The Black Forest Inn

Is not in the Black Forest at all, which meant my dinner date was later than usual. It didn't matter much though. The host took a pretty long time to figure out that we were waiting to be seated anyway. He genuinely seemed surprised that we were here.


The time I spent waiting did give me a moment to take in the eatery. Rich paintings of stocky bavarian men with winged helmets eating, drinking, and making merry decked the heavy wood walls. I though I recognized someone from a long time ago, but shook my head. Those days are over.



My dinner guest finally arrived, looking a bit windswept. He shook hands with me by gripping me almost too firmly by the wrist, then set down his large hammer.

"Wench, bring me a Sprecher's root beer!" He demanded at the sheepish looking waitress that was assigned to our table. After a while she came by and told us they were out. I think he settled on tea, ultimately.

"Wench, bring me the leg of a swine!" He bellowed. This she was able to help us with, although she came with a slowness that caused me to realize she was in training and not actually afraid of the old man that sat across from me. When they arrived he bit into his viciously. I followed suit and was greeted by a warm symphony of pigmeat and buttery gravy that made my heart cry out in agony and my gut cry out in pleasure.

The food, we agreed, was fit for the divine, even if the service was momentarily lax, and the atmosphere was appropriate enough. I'll definitely return to this place.

The Happy Gnome

"You have to try the duck," said David, drinking from a tall glass of an imported ale. Foam clung to his thick, well-groomed mustache. He set the glass back down on the table with both hands, struggling with the awkward weight like a child might.

I looked at the menu, "Vanilla consomme?' What the hell is that and why do they put it on a duck?" I pondered mostly to myself. "Leif, what are you having?"

"Actually I had my name legally changed to 'Roaming' now," said the other little man before quaffing a microbrewed domestic he was fond of.

"Really? Why the hell would you do that?"

"It's the biz, sweetheart," Roaming muttered as he looked through the menu of their 3o tap beers. He studiously ignored the section of over 100 bottled beers, saying he could taste the difference.

David snorted. "I think consomme is a thing sauce or broth or something. It doesn't matter it is delicious!"

At that point our appetizer of cider-steamed mussels arrived. We had a few before some evil trolls carried them away. They were perfect.

"I told you guys we should only come here during the day." I said. The other two nodded solemnly in agreement.

Roaming said, "I would have, but I spend so much time at work these days. You know, I'm also a guarantee enforcer."

"It's OK," David replied, "I don't think they'll spoil the main course."

The main course was the duck for myself, an elk steak and what appeared to be some kind of noodle dish. Each one had a delicacy and careful sensitivity to the unique combination of flavors the chef introduced to the food.

It could not have been better except that someone unexpectedly and comically punted Leif, excuse me, Roaming, across the room.

"I don't think he's really happy at all," David said, taking another cartoonish gulp of his beer.

Little Szechuan

This would be my third trip to this particular establishment. Those previous being recorded by my esteemed collegue JMJ.

There is not much left to be said about the place past those first few words. Even when there are few customers in their well decorated eating area the service is incredibly inept. They clearly have had no training or have no desire to actually serve the customers outside of purveying the food and subsequently the bill. It is difficult to rouse their attention for simple needs through the course of the meal, and they don't even give you a cursory glance to see if it is to your liking.

In fact, the best service we got at the place was from the mexican busboy who brought us water and tea. He was at least friendly. (He even called us "amigo," although that did ruin the chinese restaurant feel...)

At least the waitress spoke english.

Oh well.

As for the food, what they actually had in stock was quite good. (I had ordered three things before one of them was available...) I was served Chairman Mao Pork, which is mostly pigfat with little bits of meat attached. It was like eating some sort of pork jello.

Delicious.

It is unfortunate that such great food comes from a place that has such a poor staff.

Next time this happens we're killing one of the goldfish.

