Located in Hopkins, Minnesota, Crossroads Delicatessen endeavors to bring a taste of the New York Deli scene to our backwater little Land O Ya-Youbetcha.
Just one problem: me.
I've said it before, I am a proud Minnesota that is often scared of new things. This concept of washing ones feet while showering, for example. Who started this rumor? I mean, it's a shower! The soap runs down. Why should I bend over to wash my feet and risk slipping and impaling myself on the faucet? That's just ridiculous.
That and I have an irrational paranoia from too many viewings of American History X and HBO's OZ.
But, as usual, I digress.
The Crossroads Deli might in fact bring a taste of New York to Minnesota. They have corned beef and matzo ball soup. That's just about all I know about the New York deli scene.
Well, that and that Meg Ryan is just a dirty liar and a tease!
Inside what looked to be a converted Bridgeman's is, as one would expect, a full deli case sporting several kinds of cured meats and dessert options. And these ain't your Target prices. Prices are listed on small hanging chalk boards by the 1/2 pound, all starting at at least $4.99.
So they must be good, for all I know.
To the food. I was in a deli, and if I know my stereotypes, they are supposed to have this corned beef thing figured out.
One Crossroads' Hot Corned Beef with fries, please.
Before the meal, the aged waitress (old enough that she got grandfathered in with the term waitress instead of server. I could have called her Flo) brought a basket of three pieces of bread, some pickles and beets.
The bread was a slice each of caraway rye, pumpernickel and sourdough. Three pieces of bread, nine individual portions of butter. I like the way these people think.
The bread was as to be expected, just cold bread there for your tasting. Or perhaps a palate cleanser, but I doubt it.
The pickles were just a normal kosher brine, none of that bread and butter s***t here.
The beets... what the f*** do I know about beets that I haven't been taught by Dwight Schrute? Nothing, never had them. They look gross and bring about some strange flash backs to childhood of watching old people eat them with open mouths.
Still, I am a professional or something, I should give them a shot.
Huh... what do you know. I like beets. As I am not sure what a beet normally tastes like I can't comment on the sweet or salty nature they provide, however, what I was served could only be described as a bread and butter pear.
The combination of briny and sweet coupled with the sandy texture and consistency of a pear create this interest melange with the auspicious purple color.
Yummy.
Ah, my sandwich has arrived. A good portion of meat falling out each side of the sandwich with a toothpicked olive staring at me, judging me...
Much like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally I needed to take a moment to situate the tender, thinly cut slices of corned beef on the sandwich and apply the necessary accoutrement. A small smear of mustard and a couple of pickle slices seem to be a part of the lore that I remember. I take a bite.
Too big of a bite. I got a vein of fat. A lot of them.
And here in lie the rub with corned beef. It is fatty as f***, regardless of where you get it. That is why it cooks down to be so tender. The problem is that if the person cutting it isn't concerned with how lean it is, you might get a half of a sandwich that looks like something you would see in an episode of Grey's Anatomy.
I had to do a bit of surgery myself to get what meat I could out of the first half of the sandwich, leaving a pile of fat and vein at the side of the plate. My faith was shaken, but I still had food on the plate. I went after the second half and was pleasantly surprised at its lack of internal organs and vessels. The meat was tender and thinly sliced that it had the "melt in your mouth" consistency that isn't usually found amongst deli meats.
I just wish the entire sandwich had been that way.
The fries were very crisp and delicious, though a bit colder than I would have liked, but what are ya gonna do? That's something they say in New York, right? That and something about fist pumping that I keep hearing about.
Crap, Oz flashback.
So, here's the thing. It was a good sandwich. I was having lunch and it was $10.99, so it was a bit more expensive than I would normally like, and I wasn't nearly as full as I would have liked, but it was still pretty good. And, outside of the occasional bagel or cheesecake, probably the closest I will ever get to New York.
Would I go there again? I don't know. As it has been 20 hours later and I am still burping corned beef, I think I can wait a while before reliving this kind of gastric reflux.
And next time, I'll stick with the hard salami.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Tony Jaros, Nye's Polonaise and The Bulldog. Oh, my...
Since when is four f***ing inches of snow an emergency in Minnesota? Hold on, let me amend that. Since when is four f***ing inches of slush that has largely melted a snow emergency in the piss-poor city of Minneapolis.
Just a heads up, there will be more of that to come.
Let's get into this one, my head hurts, partially from a hangover, partially from my dog headbutting me awake this morning.
Tony Jaros. A name synonymous with a concoction known around the Northeast portion of Minneapolis as the "Green Meanie".
