Sanctuary on Washington Avenue

Eric's been raving about Sanctuary one of the new restaurants that has sprung up over by the new Guthrie. They have a tasting menu Monday through Thursdays for only $35 with the option of pairing it with a flight of wines for only $12. This sounded like a fantastic deal, so I agreed to meet him there last night.

Parking was kind of weird, but I found the lot behind the building was free, you just have to traverse a little mucky hill. The interior seemed a little weird, the exposed wood and brick makes it look old, but there were all of these contemporary touches. I think mostly it worked, but I wouldn't know because I couldn't stop staring at the gargoyle that welcomed me.

A nattily dressed gentleman eventually arrived with a flourish of warm conversation, "Welcome! Yes, I do have your reservation, would you prefer to wait at the bar or be seated? Right this way. I'll let Eric know where you are when he arrives." The reservations were under Eric's last name, so this guy remembered it from somewhere along the way. He was good. "I've saved you one of our little booths, these are recycled bishops chairs. We could seat you in the dining room, if you prefer, but I always think these are so much more private." They were very tall and wide chairs placed on either side of a small table. I thought it looked great. It's a tight spot, but the tall chairs make it feel like it's just the two of us - and of course the kitchen staff. We were right outside of the open kitchen. I ordered a glass of pinot noir and waited.

Eric wandered in from the back of the restaurant. "Where'd you come from?" He looked confused.

"I went through a door that said 'restroom' and ended up here."

"That's odd... kind of like Eric did it in the Conservatory with the lead pipe."

"Yeah... I don't quite know how I feel about that." He settled in and ordered some new/old cocktail that he's taken to ordering lately. Eric loves Campari (one of four individuals in the known world that does.) He read about it in Details magazine - the bible for the "in" metro dude.

We ordered the pre fixe meal that wasn't so much a tasting menu as what the chef wanted to make that day. I still remember my chef's menu at Corner Table as one of the greatest meals of my life.

Poor Scott. I never call. I never write. I haven't been in for far too long. I beg you to be my best friend and then I get so freaked out when you seem to have actually read what I said about the artistry of your food and I chickened out and never even said hi. I just hid behind my menu and delighted with food. Oh, Scott - my unrequited teenage love is left only to inspire sonnets and badly rhymed poems for your food. Don't go changin.

Sanctuary, is no Corner Table, but I digress. I was excited to see what food came out of the kitchen. The New American, Asian, Mediterranean fusion promise was confusing, but I just wanted to try some good food, with great ingredients, no definitions necessary.

Our first course was a taro chip taco. It was a fried slice of taro root topped with chipotle seasoned chicken, pea shoots and a slice of tomatillo covered in a wasabi creme fraiche. The chicken was very tasty, despite the bone that nearly choked me. I didn't care for the cream, but it's because I've come to terms with the fact that I don't enjoy wasabi. I know, it's a personal problem and I'm probably missing out on many delights because of this character flaw. The fume blanc that was supposed to be paired with it didn't arrive until after we had finished them. They were pretty small and impossible to eat with utensils or hands. I did my best to just shove the whole thing in and then chew carefully, seeking out other bones. It was delightful. The wine was good. It was served at a nice temperature, and would be lovely on a warm summers day.

The next course to arrive was the salad. We'd been warned that this course was the only one to be served without a wine pairing. That was fine because I had my little fume buddy to get me through. It was a pretty presentation. Eric described it as wind blown.

It was composed of little watercress, "pickled" apples, grape and white asparagus. There was some kind of tomato saffron vinegar over the whole thing. I was excited because I just had a salad the night before at home out of some fresh watercress that I'd picked up at Kowalski's and it was fabulous. And pickled apples! I love pickles. I love vinegar. I tossed it around together and took a heaping forkful into my mouth. One eye bulged, the other kind of sank, the tendons in my neck strained and the corners of my mouth pulled back in shocked horror. It was so bitter. The watercress was really, really bitter. The pickled apple didn't quite work for me, the asparagus was raw and the saffron dressing was in startling short supply. I might have been able to choke down more if there had been more of the familiar sour of vinegar present. Then I made the mistake of taking a sip of wine. The bitter bomb exploded through my palette like the A bomb of Acrid-topolis. Oh, God. I chugged some water. Now, even that tasted like dirty river water. Make it stop! Luckily, there was a wee bit left in the breadbasket. That was wonderful. Ciabatta and a edamame hummus saved me.

