The Left Handed Cook

Midtown Global Market is fast becoming my favorite place to grab a bite to eat when I'm feeling otherwise uninspired.  The Left Handed Cook has exacerbated this feeling by being overly delicious, cheap, and delicious, and delicious. 

I love pockets of flavor.  I love little mounds of distinct ingredients that you can poke around in, pull apart, mix together, divide and conquer. The bok bok bowl at LHC is, therefore, paradise for my combination OCD/foodie nature. A lightly poached egg glues all these happy flavors together, with the spice of kimchee floating over fried (but not greasy) chicken and rice. The meal is satisfying without feeling heavy, and that's ideal, given that there are bites of cheese to be had next door at the Grassroots Gourmet and cupcakes to be tasted at The Salty Tart. 

The danger of a dish as wonderful as the bok bok bowl is that I'm going to be tempted to order it religiously, ignoring all other options.  It's clear I must bring more friends next time and require each of them to order something different so that I can taste everything.  I'm bossy, people can deal.

Check out The Left Handed Cook at Midtown Global Market and follow me on Twitter @TheMinneapolite.

The Salty Tart

I think this photo may actually do justice to the Platonic ideal that is the Salty Tart cupcake. As recommended, I let this little baby warm up for a few minutes before digging in.  While the Surly Furious cake doesn't have a seriously Surly flavor, there's a richness to the batter that I imagine gets some heft from that very yummy local beer. 

The cake portion is perfectly moist but doesn't wilt under that substantial dose of frosting.  Moistness is important in a cupcake but I think the best cupcakes have an airy quality, not that mush-it-down-with-your-fork-and-watch-the-butter-ooze effect that I like in my non-cupcake cakes. This was the perfect blend of moist and airy, and that cream filling was reminiscent, sure, of the Hostess variety, but so much fluffier. 

I noted the white chocolate and cranberry cake and was conflicted in my cupcake choice, but a dose of chocolate was what this woman needed on a Sunday afternoon.  White chocolate and cranberry will be experienced another day, preferably soon.

Check out The Salty Tart at Midtown Global Market, and follow moi on Twitter @TheMinneapolite.

Cajun 2 Geaux

As I've probably mentioned too many times, I'm not from here. I'm originally from Arkansas and moved here from New Orleans.  To say that I miss cajun food would be an understatement. I dream about fried oysters fairly often.  So I was overjoyed to discover Cajun 2 Geaux would be serving the grub at Harriet Brewing last night.

I'm bummed I didn't take a picture of my shrimp po'boy, but I plowed into it so fast it was gone in under 5 minutes. The french bread is important, you can screw up a po'boy immediately if your bread is crap. But Chef Tim is from Houma, Louisiana, and he is well aware of that fact, because the bread is perfect. Po'boys are simple. Some fried happiness (preferably oysters, crawdads, or shrimp, in my opinion), some lettuce and tomato, a little smear of something, Tabasco, and you're done. But simple is easy to ruin because people want to improve upon the classic.  Happily, Chef Tim just knows how to make a mean po'boy and doesn't try to insert any frivolities. I wish there was a smear of mayo involved, but with the amount of Tabasco I dump on my shrimp, maybe the mayo is really just my own requisite to balance out the heat.

The shrimp was really perfect.  Not too heavily breaded and with the perfect touch of cajun seasoning to remind me of the city I no longer call home. In fact, I will admit right now that I dropped one of those shrimp on the floor (a brewery warehouse-y floor, people) and I picked it up and ate it. Yeah. Serious shrimp.

And since I said "New Orleans" in the correct fashion, Chef Tim threw me some beads. A little bit of Mardi Gras on a cold, January night...

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Harriet Brewing

I need more kinda-drafty, there's-only-one-bathroom brewery joints in my life.  And I'm not being sarcastic. Bars get boring.  Anything 100% polished gets boring fast. Another Blue Moon?  Another gin and tonic? Another leather bar stool with a hook to the right to hang my purse?  How convenient.

The taproom explosion is old news at this point.  But this was my first trip to Harriet Brewing's taproom and I review things that are new-to-me, not necessarily new-to-the-world. And I just loved it. I loved the couches in the sitting area.  Loved Crankshaft's tunes. Loved the food truck parked outside. Loved the West Side beer in my hand, all tangerine goodness of it (yeah, weakness for Blue Moon implies a weakness for any beer incorporating citrus notes). Loved sitting on the arm of a plush couch and talking to perfect strangers about the music, the beer, our favorite restaurants nearby.

I'm not a beer connoisseur.  I only know what I like.  The beer was good, but the atmosphere of living-the-dream-folks-thanks-for-buying-a-glass was what made the evening happy.  It's not as pretty as Indeed Brewing, to be sure, but I have a soft spot for the less polished folks. And I will make it a point to lift a Harriet brew when I'm out at other locales serving the good stuff around town.

High five, Harriet, keep it up!

