curled up cucumber. I got this wide plate with a little hole in it filled with what looked like cooked merpoie, sausage and these little teeny tiny shrimps. What the hell? Where was the soup part? A guy leaned over me and poured a cream colored broth into the hole. The waiters vanished and Matt dug into his lettuce with a concerned look on his face.


I picked up my butter knife and fork and looked at Pat, "What's wrong with this picture?" He covered his mouth and started laughing. Matt lept from his chair to chase down someone - I think he practically went into the kitchen - requesting a spoon for me. He seemed kind of mad. Aw, chivalry is not dead.

Our bumbling waiter laid a gigantic spoon next to me. I picked it up and stared at it. This had to be a joke - it was a serving spoon! And it was an odd shape, kind of rectangular. Here's a picture with my butter knife for scale.

It was HUGE - and it's unweildly nature made it impossible to eat with. I kept spilling soup all over the white expanse. The shrimps were those little teeny kind and tasted like they had until recently been frozen. The broth was pleasant and not overly creamy. The sausage had a lovely, smokey flavor, but kind of overwhelmed everything. After a couple of ladle fulls I just quit. It was kind of stupid and mediocre.


I tried Matt's salad. It was wonderful. The whole thing was covered in this little crumbled, mild cheese. The flavor combinations were delightful. It was served with four slices of heavily buttered and grilled bread that was also fantastic.


"I'd let you try some of mine, but I can tell you what it tastes like," offered Pat. "It tastes like bland." Honestly, I didn't want to taste it. I couldn't even tell you what was Greek about it. The peeled tomato looked a little green and there was all these little black things all over it. They weren't poppy seeds, not seasame seeds... maybe little shaves of black truffles? I ask you this, when was the last time that you thought to yourself, you know what I"m really craving? Man - I could go for a whole head of iceburg lettuce! Yeah.



I waved down the server and handed him my plate. Patrick just kept staring at his plate blanching. Matt was hungrily gobbling up his lettuce and mopping up the cheese and dressing with his buttery toast.


Two waiters, our gomer and the first guy that I had approached. They looked at the finished plates in front of the guys. I could see the other guy looking at gomer like, "Aww, man - you moron!" Still they served them, while Matt and Patrick held the old plates aloft. I was guzzling my wine. The wine was delightful and thankfully distracting.



Chicken little:

The toasted warm bun was yummy and the chicken had a delightful citrusy flavor. The problem was trying to eat it. I had to keep shoving the wilted, warm lettuce, watery tomato and Munster cheese back into it. On my third bite the entire contents shot out of the bun and across my plate. It was annoying and no where near worth nine dollars, but tasty. The fries were super salty and doused in malt vinager. At first I liked them, but the salt started to get to me. I had to dip them in ketchup to cut the saltiness.

Matt's arctic char was beautiful and served in this huge bowl/plate thing.

(And notice the appearance of the bread "basket." All slices of bread had odd dried fruit in it.)

The fish looked fine, but not being a huge fan, I didn't try it. The odd beige pastey lump was pretty good. I have no idea what it was. Really, we tried. Was that supposed to be the sofrito? I dunno. Matt enjoyed it and I avoided any more bites. The wilted greens were delicious. Cooked down and delicate, with a delightful spicy and lemony notes. Really good.

Pat's gnocchi was good, but not great. "It's good, but I think I've had better at Pazzaluna."

The picture didn't turn out very well, either. (Hey! Nice tie!) There seemed to be a sauce of sorts made out of sundried tomato and it was topped with a cheese that tasted like Humbolt fog. It had a rind and tasted a little bit like crumbly goat cheese. It was good, but the gnocchi were completely bland and a little rubbery. Meh, it was okay. Man, for the guy that was picking up the tab, he was really geting screwed over.



We weren't even done eating when Matt asked for the check. The guy came back, dropped it with Pat. Pat gave him his credit card. After a few minutes he returned and dropped the bill on the ground. God, this guy was so bad that it was just getting really uncomfortable now. He picked it up and laid it on the table.



"May I get you anything else?" he asked.



"How about my credit card?"



He fumbled about a bit, when the other waiter came up behind him and handed him Pat's card. "Ahhh... Then I'm going to need to run that again."



?



Finally, we got it, Pat paid and agonized about the tip. He didn't stiff the guy, but it kind of hurt to give him much. The guy was terrible. What were they thinking? I was anxious to get the hell out of this place. I wanted go home. I wanted tons more of that wine, but somewhere else.



So, I don't care if it's still too early to judge this place, or if it isn't fair to judge after just one trip - I wouldn't ever eat there again, even if it is on somebody else's dime.