"Eat it with the grape. That makes it better." I rooted around in the bowl. There was one sliced in half grape. Cute. It didn't help. I did the whole round again and soothed the acrimonious flavor party back down with another swipe of this hummus concoction. I loved that. It also went well with the wine. The server noticed that I didn't finish my plate and asked if she could get me anything else. I just said that it's way too bitter for my palette. Somebody else tasted it and must have thought it was wonderful. That person just wasn't sitting in these bishop chairs.

The next course was a shrimp served under crispy egg roll wrappers and drizzled with a zesty ginger sauce. I almost toppled it before Eric reminded me to take a picture.

Trust me, it was so much more appealing to look at in person. After my fourth attempt to take this picture, Eric said he should bring his digital camera next time we go out. Yes, this would be extraordinarily helpful.

In stark contrast to our last course, this was out of the ballpark delicious. The spicy hot sauce over the crispy little strips all blended in sweet, sweet harmony with the lightly seasoned little shrimp at the bottom of the pile. I happily ate the whole thing, leaving not even a pea shoot or scrap of crispy yummy left. I was also delighted with the Toad Hollow Chardonnay paired with it. I'm not a big Chardonnay fan, but the oaky notes balanced ever so lightly over the heat of the dish.

Our concern was that there was the one and only shrimp and just two courses left to go. We were considering that a trip to Triple Rock for some of their kick ass bar food might be in order before the night was through.

Our beef course arrived next with a glass of Ravenswood Zinfandel.

The one piece of beef was cooked perfectly. Again, I blame me. I'd made some beef and lamb kabobs for dinner the night before and I'd miraculously cooked them to perfection - and I'd done the whole thing for relatively cheap. It was good, not great. The wine was fine. I'm not a big Ravenswood fan (and know how much a bottle goes for.) I was hoping it was some special vintage that made it way more interesting than the $8 from my local L.Q. I kinda doubt it, though.

I could see the concern in Eric's furrowed brow. He loves this restaurant and has been delighted by them in the past. This is the problem of my not being anywhere near professional or getting any cash for this gig. This was my one shot at eating there. Finally the dessert came.

Eggnog flavored ice cream. What a weird choice for spring. It was so heavy. The wine paired with it also wasn't really very sweet. It was a dry rose that neither of us enjoyed paired with dessert. The one strawberry was good. One. Sigh. Time to go.

I was too tired (from all the wine sipping) to make it to Triple Rock. I was able to salvage the night because my awesome bestie was with me. I love Eric. He's so gracious, caring and punny. Thank God his jokes are like fine wine, they get better as he ages. Still, he wasn't too mature to share in my delight of the new Flight of the Conchords CD or "Business Time." Ah, funny old marrieds that we are.

Then the check came. $125. $125! ... !!!!!!!!!!! Tired left quickly through the secret passage in the Hall. I checked the bill and it was entirely right. I can't believe I spent that much money on a meal when I've got bills, plans, vacations coming up. There have been some layoffs at my job, I'd like to have kids someday and my mother's not getting any younger! What the heck was I thinking? $35 seemed so reasonable. Tack on an extra glass of wine, that wine flight and Eric's stupid drink - $125! I'm an idiot.

So, again, broke, hungry and mildly annoyed I went home in the drizzling rain. I don't have any Tom Waits in the car, so instead I rolled home to Inner City Pressure.

What is this?

What is this only blog on Thursdays bullshit? Hunh? You pull that crap on me? I take that French fry away from you, shove it up your nose and twist the salty stick 'til you go, Ick.



No blogging on Thursdays... fine. That's okay. Me and Liam, we gonna fry your Frenchie ass tomorrow.



Tha's right, man! You no fry with the Jesus!

This could also be called - Eric and I are going to Sanctuary tonight! Actual post available for your work avoidance pleasure tomorrow! Love and greasy kisses on your bowling balls!

This Gnome Ain't Too Happy

After flaccid, disappointing wings and doughy, bland pizza we bailed on the Happy Gnome and headed to McGovern's where the clientele is mostly dude and what wasn't dudely was mostly blond, except at the roots.

