Uptown Market’s Big Debut

This weekend, we all have yet another reason to be excited about living in the Twin Cities. A brand-new outdoor market is opening that is all local, all volunteer, and driven by the power of a few great ideas.

Roxie Speth, founder and visionary of Uptown Market, proposed the idea of a European-style street market to her neighborhood council in February of this year. Five months later, it has become a reality, with the first market kicking off this Sunday.

The Uptown Market is located on 29th Street between Lyndale Ave S. and Dupont Ave S., easily accessible by public transportation and close to the Greenway bike trail. The market will empower and enliven the neighborhood by giving artists, craftspeople, small business owners, farmers, cooks, bakers, and neighbors a place to come together to sell their goods. Given that this is a grassroots, all-volunteer market, Roxie and her team are starting with four dates: June 21, July 19, August 16, and September 20 between 11 a.m. and 5 p.m. You’ll find produce, prepared food, fine art, crafts, antiques, and vintage clothes. Roxie says it was challenging to bring in farmers for a market that doesn’t happen every week, but in time, she hopes to establish the market as a local weekly institution, which should draw a standing mix of diverse vendors.

Roxie’s inspiration comes from her own love of community gathering and vibrant neighborhoods. On a trip to Seattle, she and her friend Jess Horwitz fell in love with the Fremont Market, a fantastic year-round street market with over 150 vendors. And as an artist herself, she’s always craved an accessible venue to sell her work. Once she got involved in her neighborhood council, she met Brendan Jordan, a program manager for the Great Plains Institute who helped make it all happen. “It’s amazing how much you can accomplish once you take action,” she says, “and how much support you get–not only from friends, but also from your community.”

As for food, we might just have to wait to find out what’s there. Roxie mentioned coffee and corn roasters and the purple hot dog vendor known as the Magic Bus Cafe that sells psychedelic hot dogs, vegan tofu pups, popcorn, and baked goods. If you or anyone you know are interested in being a vendor, please contact Jess Horwitz, the market’s vendor coordinator, at jess@uptownmarket.org. See you there!

Living Bread

In my wandering around town, heading to the market, the laundry, or the pub, I suppose, I perked up when I saw that the superette on the corner of Selby and Dale closed its doors. One moment it was full of soda, cigarettes, chips, sunglasses, and all kinds of mismatched junk peering out the front windows. The next it was empty as day. This place is across the street from Mississippi Market and Paisano’s and in the same building as Muddy Pig, and it’s really attractive, with big windows and a prime location that would let people inside sit contented and watch the world go by.

In the fantasy version of my life, I have a ton of cash and I rent the space to create what I’ve always envisioned, in my clever but idea-overloaded mind, as “my cafe.” It’s called Flâneur, serving high-class bohemian food with excellent coffee, tea, and a collection of apéritifs and digestifs. Flâneur encourages extended periods of flânerie, loosely defined as the strolling of urban streets. But a flâneur is also a connoisseur. He (or she, as the flâneuse might have it) has a keen understanding of where a good experience might lie, whether it’s following the most interesting street or stumbling into the best cafe. In the spirit of it, at my counter, you might order a sandwich and a pastis — liqueur that comes with a small carafe of water, a brilliant pairing that can make your drink last for almost as long as you choose. To use Cafe Maude’s language, my cafe would be a spot of civilized leisure.

For better or worse, Flâneur must remain a fantasy, at least at this address. The space has been rented. A sign in the storefront announces a June 2009 opening of Living Bread, which the Internet tells me is a store that promises to put “Catholic life at your fingertips.” This strikes me as odd still. I can’t imagine a shrine to Catholica in such a prominent intersection. Aren’t religious supply stores usually, I don’t know, not so . . . obvious? As a good flâneuse, though, I’m thrilled that it isn’t a national sandwich chain, and that my neighborhood will soon have yet another storefront to amble into. And maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll even be able to replace my broken Jesus nightlight.