Follow me on Twitter @TheMinneapolite

Crankshaft

I happened upon Crankshaft last night, hallelujah. As a Southerner, anyone professing to play anything remotely akin to bluegrass, rockabilly, think-early-Elvis-and-throw-in-a-harmonica-and-a-heavy-beat causes my heart to swell with happiness. 

Crankshaft, who also appears as part of a trio as Crankshaft and the Gear Grinders, is the real deal.  I couldn't help but compare him a bit to JD McPherson, who I also heard recently at First Ave, and it struck me that these two boys could probably rip a couple new holes in their guitars if on stage together. 

We spoke briefly while standing in line for the bathroom and I asked him how he settled on his moniker.  He smiled when he mentioned a family of gear heads and truck drivers and one guttural guitar riff after another, it's clear the name is a perfect fit for his rootsy, grinding sound. It's music you want to swing to, and music that makes you want to make out in the bed of an old Ford.  Maybe that's just me...

Every song is a commitment and I was amazed at how solid he stayed the entire set, a one man show has to be exhausting but he never tired, always kept a balance between a bluesy, heavy croon and that rock-n-roll growl.  He's officially a new favorite, and his Feb. 9th CD release party at Famous Dave's is already on my calendar.

Follow me on Twitter @TheMinneapolite.

Monte Carlo

Monte Carlo is a new find for me, despite the fact that it has been nestled into the Minneapolis dining establishment since the first years of the 20th century.  I'm about 100 years late to the game, clearly, but better late than never. 

I ended up tucked into a cozy booth for a business lunch this week and was enamored not only by my poached salmon (perfect) but by the throwback gentility of the place.  A colleague informed me that the waitstaff do not offer straws to the gentlemen, only to the womenfolk.  And small cards beside the glass of silverware request that patrons turn off their cell phone ringers and, if forced to take a call, use the restaurant's phone booth (!) for said disruption. A restaurant reminding its patrons about basic etiquette? I loved it, though the necessity for such reminders is, perhaps, a bit disconcerting.

My simple, delicious poached salmon (this was a business lunch so I didn't feel comfortable taking my traditional photo of my meal) with green beans and potatoes and a flavorful onion-y salsa kept me happy and left me satisfied.  But, I must admit, my colleagues' meatloaf sandwich gave me enough food envy to inspire a second trip, sooner rather than later, I hope.

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World Street Kitchen

I trudged up to this new neighborhood joint in the midst of our 8-or-so inch snow dumping. Hallelujah, it was well worth the tumble I took on an ill-shoveled sidewalk.

WSK is housed at the apartment complex at 28th and Lyndale, dangerously close to Buffalo Exchange (dangerous considering my affection for both food and cheap clothes).

I'm not sure where to start with this place. There were too many items on the menu that piqued my interest so I'm positive I'll have to venture back.  The po'boy, specifically, makes me curious. As a former New Orleanian, I feel it's my responsibility to testdrive all area attempts at Cajun food.

WSK won points immediately for having Summit Saga on tap and the Saga paired wonderfully with the Korean BBQ lettuce wraps and aloo chaat. The BBQ was the winner of our pair but the chickpea party was excellent, too. The BBQ was tender and expertly sauce, with enough green onions to cut the sweetness. I wish the kimchee had been spicier but I recognize I live in a city of spice-phobes. And with a number of sriracha bottles dancing around, patrons can spice things up to their hearts' delight.

The interior is casual and with late night hours I imagine this could be a genius stop post-drinks, post-game, post-party, post-bad date, post-good date, post-anything. Good beer, delicious food, reasonable prices...welcome to the neighborhood, WSK!

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Minnesnowta, Indeed

I'm not from here. I did not grow up with this sort of thing. An 8 inch snow in central  Arkansas would probably qualify as a sign of the apocalypse.

However, as foreign as snow was to my upbringing, digging my car out of an unholy amount of snow has become a basic expectation of my life now in Minneapolis.

And while digging this afternoon I realized I have never, ever dug myself out solo. I am always swarmed by a small and mighty army of fellow Minneapolites, strangers all, and together we chisel out my little VW. And then the Old Guy's Corolla, and then the Smoker's SUV. A different crew for each snow, surely, and each location. But Minnesotans rally well around one another where snow is concerned. They're proud of their shovels, proud of their fearlessness in taking to roads when lesser Americans might tuck themselves inside and sip tea (ahem, I am a lesser American).

Thank you, fellow Minneapolites, for your willingness to strain your back for my benefit. I hope I returned the favor adequately.

The Servant of Two Masters

Oh, commedia dell'arte, you know how to make a girl grin!

I knew what I was getting into with The Servant of Two Masters, having spent enough time as a theater major to anticipate the bumbling foolery of a Truffaldino. But I'd forgotten enough about the other characters' specific roles in said foolishness to be pleasantly surprised by each actor's choices.  And what a cast of characters!

First off, the Guthrie rarely disappoints in the creation of sets that perfectly support the movements onstage.  But this was one of the best sets I've ever seen in the McGuire Proscenium. The use of the light and dark, sparkles and flat spaces, depth and lack-thereof, possessed a character all its own and allowed for a raucous, athletic performance by the cast.  