How does one create a Green Meanie you ask? Hard to say, but it has a s***tload of vodka in it. Maybe a press. Top it with melon liqueur and add a dash of a white substance from an unmarked packet.
No seriously. Could be sugar. Could be coke.
DISCLAIMER: The writer of this blog has absolutely no idea what the contents of said package are and his alcohol addled mind will create whatever kinds of parallels it can to make sense of the night before. It is shear speculation and conjecture for comedic purposes and in no way an accusation. So lighten up.
Whatever it is, the drink is good and strong. Sweet, but not too sweet. Had two. $4.50 each. Not bad.
The ambiance would be considered minimalist. The center oval bar taking up more space than the actually seating area. A small kitchen in the back reportedly served food. I did not care to try.
Just as I learned that the bar also serves a "Bluie" and "Pinkie" my party pulled me away, perhaps detecting that my deteriorating mood needed a change of venue. Perhaps, they were right, but their choices were so wrong.
Nye's Polonaise. Jesus f***ing Christ. What did I do to deserve this one.
Far be it from me to suggest that my tastes are better than those at Esquire magazine that deemed Nye's Polonaise to be the "Best Bar In America"... wait, no it isn't. I'll say whatever the hell I want, they charge $5 for a tap of Miller Lite.
1960 threw up on a lot in Northeast. It was then named Nye's. Red carpeting, dark wood paneling and gold flecked booths. All the things that the magazine loved made me ill. A piano player that seems to want drunken aging hipsters to sing their favorites.
A polka band in the side room that looked like a cross between the Chuckie Cheese Animatronic band and the results from opening The Ark of The Covenant. Three old, melted, polka players pressed against a wall, staring at you when you go to the bathroom.
I get it. It is quaint and "original". You don't see bars like that anymore. Is there a reason for that? Yup.
As I am not an aging hipster, a well-worn traveller, or a part of the population that needs more from their bar than good prices, flat screen TVs and pleasant company, this is not a place for me.
Though I will at least concede that there is a large enough portion of this population to make Nye's a very popular haunt. Probably why the parking lot was full.
It was far too much for me to handle. Their parking lot that was only big enough for a dozen cars was filled and we were forced to park two blocks away. Fortunately it was after 10pm. No meters. Yeah!
Or was it...
My party and I needed food. Not wanting to dig into the fair at Nye's, our cravings drifted to something simpler. Something more white trash. We needed tots. We needed The Bulldog.
Three blocks south from Nye's is The Bulldog, which unfortunately took over the space from the gay club, Boom. Say what you will about whatever stupid ass political views you have, if you are male and want to get drunk, go to a gay club. I could get a double Maker's Mark for $5.
But I digress. Walking into the entrance we passed a couple commented that they had been towed.
How much would that suck?
Inside was pretty filled. A far more modern design, simple black high top tables surrounding a very large, fully stocked bar with a serious number of imports and microbrews available.
Of course, I'm not that guy, I was there for Tater Tots. I ordered a High Life.
I hate Napoleon Dynamite, but these tots are good enough that I will endure people's quoting of ridiculous movie lines. Fried, salty and delicious, if I have anything negative to say about them, it is that they are too fancy.
Directly from their menu:
My party got the truffled parmesan. Very good, but something about them just seemed to be too much. Like putting pearls on a pig, in the end, it is just a pig. A delicious, delicious pig.
Avoid the Fried House Made Fresh Mozzarella. You get two blackened hockey pucks. Besides on a pizza, the only way mozzerella should be served is in stick form. What you expected better from this blog?
It was time to leave. The drink had set in and I knew I had to actually be somewhere this morning. Wandering back to the car with my sober cab I commented, "Did you hear that girl who said her car was towed? How much would that..."
Then we saw the car had been towed.
Snow emergency. How the f*** was I supposed to know it was an emergency? Did any businesses have signs? Were there any signs in the streets? What the f*** do you think?
Quickly back to Nye's whose postage stamp parking lot I blame for it all. They had no idea where it would have been towed. Three phone calls later, it was at the city impound. It was then that I noticed the insane number of tow trucks clearing the streets.
Of course, there weren't any snow plows. That would make too much sense.
A ride from concerned citizens (shout out to Cameron and Emily, you my peeps!) to the city impound lot and $138 later we had our car back. I f***ing hate Minneapolis.
Evidently, I need to check the local news stations and internet before I go out drinking. What an awesome town!