Namaste Cafe and ŌM

Since moving to the Twin Cities 3-plus years ago, I’ve been a one-salon kind of girl, getting my hair cut, colored, and styled at Evolution on Lyndale, a salon owned by Matt Swinney, who I wholeheartedly vote the best stylist in MSP. Right, I know this is one of the two salons I’ve been to, but I still know he is worthy of the vote. He has impeccable taste, graceful styling skills, and a salon that absolutely comes from his heart.

Today Matt told me about the restaurant ŌM opening at 401 First Avenue North in Minneapolis in the spring. I’ve been following ŌM’s Tweets, so I perked up when he told me about the plans for the food and suggested I sign up to be an “ŌM enthusiast,” which promises to make me among the first to receive news, announcements, and “exclusive” invitations.

ŌM’s concept and presentation look exceptional. The James Beard-recognized cookbook author Raghavan Iyer is the “culineer,” which Jeremy Iggers reports is short for “culinary engineer.” How snappy, which is what the interior and fresh Indian food will likely prove to be. I hope ŌM will fill a gap in the Twin Cities dining scene. Creative, contemporary Indian food with no buffet.

Whether by suggestion or fate, after Evolution I went in search of lunch and ended up at the Indian restaurant Namaste Cafe. With a door so welcoming, how could I not go inside?

The cafe/restaurant is in a sunny old duplex with a bright exterior, including a gorgeous mural.

Namaste has a huge menu of appetizers, soups, salads, entrees, curries, bean specialties, breads, and the Namaste lunch box. I had a tofu roti wrap, a “delicious mix of spicy beans, crunchy cabbage, fresh tomatoes, green peppers, red onions, and cilantro wrapped in a whole wheat roti.”

I loved every bite. As I ate, the front door was open, letting in the spring breeze, and next to me a table of mixed-race, mixed-age people were discussing the challenges of creating a civil society. “What did Margaret Mead say?” said the white-haired Indian woman, as they listened carefully to one another and jumped in and out of the conversation.

Namaste Cafe is just like yoga class, only you get to eat. A meal here leaves you feeling grounded, connected, and a little more open in your heart.

Namaste.

Town Talk Diner

My favorite restaurants in the Twin Cities (or anywhere, for that matter) all have a certain something that isn’t so easy to define, like how Barbette oozes with atmosphere or Meritage makes you feel like you stumbled into a corner of France. Town Talk Diner is on the top of that list. Let’s call it my je na sais quoi list, because, you know, everything is more intriguing when you say it in French.

My je na sais quoi list, now that I decided I have one, is all about synergy, I suppose, the way in which the elements of a restaurant come together to create something greater than their individual parts. I love how this ineffable quality can be just as nourishing as the food. In the words of author Ray Oldenburg, I would call these restaurants “the third place.” What Oldenburg means is that most everyone has two places: home and work. But on top of it, to finish the triangle and make us complete, we all need a third place, defined by wordspy.com as “a place other than home or work where a person can go to relax and feel part of the community.”

Town Talk is not only a place to get a meal. It is also a perfect third place. Town Talk is classic, authentic, and well-designed. It is a comfortable modern space that brings a vintage diner carefully back to life. I think this has to be one of the reasons why it has such great karma. The positive atmosphere buzzes with life. Part of me doesn’t even want to call it a restaurant. Town Talk is more like a party or an ongoing conversation, a place where you can always go to have a great meal, a perfectly shaken cocktail, a malt, and a conversation with your server or a stranger at the bar. The only thing you need is good timing, of course, because it can be awfully hard to get a seat.

I’ve been to Town Talk many times, but last week I went to have a few drinks on the bar stools bar with Nathan (aka, the Bohemian woodworker). He’s busy completely remaking a darling Victorian he rescued from foreclosure, so we met at his house-in-process in Powderhorn. After the grand tour, we went to Luce for pizza and a few beers, then we headed to the main course, the cocktails at Town Talk.