The Machine Shed

Just when I thought that I'd had my fill of farm-themed family restaurants, The Machine Shed came to prove me wrong again. Filled to the brim with effigies of cows, pigs, and other foodstuffs, walls lined with toy tractors (for sale at a reasonable price) and other tourist crap, The Machine Shed does not fail to be a corny slice of Americana.

Fortunately, it also does not fail to be delicious.

The meal offered to me was a barbecue beef sandwich with swiss cheese and chips on the side, served with fried mushrooms as an appetizer.

The fried mushrooms were by far the best I have ever eaten in my life. They were not the cute little button mushrooms of your grandpa's restaurant, no sir. These were some form of much larger mushroom (a little bigger than a silver dollar around) with a flakey, greasy, wonderful breading. They oozed a little when you bit into them. They came with a tangy orange sauce that I did not use, but imagined to be good as well.

The sandwhich was alright. It was on their "homemade" freshly baked bread, but the actual barbecue beef could have come out of a make-at-home microwavable tub. The chips weren't anything special either. They weren't bad, they just didn't "wow" me. Although really, after the mushrooms I don't think they could have.

The service wasn't great either. It was slow, and the waitress seemed to have better things to do. What was most offensive, however, was that when I requested a coke the waitress raised no complaint, but when she turned to leave she muttered, "Pepsi, right?" She was already walking away without seeing if I actually confirmed this to be my drink of choice. First, it was rude of her to ask and not actually wait for a response, second, I would have rather had tea than pepsi, if they didn't have cokes. This upset me.

I imagine, were I to go back to this fairly priced family eatery, I will not have that trouble again, however.

Vincent, a Restaurant

What, you mean I have to dress up to go to this place? It is bad enough that they even require me to wear clothing at all, much less dress clothes! I mean, "I" am paying "them" for services, not the other way around.

I'm never going back here.

Is that chocolate?

All is forgiven.

Thoughts I have had at Vincent.


The restaurant was quiet and tastefully appointed, the staff was professional while at the same time being warm and pleasant. The food was very good, if'n you don't mind the portions being very small. I left the restaurant feeling pleasantly fed, but I was also tempted to visit a nearby Famous Dave's afterwards so that I would feel genuinely full. I hear this is how rich people eat "all the time." I wonder why so many of them are fat. The only reason I did not go to the aforesaid barbecue joint of note is that I ate about three loaves of bread through the course of the meal.

This brings me to my next comment. The meal took an incredibly long time, and this fact allowed me to consume that much of the free bread. There were long pauses of service in between each course, which gave me plenty of time to do things I am not usually accustomed to doing when eating a meal. Things like speaking and making eye contact. It was unnerving. Again, I have been informed that this is what rich people often do, but for me, it was boring. Perhaps if the meal was going to be the one source of entertainment for the night it would be preferable, but I for one would have rather been served a bit more briskly.

Anyway, perhaps the greatest part of the meal for me was dessert, which was two scoops of vanilla ice cream topped with molten chocolate with little puffy cookies on the side. What made this memorable to me was that a well-dressed gentleman came around the table and poured the chocolate from a little pot to your liking. The ice cream was served in what was basically a coffee cup, so I quipped, "Just top it off, I'll find the ice cream later." To my surprise, he did, or would have if I hadn't stopped him. Either way the chocolate was level and the ice cream was nowhere to be found without some excavation on my part.

This place is awesome.

India Palace

Having just obtained scriptures for the Bodhisattva, we were quite famished, and although I had transcended the need for the pleasures of food I thought a treat may have been in order. Seeing an Indian food restaurant nearby, my companion lowered us down upon his mystic cloud that we might dine. "India Palace!" My excitable companion exclaimed, "Truly a place for the likes of us!"

This place was neither a palace nor India. These are two incongruities that made me wonder if we'd been had. There was a light facade of Indianess cluttering the walls. Decorative wood panels covered the windows and various paintings describing what I can only imagine as traditional Indian pastimes and poses covered otherwise unimaginative walls. The architecture, if stripped bare of its decoration would suggest the site was a Perkins reincarnated as an ethnic food restaurant. This seam in the appearance would cause an uncomfortable incongruity in people who notice and care about that sort of thing.

