trend-o-rama

agra culture kitchen & press. 3 locations in Minneapolis, MN. USA.

Build it and I will come.

On principle, if a new place opens up somewhere along my usual paths (which, granted, are many and not particularly usual), I will be curious and reasonably open-minded. 
I will walk in, tune in to the local noise, check out the art on the walls, test the comfort of the seats, glance somewhat critically at the menu and wait for my plates with great expectations.
I walk into any new restaurant the way a mid-western college girl walks into a big city bar: naive and easy.
So, really, while it may require a bit of effort to wow me and make me want to come back for seconds, it doesn't take very much to - at least - interest me. 
I don't even ask to be surprised. I just really, really dislike to be let down.
And, Agra Culture, you let me down.

I walked in and heard insignificant noise that reminded me of sleepy highway fast-food stops.
I read your menu a good dozen times, trying desperately to find something that could catch my attention. My childish enthusiasm pushed me to order the special of the day... No special should ever come in a paper plate.
No special should require me to beg all staff on hand, unsuccessfully, for something that might resemble spice (I would have settled for black pepper at that point).

In such situations, my mind usually wanders off, quickly forgetting the sad reality that is a bland meal, to enjoy the beautiful wit of my table companions. Except that, at Agra Culture, you do not hear your table mates. Instead, you hear the staff angrily stacking up trays and arguing in the (open) kitchen. 
I have been trapped in such situations before, so I have a plan: I will drown my sorry in decadence and order dessert.
But, apparently, Agra Culture doesn't believe in desserts. Perhaps because it is really, really difficult to make dessert taste like (organic, environmentally-conscious) cardboard?

So, here is your sentencing, Agra Culture:
Your food is a waste of time. 
Your decor and ambiance make Perkin's style charmingly quaint. 
Your menu reflects the sad trend that has over-taken urban American kitchens: an obvious commercial packaging of nothingness into 'must-have' through the careful accumulation of manufactured concepts: wellness soapbox, detox options and a basket full of the latest fad labels (Paleo anyone?).

The canned version of mindful eating.

May Ceres save us all.

Agra Culture

hey.

Heyday. 2700 Lyndale avenue south. Minneapolis, MN. USA.

I do not use the word 'hey' lightly.  It can only be the entrance to a sotto voce conversation.  One where I could close my eyes and imagine what we could do together if only...
I have started thousands of dialogues with 'hello', 'hi', 'bonjour' and other common locutions. 'Hey' exclusively trickles out of my mouth when the intent is to seduce, or be seduced.

So I walked into Heyday in Minneapolis, knew that all resistance would be futile. Hello would not do.
I briefly closed my eyes to enjoy the sound that hovered over me (note to restaurateurs: the right music IS a dimension of culinary pleasure). 
I sighed my satisfaction when reading the short but beautifully balanced menu of surprisingly humble and unique dishes. And then I closed my eyes again when the elderflower mousse, pistachio ice cream and fresh peach soup ravished all my senses at once.

hey.


Heyday

and god created spices

 La Cave de Lilith. 22 bis rue Paul Landrin. Toulon

As an atheist, I do not usually believe that things are on this earth for any particular reason, preferring to look at the world as a mess of random physics phenomena.

However, I have been known to make a couple exceptions to this rule. For instance, I am convinced that wine was created by some obscure force to make our lives alternatively beautiful and miserable. In the same way, I am certain that spices were put on this earth with a definite purpose: to sublimate the rest of our comestible world.  On my personal altar to the good stuff of life, spices hold the prime spot. 

So, I ask: Why on earth would anyone believe they can, and most of all, should cook with absolutely NO spice. I mean, a bit of salt wouldn’t hurt for crying out loud!  I don’t doubt their primary ingredients are of fine quality, but even in remote places of the Costa-Rican coast where fresh fish was caught in front of my eyes and prepared on generator-powered stoves, the cook knew to add a dash of salt and a few drops of fresh lemon to reveal the full beauty of the Ocean’s offerings.

So, no – don’t believe you can serve me flown-in salmon without taking a moment to wonder what additional ingredient may make the dish passable.  Do not bring me Puy lentils without looking for something in your herb garden that could make me stop wondering why you’re serving cold lentils with warm salmon to start with.  

You are either too arrogant for your own good, or absolutely unable to taste food.

Either way, I say spare us all, and do something else. 

La Cave de Lilith website 

Love me or Leave me

Le Marais. 1366 Boulevard de la Marine. Hyeres.

Make up your mind, le Marais.  Decide once and for all if you are here to please me or not. The heavenly quality of your pasta dishes tells me your passion knows no bounds. The blandness of pretty much everything else on your menu tells me you’d rather be doing something else with your evenings.  I hate feeling let down by mediocre plates after reading your handsome menu.
I am ready to give you a few more months to seduce me, because you are a rare catch.  A beach restaurant with flawless service. A perfect summer lounge, feet in the sand and eyes on the waves, that knows how to stealthily convert into a cozy winter haven, fireplace and all… And your music taste is far from bad, I must say: your DJ has reconciled me with the concept of live-spinning dinners. Not to mention your fine cocktail mixing skills...

