A fairly amazing-sounding Better Beer Society brown bag series event at Butcher & the Boar, some revised menus at local restaurants, a local foodie’s epic Mother’s Day feast, tasting notes for Summit Pilsner and Steel Toe’s Provider, the Star Tribune’s Taste 50, and a new urban farm in Minneapolis.
Katie Cannon / Heavy Table
Judd Spicer has an eye educated by seven years in the Twin Cities’ liquor industry and four years’ experience as a local private investigator specializing in food and beverage quality evaluations. Herein, he tours and types about his experiences at establishments across Minnesota. Please join us with an open mind, and a full glass.
“First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you.”
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
At approximately 7:25pm on a Friday eve of not-so-distant yore, two respectably dressed gentlemen walk into a hotel in downtown Minneapolis. Muted attire is the order for the eve: no striped, patterned, or loud shirts; no hats. Appear to be Everybody; Nobody; Anyman; Everyman. The less one is observed himself, the better to be an observer.
Passing through the lobby and its posh, adjoining “Living Room” bar, my colleague and I proceed onward, then upward, ascending the Minneapolis skyline until reaching the 27th floor of the still newly minted W Hotel Foshay. The elevator doors open; Prohibition appears.
Built in 1929 for $3.7 million, the Foshay Tower was, for more than 40 years, the zenith of our MinnyApple. The 27th floor was initially designed as a part of the personal living and work space for the successful, driven, eccentric, and ultimately doomed Wilbur Foshay, who eventually fell victim to the market crash and spent an ensuing three years in Leavenworth for mail fraud.
Symbols of Foshay’s once-awesome vision remain here; but what does the namesake’s ultimate ruin portend for the modern-day establishment?
My associate and I — having just missed the 5-7 happy hour – are unable to corral seats at the undersized bar; observation of barkeeps will therefore be replaced this eve by appraisal of service staff. We find comfort in a pair of Prohibition’s curiously mismatched leather chairs (which range from gaudy white to handsome library browns and blacks), but the intimate setting feels more apt for cooing couples than unshaven pals. Relaxed jazz, blues, and soul sounds play perfectly here, making the occasional foray into hip hop seem misplaced and somewhat comical. Televisions are aptly absent.
The space nudges visitors away from seating at the bar itself (with its fewer than 10 chairs) toward semi-private nooks and corners situated about the circumference of the space (and one unique mini-lounge above the bar itself). Outside the ample windows, downtown poses in a mosaic mesh of Minneapolis past and present; sightseers will no doubt debate the view.
Katie Cannon / Heavy Table
The menu complements the positives here: sleek and succinct, well-matched for both a new millenium mindset and the W’s recent establishment. The carpaccio is excellent; thin and well-textured, and the three-cheese plate is also quite tasty. Furthermore, our party was informed that the fine dining menu from Manny’s downstairs was also available.
Cocktails dominate the selections here; beer is muted, wine spans the varietals then stops; cordials, champagnes, and cognacs are offered in pithy, top-shelf presentation. While I’m never one to ignore a stiff drink, I’ve seen too many young barkeeps over-pour because of ego or ignorance. Cocktails here, however, were the proper marriage of liquor and mixer. The M&M — mixed with the increasingly popular Jeremiah Weed sweet tea vodka, mint, and mango puree — is soundly recommended; just be certain your date has a some floss in her handbag. In addition, the Behind The Green Door (one of about 10 martini options) will turn enough heads with its dry ice presentation that few will entirely care what it actually tastes like.
And the heads do indeed swivel at Prohibition, in part because the place is still merely a year young and incipient patrons released from the elevator doors are visibly uncertain where to sit, stand, or stroll. And furthermore because, in brief: This is a hotel. Many visitors to Prohibition are also guests in our fair city and — much like Foshay in this space himself — they arrive, stay a short while, and then are gone, forevermore.
However, such transience is surely buoyed at Prohibition by a staff member that — in our sojourn — provided laughs to match her legs. Pretentions are not limited to the coasts alone, and it’s not uncommon to engender a downtown establishment and be made to feel your haircut isn’t right.