I didn't.

The server had a certain ineptitude that suggested he achieved his position through family or ethnicity rather than any skill or desire to be a waiter. For example, when my companion asked what the waiter would recommend the waiter said, "Take all the time you need." He then departed promptly. Also, several times he attempted to place dishes on the table without removing used plates. This was problematic, as the table was not large enough to accommodate both.

The food was good. All of it was very mildly spiced, but what it lacked in robust flavor it made up for in complexity and delightful subtlety. The appetizers were all fried, featuring potatoes, peas, cheese, and breaded meat. All were very good. The main dishes were slightly more complex, although my companion's looked like, in his words, "Goose shit." (It was meat in a stewed spinach, I could not disagree with his assessment.)

One disappointment with the flavor is that although we had asked for "Hot" level spiciness, barely any heat presented itself. I guess they figured we were foolish Minnesotans who don't know how to handle themselves.

Nothing was spectacular, but it was good and presumably authentic. I'm not sure if I would bother again.

My companion did have one question which still haunts me-

"Why do they serve beef?"

Grumpy Steve's Coffee

This is a small coffee shop next to the Wabasha Street Caves, and I only noticed the shop because of this fact. When I was driving by, I said to myself, "What is that little store next to that huge pile of masonry set into the cliffside?"

The name amused me, so I decided to go in. I glared at this "Grumpy Steve" with is whitened beard and thought to myself, "I had better be satisfied or I will write such an awful review of his establishment no man shall set foot in it again!" I then set my teeth and prepared to strike.

This man, grumpy by title only, warmed my heart with a belgian waffle. Mmmm mmm good.

The coffee and other snacks were delectible as well, and if not for the fact that I had to go to work, I may have tried the microbrew beer (not sure if it is his or some other's) or the liqours his establishment also offered.

The coffee hut was pretty standard as far as decor went, except that a large portion of it was taken up by, for lack of a better word, tourist crap. Minnesota books, coffee paraphenalia, and crappy jewelry took up the almost all the wall space.

Or at least, I wish it did.

What really took up nearly all of the available space (leaving only marginal room for that other crap) were "Mystic Trolls" which were ugly little dolls which leered at you with their dark eyes. I was alarmed, as trolls are the minions of the Frost Giants and would surely reveal my location if I stayed.

Because of this I was forced to down my coffee and waffle a little more hurriedly than I would have liked, and I will never return to this establishment, although you, gentle reader, are probably safe to do so. (If'n you don't mind having congress with trolls.)

Yep, nothing says "Time To Drink Coffee" like this little SOB.

Shuang Cheng

It was like a crappy diner, only Chinese food. You know what I mean, ugly plaster walls and uninspired decoration, generic chairs and paper placemats that you can buy in bulk from a generic restaurant supply store.

That said, I can still taste the ginger sauced dungeness crab I ate the other night. The fried rice dish was excellent as well, but that crab may have been one of, if not the, greatest things I have ever eaten. The dragon who accompanied me to dinner explained, in his language as beautiful as it is incomprehensible to human ears, that Shuang Cheng was known for seafood dishes and I very much believe it.

The menu offered a variety of dishes, but for the most part it was standard Chinese restaurant fair. It did offer a better meat selection than some (mainly in that it had real duck in the dishes if you wanted it), and had a much larger seafood menu than many Chinese places. Which makes sense if you read the paragraph above this one.

Service was surprisingly prompt (if a little rushed) considering that the place was packed to the brim with people. Nothing really good or bad to say about it. It was nice that they offered free tea along with the water.

Ultimately, Shuang Cheng adds another unexpected yet excellent Asian food-hole to the big list of such things to be found in the area.