One of life’s great disappointments is wasting 10 bucks on a mediocre cocktail, so I like to spend my drinkin’ money at a bar that will never let you down. Town Talk is one of those places. Their cocktail list is carefully crafted and delightful in its attention to detail. I’m a fan of absinthe, so I asked for The Green Fairy: Zen Green Tea liquer, St. George’s absinthe, vodka, lemon, sugar, and egg white.

I know. You’re probably rolling your eyes at me because you know how hip absinthe is. It doesn’t matter. It’s great stuff, and this has to be one of the best cocktails I ever had. Seriously, it was that good. The bartender shook it up for what seemed like 10 minutes, sifted it into a glass in front of me, then added a generous dose of St. George absinthe with an eyedropper all around the face of the cocktail. He even gave me the bottle to admire. St. George is the good stuff, with excellent design.

Nathan got the Jackson Pollock: Bombay Sapphire, grapefruit-lime sour, sparkling wine, and basil oil. The bartender drops the basil oil into the bottom of your cocktail glass. As he pours in the contents of the cocktail shaker, the oil bubbles to the top and looks a bit like something Pollock might haphazardly drip off of his paint brush.

My only complaint about Town Talk is that the wine used to be cheaper, a lot cheaper. I liked how 3 and 4-dollar glasses set the wine list apart and encouraged a healthy glass or two to go with your meal. Nathan’s only complaint is that the cocktails are too small. The gimlet he ordered was served in a dainty glass.

On one of the many occasions I’ve been to Town Talk Diner, this song was playing as I walked in the door. Even though I didn’t know the song at the time, it got lodged in my head because I thought it summed up the spirit of Town Talk in a way I couldn’t explain: the ice cream drinks and cocktails, the friendly bar, the buoyant atmosphere, and the happy din of the place all seemed to come together in this jangley Jim Noir tune. Both of them seem to exuberantly go on and on . . .

Peas, Cucumbers, Sun (Sigh)

It was 54 degrees in the Twin Cities today. That’s local news I can get excited about. It’s the second warm day of the year and everyone feels good again. This afternoon I hung out at Nina’s and took a long walk around the neighborhood. There were people everywhere, and I swear they looked a little confused, wandering around Summit Avenue as if they were just released from a long stay in a sanatorium and didn’t know what to do with themselves. I hope no one got hurt.

And then there’s me. I think I am back again, too. I stopped blogging for awhile because I have been finishing a big freelance project–editing, developing, and, some would say, ghostwriting, a 150,000 word encyclopedia of energy medicine, and was up to my eyeballs in chi, prana, and spinning vortexes of light.

Guess what? I am done. I still have to clean up a few things, and there is still a bit of a glossary to deal with, but every chapter, across all four sections, is ready to go. This week, I’ll tidy it up and send it off into the world for its final grooming.

To celebrate, I declared today a Carrie holiday. I didn’t set an alarm. I spent 10 bucks at Nina’s on coffee, oatmeal, and the print edition of the Times. I went to Cooks of Crocus Hill to get a kitchen scale. I went to the library to photocopy Martha Stewart recipes and put a bunch of books on hold. It would have been a perfect day if only I had bought a new handbag.

To go with the newness of spring, I also tried two recipes I’ve never made. They’re light, bright, and easy to make, so you can spend less time in the kitchen and more time walking around town with everyone else.

Chilled Cucumber Soup with Roasted Baby Beets

This recipe looked at me from the pages of Martha Stewart and begged to be made. It is super easy and stylish. It’s great for a party because you need to prepare it early and leave it sit in the fridge. I had dill on hand, which is a little more interesting than parsley and worked perfectly with the flavors. I like how you can see the drops of lemon juice on the soup, which makes me think that a spin of extra virgin olive oil would work nicely too. This soup is an empty palette waiting for you to throw something pretty on it (and it tastes great, too).