But then there are women like Sarah. To be a comely server is ordinary and slightly entertaining. To be attractive, interesting, and outgoing is exceptional. Quality service — especially at your higher-end establishments — is truly an extension of the product itself. I’ve reported on too many a server or barkeep over the years offering a cig-smoked hand or garlicky breath that easily extends a smoky scent to glassware, or floats an egregious aroma over plated food after the employee has “grazed” in a cavernous kitchen corner.
Our IDs were aptly checked at arrival (a bruised ego for the sensitive surely outweighs the $500 fine for a first-time server offense; $3,000 for a third), we were provided with a measured, ¼-ounce complimentary sample of a liquor that stirred our curiosities (not an uncouthly passed free drink, rather an appropriate opportunity for a bar to increase sales), and, upon completion of our stay, our tab was properly itemized and accurately tabled in the middle of our party.
Katie Cannon / Heavy Table
Furthermore, all tables in our immediate area readily appeared to be given the same treatment: no favoritism, cronyism, or inversely — avoidance of service responsibility. There’s no shortage of establishments in this town where familiarity breeds the proverbial contempt for the outsider, where a free drink for one is obviously and uncouthly billed for another, where regulars enjoy the fruits of service while interlopers sit before an empty glass and crane necks for their server. Not the case in our experience or for those seated about us, who appeared to be properly served and billed in a most timely fashion. Sarah elevated our “night out” into an “evening out.” There is a difference. Upon arrival, look for the lass in the fishnets, and promptly sit in her section.
At 10:56pm, after our party had long grown to three, we addressed our tab, rose from our white leather, and descended back toward the lobby. En route, it was remarked with the earnestness of pals that we would indeed return to this attractive place, albeit with a lady friend — a fairer companion than a group of unshaven men.
Readers: Is there an establishment that you think warrants a visit? We readily welcome your insights. Please contact us at and subject line “Cocktail P.I.”
Katie Cannon / Heavy Table
Judd Spicer has an eye educated by seven years in the Twin Cities’ liquor industry and four years’ experience as a local private investigator specializing in food and beverage quality evaluations. Herein, he tours and types about his experiences at establishments across Minnesota. Please join us with an open mind, and a full glass.
“First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you.”
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
Barrio, translated from Spanish, means “neighborhood.” As my party of three strolled the streets of Lowertown on a Friday of not-so-distant yore, I continued to marvel at the sight of cabs lined up before this nascent establishment and the neighboring Bulldog in what was once my own sleepy barrio. Back when I lived in these parts, just past the turn of the millennium, when people talked about coming to Lowertown on the weekend, it generally meant a roam through the Art Crawl or the farmers market.
Taxis don’t align for produce.
In October of last year, the third Bulldog incarnation opened at the adjacent Mears Park location; in June of this year, James Beard Award-winner Tim McKee, Josh Thoma and crew trended to St. Paul with their second Barrio locale. The corner duo has buoyed a collective known as the Lowertown Entertainment District, and has created an unquestionable push-pin destination for this nook of the capital city.
But just as we in the T.C. are prone to flood a hot spot, we are equally apt to cool to a quality establishment once the next vogue place opens a year later. McKee’s progeny (La Belle Vie and Solera among them) seem to have deservedly warded off an economic and smoking ban scourge that has brought down many a quality enterprise. But is their vast shelving of Barrio tequilas long enough to outlast a Minnesota winter and melt a chill that is oft-equated with St. Paul after dark?
If the full bar and active host stand upon our 6:55pm arrival is any indicator, the place shows no signs of slowing. Such has been the case in each of my six visits to Barrio.
Once a trio of stools eventually opens for us, the awesome display of 130 tequila options stands proud behind the 40-foot-long bar. As do the barkeeps. These gents aren’t simply present to toss the intimidating list of tequila options your way and await your nervous declaration of “That Añejo, I guess.” Rather, the barmen have obviously been well-trained to detail the succinct list of Johnny Michaels-crafted cocktails and margaritas, to handle the unique mixology array of fresh juices and uncommon mixers and, more importantly, to provide some hand-holding through the vast selection of Blanco, Reposado and Añejo tequilas. Their presentation is impressive, and at least upon this earlier juncture of the evening, the product familiarity owned by the bartenders breeds nothing precarious.