Little Venetian

Everything in existence has an equal opposite. Hot and cold, earth and air, matter and antimatter, yin and yang, and so on. Often these two things can be found very close to one another, bound by their natures as they are.

This is the case with the Little Venetian restaurant, as it is in the same strip mall as the Taste of Scandinavia, which I have found lacking. The Little Venetian restaurant makes up for the failures of the Taste of Scandinavia. This strip mall will be spared the flames when The Time is upon us.

When I came to the strip mall I was not impressed. Generic store A, generic store B, generic liquor store, and so on. It looked like a strip mall. Pane glass and nondescript white-grey wall. You can imagine my surprise when my view of all that strip mall glory is suddenly impeded by a small garden. It was green and warm and happy to see me, and in return I was warmed and happy to see it (if not greened, whatever that would even mean). I followed the small pathway through the trees up to the door and entered the establishment, where my swarthy companion awaited my arrival.

The interior of the establishment was a warm light orange-red sort of color, and decorated with family pictures and Italianish artworks. Nothing stood out but nothing was lost for clutter, either. Overall the atmosphere was comforting and it felt like someones home as much as it felt like an eating-hole.

The girl at the counter was pleasant, and had all of her fingers, which pleased me as I had been previously informed that this was not always the case considering the history of the establishment. Suffice it to say that the regular sized Venetian is closed now and the Italians are a wonderful and diverse addition to the rich tapestry that is America.

Anyway, they had all of the daily specials displayed on plates so that you could see exactly what you would be ordering, and I saw a lamb flank. Flanks being the best way to serve meat, that is what I ordered.

It was everything I could have hoped for and more. It had gravy that was delicious. It had carrots that were delicious. It has potatoes that were delicious. It was everything I had not to grab the bone of the meat and gnaw on it for every last ounce of flavor (and the marrow).

My companion told me, as he stroked his thick mustache, that he enjoyed this establishment because it didn't focus on the cooking tradition of just one region of Italy, like most places, but instead offered traditional dishes inspired by both the Northern and Southern regions. This meant absolutely nothing to me, so I mostly tuned him out and wondered why he had ordered French onion soup.

I'm sure it was delicious too. I'm not fond of onions or the French.

Overall the Little Venetian greets its customers with a casual environment, a good combination of self-service and being waited upon, and amazing food. I will definitely return to this unexpected locale.

Bridgeview Blue Moon Chardonnay (2001)

This is a Chardonnay from Oregon. It sucks. Do not drink it. In fact, I wonder if the ten dollar price tag on something that has been sitting around so long was actually a warning.

If you need more information on how it tastes I will sum it up in simple terms: It tastes like making out with a drunken oak tree. Pour some vodka on a stump and lock lips. It has a nutty finish and a melon nose, but it really just tastes like wood.

SHAME!

Villadoria Piemonte Brachetto (2005)

To start, I would not recommend chugging this wine from the bottle while spinning. Bubbles and all. I'm sure you understand.

This is my own personal stand-by, being easily procured at the local liquorist for well under $20. This bottle I am currently swigging from only ran an affordable $12.99, but I believe it was on sale. It is a mildly sweet red wine with just hint of bitterness. It is only 6.5% boozle by volume, so it is pretty easy to drink in a large quantity, assuming one is not overcome by its bubbly nature.

This wine comes from the Southern region of Piemonte, which is quite possibly a good thing. Perhaps there is a wine snob somewhere who knows. After they tell me I'll give them quite a pummeling.

I would go deeper into the tasting notes, but it doesn't really matter so much. In fact, the flavor is really easy to summarize- grape juice.

I know this shocks and surprises you that wine will taste like grape juice, but there it is. There are no amazing other flavors in it. That little bitch from the Welch's commercials couldn't tell the difference if it weren't for the bubbles.

Its a great substitute for juice, cola, or cool-aid. I expect it will be all the rage at children's parties next season.

DRINK!

Outback Steakhouse

It is meh, with a side of giant freaking onions.