Peacamole

Here’s a surprising combination from Clotilde. This is a perfectly strange and earthy spring appetizer. It looks a lot like guacamole, so it’s called peacamole, but that’s where the resemblance ends. This dip consists of peas, cilantro, almond butter, tabasco (I used rooster sauce), garlic, and salt.

Peas and almond butter! Although I’m a creative cook, I would have never thought to pair these two together. But I’m so glad I did. The sweet and snappy peas, earthy nuts, and generous cilantro were made to go with lavash and a glass of white wine. I experimented with a second batch, adding lemon zest and using dill rather than cilantro. Nah. No need to mess with a good thing.

Next Stop, Cheeky Monkey

How well I remember what the reassuring subway voice says about the “gap” in the underground tube in London, the potentially dangerous area between the subway car and the platform. MIND THE GAP. The voice was warm and motherly, as if to safely welcome you to the royal city and hope that you have a most gracious stay.

I did mind both the gap and London itself when I was there, wandering around Regent’s Park and stopping to see Cezanne’s apples, Blake’s sinewy muscles, and Rothko’s moody landscapes again and again at the Tate, eating not much but soup and bread from the Europa around the corner from where I stayed and falafel sandwiches from that little place with the yellow walls near the Camden market.

Tonight I was reminded of all of these details about Londontown at the brand-new, eagerly anticipated Cheeky Monkey Deli in St. Paul (on Selby near Western). The tube sign logo is accompanied by a leisurely, self-assured monkey shooting you a playful wink, as if it knows just how hungry you are and just how good the food is inside. This little guy asks you to stop in, relax, and enjoy yourself before continuing to your next destination.

And guess what, guys? The monkey is right. From food to service to decor, Cheeky Monkey is a wonderful, much-needed addition to the neighborhood. I expect it will be extremely well-received.

The comfortable interior is sort of a mock stately atmosphere reminiscent of Palms in Milwaukee or even Sardi’s in New York City. It brings to mind the Sardi’s spoof in The Muppets Take Manhattan where Kermit dines against a backdrop of frog luminaries framed on the wall rather than famous actors. In this case, the chic black and red decor is offset with cheeky album covers, bold portraits, and beautiful rectangular subway tiles in the kitchen and the bathroom.

The servers are all perfectly attentive and the kitchen is open and well staffed.

The wine list (at least this early in the game) consists of two reds and two whites, but impressing us with grapes does not seem to be part of the business plan. Wine lovers are encouraged to stop by Solo Vino adjacent to the deli to pick up a bottle before going to the deli if they choose. Reports say there is a 5-dollar corkage fee.

The menu is a thorough mix of roughly 15 sandwiches, complete with turkey, ham, roast beef, shrimp, pot roast, meatloaf, and four vegetarian options, including a Nutella and banana sandwich on toast. There is a handful of salads, daily soup, and a nicely balanced list of fetching cold and hot sides.

I ate roasted tomato and red pepper soup. It is served on a wood board with a bit of toasted bread and a shot of olive oil. (And come to think of it, the cup I ordered actually looks like it was served generously in a bowl.) The soup was totally satisfying, with a deep tomato flavor and and sharp boost of roasted pepper in the every bite.

I also ate soft grits, which were creamy, fulfilling, and laced with pieces of bacon.

It was hard to choose just one sandwich, but I ordered one with pot roast, horseradish cream, arugula, and pickled red onion on ciabatta bread. The white bread was perfectly soft and toasted, the meat effortless to eat, the arugula spicy and slightly limp, and the pickled onions nicely acidic and spread throughout. My only request would be a bit more of the horseradish cream, but I’m a fan of big flavors and most people would probably think this sandwich is perfect as is.