That's it. No realizations. No summation. I'm sure this is riddled with spelling and grammar errors, but I just don't give a s*** at this point. What would have been an otherwise fun jaunt through the well known Northeast was ruined. I thought I had avoided the s*** of downtown by staying on the other side of the bridge. But it looks like s*** really does run downhill.
Just a heads up, there will be more of that to come.
Let's get into this one, my head hurts, partially from a hangover, partially from my dog headbutting me awake this morning.
Tony Jaros. A name synonymous with a concoction known around the Northeast portion of Minneapolis as the "Green Meanie".
How does one create a Green Meanie you ask? Hard to say, but it has a s***tload of vodka in it. Maybe a press. Top it with melon liqueur and add a dash of a white substance from an unmarked packet.
No seriously. Could be sugar. Could be coke.
DISCLAIMER: The writer of this blog has absolutely no idea what the contents of said package are and his alcohol addled mind will create whatever kinds of parallels it can to make sense of the night before. It is shear speculation and conjecture for comedic purposes and in no way an accusation. So lighten up.
Whatever it is, the drink is good and strong. Sweet, but not too sweet. Had two. $4.50 each. Not bad.
The ambiance would be considered minimalist. The center oval bar taking up more space than the actually seating area. A small kitchen in the back reportedly served food. I did not care to try.
Just as I learned that the bar also serves a "Bluie" and "Pinkie" my party pulled me away, perhaps detecting that my deteriorating mood needed a change of venue. Perhaps, they were right, but their choices were so wrong.
Nye's Polonaise. Jesus f***ing Christ. What did I do to deserve this one.
Far be it from me to suggest that my tastes are better than those at Esquire magazine that deemed Nye's Polonaise to be the "Best Bar In America"... wait, no it isn't. I'll say whatever the hell I want, they charge $5 for a tap of Miller Lite.
1960 threw up on a lot in Northeast. It was then named Nye's. Red carpeting, dark wood paneling and gold flecked booths. All the things that the magazine loved made me ill. A piano player that seems to want drunken aging hipsters to sing their favorites.
A polka band in the side room that looked like a cross between the Chuckie Cheese Animatronic band and the results from opening The Ark of The Covenant. Three old, melted, polka players pressed against a wall, staring at you when you go to the bathroom.
I get it. It is quaint and "original". You don't see bars like that anymore. Is there a reason for that? Yup.
As I am not an aging hipster, a well-worn traveller, or a part of the population that needs more from their bar than good prices, flat screen TVs and pleasant company, this is not a place for me.
Though I will at least concede that there is a large enough portion of this population to make Nye's a very popular haunt. Probably why the parking lot was full.
It was far too much for me to handle. Their parking lot that was only big enough for a dozen cars was filled and we were forced to park two blocks away. Fortunately it was after 10pm. No meters. Yeah!
Or was it...
My party and I needed food. Not wanting to dig into the fair at Nye's, our cravings drifted to something simpler. Something more white trash. We needed tots. We needed The Bulldog.
Three blocks south from Nye's is The Bulldog, which unfortunately took over the space from the gay club, Boom. Say what you will about whatever stupid ass political views you have, if you are male and want to get drunk, go to a gay club. I could get a double Maker's Mark for $5.
But I digress. Walking into the entrance we passed a couple commented that they had been towed.
How much would that suck?
Inside was pretty filled. A far more modern design, simple black high top tables surrounding a very large, fully stocked bar with a serious number of imports and microbrews available.
Of course, I'm not that guy, I was there for Tater Tots. I ordered a High Life.
I hate Napoleon Dynamite, but these tots are good enough that I will endure people's quoting of ridiculous movie lines. Fried, salty and delicious, if I have anything negative to say about them, it is that they are too fancy.
Directly from their menu:
My party got the truffled parmesan. Very good, but something about them just seemed to be too much. Like putting pearls on a pig, in the end, it is just a pig. A delicious, delicious pig.
Avoid the Fried House Made Fresh Mozzarella. You get two blackened hockey pucks. Besides on a pizza, the only way mozzerella should be served is in stick form. What you expected better from this blog?
It was time to leave. The drink had set in and I knew I had to actually be somewhere this morning. Wandering back to the car with my sober cab I commented, "Did you hear that girl who said her car was towed? How much would that..."
Then we saw the car had been towed.
Snow emergency. How the f*** was I supposed to know it was an emergency? Did any businesses have signs? Were there any signs in the streets? What the f*** do you think?
Quickly back to Nye's whose postage stamp parking lot I blame for it all. They had no idea where it would have been towed. Three phone calls later, it was at the city impound. It was then that I noticed the insane number of tow trucks clearing the streets.