Don't waste your time with their uninspired food, and if for some reason you do end up there, take up as much space on the booth as you can so your server won't be able to sit down with you to take your order. It degrades us all.

Yowdah!

Sushi Tango

First let me say that the name of this establishment was very misleading. Although there was sushi, there was very little tango to be had.

I suppose that wasn't really the point. I'll move on.

During the course of the meal I had a jar of hot sake with Chambord in it, which I though was quite good: it was a mix of traditional and non-traditional resulting in something better than either. I think this pretty much the best way to describe my experience with Sushi Tango in general.

Sushi Tango's menu offered a wide selection of fine fish dishes, and we decided to sample a variety of items. Off the top of my head I remember we had Unagi (eel), Red Snapper, several forms of tuna, an oyster thing, quail eggs, a strawberry-eel roll (sounds odd, but good), and a fried shrimp on a stick. There were probably several other fishes that entered my gullet that night that I do not remember.

The Unagi and shrimp were very good. Both were quite hot and delectable. The problem was that none of the other dishes seemed very well cooked. This surprised me greatly, I mean, I know that they were understaffed, but that hardly allows them to put raw fish out in front of us and expect no complaint! This is especially true for fish! Who knows what parasites are burrowing into the lining of the stomach!


...

Hold on.

...

I have recently been informed that this "sushi" is supposed to be largely uncooked.

Never mind. Everything was delicious anyway.

There were small imperfection in the meal unrelated to my bumpkinry, however. One of the Unagi dishes was a little undercooked, for real this time, and the bones weren't entirely gelled, and the red snapper tasted a little too much of lime. Overall the meal was delicious and I imagine these were merely minor flukes that will probably never happen to me again. Also, their tea tasted like old sock water, and I doubt that will change.

At some point we were served deep-fried fish heads. Those were good too. They were a nice surprise that really helped out the overall presentation of the meal.

The atmosphere of Sushi Tango was slightly incongruous with my expectations. First, the waiter was white. I forgive him of this, but next time it had better not happen. Equal opportunity employment is good, but it seems to lead to disappointment. Second, the music in the establishment was along the lines of "She Blinded Me with Science" and "Electric Boogaloo." Again, it just isn't right.

On one hand, little touches like this really made the whole place much more low-key and inviting compared to many up-scale sushi places. While many places have geisha serve you while every moment you expect to duck under the table to avoid a sword fight or gun play like some John Woo action flick, Sushi Tango offered much more comfortable environment. On the other hand, geisha and highly choreographed gun battles are welcome too.

Sushi Tango was reasonably priced while offering quality fish stuff. Go there for a relaxing night of raw fish on rice.

Website: Sushi Tango

P.S. Does anyone else think the guy on their logo look like something cold just got stuck up his ass?

Many minor edits have been made to this post when I re-read it and realized I was rambling slightly more incoherently than I typically go for.

Taste of Scandinavia Bakery and Cafe

I really needed some lutefisk.

No, that's not true at all.

I was just hungry in general, but by the time I realized that I had no actual interest in lutefisk I was already at the local Scandinavian food-hole with the cashier staring at me.

Thinking quickly I asked for the soup of the day, coffee, and a ginger cookie I could see out of the corner of my eye in their baked goods shelves.

Instead, my companion took the fall and ate the lutefisk. He was sure that someone who likes lutefisk would have liked it, but he did not. We will never know if it was good or bad lutefisk because, really, we don't know what rotting fish was supposed to taste like.

On the other hand, the chicken-wild rice soup I had was rather tasty, and the ginger cookie was appropriately gingery and cookie-like.

Overall I'd say that the meal was alright, but I'm left with the lingering feeling that I should have just kept my $8 and spent it somewhere else.

To confirm this, I returned later and had Swedish pancakes. This meal was also lackluster, although it was slathered with enough whipped cream and berries to make it passable.

