Doug's Blog

Those who know me or happen to be my friend on Foursquare sure know my favorite hang around town is The Bulldog Northeast. A new favorite since opening last autumn is Ginger Hop.

Despite one being gastro-American and the other Asian-fusion, the two places have some things in common: They’re two blocks apart, part of what I’ve dubbed the Beer Triangle (Mac’s Industrial Sports Bar is the third point of the triangle), have the same 3 p.m. to 6 p.m. happy hour and they both have wings on the menu. Until today, I’d never tried the wings at the Bulldog or Ginger Hop, but what else is one to do on a President’s Day afternoon but eat wings?

Ginger Hop’s wings are listed on the happy hour menu as Hop Wings for just $5. Along with $3 dollar tap beers (I had a Bell’s Two Hearted), I’ll cut the suspense, Ginger Hop wins this battle by a long shot. The wings are just slightly spice and a little bit sticky-sweet; they came covered with scallions and served with blue cheese and celery, and were some of the best wings I’ve had in weeks.

The Bulldog’s wings aren’t on the happy hour menu and go for $8. I got another Two Hearted for $4. Now there aren’t many things on the Bulldog’s menu that I don’t like, but these buffalo wings were way below acceptable. They came in the Bulldog’s signature checkered paper basket; the chicken tasted less than fresh and wasn’t so much coated in a nice thick sauce as swimming in a pool of buffalo juice.

(An aside: try the Bulldog’s short rib sandwich, which is a special this week, but I’m told has a good chance of making it on to the regular menu; absolutely delicious.)

If you’re hungry for wings in Northeast Minneapolis late in the afternoon, do your wallet and a stomach a favor and head over to Ginger Hop.

On paper The Lyndale Tap House looks like it would be my kind of place: a dark but welcoming neighborhood gathering spot with an ample selection of tap beers and a dedication to better-than-your-average-pub food. The Lyndale was on my list of places to visit anyway, but with Emily and Conner coming to its defense recently after a half-star review by The Heavy Table, stopping in became a higher priority.

The first thing you’ll notice if seated at one of the many high-top tables is the lack of places to hang your coat; there are no coat hooks and most of the stools don’t have backs. Come on, this is Minnesota, and it’s getting cold outside.

I was ready to forgive this oversight when the sound system pumped out two Bowie songs in a row (“Fame” and “Suffragette City”), but the music quality went south after that. It was looking like The Lyndale would have to be judged on its food alone.

The legs and thighs came covered in an habanero barbecue sauce. The sauce was tasty enough, but I was woefully underwhelmed by how spicy it was; if you’re going to make a big deal about your habaneros, I expect them to light my mouth on fire.

Next up was the pit beef, which Emily said she thinks about “all the time.” This is a apparently a Baltimore classic, and just one of the “pit” items on The Lyndale’s menu.

Probably the nicest thing I can say about the pit beef is that it was tasteless, which is to say it didn’t actively offend my taste buds, but instead, eating it was akin to biting into a flavorless stack of protein set lovelessly between two halves of a soggy kaiser roll. Emily described the beef as “amazingly tender”; my experience was quiet the opposite, with medium-rare beef that was far too chewy. Even the onions and horseradish sauce didn’t give the pit beef much of a kick.

The fries, too, were soggy and unimpressive. If this is what passes for regional comfort food in the Charm City, then the dystopia of “The Wire” suddenly makes sense to me.

I have to agree with The Heavy Table on this one, but I’d be ready to give The Lyndale a second chance in a month or two if they’re still open. In the meantime, if I’m hankering for really delicious roast beef, Whitey’s is still my spot.

How long does it take to get the wrinkles out of a new restaurant?

No, it’s not a rhetorical question, could someone tell me? And for that matter clue in the folks at The Butcher Block. The Northeast Italian eatery meets gastropub has been open almost five months now, and sitting at the bar listening to chef Filippo Caffari last week it was clear the place hasn’t quite reached the same sweet spot that the tender-as-a-peach short ribs have. Chef Caffari, who presumably doesn’t manage the front of house, mused to the bartender about the inexperienced waitresses — maybe not the wisest thing to say with a patron sitting next to him.

In any case, if the chef wants to send the waitresses to boot camp, it won’t be the only noticeable change The Butcher Block has seen.

First up, the wings. The original palette of 29 flavors has been pared back to 14. Apparently all the ingredients needed to make 29 sauces from scratch was just taking up too much darned room in the small kitchen. This is a shame since the whole reason I stopped in last week was to continue on my quest to try all the wing flavors (from which I had taken something of a hiatus).

You can also forget about stopping into The Butcher Block to satisfy your late, late night appetite. It was originally open till 4 a.m. on Friday and Saturday but will now be closing up at 2 — still plenty late, but it will be Taco Bell for you if you’re still hungry after that.

If you’re stopping in for a seat at the bar, you’ll now be a little more comfortable. The bar, which had been about four or five inches too tall has been chopped down to the right height.

And gone is bartender Ben, who had made sitting at the too-tall bar worth it with his stories and obvious passion for food and drink. I know Ben had been looking to do some serving in addition to bar duties, which may be a symptom of an unfortunate layout at The Butcher Block, that leaves the bartender acting as a host all night and probably lacking in tips.

This marks the end of my Butcher Block wing reviews; I didn’t review every flavor I tried and with them paring back the number of flavors it doesn’t seem worth the effort anymore.

Hopefully The Butcher Block can get its kinks worked out; I really want to see my neighborhood succeed as a food destination.

I didn’t go. I don’t like crowds, and I don’t like paying admission to eat junk food. I can eat junk food anywhere. Just today I had a bag of chips. And a couple beers. Delicious.

I’ve had more than a full week to recover now from the 2009 10,000 Lakes Festival. Let me say upfront it was more fun than I’ve had in a long time, with the jam bands, the blue grass and the hippies — oh, sweet Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, the hippies. In fact this retrospective is a little late because I spent most of last week sulking that I wasn’t drinking beer and listening to music in the sun anymore. But I told Greg I’d write about the frivolity of 10,000 Lakes if he gave me tickets, and I intend to do that.

I just need to clear my mind first with this open letter to Dave Matthews: Dear sir: I know David Byrne; David Byrne is a friend of mine, and you sir are no David Byrne.

Read the rest at Perfect Porridge

Previously on “Doug Tries Every Wing Flavor at Minneapolis’ The Butcher Block Restaurant”: house and spicy mustard.

Marching right along today, I tried the sweet barbecue and spicy barbecue, which together only count as one of the 29 flavors, but don’t be fooled, they’re two different sauces.

And forget yesterday’s wimpy wing size, today’s wings were once again about as big as Sammy Sosa’s head.

Both the sweet and the spicy wings had a rich honey flavor. The sweet barbecue actually tasted like a sweeter version of the house wings and had a stickier sauce to match.

The spicy barbecue trades heat for some of the sweet and adds a smokey flavor and fresh pepper.

I have to recommend the spicy barbecue over the sweet if only because the latter doesn’t bring much new to the bar. Both barbecue flavors were finished up on a grill to get some grill marks (and a slight burned flavor).

One more note about my mission: it’s no surprise I’m not the only person trying all 29 flavors; yesterday bartender Ben pointed behind me to the owner of Hell’s Kitchen, who is well on his way to finishing all the flavors.