Sidetrip: Melbourne, Australia

I am one very happy Red Pepper. And the simple reason is that Australia, and specifically Melbourne, is a fabulous place for a foodie. Everywhere I turned there were new chef-driven restaurants and, not just that, everyone was talking about the food and restaurants giving the town, in my perspective, a foodie mentality. All in all, a very vibrant foodie scene and I left Melbourne sad that I couldn't get to every restaurant that was on my list.

Two restaurants blew me away - Bar Lourinha and even more so Cumulus Inc. Tapas is hot, hot, hot in Melbourne right now and both of these restaurants were all about the small plates. At the tiny Bar Lourinha in the CBD (Central Business District), I had the most flavorful spiced spinach and chickpea dish I have ever had. Work conversation was going on around me but my mind was centered in on trying to figure out what was in this dish. I got to cumin and then I was befuddled and decided to just enjoy the really comfortable, eclectic atmosphere of the tiny tapas bar itself.

And then if I wasn't blown away enough by the spinach and chickpeas at Bar Lourinha, the two vegetable dishes I tried at the very hot Cumulus Inc. were out of this world wonderful. I literally felt like they changed my foodie life and made me ready to follow chef Andrew McConnell wherever he could take me. And his style of cooking made me think he is a kindred soul with Sameh Wadi from our very own Saffron (Sameh, if you are listening, go meet this guy!). The first dish was simply called spiced cauliflower with goats curd. It was tiny floret pieces pan roasted with spices and tossed atop a bed of smooth goats curd cheese. It was bursting with flavors and spices. As I sat at the bar overlooking the tiny kitchen area, I think I saw them put at least 15 different ingredients in this dish including pomegranate seeds. I had started with the cauliflower and I was so intrigued that rather than move to dessert, I decided to have as "dessert" another vegetable dish, the organic carrots with almond cream and harissa. I watched them making this dish in the kitchen and personally couldn't resist a plateful of beautiful orange babies tossed in a hot harissa sauce and then cooled with almond cream on the plate. These were arguably the very best carrots I have ever had. I loved the cooled heat and the crispy crunch of the barely pan-fried carrots. The restaurant was a hot scene too with every table filled. I was lucky to score a seat at the bar and so glad that I stuck it out to get that seat! Sigh. Wish it was here.

Melbourne was a bit of an extended business stay for me in a country (5 whole nights!) so I also tried other restaurants about town. Spring was in the air at the Italian Becco where I had my first stinging nettle pasta. While I didn't love the space and felt the dish was a bit underseasoned, it's vibrant green color had me expecting the bunny rabbits of spring to hop out of it. At Trunk, in a renovated old synagogue space, I enjoyed the open room more than I did the so-so pizza. Nearby in the CBD, I also had a large work dinner at Gingerboy, which is all about modern Asian. I had an amazingly crisp and creamy silken tofu dish and vegetable curry but the love of the food was hurt by the "fry" in the air which left the clothes in my suitcase for the next week and a half with a slight twinge of grease (yummy...). Finally, in South Melbourne I had a delicious frilled haloumi and tomato salad with a balsamic reduction at Sweethearts Cafe. It gave new direction to my life - haloumi belongs in salad and not just as an appetizer at Greek restaurants.

Sidetrip: Melbourne Cup Day, Australia

What a week to be in Melbourne! Spring has come and the Spring Racing Carnival is on. Yes, racing, and no, I do not mean NASCAR! We are talking about the ponies! I had no idea that people of all ages could be so inspired by horse-racing that there is even a state holiday for this Melbourne Cup Day.

Arriving the afternoon before said day in order to adjust to the major time difference before my meetings (last time I felt like I was in a haze the entire time!), I did as an explorer should do and jumped right into the local holiday, starting with the Melbourne Cup Parade through the Central Business District of Melbourne. Basically, it was a yawn of a parade featuring waving horse owners and jockies sitting in sports cars but it did allow for quite the celebrity sighting… look, Ma, there’s Olivia Newton-John! Oh, Sandy!

Braving it the next day, I popped on a dress and high heels, and took the train the short distance to Flemington to check out the actual Melbourne Cup Races. It would be like if I were going to be in Louisville during Derby weekend and then didn’t go to Derby (or eat Derby Pie). I did not want to regret this opportunity!