So far, it appears that, at least at this location, it would be wise to stick to the baked goods offered and avoid ordering from the grill. That seems to be the Taste of Scandinavia's strong suit and primary purpose, and that element of their selection lives up to a much higher standard.

Also the chairs in the forward section of the store are really uncomfortable. Sit in the back.

Website: http://www.tasteofscandinavia.com/

This Bit of Gum I Found In My Pocket

Recently I have found a small square with a waxy texture in my pocket. It is a light green color, and not quite the dimensions of a standard chiclet, but that may be because of the geologic strain it has undergone in my trousers.

Having nothing better to do, I put it in my mouth.

Hmm... Bad choice.

It has a light peppermint flavor which is horribly marred by a particular denim lint overtone. Both of these flavors pass quickly, which is quite lucky for me, I am certain.

The gum itself is too small of a piece to give any real satisfaction in mastication. I imagine if I knew where the rest of the packet was I might smush all of the pieces together to make a respectable wad, but alas, that is not the case.

Overall I an nonplussed with my recent discovery, and would have very much preferred it to have been a button, or perhaps a dime. www.gleegum.com

Gasthof Zur Gemutlichkeit

Urk... can't breathe... sinus filled with meat... glurk... (Dies, Smiling)

Or at least that is how I felt after leaving Gasthof, but I get ahead of myself once again.

Inside a deceptively small looking building is a beer hall style restaurant filled to the brim with patrons. As is my style, I had no intention of making reservations and explain this to the hostess. I'm not entirely sure what she says in reply because half of the people in the restaurant just started shouting, "Oi! Oi! Oi!" When I ask her to repeat herself it turns out she was apologising to me because the only table they have is a little table for two.

I look over at my companion, do some quick math, and realize that a table for two is, in fact, the perfect amount of table for us and wonder why the hostess is apologizing considering that it is the only sitting space left in the entire establishment and it is immediately available.

We are seated promptly, and in the time it takes for the waiter to arrive I look around. The waitresses are dashing about in blue dresses with white aprons, giving them the appearance of the classic German maid. Old men wander between the tables making small talk with patrons and playing their accordions. The entire establishment is alive with activity as people sing and toast and cheer. There is joy in the air.

Somewhere an Aryan queen begins to shout, "ZIGGY ZAGGY, ZIGGY ZAGGY!'

Her people respond, "Oi! Oi! Oi!"

Beer arrives and I drink along with the rest of the revelling crowd.

"Oi! Oi! Oi!"

I'm beginning to have trouble thinking in the cacophony, but I can't help but to think that I am in a very happy place as I gaze at the woodwork interior.

"Oi! Oi! Oi!"

Oi, that's getting irritating.

"Oi! Oi! Oi!"

Conversation struggles to take place.

"Oi! Oi! Oi!"

Oh hey, the food has arrived. Surprisingly fast-

"Oi! Oi! Oi!"

-service considering how-

"Oi! Oi! Oi!"

-packed the place is.

Oh good, it quieted down enough that my companion and I can be civil again. The food is amazing and only comes in one portion size: too much. I stuff myself with sausage and beer and potatoes and brown gravy. It is all delicious. I highly recommend getting a platter for two, if you bring three or four people you might actually finish it. Also it ends with a shot of Apfelcorn liqueur (sweet and delicious) and you can get some snuff as an after dinner mint.

If you don't bring that many people I suggest just getting an entree, it will still be too much but not to such an extreme.

Words cannot begin to describe the joy I felt in the Gasthof. Everything is happy and the food is incredibly good. I almost regret the fact that Germany didn't conquer the world.

Go there, and make reservations if you have a party greater than two.

Atmosphere: Loud, but friendly. The decor makes the place inviting.
Food: Abundant.
Service: Great considering the circumstances.

Website: http://www.gasthofzg.com/

P.S. If you see an Asian girl in the German maid outfit, don't be too put off, just remember that equal opportunity employment is a good thing.

