BY CARLA WALDEMAR
St Genevieve
5003 Bryant Ave. S.
No phone reservations taken
Quick: Name your favorite local go-to for French food.
Right, that’s the trouble—there aren’t (m)any. We lost longtime icon Collette when Hotel Sofitel changed hands. More recently, we lost Vincent, on the Nicollet Mall, tragically replaced by a Bruegger’s. Et cetera.
But put away the hankie, because the good news is, we recently gained Saint Genevieve. It’s a chapel in which to worship the informal eats of France via a gospel translated by Chef Steven Brown, proprietor of Linden Hills’ Tilia. He named his new venture after the patron saint of Paris, the prime city on the globe where food is hallowed above all else. (However, the servers are far nicer in Minneapolis.)
Steve’s new locale isn’t geared for fine dining; that train has left the station. Rather, it’s humble, everyday bistro fare, starting with a list of small plates—small in name only: they’re definitely sized for sharing ($7-15). Each is titled with its star player—thus, Leeks. Squash. Squid. Pommes Frites. Etc. And yes, I want them all—even the Tete de Cochon, which those who passed high school French will recognize as pig’s head. The crispy critter is served with fig mustard and pickled cabbage. Or go for another part of the porker’s anatomy as envisioned in blood sausage served with a soft egg in puff pastry.
Instead, we started with the squash, its meltaway chunks’ innate sweetness accented with sorghum, underscored by herbs de Provence, a shower of bread cubes, and minced popcorn (hey, don’t ask me!)—off the charts and mighty tasty. Next, Steve’s interpretation of poutine, that wicked-good Canadian import that marries French fries with cheese curds and beef gravy. Here, the Potato Pave number stars those cheese curds tossed with squares of mashed potatoes sautéed a la Tater Tots and topped with Sauce Espagnol (think: gravy). Yum.
Then, a Trumped-up foie gras, the rich liver mousse further gilded with buttery mille feuille pastry and heightened by a shot of sweet-yet-tangy blood-orange marmalade. Rich, savory hazelnuts, too. So far, so yummy. But then the kitchen goes overboard by adding salty crisps of prosciutto swaggering in to spoil the scene.
The next section of the menu salutes tartines, a sextet of richly-endowed toasts ($9-14), such as our choice: a pair of toasts endowed with braised lamb in red wine partnered with carrots and mushrooms, like a succulent stew. Add a glass of something red and smile. Or, even better, a half glass—a user-friendly option that allows for pairings course by course. Other toasts run the gamut from a Tartine Madame (ham, melty raclette cheese, and egg sunny-side up) to snails with mushrooms and gruyere cheese; smoked salmon; and Brussels sprouts. (On toast? I’m not too sure, despite the promise of pistachios and thyme.)
A quintet of large plates ($20-25) spin from duck with pickled cabbage to lamb roulade; a chicken leg with sweetbreads; trout; and our selection, pork tenderloin. It arrived ideally juicy and tender, served with a bit of cheese grits, an easygoing celery remoulade and onion puffs—perfectly fine, but toeing the straight-and-narrow. Where’s a pig’s head when you need it?
Don’t neglect desserts ($8 range). Straight-arrow they’re not. How to choose between a Vietnamese coffee panna cotta; chilled lemon soufflé with blood orange sorbet, cranberry and coconut; or a butterscotch crème brulee with banana-malt ice cream and (!) caramel corn? We simply closed our eyes and pointed, and our fingers landed on the brown sugar date cake. Fab, and I don’t even fancy dates. This version is moist, far from cloying and tempered with a spoonful of cheesecake ice cream, along with sunflower-seed brittle and, yes, candied carrots, a brilliant addition that makes you wonder where they’ve been hiding all your life. Definitely a keeper.
So’s the whole concept, and café. Anyone up for a rendezvouz?