The scene was phenomenal – over 100,000 Australians dressed in their spring finest with hats, hairpieces and fascinators towering over the crowds. Men all up in suits. It reminded me of a NASCAR race only in the number of people but the event comparison stops there. Here people were picnicking while drinking champagne. If you have been to a Southern NASCAR race, you draw your own comparative image in so I don’t have to! And those of you who are picturing the infield at the Triple Crown races in the US, this wasn’t that crazy brouhaha scene either – major signage at the race course saying that anybody who was intoxicated would be arrested.

There really didn’t appear to me to be a traditional food of Melbourne Cup unless fried chicken stands are tradition. The event mainly focused on the drinking and socializing. I left the event just as the high heels were coming off and the air was starting to smell more like a pub than a fresh spring day.

Regardless, great fun! I don’t understand why we don’t do this dressed up horse racing thing more often in the United States? I am dying for one of the hats!

Food Lit: Heirloom

If there is one food that I adore it has to be fresh tomatoes, to the extent that I grow them on my patio. I feel horrible pangs of guilt that I can’t treat my tomato plants as well as I would like – the travel, lack of real earth to put them in, and my clumsy attempts at staking with chopsticks and dental floss are all signs of my poor tomato motherhood. But I love the feeling of pride when the tomatoes do usually ripen on the vine and that taste of the perfect sun-temperature tomato straight from the patio and on to my dinner plate. It was thus very clear to me that I have something in common with Tim Stark and why, even though I had never been to his Union Square Greenmarket domain in New York City, I was instantly attracted to reading his book Heirloom: Notes from an Accidental Tomato Farmer.

And now I want to throw in the towel and become a tomato farmer.

But, wait, no. There is the weeding, the pests, the temperamental weather (and neighbors), and the back-breaking hours of making it all happen and sitting at my desk just doesn’t sound so bad anymore. Maybe I could marry a tomato farmer instead.

Stark’s book is made up of bits and pieces, thoughts and opinions, emotions and facts – all about the trials and tribulations of growing heirloom tomatoes in eastern Pennsylvania for the gourmets of New York City. It is a collection of stories that, when you are finished reading, has built nicely (albeit circuitously) into a full story of how a consultant living in Brooklyn made his way into tomato farming and how he became (in spite of himself?) successful at doing so.

If you are a (former) reader of Gourmet magazine, you might recognize this man from the controversial story where he drowns a groundhog. I had an “ah-ha” moment of realizing that this was “that guy” and then I forgave him. Farming does appear to be a rough battle of man against nature.

Other interesting tidbits from the book include antidotes of the chefs that are Stark’s main customers, the crème de la crème of New York high food society – Bouley and Boulud amongst others. The passion they feel for the vegetables is addictive and I will feel less uncomfortable someday walking into their realms and requesting vegetable dishes, with some tomatoes please!

While this wasn’t the most eloquent book of writing in the food world, I appreciated its humor and take “it as it comes” attitude both in the protagonist himself and his writing style. And the appreciation of Stark’s chosen profession and the tomatoes themselves is really just so heartening and appetizing to see. This is a definite recommended read for the tomato and food lover.

Food Lit: Never Trust a Thin Cook

Ooh. I am not thrilled. Despite the fact that I truly enjoyed reading Eric Dregni’s Never Trust a Thin Cook and Other Tales from Italy’s Culinary Capital, I felt like I was taken in by the marketing of the book. I saw the title and then the blurb review on the back by Dara Moskowitz Grumdahl and anticipated cracking open a book focused on tales of eating in Italy. In truth, though, only a small portion of this book was about food. Instead it is a delightful set of incidents gathered over the author’s two or so years living in Italy. Delightful, yes. Food lit, no. Has food literature and gastronomy become such a hot seller that the best way to market a travelogue now is to misrepresent it? Guess so. Good thing I didn’t pay for the book (thank you U of MN press) or I might want my money back.

When food was mentioned in the book, though, it was a treat. I have a newfound respect for the Balsamic Vinegars of Modena, realizing that is unlikely that I have ever even had the real stuff (I am eyeing that bottle from Trader Joe’s on my shelf suspiciously). Since I do enjoy the “fake stuff”, I portend a love affair with the original. I also agreed with Dregni’s multiple mentions about real buffalo mozzarella. As I have mentioned before, the best upgrade that can be had in the Twin Cities is to take your Punch Pizza D.O.C. with the buffalo mozzarella the critical aspect of said upgrade.