We started out in search of a patio. Matt suggested the CC Club, which I do agree, has the best patio in the Cities. But I was hoping for something above bar food. I suggested Il Vesco Vino where Jimbo told me the small plates are wonderful. There is also W.A. Frost, the most beautiful patio in the metro. I've been wanting to try their food again now that Russell Klein has moved on. Matt countered with McGovern's. This wasn't at all in line with my request that we avoid bar food. Moscow on the Hill? I added that I would not go to Sweeny's. That place breeds assholes the way a barnyard cat births shelter dwellers.

I grudgingly agreed to go to the Happy Gnome. While they do have a nice patio, the food leaves me empty and bitter.

We arrived, top down, enjoying the harmonious assurances from Flight of the Conchords that we were the prettiest girl in the room. Anxious and hungry we made our way through the front door, the restaurant and outside again.

As soon as our waitress arrived I ordered the Summit Scandia. It arrived in a sunny, happy little glass. I love the spicy hints of cardamom. It was delicious. We ordered a starter of wings while perusing the menu. I was happy to see that they have added a bar menu. For just a little moment, I allowed myself to hope that maybe, maybe this time the food would be good. That was about the time that our wings arrived.

Notice the alluring pool of grease. I'm not even sure where that came from. The wings that were described as "braised" tasted more like "boiled" with a sticky sweet sauce over them. Although they were cooked thoroughly, the skin had the unmistakable texture of being raw. I'm still wanted to scrape that sensory memory off of my tongue. They were inedible. I'd never until this day met a chicken wing I didn't like.

Because we're gluttons for punishment (and starving) we also ordered the chorizo pizza. It took a while to come. I tried to take in the scenery as well as the other patrons. I didn't see anyone enjoying their food. A plate of fries was ignored and half a sandwich lay abandoned.

When our pizza did come, the "chorizo" wasn't very spicy or flavorful and the crust was just barely cooked - it was warm and crispy, but still gooey in the middle. The tomato sauce tasted like fresh crushed tomatoes, and paired nicely with the basil they added. There was a combination of Parmesan and fresh mozzarella cheese on top. It was not great, but not absolutely terrible.

Still, we were hungry and I was ready to bolt. After landing safely at McGovern's we ordered a (super cheap) plate of wings with a side of ranch. We filled up on fries and I sat back sunning on their lovely patio.

Next time somebody brings up that Happy Gnome, just knock me unconscious until it's over. Please?

My Morning

It was surprisingly easy to pull myself out of bed this morning. I crashed pretty early, snuggling in with my cuddly husband. I fell asleep quickly.

I went about my usual morning routine of making coffee, kicking the cat, trying to tame my hair into a presentable shape (really need to get a haircut.) I'd make a lovely little fried egg from the eggs that I got from Bar 5 Farms at the St. Paul Farmer's Market this weekend. I grabbed my New French sourdough toast and headed to the couch, where it's my custom to watch about five semi-tolerable minutes of the Today Show. I got to the coffee table and found this:

The note says:

For the Record

I don't know nothing about no Jimmy John's. It was an accident. One minute I'm chillin on the couch and the next there's a man on the porch with a big sandwich. What was a supposed to do?

Worst Lunch Ever

A few of my friends and I have decided to wage our own Biggest Loser type competition to slim down a bit for our dear friend Aisha's upcoming wedding. I'm in it to win it and would like to brag that I did win our first week. I already know I fit into my bridesmaid dress, I just want the cash prizes.

It's going to be tough, though. For one thing - dieting sucks big time. "Oh... well, you know? I could have the fried chicken from Rooster's, but instead I think I'm just going to suck on this frozen cup of coffee. Yeah, that'll be real satisfying."

Currently, I'm starving. It might be because I haven't drank my Weight Watchers recommend seventeen cups of water today, or maybe it's because I've been eating like Karen Carpenter for the last week.

Andy's been helping me with some negative response therapy. She sent me this website. Click on the N word for Next. Or maybe it's German for Nausea, I can't tell. It brought me to this picture, which I happily share with you now. Please refer back whenever you have the ridiculous idea to shun actual food for something that arrives in a shelf stable tin.

Wurst is right.

Fun at the Onion

First, I'd like to say you're welcome for another stunning example of my photographic prowess.