Of course, there weren't any snow plows. That would make too much sense.
A ride from concerned citizens (shout out to Cameron and Emily, you my peeps!) to the city impound lot and $138 later we had our car back. I f***ing hate Minneapolis.
Evidently, I need to check the local news stations and internet before I go out drinking. What an awesome town!
That's it. No realizations. No summation. I'm sure this is riddled with spelling and grammar errors, but I just don't give a s*** at this point. What would have been an otherwise fun jaunt through the well known Northeast was ruined. I thought I had avoided the s*** of downtown by staying on the other side of the bridge. But it looks like s*** really does run downhill.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Rudolph's (Uptown)- Come For The Ribs Stay For The... Wings?
In Cormac McCarthy's stark, haunting and brilliant novel The Road, the Man and his Son are walking down the title road, in search of the ocean coast line. Along the way they come across an old man. The old man delivers, for my money the and most poignant and intriguing thought in the book: if you were the last person on earth, how would you know?
It is this line that will resonate every time I eat Rudolph's in Uptown. If there were better a chicken wing in the world, how would I know? For that matter, would I care to find out?
Truth be told, it wasn't the ribs that brought me to Rudolph's. It was a Groupon. A glorious little invention of marketing by which local businesses can offer their goods and services at a discounted rate, often at 50% of face value. Sometimes more.
Rudolph's is not the typical subject for one of these blogs. It is a bit pricey. The majority of the entrees being over $15. Yes, there are sandwich alternatives for less, but why bother? If you are going to be there, spend the money.
Rudolph's looks like something out of a throw back to the urban lifestyle long lost in New York city, or so I would assume as I have never been there and street crime scares me. The servers wear jackets and carry themselves with professionalism.
Nice, but I don't care. Service is the least of my concerns when I am hungry. And as this is a food blog, here is what I got.
Dixie Chicken Wings - $7.95
The Ultimate Rack- $25.95
Citizen Cornbread- $6.95
Note: most of the menu has a Hollywood theme as the restaurant was named after the immortal star of early Hollywood cinema Rudolph Valentino.
The wings. I would call this putting your best foot forward. The combination of sweet and spicy chili with a hint of garlic creates an utterly unbelievable taste. Neither being the more overpowering taste, the need for a napkin is a moot point as I relished licking my fingers clean. Yup, I'm that guy.
These wings aren't fried, they are broiled. Preserving the tenderness of the chicken and creating a crispiness to the skin that is like no other. If there were ever a chicken wing eating contest here, I would die a bloated happy man.
The Ribs. Here's the thing. Famous Dave's Barbecue is a few miles away from Rudolph's. If you don't care about the quality of the meat and prefer to be overwhelmed by the sauce. Go to Dave's. Don't get me wrong, Dave's is a great sauce, but I'm not paying for the sauce.
Opting for the Ultimate Rack, I got a half slab of spare ribs and a half slab of baby back ribs. The spare ribs are a bit more meaty and covered in a wonderful dry rub. I don't know what was in it, I never will as any true barbecue officiando will tell you that a dry rub recipe is held more dear than wedding vows.
Don't believe me? Have you seen divorce rates? How many people tell you about their rib recipe?
The baby back ribs are tender, fall-off-the-bone with a gentle layer of sauce that isn't so overwhelming that you can't tell the quality of the meat. And if you like them saucier, the servers are more than happy to bring you and extra bottle of sauce. Rudolph's. You may have seen it at the supermarket.
Personally, I'm a spare ribs guy. I love the sensation of pulling meat off the bone in a primal way that makes me reveal in my believe of evolution. The cavemen did something right. Rudolph's just improved it with a dry rub.
How can creationists justify eating meat? For s***-sake, they all think they came from a garden!
We elected a side of coleslaw (fresh and crisp, not too heavy on the dressing) and some seasoned fries that just felt right with the order. Thought I did regret it later, when I saw people eating full ears of corn on the cob. Oh well, next time.
Finally the cornbread. Yup, $7 for cornbread. PAY IT! Served in a six-inch cast iron skillet, this could be on the dessert menu. Honey glazed and served hot with a lump of butter no barbecue meal is complete without corn bread.
Chris Rock said it best, "Corn bread. Ain't nothin' wrong with that."
So, how can I justify spending that much on a meal? Simple, I shared. That entire meal was split between two people and I still had to ask for a box to bring two pieces of cornbread home. Rudolph's is a bit pricey, but you will leave full.