But a girl needs more to feel loved all the time, always.  You don't want to disappoint me, now, do you?

Le Marais website

surrender

La Bastide. 15, avenue de la badine. La Capte.

Let’s be honest: like anyone who lives in a tourist area, I stay as far away as I can from any food-related business located less than a mile from the beach.  Come on, admit it, you do the same.  You know it: If you can feel sand under you feet when you sit at your table, chances are the menu will make you weep (mussels and fries on the Riviera, really?) and the food will make you sick (mussels and fries on the Riviera, really?).

But you are an adventurer and you decide that clichés are meant to be attacked anyway– and, damn it, that beautiful, shaded wooden patio is calling your name.
La Bastide’s sail-covered terrasse is an invitation to surrender to the sound of the nearby waves.  The staff’s attentive service makes you let your guards down.  The inventive menu takes you by surprise, the salve of flavors knocks you down, until you finally abdicate before the chef’s proven ability to cook the perfect shrimp.

White flag has been raised. The conquest is complete. 

Hotel-Restaurant La Bastide, Website 

paradise found

Kiku Restaurant. 54-56 rue Richer. Paris 9.

The best restaurants are the ones you find by chance, around the corner, because you thought the street looked interesting.  So, you’re already won over by your sense of innate coolness and uncanny ability to find better spots than anyone else. (right) – it can’t be too hard to impress you.  That said, once in a blue moon, you realize your burdensome sense of self means little, as you fall into a perfect moment:  All the elements perform a complex but most fluid ballet to seduce every one of your senses at once, and then some more.  Your fingers will play with the origami strewn on the table and caress the Japanese silk covers of the menus.  Your ears will capture the delicate notes of a traditional Nippon chant and indecipherable chatter in the kitchen. Your eyes will realize their full chromatic potential as the plates arrive, each an exercise in controlled exuberance.  Your nose will linger over the freshly brewed pot of sencha and yuzu emulsion. And your mouth will rekindle with its feminine tantric potential (I’ll let you fill in the blanks here).

 

It is simply perfect.

Below: Delectable sweet red pepper mousse, perfectly cooked swordfish with yuzu emulsion and matcha tea powder.

thank god for the view

L’Aparté. 52 avenue du General de Gaulle. Carqueiranne.

I will remember: the soft waves of the Mediterranean in the background. And the lovely conversation about the travails of the French government and other diversions.
I will not remember: the chef’s fascinating success at creating Japanese plates that scream of blasphemy to the Power of Five.  Sad little wontons for amuse bouche, stale tea bags and California rolls worthy of Sushi Shop.

I will never cease to be amazed by the food industry’s ability to bore me.  

As I sit at a table, I most often keep in mind the words of Soei Yoneda:
"I reflect on the work that brings this food before me; let me see whence this food comes.
 I reflect on my imperfections, on whether I am deserving of this offering of food."

So, when I think of the food you dare serve me, passionless chefs, I see whence the food comes. And it saddens me.
And as I reflect on my imperfections, I do no doubt a second that I am deserving of the best offerings of food your choice of profession has entitled me to expect from you.

Perhaps a little review of the Power of Five may be in order? Power of Five

temple

Kashiwa Japanese restaurant. 12 boulevard Gambetta. Le Canet.

Outside is the usual rhythm, noise and grey of a late-winter day.  Within, it is all softness and layers of possible discoveries.  The deep blue canvas hanging from the ceiling forces you to bend over as you walk in, and somehow it feels appropriate.  Voices seem to go lower as well, making the packed place feel like a well-kept secret.  You will turn the pages of the plastic-covered menus, again and again, trying to guess what all those words mean– total waste of time, as your best bet is to peruse the ‘du jour’ menu on the small black board and point.

Weightless snow crab tempura.  Exquisite tentsuyu. And the thousand flavors of the green tea mochi.

SURPRISE!

Bistrot Raoul. 29 rue de la Madeleine. Nimes

Granted, my expectations were not the greatest.  I knew I could trust the wise voices who recommended the place, but my explorations into small town reality remain tentative.  I walked in, neck tense and shoulders rounded – expecting an interminable menu that says nothing, waiters in need of a trip to an actual, well, restaurant, and a decor that would no doubt include lavender blue, olive branches and a few pictures of soon-to-be-dead bulls.  But, none of this fell upon my cynical self.  It was an experience of subtle and whimsical decor, of pas de deux with helpful but discreet staff, of soft, delectable wines. And food that makes you remember why the world envies the people who live on this mad piece of land.  French food 101: the elegance of simplicity, the decadence of sophistication.  