Yesterday was so achingly beautiful that I just couldn't stand to stay home and watch the paint dry. On a whim, I'd driven in to work and the minute the clock ticked five, I dashed downstairs, hopped in my buggy and threw back the top. There was still that sting of spring air, but the warm sun washed over me and seeped into my black hoodie sweatshirt. I put the Scissor Sister's Ta Dah into the CD player and cranked it. I didn't care who saw me. I sang and car danced all the way home, imaging that I was some vampy queen kissing a bad loverboy off. (I get dramatic if I've been out of the sun too long.)

Despite what I usually consider a decent cadre of friends, I couldn't find a single taker for some patio happy hour action. I cooled my heels at Skinner's where Matt was working.

"He sure does have a nice tie on," the guy next to me said. I looked at the brown strip of fabric sporting a dapper gentleman and a model T hanging around my husband's neck.

"That depends on your definition of 'nice'."

I held my cell phone in my hand trying to patiently wait for Laura's promised call. Finally, she rang. She was on her way to St. Paul and would be meeting Bobby-Wiz at the Wild Onion. She invited me along. I was thrilled to have somewhere to go, but the Wild Onion? Really? I hadn't been there since my friend Rachel turned 24 and we took her there because if you bring five friends, the birthday person drinks for free. (This was a stupid idea because Rachel doesn't drink. I ended up trying to get her to order fruity booze mixtures and then slip them to me.)

When we walked in the place I was struck by an unpleasant odor. It was humid and a little vomit-ey. The place hadn't changed a bit, but this time instead of there being lots of poppy rap, there was some kind of Cities 97 on Quaaludes music. The clientele was different, too. There were the early signs of wrinkles and some bald patches. "See? I told you these people were your age," Laura said. "It smells like puke in here. Want to sit at the bar?"

We ambled up and quickly ordered drinks. I was famished and we fawned over the menu.

"What!? Onion rings? Okay!" said Laura. I was hungrier than that and we collectively drooled over the appetizer list. We settled on the Southwestern Springrolls with avocado ranch sauce. I haven't done a proper happy hour with seriously fried near-food in ages.

Laura thought she spotted Bobby. He was with a group of people wearing running club T-shirts. Why would you run and then go drinking? What an odd thing to do. She and I were both leaning over far to our left trying to get a view of Would-Be Bobby. He had the right back of the head. He turned just a little bit towards us. "It looks like the right side burn length," I noted. Yep, it was him.

We sat back upright and sipped our drinks. Well, we weren't going to just go racing over there. He was with a bunch of runners and I didn't feel like crashing that kind of party.

Our fried crispy fun food arrived. Exactly, as promised they were wonton wrappers stuffed with black beans, corn and spicy chicken. In the center of the dish was the real star - lettuce dressed in a zippy chipotle dressed. We moved aside the fried tortilla wedges and fork sparred to get at the little creamy ribbons of greens. The wontons themselves were good, too. There was just a little bit of heat, and then the pale green ranch and silken avocado pairing was just wonderful. I shoved a couple into my mouth with ample dressing. Calories be damned I want to live!

We saw Bobby outside sneaking a cigarette with one of his running companions (I do not get this group at all.) Laura sent him a text message, something along the lines of, "I know what you're doing. I thought you had quit." We watched him take a lazy drag, pull up his cell phone and start at the screen. He looked all around him before spotting us inside, waving at him. Spying is fun.

He and his friend came inside and he introduced her as Tricia She had long, thick red hair and a smiling pretty face. Within moments of meeting we had covered what we do for a living, this little writing outlet of mine, where we went to college and why I should join the running team. I insisted that I do not run, even if it does result in a free t-shirt and pasta dinner at the Wild Onion.

Laura touched my arm with her drink, "You can do what I do. I don't run. I plod."

Soon we were joined by Mike and his friend Kelsey. Laura reminded me that I'd met Mike one night at the Loop. "Oh yeah," I said. "You ordered the pizza." He cocked his head and squinted. "I remember people by their food.... Uh.. yeah. Can I get another drink when you have a moment?"

Laura and Bobby mentioned how they expected some bumpin' music on the dance floor. We looked over, a lonely splay of purple lights listlessly circling the empty wooden floor.

I was shocked to learn that not only had Trisha heard of Skinner's, she'd been there before! I said, "I love it there! The hot bartender is my husband!"

"The one with the glasses? Wears the ties?"