As I travel the world I make my own anthropological observations about food culture and one thing I have noted and so clearly has Dregni, is the predilection of the coffee culture in Europe. Breakfast, have coffee. Meet someone on the street, have coffee. Have a meeting, have coffee. After dinner, have coffee. During my first business trips to Europe a few years ago, I quickly learned that my stomach and blood pressure couldn’t keep up. I would end days with my heart racing in strange hotel room beds, listening to floors creak rather than dreaming about the next day’s meals. I am impressed that a fellow Minnesotan could handle it all!

Basically, Never Trust a Thin Cook is a fun, quick read about the quirky incidents of an ex-pat in Italy. It’s fun but if you are looking for a serious book about the foods of Italy, this isn’t it.

Lyndale Taphouse

The pinup girls of Lyndale Taphouse have caused quite the commotion on the local blogs in the past couple of months. I feel the need to comment. I was a Women’s Studies minor in college and I am not offended by the photos – I think they are funny and cute. And if you are afraid your children will see them, here is the word on that: Lyndale Taphouse is a bar, not a restaurant, and you shouldn’t even be tempted to even take your kids to. The food isn’t worth it for you to even make an early evening exception. Instead, get a babysitter and swing by to check out the crowd and have a drink before it goes from slightly hipster to just another Champps-type place.

I hate empty storefronts in my neighborhood so I was excited about the J.P’s building morphing into something new. The phrase “gastropub” was even floating around the ‘hood. My mind wandered over the pond to where chefs have been reinventing pub food with a local and fresh focus. I pictured gourmet sandwiches and burgers, fresh soups and beautiful salads relished by a crowd who cared about the food more than the game on the tube. Then I saw the pit beef sign and it seemed like an interesting twist that could go either way.

J.P. wouldn’t even recognize his old stomping ground, the bar now running down the long side wall of the building. We clearly know what the focus is here! A group of five of us dug into the menu and no one walked away overly excited. Our server stopped by to offer drinks and menus and then disappeared for almost half an hour, frustratingly leaving our stomachs rumbling. First up, apps. The white bean dip was nicely garlicky but left the table still half full. In terms of mains, my veggie sandwich choices were a black bean burger or grilled cheese. FOr some reason black bean brugers are the "of the moment" veggie burger around town. The grilled cheese was one of the better I have had in a while with a nice smokiness from the gouda good flavor from the red onion confit. But it was still grilled cheese and served with only so-so fried. My companions gave the mac and cheese and the pit beef less than substantial reviews.

It was at Lyndale Taphouse that I made a self-realization and that is that I don’t like to eat out of baskets. And Lyndale Taphouse made the mistake of baskets alongside cloth napkins. Huh? We aren’t talking about neat food here. It was hard to eat the messy sandwiches leaning over a basket smaller than a plate then use a cloth napkin to mop yourself up that you are then supposed to put back on your lap. They were also black napkins so I also couldn’t see if I was about to get a huge grease stain on my jeans – good thing it was pretty dark! The odd combination just wasn’t cutting it, even if it is better for the environment. Please let me have some paper napkins too.

I just don’t picture myself running back to Lyndale Taphouse for the food. Maybe for the bar, yes, but not for dinner.

Thumbs Up: Semi-open kitchen, another choice in the neighborhood, smoky flavor in the grilled cheese
Thumbs Down: Not a gastropub, so-so food

Lyndale Taphouse 2937 Lyndale Ave S Minneapolis www.thelyndale.com

The Anchor Fish and Chips

Okay, maybe you will think I am weird but I am a woman with long hair and one of my biggest pet peeves is when I walk out of a restaurant and my hair smells like the grease trap swishing in front of my face and making me blanche in disgust at myself (and consequently the restaurant that put me into said situation). I walked into The Anchor Fish and Chips and my initial reaction was to want to turn about face and march out upon seeing the “open kitchen”, fryers front and center. But considering I was with six other people, I stuck it out for the sake of decorum. And, I am amazed to report, seriously amazed, that I walked out not smelling like fried food!!! That is one heck of a ventilation system. Hope it stays that way after a few more months and years in use. Yup, I said years. The Anchor is here to stay.