The traditional cast of a commedia dell'arte includes a fool (a Truffaldino), a wealthy papa, a daughter who needs to get hitched, and a host of secret-keepers and secret-crafters to confuse the players and inspire enough mischief to keep the play moving.  The hilarity ensues as a result of star-crossed lovers, hidden wealth, mismatched motives, and a bit of sneakiness.  The cast at the Guthrie breathed life into this classic theatrical form with performances that touched on myriad modern and pop culture references (Helen Keller jokes are hilarious, much to my shock, and poking fun at Michele Bachman and the entire town of Chanhassen gets a big laugh from a Guthrie crowd).  

Steven Epp, who embodies Truffaldino, gives a performance that left me giggling and exhausted-by-reference (actors are athletes, no doubt)! Allen Gilmore's Pantalone was equally astonishing in its physicality, with a particular wobbly-kneed episode leaving me slack-jawed with wonder and a solid guffaw. There was no weak link in this stellar grouping, but Truffaldino and Pantalone were the highlights for me.  

I attended the play with a dear friend and over and over again we snuck glances at each other after hilarious bits, heads shaking with the oh-my-goodness of particularly surprising banter. After the stress of the day and the rush to get into our seats, sitting back and laughing, clapping, hooting along with the audience, was a welcome exercise in relaxation-by-glee. 

This show was just a package of joy.  And y'all have through January 20th to experience it for yourselves. Don't miss this one! 

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Elf the Musical

My Christmas show repertoire mirrors that of most Minneapolitans, in that I make a trek to the Guthrie for A Christmas Carol. An honorable, warm-and-fuzzy tradition, to be sure, and one I plan on repeating this year, but I was anxious to add something a little lighter, a little goofier, a little more giggle-prone to this year's festivities.

Enter, Elf the Musical, at the Ordway. Decorated in Elf-inspired fashion, complete with cut out snowflakes, ribbons, and snowmen, the lobby of the Ordway itself has a certain North Pole-at-Macy's appearance. The pianist playing all the Christmas favorites and the steady supply of hot chocolate and wine options make even killing time pre-show a bit of a festive endeavor.

This is one of those theatre experiences that does not inspire a great deal of pre-show curiosity, I admit. I've seen the movie a dozen times, thus, I can envision a musical version of Will Ferrell's wide-eyed slapstickery pretty easily. But that also proves to be a substantial hurdle for the actors as they are fully aware that every single body in every single seat has a preconceived notion of who Buddy the Elf is and how he should interact with our non-North Pole world.

The show doesn't veer from the movie often, why fix what isn't broken? Fans of the movie will recognize familiar quips peppered between songs. All the one-liners made famous by Ferrell make an appearance. I admit, the novelty wears off after a few scenes, but that doesn't make the show less enjoyable.

The music is reminiscent of the movie's score, chipper, bell-happy, and brimming with just enough saccharine sweetness to loosen up the Scrooge tendencies and indulge in a bit of gooey theatrical fluff. The lyrics are pretty forgettable aside from some smartmouth quips in Deb's solos and a couple of numbers in the second act. But the tunes are peppy and festive and comfortably support the uncomplicated storyline and no-need-to-worry-this-will-have-a-happy-ending vibe of the show.

I found the most engaging scenes/songs to be the truly original ones, the ones that weren't repackaged nicely from the movie but written exclusively for the stage production.  The disgruntled santa number,  "Nobody Cares About Santa," was the most amusing, and best choreographed piece of the night. Jovie's solo, "Never Fall in Love [With an Elf]" was also a quirky, sweet add-on the script, even if the romance between Buddy and Jovie never quite sold me as particularly strong.  I also enjoyed the way the cast painted the picture of how Buddy's story became a children's book, the pace and lyrics of that piece were spot on and Walter's dismissal of his humbuggery in favor of embracing his new son was sweetly done.  It's no Ebenezer Scrooge transformation, and the emotional transitions have to be assumed, not seen, but it was hard to be a curmudgeon over a song that involved that much dancing on office furniture.

Elf is a movie many, many people love, myself included. The musical is a funny, feel good, kid-friendly interpretation that stays in line with the film almost in lockstep. It won't surprise you, but it will leave you smiling and craving sugar. Adults will enjoy this and kids will L-O-V-E it, so I recommend indulging in some Christmas frivolity in St. Paul sometime soon.

Elf runs through December 30th at the Ordway and you can purchase tickets online or by calling 651-224-4222.

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Aida

I'm a picky connoisseur of Mediterranean fare. I lived in Morocco with the Peace Corps so I know what I want when I order chicken shwarma.

Aida, tucked into a former Taco Bell at Penn and 66th, is a fantastic find for this Mediterranean snob. Not classic Moroccan grub, but a wonderful collection of favorites like hummus, baba ganoush, basmati rice, and Turkish olives. Hot pita bread rounded out the meal and I left satisfied, warmed, and comforted by food that was clearly prepared with care. And to top it all off, the meal below was $9, hard to beat when seeking out deliciousness that doesn't break the bank.

Can't wait to return to this little gem!