"Yes! Let's go! Bobby? Skinners?"

"Sure, okay."

"You guys in?" Everyone agreed and we left the bar. I told Laura I was sick of the puke smell, but the truth is that, I'd grown accustomed to it. I really liked the fried food, though. I remember seeing people sitting outside sipping Bloody Marys in the summer. I might need to give it another try.

But our night was far from complete. We gathered down the hill at my favorite cheap watering hole, piled up on drinks and went out to the back patio. We traded jokes (none of us are capable of telling a decent joke. I even repeated one of my punchlines twice in case it got funnier. It didn't.)

The drinks kept flowing and the edges of the night soon blurred together. It was like a waltzing bunch of laughter, snippets and wafting cigarette smoke.

"Oh, sure a firecrotch!" Tricia declared.

"What do you mean... those aren't real glasses? You don't need to wear glasses?" We peered at Mike, seated behind his hip rectangular brown frames, sly smile on his face.

"I got a text from Crocheron!" Laura laughed and held up her pink Razr.

Bobby and I shouted at each other in our best Tim Curry English lilts, "And monkeys brains, so popular in Cantonese cuisine are not often to be found in Washington D.C."

It was near midnight when finally I had to give them a raspy, Uncle. I have to work tomorrow... I should go... Everyone's drinks were low and the night air had turned frigid.

We said our reluctant goodbyes and parted ways. I chugged a bunch of water back at the cottage and fell into a happy sleep. And despite it all, I virtually bounded out of bed this morning and have hardly been able to stop smiling since. It was one of those rare, weird nights that only seem to come around when the sun dips nearer and the trees have sprouted their green tippy tops. It's springtime alright. Let the festivities begin.

Fogo de Chao in Downtown Minneapolis

(Tiny picture courtesy their website.)

I was invited to go to lunch with a few colleagues last week and they suggested Fogo de Chao. I'll admit that I've been avoiding this place, but still been curious. On the one hand, grown foreign men in flouncy pants, on the other, endless meat parade. I knew if I waited long enough, chances were that I'd end up there on somebody elses dime.

While walking over there, the one person that had been there before, the diminutive Amie warned us of what she called a "meat coma." They are serious about the all you can eat meat, and it's easy to too quickly get over served. (Sounds like late night happy hour at Liquor Lyle's.)

The room is impressive, although something about it still reminded me of the long gone Copeland's. The same color palate of shiny, maroon and slick panels. The room has gone through a major change, though. What was once all sectioned off is now almost cavernous open space. There were glinting wine bottles everywhere and the salad bar was huge.

Our server approached and explained how the whole thing worked. There was what looked like a coaster in front of us. Green means, bring me more food, red means I'm verging on the meat coma. The gauchos would leave us alone if the card was red. Before we were to embark on our skewered meat Odyssey, we were invited to visit the salad bar.

These guys are clever. This was without question, the most handsomely stocked salad bar that I have ever approached. While the restaurant appears to be a carnivore's gluttonous paradise, the salad bar is an omnivores dream. All sorts of greens, cheeses, cured meats and veggies. There were carrots, cabbage, tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, sun dried tomatoes and cucumbers. There was spinach, Romain, mixed spring greens and basil. There was prosciutto, sopresseta and genoa. Roasted peppers, marinated peppers, pepperoncini and a jalapeno and cilantro type chimichurri (which was delicious.) Parmesan, gouda and some brie. I mean, these guys had EVERYTHING. I decided to heck with the meat and loaded up a bunch of healthy greens.

The wine list was respectable and there were a few familiar bottles. I suggested to a friend who wasn't certain what to order to go with the Chateaux St. Michelle. It's a respectable, cheap little glass - a great pick for someone who likes wine, but isn't yet the obsessive Surdyk's stalker (or card carrying Wine Thief fan club member. I got a Coppola Cabernet - respectable, as well. $12 for a glass, but a pretty fine specimen.

Soon our salad plates were being cleared. I was the last to finish and could feel the meat hungry eyes on me as I delicately cut up my final sun dried tomato (so sweet, chewy and luscious!) The moment I laid my fork to rest, the plate was gone, replaced with a clean, new one.

Next, the onslaught began. It was almost 1-2-3 GO! And we flipped over our cards like the opening move in Speed. Swarthy men appeared from every corner in the room. It was like a carousel ride of meats. "Sausage and chicken?"