Bistrot Raoul Facebook Page

singapore sling

Bar at Hotel Lutetia. 45 boulevard Raspail. Paris 6

The comfort of quiet luxury :  Hushed exchanges in red  velvet chairs, waist-coated waiters who slide furtively from table to table.  The conversations all sound like skilled OSS code.

The irony of failed modernity :  horrific  wall art that resembles the decor of a two-for-one cruise,  colossal - but useless – chandeliers that bear down on you from two-story ceilings.

The pleasure of exclusive desuetude :  they mix true Old Fashioneds and Kampais at the bar.

Tip: enjoy a Singapore Sling on a snowy late-winter evening, and believe all is possible.

Original Singapore Sling recipe:
1 oz. London dry gin
1 oz. Bols Cherry brandy or Cherry Heering
1 oz. Bénédictine
1 oz. fresh lime juice
2 oz. soda water
1 dash Angostura bitters
Tools: barspoon
Glass: Collins

Combine all ingredients except soda water and bitters in an ice-filled glass. Top with soda water, stir briefly and dash with Angostura bitters

i have seen the light

Yugaraj. 14 rue Dauphine. Paris 6.

There are moments in life when you feel privileged, watched upon by the gods of beautiful souls and great spice mix.  It felt all too much like a blessing when my lovely Indian friend forgave me for arriving one hour late for dinner.  And she welcomed me with a smile.  But, my hungry mind and belly will always be grateful to her for one particular gift she granted me : she picked an Indian restaurant for us.  The seeing leading the blind.   

And after the meal she once cooked for me, and the one we shared at Yugaraj, I understand...  Why millions of people across the world develop inevitable addictions to Indian food.   They must have all tried the Yugaraj pistachio chicken curry. Or probably anything else on the menu there, filled with surprises.  I bow my head in respect to a chef who is able to present me with the gift of flavor experiences I had never lived before.

Now I have to build a shrine.

Yugaraj website 

straight out of brooklyn

Dunn’s.  25 rue d’Assas, Paris 6.

The place is tiny, bright, clean, welcoming.  Very Park Slope.  The shop window is filled with muffins, cheesecakes and cookies that actually look like, well, muffins, cheesecake and cookies.  But you can skip all that and go straight for the bagels. True, authentic, crispy-on-the-outside-soft-inside bagels. And they actually know how to cut them, toast them, and turn them into impossible NYC sandwiches here.  But then you won’t be able to stop and you’ll have to try one of the salads – they are all impressively fresh, tasty and customizable to no end.  This isn’t just nostalgia for a decent Caesar salad talking here; it’s the surprise and pleasure I feel anytime I find people who love to do their work, smile as they pile on the sliced turkey and avocado, and allow me to substitute ingredients to fit my mood.

Dunn's Facebook page 

destination

Miju Korean Restaurant.  62 rue de la Federation. Paris 15.

I am traveling to Paris tomorrow and it is snowing, silly cold there. It doesn’t matter – I have a plan.  In recent overdose of inter-continental flights, I have come up with a list of tricks to travel to exotic destinations without leaving ground. Miju Korean restaurant is that the top of that list.  I find it comforting that both staff and customers prefer to exchange in English. I find it exhilarating that I have been there a number of times and still do not understand a good part of the menu. Last time I was there, I loved it that the young Korean couple at the next table (who had just flown in from Seoul and needed a few bottles of French wine and a warm meal at Miju) shared their meal with me so I wouldn't miss out on the culinary treasures they had just been served.  Everything I have tried there has been a gift of unique flavors, fiery and transporting.

Bring on the snow. 

1769

O’Bistro Corse. 32 avenue du General de Gaulle. Carqueiranne.

Smiles.  I am convinced I will forever remember the beautiful, sunny warm smiles that greeted me when I walked into O’Bistro Corse.  It may not be enough to lead me to sing endless praise for the place, but it certainly is plenty enough to make me want to come back – I know one day I’ll need those smiles again.  I’ll want to sink into one of the comfy black leatherette armchairs, order from the short but tempting menu of Corsican specialties, and enjoy the simple pleasure of perfect service.  The plates are far from remarkable, but their simple flavors are acceptable. And, sometimes, all you need is to be taken care of.

O’Bistro Corse Facebook Page

essential

Essential Ayurveda Massage at Centre de Bien Etre et de Yoga Ayurveda.1, allee de la Rascasse. St-Cyr-Sur-Mer

You don’t know how badly you hurt until someone cradles your head in their arm.You don’t know how much armor you have built on until an expert’s hands lift it away.  It seems unlikely that a solid wood table be comfortable – yet, your whole body slithers in place onto its subtle curve.  The warm oils warp around you like motherly comfort.  The traditional Indian songs work their magic. Each part of your body finds its place in the universe. Warm water is poured, softly, on your feet to close the ritual. You remember peace.

And you find the essence of you at the center of it all.