As I ate, I couldn’t help but balk at the idea of choosing a chain restaurant over something as authentic and enjoyable as this. It is places like Cheeky Monkey that validate and enhance any urban living experience. Over the pipes was playing Iggy Pop’s Lust for Life, Radiohead, and later on (brace yourself) Axel F. And since I am such a geek, I also used my iPhone to check if the deli offers wireless Internet. Yes, they do. It’s the best kind of Wi-Fi, too – unadvertised and free, which makes Cheeky Monkey an even more enjoyable and civilized stop, no matter what route you are on.

Will You Be My Rafaelo?

It is Valentine’s Day, and me being me, I could not NOT cook, bake, or otherwise play with ingredients in some way to commemorate this holiday, which speaks to my deepest motivations when it comes to food.

As it goes, I also might confess that I have quite a crush on this fellow named R, who I talked with until 6 a.m. in that baroque East Village cafe a few weeks back as if we had known each other for years, eating and drinking over a hundred dollars of food and wine before the night was through.

As R and I were chatting this week, he casually pointed out these fluffy little things online called Rafaelo. Being the curious type, I confirmed if he likes coconut (he does), so I fancied myself a confectioner for a change and spent a night packing these fluffy balls of coconut snow.

They were delightful! I made a large batch. I brought the majority to work and had a parade of people stop by my desk with praise. My boss told me that he saw the recipe on the printer at least five times throughout the day.

A select batch of the finest Rafaelo were sent to R for delivery today accompanied a note that simply said, “I had to.”

I didn’t take any pictures of the process, but I do have one lone Rafaelo remaining here at work, taunting me to eat it and go about my afternoon. I hope dear Palachinka doesn’t mind that I am borrowing her picture, below, for comparison purposes.

Palachinka’s Rafaelo

My Rafaelo, taken on my iPhone, which completely lacks the ability to capture things up close.

You’ll have to go along with me when I say they were adorable.

It Was the Best Meal I Never Had

Oh, my. Where in the world have I been? I took a trip to Gotham, it’s true, but I didn’t mean for it make me as mute as a batgirl for nearly three weeks. Add on the mounds of work I faced when I got back and the nasty cold I acquired just as I was getting on top of things, and you can see why I had to hit the pause button and go underground for awhile. I’m better now and doing a little dance, not only because it’s Friday, but also because Edible Cities just creaked over the 5,000 viewer mark. Who are all of you interesting people? Are you all in love with food too, or are you just looking for Cafe Boy as much as the next girl and guy are?

It’s with a satisfied sigh that I report back about my trip to New York City. If you would let me, I might talk your ear off for a few hours, with well over 200 photos to illustrate where I went, who I saw, and what I consumed. Let’s start with the basics.

One of my authors was invited to be on the Today Show, of all things, and since her travel partner couldn’t make it, I tagged along as both paparazzi and porter. This is Ronelle Coburn, a master hand analyst who uses the unique markings on your hands to peer deeper into your soul than your mother, grandmother, or best friend can. It’s true. She peered into mine and now she knows more about me than I do.

Truth be told, I didn’t expect to be all that involved with the Today Show experience. I was looking forward to updating my facebook status while eating a free bagel in the green room, and that’s about it.

I was surprised when the page invited me to join them in prep, but off I went to see what there was to see. The hair and makeup stylists converged on Ronelle and spruced her up for TV in what seemed like a few minutes.

I waited in the wings, taking pictures whenever it seemed appropriate.

Next, I was invited by Danielle, the producer, to hang out on the set while the segment went live. The whole thing was surprisingly fun and casual. Ronelle was mic’ed and built up a bit of a rapport with Lester Holt before they went on air…

…while I nosed around the kitchen-set…

…discovering what cook books the Today Show people deem worthy enough to keep in the kitchen.

Someone yelled, waved, or grunted, I’m not sure which, and suddenly the cameramen snapped into formation, the segment was taped, and we were quickly congratulating Ronelle on handling her first national TV spot with such grace and skill. Way to go, my friend, and thank you for allowing me to be a part of such an important experience.