Katie Cannon / Heavy Table
An intended point of repetition: This lengthy tequila menu is imposing. Sure, there are the rare few patrons who will have the acumen to marvel at the options. But because of its incipience in Minnesota, one will find more bullshitters perusing a tequila list than in any other liquor niche (i.e., beer, scotch, wine). Tequila and its tenets are to 2009 what vodka was to a decade ago. If you seek an “experience” at Barrio, follow the advice of your hosts. Don’t just order a Patron.
These barkeeps are armed with more than just a dozen interchangeable adjectives to describe their liquid benefactor. They know the difference between a tequila and a mescal. They can talk at length about the blue agave plant and the different regions of Mexico. They can detail the aging process for different types of their championed liquor. This ain’t hovering an index finger above two Cabernets at an Olive Garden — at Barrio (as the prices dictate) you’re paying up for knowledge. And the staff has done their homework, although the placement of their classroom may cause unease for some as the hours progress. And make no mistake: Yes, they will try to upsell some tequilas in the $20 range (and really, at about $14, the Del Senor Reposado is worth it). But that’s their job: to assist, to navigate, to sell.
The barmen will also be happy to make suggestions — for both their well-presented cocktails and the oft-impressive menu of affordable Mexican street foods — to match your proclivity. Regarding the latter, both the “Diver Scallop Ceviche” and “Crab Empanada” plates are consistently excellent, and the “Fresh Corn Chowder” is delicious — for the sober. There’s really nothing attractive about watching a drunken person spooning soup.
Regarding the drinks: “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly” mix of tequila with tamarind cinnamon cola is truly unique, wonderfully refreshing, and especially tasty — ideal for an evening starter. Accolades also extend to both the “Old Cuban” mojito and “The Trinity” margarita. Inversely, stay the hell away from the “Macho Camacho” margarita. One would rather be gored in a bull ring than choke down more than one of these concoctions of blood orange Ancho 1800 black margarita with a splash of cava. Had I ordered another, I may have been the first. Let’s just say that’s the drink’s believed inspiration, boxer Hector “Macho” Camacho, is actually Puerto Rican and was just busted for breaking probation on a 2007 burglary charge.
To stay with the boxing metaphor: After a lengthy stay at Barrio don’t be surprised to find yourself looking like you took one on the kisser. That goes for both sides of the ring. While the average consumer’s palate isn’t tempered to ingest copious amount of tequila (even at a sipping pace), the expert gullet, as it goes with repetition, is more schooled to handle repeated and varied glasses.
That’s to say that as you drink, the barkeeps at Barrio will join you.
Which is not always a bad thing, as the barmen here are both generous and savvy enough to partake in a complimentary tasting of a given tequila. But while the serving surface at Barrio is well-kept, drinking while working can be a slippery slope.
Did I ever drink behind the bar in my own years of service? Yes. But the amounts were diminutive and I was demure when going about the practice. In addition: I never let it affect the presentation of the establishment as a whole. Personally, I always like to pretend the bar is a stage. Yes, the barkeep is a person (and hopefully an engaging one); however the engagement comes in the form of a performance on that stage. An exceptional barman is not only himself, but a performance of himself.
On multiple occasions on this eve in question, one barkeep was seen drinking behind the bar. And as the night grew long, it’s merely candid to say that his performance was affected. Did he remain engaging? Yes. But sometimes it was at the suffering of our party, as he was active being engaging with every party, which takes time. As the hours progressed, our service grew worse: less attention, confusing tab, and a visible, albeit managed alteration in interpersonal behavior.
Our bill was constructed upon our 11:10 departure and our party collected outside amid an active neighborhood. Before parting into the eve, it was noted that while Barrio is indeed worth the audience price of a $9 / per cocktail-ticket, the acting can get a little sloppy come a midnight performance.
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