"Oi! Oi! Oi!"

Crescent Moon Bakery

So there I was, driving around town, minding my own business, when suddenly I found myself in an Afghani cafe eating.

I shouldn't have been so surprised, driving makes me hungry, like many things.

This particular Afghanistani eatery was called the Crescent Moon Bakery on the corner of Central Ave NE and 24th Avenue. Using "recovered memory" hypnotherapy I was able to recall how the hell I found myself in this place. I was forced to park on the street in front of the cafe (non-metered). From the outside the place looked like every other old building on the street, only color pictures of various dishes were displayed on the windows. This was a nice advertisement for what awaited me, I presumably thought, although it prevented me from seeing inside to what awaited me.

What awaited me, it turned out, was a number of nondescript white tables and brown chairs reminiscent of every cafeteria this side of the Mason-Dixon. This clashed with the ornately decorated walls which bore tasteful murals of things that may or may not be traditional activities of the Afghanistani people. I mean kite flying and horse games, obviously, for those of you unfamiliar with their rich culture and whatnot.

High on the wall was a really big flat screen TV that played some sort of Arabic television program. Unfortunately, the pain of daytime television transcends cultural boundaries. It was some sort of awful children's show that was poorly animated at best and relied heavily on puppets and crappy computer graphic fireworks. It seemed to have many of the qualities of any other children's show, only I had to stare at it more blankly than usual because the bizarre shenanigans that take place on a kiddie show make even less sense in another language. Also there was a snippet of Tin Tin in English, but that show sucks anyway.

Occasionally it played some music, and that was pleasant. But I wasn't there to watch television, I was there to eat delicious delicious food. I hadn't made it that far yet, because I hadn't ordered. Lets move on to that.

The man who served me was very, very old, and spoke very few words, most of which were very sincere sounding 'thank you's.

The menu was had reasonable variety, and the prices were very fair. I ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, the Sultani plate at thirteen bucks and change. I would live to regret that. Also I ordered an "Afghani Sheer Chai" for a drink.

The chai was delicious. Imagine your favorite sugary cereal, and the milk left over after you eat it. Heat the milk up, and you have the chai. Wonderful.

The food was a little slow getting to me, but there were several orders before mine. Eventually a man came out with my plate. The Sultani plate was some sort of beef thing, some sort of lamb chunk things, a lot of rice, and a salad.

The salad was very fresh and comprised entirely of lettuce, tomato, and cucumber. It was nude, but there was a little tub of something white in a cheap plastic serving cup which I will assume was ranch. I did not partake of the ranch possibility.

The lamb chunk things were very good, bearing a mildly hot but very rich spice that complimented the mild meat flavor. The rice was very good as well, and was of a thin, fluffy variety. It had raisin and carrot on top, which complimented the flavor with their sweetness very well. Also there was a grilled tomato chunk, green pepper slice, and what I think was a lime.

The beef thing was something else entirely. It was not unpleasant, except its overall appearance. It was a long, thick cylinder that tapered on the edges and had a bit of a pinch in the middle. It was brown, with a marble texture like wet beef jerky.

In short, it looked like a turd.

Now, I usually attempt to avoid eating anything that even looks vaguely like the server took a crap on my plate. In fact, if I am ever given reason to doubt whether or not I am eating a poop I refuse to eat at all. This is the risk I am willing to go through for you, gentle reader.

It was delicious.

It had much the same spice as the lamb, only bore a rich beef flavor. Its texture was indeed like moist beef jerky. A seemingly paradoxical combination, no? It was like ground beef, only the individual parts of beef remained flaky chunks like a dry steak would be. It was held together by unseen forces of fat and delicious magics. You really have to eat it to get a good picture of what I am trying to describe. Suffice it to say it was good.

