BY CARLA WALDEMAR
OUR APOLOGIES
Multiple corrections are needed for the article we ran in all editions of March about Savory Bake House, the new bakery across from Merlins on 36th Avenue South.
First of all, it is Savory Bake House, not Shop; and it’s on 36th Avenue, not 35th Street. Co-owner Max’s name is not Matt. It was Max who grew up on a Wisconsin potato farm, not Sandra. It was a friend of Sandra’s who painted the exterior of the building, not Sandra. It was not Max who laid tile and scrounged for barnwood, but rather the couple’s talented tile specialist and their contractor.
Thankfully—we hope—none of these errors change the quality of Max and Sandra’s delicious food.
Scena Tavern
2943 Girard Ave. S.
612-200-8641
Scenatavern.com
Scenesters, take note: Uptown’s newest place to be seen is Scena, as in “All the world’s a stage, and we’re setting it.” As every diner knows, a restaurant meal is half theater—otherwise, why not nuke a TV dinner? Industry designers Smart + Associates have clad the room in soft hues under a wavy mezzanine and placed a circular crudo bar stage-center, beefed (carpaccio’d?) up with its own cocktail menu. Or choose a table on the spacious floor or front-row diner stool to catch the drama unfolding from the kitchen.
And who was cast as the production’s director on the night of a recent visit? Top talent: consulting chef Erik Anderson (Sea Change, etc.). His food shares billing with intriguing, mostly-Italian wine offerings. Another bonus: The city’s first extensive list of gin—two pages of tiny, phone-book type. (Does this spell the demise of Bourbon?)
Anyway: The site is near neighbor to Coup d’Etat, sharing, from the look of it, the same diner demographic. What’s different about Scena’s food mission, however, is made clearer in the site’s full name: Scena Tavern (it’s run by the Green Mill guys)—Italian fare, sorta, with no grand claims to authenticity. Apps ($9-16) favor American ham, for instance, not prosciutto, along with a Caesar-type salad simply labeled “romaine.”
Our meal was introduced by a complimentary amuse—a shield-size plate centered with a tasty micro-speck of raw fish. Beyond that, a quintet of piadini ($11-16)—pizza-by-another-name creations paddled from the fire by a wooden plank that supports a burly, wave-rimmed, chewy and thoroughly enjoyable crust—ours, dressed with earthy wild mushrooms caught in molten taleggio cheese—lots of it!—adorned with honey. That unexpected touch of sweetness grows on you, helping the rich, ultra-fatty cheese (no complaints here) draw you in for One. More. Bite.
But the star of this show is the house-made pasta ($10-16), starting with the carbonara treatment—interesting, for sure, but not the dream dish of my Roman visits (or stateside look-alikes): needs more unctuous cream, more eggy richness, and a return of bacon-like pancetta rather than the experiment with cubes of mortadella sausage we were served. Next up, a feast of robust bucatini noodles spiked with peppery ’nduja sausage, garlic and herbed breadcrumbs—served with a glowing, quivering egg yolk atop, ready to seduce your palate. It’s a primo dish.
Entrees follow, for those still standing. Among the choices (short rib, chicken, pork, swordfish, steak), we went for the nod to the Eye-talians on the Iron Range ($16): a billiard-size meatball, beefy and tasty as all get-out, rising from a sea of “Sunday gravy” (says the menu—the name for tomato sauce if your nonna comes from Hibbing): a bit salty, also sweet and rich with tomato. The whole combo is ladled over creamy, ultra-wonderful polenta.
No dessert for us, we demurred—until spotting zeppole on the short, otherwise forget-it list: doughnuts the size of tennis balls lightened (it’s a relative term) and moistened with ricotta, served with a dish of honey for dipping. (How do you say ‘yum’ in Italian?) Alas, it’s been 86’d on the present menu, which offers instead a clementine cake with crème fraiche gelato (sounds terrific) in its place. Or—wisely—go with the cheese course as the drama’s happy ending.