Frying is fun! That would be my tagline for Anchor. This is not a menu of salads and soups. Vegetables were nary in sight… unless they were fried in my pastie. I pictured an empanada when I ordered but instead it was like a huge patty of mixed vegetables smooshed into mashed potatoes, dipped in the thick fish batter and fried until golden brown. I looked at these fried mashed potatoes sitting on top of my fried chips and the first thought that came to my mind was hangover heaven. Considering it was 9pm, I wasn’t hungover but I still did my darndest to put myself in said drunken mindset, my company’s hilarious rowdiness helping create the scene.

I love great big French fries. And The Anchor is now my Twin Cities winner for the best. Great big French fries (“chips”) cut from real potatoes that have skins. Fried til slightly crispy on the outside and then mushy delicious on the inside. Not overly salted. Vinegar and ketchup already on the table. Best my-kinda-fries around these parts. Now, everyone has their own fry thing (I will eat them but will not love them, those little skinny frites things), so to each their own on this one but if you think a fry should be the size of your ring finger and not pencil-thin, run fast to The Anchor to get in line (yes, there is likely to be a wait…).

I do have a gripe with The Anchor and that is the wine. It comes from a box. Why would you have Harp and Guinness and other good beers and then boxed wine? Even screwtops are better, especially from New Zealand. The Irish like their wine too, by the way (and the theme goes only so far considering the Native American art on the walls). Offering decent wine with fish and chips doesn’t make you a hypocrite, Anchor. I promise. Please?

By the way, my friends really liked their fish. One who had come a few weeks ago says it is even better now. You come for the fish. I will stick to the chips. Mmm… great chips.

Thumbs Up: Great chips, good atmosphere, less fry smell than expected
Thumbs Down: The wine comes from a box

The Anchor Fish and Chips 302 13th Ave NE Minneapolis www.theanchorfishandchips.com

Blue Door Pub

St. Paul has been feeling neglected. I could just tell. Well, more likely the St. Paul contingent in my book club was feeling ignored. I admit it. Yes, I do. I have been using book club to try new places in town. Unlike most of the locations we end up (the wine bars and casual diners – Sapor Café, Wilde Roast, Bad Waitress), at Blue Door Pub our table of women was surrounded by tables of … men. Hmmm… intriguing. So, this is where they are!

Sorry, got distracted there. Back to Blue Door Pub and not the men of Blue Door Pub.

The Blue Door Pub’s big burger reputation (their "juicy blucy") is in contrast to the surprisingly small space. We live in the Midwest so we like to build our pubs big (think the Local and Brit’s) so I was surprised at the two small, bright rooms that made up Blue Door Pub. Also unexpected was the Tuesday night wait for tables. This wait and the small place definitely made Blue Door more of a Diner/Restaurant than a Pub. When I think “pub”, I think the UK dark places with sticky floors where you can wile away the hours over a pint or three. Here, there were bright lights, lots of waiting people and a subconscious feeling that you better eat and move on so that the burger-hungry St. Paul-ites donn’t get feisty.

By the time we got seated, I was about to get feisty myself. But then something rare and beautiful happened. We had the very nicest of service experiences. The waitress and later the manager (owner?) were simply so sweet, open and welcoming. Amongst the hecticness and crowd, they could very well have been bitter and stressed. Instead the hubbub dissipated and we were free to enjoy our meal and take our time. It was a perfect example of how service can make (and not only break) a dining experience.

The menu is definitely about burgers but they also have apps, salads, and other sandwiches at Blue Door. I went the closest to burger that a vegetarian could by choosing the black bean burger with fries. The black bean burger was nothing special (I should have opted for an interesting sauce) and I thought the bun was too smooshy and boring, too similar to the ones from the Hostess plastic bags. Sorry, but Burger Jones beat out the Blue Door bun.

At the time I thought the fries were pretty darn good. They were medium-thick, skin on and all of the bits and pieces and ugly ones were served too. Mighty fine real fries. The problem is is that I had the chips at Anchor Fish & Chips a couple of days later and suddenly the BDP fries weren’t as fabulous as I thought. More on those Anchor fries soon…

I had fun at Blue Door Pub despite the fact that my Black Bean Burger wasn’t the best veggie burger I have ever had. It is my loss that I don’t eat “real” burgers considering the lines waiting for them. I am super sad that there isn’t more hanging out space at BDP, though, because I finally found where some of the men in the Twin Cities are apparently eating. Where do they go after those burgers?

Thumbs Up: Great service, fun atmosphere, good wine selection
Thumbs Down: Too bright, too small, the hamburger buns

Blue Door Pub 1811 Selby Ave St. Paul www.thebluedoorpubmn.com