During the rest of the trip, I also reconnected with three of my closest friends, saw Jamie’s new apartment in Park Slope, danced to some top-shelf music way too late with Shawn on a Sunday night, and smoked a hookah loaded with Double Apple hash.

I stumbled into a literary reverie in the West Village and got lost in world class art at MoMA and the Met. I walked for hours at a time without a subway map, doing my flaneurian thing, capturing moments as I love to do.

I ate oysters for the first time at Angel’s Share with Earl-Grey-infused grape vodka to wash it down.

I walked 20 minutes out of my way for a killer cup of coffee at 9th Street Espresso.

I ate a cheese puff (or two) from Murray’s.

I ate a cheeseburger at Market Table.

I ate a long-awaited tagine at Le Souk with Shawn. This place was so fantastic I can’t even get into it here.

I ate a 17-dollar architectural appetizer at Brassiere 8 1/2.

I ate a mushroom fritter at the Met.

I ate a mezze plate at Kashkaval with Kallie.

There’s more, of course, but you probably understand what I’m saying. I was anxious to see the somber face of Manhattan again, which always makes me feel an exhilarating sense of homelessness. The stories that led me there ten years ago welcome me back to that place where my mind feels free.

Despite all of this eating, there was one important meal that I never had. Before going to New York, I connected with a guy, a cute one, a sharp one, one who wrote me effortlessly lovely emails and decided that my nickname would be Mrs. Dalloway.

He got to know me and said, very sweetly, “I quickly discovered that food was one of the major gateways into your heart.”

So what did he do? He invited me over for dinner. An afternoon dinner. We would meet for the first time at his place, over a meal that he would make just for us. He called it the Carrie Extravaganza. I know it might sound crazy, but when it feels right, life is all about taking chances, and this was one I was willing to take.

To whet my appetite, he emailed me his grocery list the night before we were to meet…

1 large piece of Parmesano
1 ball Fresh Buffalo Mozzarella
2 cups of Ricotta Cheese
3 Rosemary Sprigs
2 bundles of Fresh, Flat-Leaf Parsley
1 cups fresh Cumin
2 tsp Saffron
4 tsp Cinnamon
1/2 cup Red Pepper Flakes
1/4 Black Pepper
4 tsp Kosher Sea Salt
2 bulbs, Garlic
1 lime
1 lemon
2 cups Fresh Blueberries
1 cup dried Cranberries
1 small container of Fresh, Kalamata Olives
1 small container of Fresh, Frantoio and/or Leccino Olives
2 cucumbers (1 English)
2 large, Red Onions
1 large, White Onions
2 large Red Bell Peppers
10 baby Jerusalem Artichokes
1 Jalapeno Pepper
5 Large, Whole Ripened Tomatoes
2 Small, Plum Tomatoes
1 container, Organic Baby Spinach
1 pound of flower
2 dozen eggs
1 container of corn starch
1 box Sugar
1 cup of Heavy Cream
1/2 cup Pine Nuts
4 whole, soft shell crabs
1 12 to 18-long sourdough baguette
1 cup Marsala Wine
2 cups Organic, No-Chicken Broth

Oh… Dear… Oh… My…

Can you tell how speechless this evocative list must have left me? I couldn’t believe that someone was doing this for me, all based on the charming letters and calls we had shared so far.

Unfortunately, fate intervened and my afternoon date had a family health emergency. The extravaganza would have to be postponed.

Instead, we met at the last minute at an atmospheric cafe in the Village, as soon as he could get there, which was 12:30 in the morning. We sat in a booth by the front window next to this charming lady, and we stayed until 6 a.m. Eventually, we ended up on the same side of the booth, and I got on my return flight later in the morning thinking that the best meal in New York was the one I never got to eat.