"Um, yes?"

"Which one would you like?"

"Oh, chicken, please?" He slid a piece off, accidentally brushing my boob in the process.

"Lamb chops?" Asked another. They were teeny little chops and looked a little dry. I think everyone at the table was averse to lamb because there weren't any takers.

More men, more skewers and I soon completely lost all track of what I was even being offered. I just know that soon I had a plate full of various slices of meat, I'd yet to see anything bacon wrapped, which I was told was the best cut, and my boob has never been so involved in a meal. I turned my card back over and wondered what the Portuguese equivalent of Uncle would be. No more than five minutes had passed and we'd been virtually swarmed by gauchos, meat, swords and husky voiced accents. It's the restaurant equivalent to a walk on role in the Princess Bride.

I sliced into each of the meat pieces. The little grilled chicken drummy was surprisingly tender and moist. It was really good, and my favorite piece of meat. I had a top round that was tender, lovingly rosy in the middle with a crispy fire char crust along the edge. It virtually melted in my mouth. The pork rib was an unfortunate cut. I think I got the end one because it was too rubbery with fat for me to cut any edible slice of meat off the bone. It might have tasted wonderfully, but I got frustrated and gave up on it. More meat for the meat eaters!

Before diving back into that pool, I tried the sides that they'd placed before us. The garlic mashed potatoes were under seasoned and had no trace of garlic flavor in them. They were just straight forward, nothing special, needing salt mashed potatoes. My grandma's were identical (grandma of the brown lacy eggs are a good thing side of the family.)

The fried polenta was equally unremarkable, fried polenta. It was fine. I realized the sides were to be ignored because this was all about the meat. MEAT GAUCHO! I flipped over my card.

There was a slice of some chewy part of beef, I missed what he said it was. I passed on the lamb again, took another accidental elbow and finally the bacon wrapped filet minion arrived. I was looked for the chicken guy, while batting away the chewy piece meat guy that either came back too soon, or another hunk was already sent from the kitchen. I couldn't even look at their faces, it was just a constant churning of meat being presented to me. (Not unlike the happy hour at Liquor Lyle's...) This time I accepted the sausage.

The card went back over. "Well, I'm done!" declared Amie. I was near there. I tasted my final plate.

The tough looking piece was exactly what I expected. It was from a working part of the animal and it was really dry and chewy. Cooked low and slow, it probably would have benefited and had a delightful, brisket flavor. It was just done too quickly. The fillet was a little bland. I think too often fillet minion is just cooked, served and people are charged too much for it. There's so little fat in the cut, that it requires a little attention, a little love to coax the beguiling flavors from it. The bacon was fine. I don't think it was the best thing. The little sausage had a nice snap and the clear juices roiled out from the inside. It was mildly spicy, with that lovely wood fire flavor. It would have been wonderful for breakfast with gently cooked eggs over easy by a campfire.

I was done. There wasn't so much of a sense of meat coma coming over me, than a heavy gutted, why did I eat so much red meat feeling? Now, I can usually sock away a steak. In my family, it was a dishonor to eat a t-bone and not completely pick the bone clean. Still, it was all so much and so fast! And what was up with the boob thing? Was I sitting at a wrong angle? I'm almost positive it wasn't intentional.

To my shock, everyone ordered desert. I tried to convince myself to at least try the Tres Leches cake, and consoled myself that I could box most of it and bring it home, but I just couldn't. Not another piece of food was making its way past these lips. Instead I ordered the Italian coffee, coffee with Amaretto and whipped cream. I reasoned that the coffee and booze would act as a digestive.

The desserts looked wonderful. Maggie let me have a bite of her cheesecake and it was divine. April's creme brulee looked perfectly done. The crust a nice, even brown and the custard inside smooth and light.

I hadn't wanted to go, but I'm glad I finally did. It was fun and I got a couple of cheap thrills by way of the men with meats. Is it the best steakhouse in the cities? I'm not sure I'd go that far. It's a lot easier to have an entertaining, good steak dinner there than over at Murray's, but I've had better steaks elsewhere in town. It is definitely a great place to go for dinner and a show. Just be prepared to sleep it off somewhere safe, and know that there is a small chance you might regret it all in the morning.