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.

Lyndale Tap House