BYOL (Bring Your Own Levain)

On a recent Friday night, I sped my way to Cafe Levain with anticipation. I was looking forward to catching up with Jamie, my friend who recently moved to Brooklyn from Minneapolis, and I was late. The 46th Street exit on 35W-S is closed (still) and I haven’t learned (still) to get off earlier. Thankfully, I was able to backtrack and steer myself to my destination, one of those south Minneapolis neighborhood strips with quite a few things going for it. I couldn’t find the restaurant as I drove by, but the address was right, so I parked my car and hoped to find it all the same. Around the corner from a wood-burning pizza place, Turtle Bread, a bar, a movie theatre, a Mexican restaurant, and various other amenities sits Cafe Levain, tucked away on a side street patiently waiting for you to arrive.

It’s very welcoming to step inside this warm, Midwestern bistro, slightly French in spirit, with its large space, hardwood interior, yellow walls, and open kitchen. I just wish I new how to pronounce the restaurant’s name. “Levain” is a challenging French word, isn’t it? I would love to say it with all the guttural verve I know it deserves, but I cannot, so I settle for a flat American approximation thereof, plain old Leh-vahn, spoken like a tired breadmaker who ran out of yeast.

Jamie gave me a big hug and kiss, as this was one of the few nights we’d be able to spend together while she was in town. When we settled in and asked the server what people are ordering, she said “everything,” which makes me a little skeptical. Even if the menu is a masterpiece, every restaurant develops a reputation for a few items. I’m confident that Cafe Levain has a few such entrees on its menu, but unfortunately, I don’t think that we ordered them that evening.

I may not get all the details of these meals right because I am writing from memory. The restaurant posts its menu online, but it changes frequently, and those things we ate weren’t posted when I visited the site.

We started out with a memorable salad (simply called the Winter Salad), a long platter of Brussels sprouts, bacon, poached egg, frisée, and whole pistachio nuts. This was a fantastic blend of texture and flavor with something masterful about it. We shared our way through the salad with many rave reviews and gulps of wine.

I ordered ribeye steak with mushrooms with a side of potato puree, hearty and fulfilling comfort food made even more appealing with local meat and vegetables–something your grandma would make, but never quite this good.

Jamie ordered chicken with beans (I think they were flagolet) and sausage and a side of pearl barley. The chicken was crispy and juicy at the same time, and probably as delicious as any chicken could be. In comparison, the beans were lacking personality, unless you ate them with a piece of sausage, and the pearl barley was suspiciously flavorless. Did something go wrong? Did the sous chef forget to add something to the barley that night? We each had one bite, but the rest of the side dish went completely uneaten, which is a shame, as that’s one of the big things Cafe Levain has going for it. The entrees are priced in the comfortable 16- to 20-dollar range, and on top of it, the portions are more than ample and you also get to choose a side to accompany your meal. I love how this generosity sets Cafe Levain apart as a true Midwestern bistro.

In addition, I also loved the double rows of two-person tables that graced the long wall opposite the kitchen, making this a flirtatious date option, and a lot of people are raving about the prix fixe Sunday Supper.

It’s ironic though, that even considering these obvious charms, the restaurant seems to be lacking that which I cannot pronounce. Levain, a leavening agent, something to infuse it with a little extra gusto and that mysterious spark that marks a restaurant’s sign of success. I’ll be rooting for this place, and hoping that those things Cafe Levain does well will be the leaven that helps it rise as well as it should.

Yummy Yummy Citrus Boys

Five-year-old Julian Kruesser gets his own cooking show called Big Kitchen with Food. It’s a long video that’s worth every minute. Embedding doesn’t seem to work, so please go here and watch the cute boy teach us how to bake cookies.

http://www.boingboing.net/2009/01/06/big-kitchen-with-foo.html

Chef Julian says funny things like this:

“Be sure to use local stuff because that will make the cookies good for you. Nice and good cookies to eat.”

“I would mix this up because that’s how you make a batter. You can’t make a batter without mixing it up.”

This one he says with great precision and authority: “Now. Take your cookie cutter. Make some men.”

I hear ya, Julian!