Now, earlier I mentioned regretting all of this. At no point have I given any indication the meal was bad. This is the problem. The beef thing was easily a foot long and an inch in diameter. The lamb chunk things were pretty big too. Also, there was a whole crapload of the rice and some bland bread. There was simply too much. I ate until I could eat no more, then I ate some more. I felt like I may burst. Then I burst, which helped me eat more.

I simply could not believe how much food I got. I almost wished there was someone else there to help me eat.

I am definitely going back for another lunch.

No website.

Izzy's Ice Cream

Out on Marshall Avenue of St. Paul there is a place. It is a happy place, despite the bustle and commotion within.

On Marshall Ave. is a small store named Izzy's Ice Cream. From the outside it does not look like much, in fact it is quite easy to miss if you are driving by, especially at night. On a weekday, when they are not busy, someone new to the establishment would wonder why there are so many tables and chairs lined outside the store. Also there is the smell of waffles.

The rest of the time they wonder how they will get past all the people who are either eating or attempting to purchase their delicious, delicious product.

Inside the place looks like a bit of a dive, although the place shows signs of painting and other maintenance one can tell it is an older building. Poorly planned architecture cordons off a small section of tightly-packed tables from the long ice cream freezer. This leaves only a few feet for customers to move around the store until they get to the very back with the frozen cakes. When the store is busy (almost always) there is just enough room for one line of people to advance towards the cash register and another line of people to work their way to the back to queue up.

Outside there is at least a chair to sit in, usually.

All of this is incidental. It really doesn't matter. In fact, it could be several times worse and it would be worth coming to Izzy's Ice Cream. They could even have a small man yell obscene things about my mother at me and I would return undaunted.

First and foremost, Izzy's manufactures their own waffle cones, and puts one of those big malted milk balls in the bottom to hold in molten ice cream. They are delicious. Slightly less noteworthy compared to wafflecones, Izzy's produces its own ice cream, keeping perhaps 20 flavors on hand at any time to be scooped fresh. I do not know exactly how many flavors they sell because I am too busy attempting to cope with selecting from their exotic variety to try to count. Alongside traditional chocolate and vanilla are flavors like Norwegian Chai, Cream Cheese, Guinness, and Basil. (For those of you who care they also serve sorbet and frozen yogurt.) This selection also changes regularly. Amazingly, the ice-creamists that run the business perform the miracle of making the ice cream genuinely taste like the flavor it is named after with remarkable precision.

To top it all off, literally, you get to choose an extra free scoop, called the "Izzy Scoop," of any flavor you want. This is a small scoop that lets you sample from their unusual selection, so next time you know if flavors like cantaloupe or umaru will be worth a full scoop of your time when you return. You will return, so this is good to know.

The flavors are rich, the ice is creamy, and the prices are reasonable. My only warning, for the gastronomically faint of heart, is get a single scoop, because a double is a lot of unbelievably delicious ice cream to eat at once.

Atmosphere: Meh
Food: Yes! Until I burst!
Service: They go as fast as they can.
Website: www.izzysicecream.com

Addition: Also, they have thing think called a "Dizzy Izzy" which is five little scoops of any flavor. It is freaking awesome too.

Nachtgold

Name: Nachtgold
Type: Eiswein
Grape: Undisclosed
Territory: Rheinhessen, Germany
Vintage: This one was 2004

A sweet, syrupy Eiswein, which is pretty much true for all of their kind, so this is not remarkable. Has a hint of a taste that I don't want to entirely call bitter, but there is some other flavor there that mars the quality of the beverage.

On the other hand, the stuff is $16.88 and still has the qualities that make Eiswein Ice-winey.

It is good enough that if you really need someone to know what an Eiswein tastes like they should try it, but if you want a superb dessert wine and budget isn't the issue get something else. In fact, even if budget is an issue you can probably get a late harvest for cheaper and in greater volume, and while it won't be quite as flavorful, you get a better value than from Nachtgold.

Perhaps 2004 was just a sucky year.

Edit: Apparently Rheinhessen is a region, not the grape. Thanks JMJ.