My crew heads there by default to meet up and drink a little too much, then stumble a few blocks homeward. But the only thing they had for my drunk ass to eat was Heggies and popcorn. Last year, they started renovating, and more than tripled in size, adding a huge-screen TV, a bunch of dartboards, and a Big Buck Hunter machine. The sauce itself was sweet and nicely peppery. The onion ring was initially omitted, and a few bites in, I asked my bartender and he came back from the kitchen with two onion rings to make up for the mistake.
Not mad about that! Bacon was nicely cooked, crispy, smokey, and bacony. Against a bunch of other bold flavors the sharpness balances everything else out.
Holding it together is a buttery toasted bun with that essential squish I love so much. Saint Dinette opened in the summer or in the increasingly awesome Lowertown Saint Paul. I went in hungry and got a bunch of stuff: ricotta dumplings were crispy, delicate, sweet, and wonderful with a tingly-not-lingery spiciness.
Smelt fries were texturally marvelous zesty umami bombs, served with a tangy remoulade. I finished off my meal with some delightful churros, warm from the fryer tossed in cinnamon sugar with a cocoa dipping sauce that I really wanted to drink straight from the cup when I was done, but I managed to restrain myselfβI ate it with a spoon like a damn grown-up.
But before dessert, I had the burger. Look at the cross section above. This is what bread should be doing: carrying the meat. And the beef. Texturally, there was just enough chew to keep it in my mouth long enough to make sure I enjoyed every second of it. But the masterpieciness comes from how well all three parts play together.