It is funny to say that the best part of the meal was the appetizer, but look at it like this. Rudolph's made a good thing better with quality when they created their ribs. However, the Dixie wings took the concept of wings, something that the country has gone insane for in the last few years and made it better every step of the way.
As far as I know you can't buy a better cut of chicken wings like you could beef, but that doesn't mean that they all have to taste the same.
If you have the Groupon, are willing to share, or just want some damn good wings, go to Uptown. It might be the only reason to go there in the first place. Plus it is right by Highway 94 making for a quick escape.
It is this line that will resonate every time I eat Rudolph's in Uptown. If there were better a chicken wing in the world, how would I know? For that matter, would I care to find out?
Truth be told, it wasn't the ribs that brought me to Rudolph's. It was a Groupon. A glorious little invention of marketing by which local businesses can offer their goods and services at a discounted rate, often at 50% of face value. Sometimes more.
Rudolph's is not the typical subject for one of these blogs. It is a bit pricey. The majority of the entrees being over $15. Yes, there are sandwich alternatives for less, but why bother? If you are going to be there, spend the money.
Rudolph's looks like something out of a throw back to the urban lifestyle long lost in New York city, or so I would assume as I have never been there and street crime scares me. The servers wear jackets and carry themselves with professionalism.
Nice, but I don't care. Service is the least of my concerns when I am hungry. And as this is a food blog, here is what I got.
Dixie Chicken Wings - $7.95
The Ultimate Rack- $25.95
Citizen Cornbread- $6.95
Note: most of the menu has a Hollywood theme as the restaurant was named after the immortal star of early Hollywood cinema Rudolph Valentino.
The wings. I would call this putting your best foot forward. The combination of sweet and spicy chili with a hint of garlic creates an utterly unbelievable taste. Neither being the more overpowering taste, the need for a napkin is a moot point as I relished licking my fingers clean. Yup, I'm that guy.
These wings aren't fried, they are broiled. Preserving the tenderness of the chicken and creating a crispiness to the skin that is like no other. If there were ever a chicken wing eating contest here, I would die a bloated happy man.
The Ribs. Here's the thing. Famous Dave's Barbecue is a few miles away from Rudolph's. If you don't care about the quality of the meat and prefer to be overwhelmed by the sauce. Go to Dave's. Don't get me wrong, Dave's is a great sauce, but I'm not paying for the sauce.
Opting for the Ultimate Rack, I got a half slab of spare ribs and a half slab of baby back ribs. The spare ribs are a bit more meaty and covered in a wonderful dry rub. I don't know what was in it, I never will as any true barbecue officiando will tell you that a dry rub recipe is held more dear than wedding vows.
Don't believe me? Have you seen divorce rates? How many people tell you about their rib recipe?
The baby back ribs are tender, fall-off-the-bone with a gentle layer of sauce that isn't so overwhelming that you can't tell the quality of the meat. And if you like them saucier, the servers are more than happy to bring you and extra bottle of sauce. Rudolph's. You may have seen it at the supermarket.
Personally, I'm a spare ribs guy. I love the sensation of pulling meat off the bone in a primal way that makes me reveal in my believe of evolution. The cavemen did something right. Rudolph's just improved it with a dry rub.
How can creationists justify eating meat? For s***-sake, they all think they came from a garden!
We elected a side of coleslaw (fresh and crisp, not too heavy on the dressing) and some seasoned fries that just felt right with the order. Thought I did regret it later, when I saw people eating full ears of corn on the cob. Oh well, next time.
Finally the cornbread. Yup, $7 for cornbread. PAY IT! Served in a six-inch cast iron skillet, this could be on the dessert menu. Honey glazed and served hot with a lump of butter no barbecue meal is complete without corn bread.
Chris Rock said it best, "Corn bread. Ain't nothin' wrong with that."
So, how can I justify spending that much on a meal? Simple, I shared. That entire meal was split between two people and I still had to ask for a box to bring two pieces of cornbread home. Rudolph's is a bit pricey, but you will leave full.
It is funny to say that the best part of the meal was the appetizer, but look at it like this. Rudolph's made a good thing better with quality when they created their ribs. However, the Dixie wings took the concept of wings, something that the country has gone insane for in the last few years and made it better every step of the way.
As far as I know you can't buy a better cut of chicken wings like you could beef, but that doesn't mean that they all have to taste the same.
If you have the Groupon, are willing to share, or just want some damn good wings, go to Uptown. It might be the only reason to go there in the first place. Plus it is right by Highway 94 making for a quick escape.
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