Trying not to be Worthless at Tavern on Grand

Tavern on Grand
656 Grand Avenue
St. Paul, MN




“There is nothing more worthless than one beer.”

That’s the motto of Tavern on Grand in St. Paul, Minnesota, proudly proclaimed on their T-shirts.

You’ve got to love Midwesterners. These folks know how to drink!

On a Monday night deep in the heart of a Minnesota winter, Tavern on Grand was packed with fun loving folks laughing, yelling and slapping each other on the backs.

Suit757 was the most sober guy in the room. By far.

And let me tell you, that’s pretty disconcerting.

A highly scientific taxpayer funded study just revealed that Wisconsin is the number one “binge drinking” state in America. The motley assortment of fun-loving drinkers here at the Tavern will be happy to know that Minnesota is not far behind at number seven.

Drinking is like anything else enjoyable in life. If it’s fun -- and if you don’t have anything else better to do -- why not?

But what makes folks up here in the Upper Mid-West so friendly and so much fun is that they don’t look at downing one or two -- or ten -- beers as a societal flaw. Drinking here is a way of life for people who know everything we endure, including brutal winters, is lot more fun with a beer in hand.

Unlike the Pentecostals of Southwest Virginia, the Mormons of Salt Lake City and the leftist busybodies of California (where you can’t even board an airplane without coming face to face with a state issued warning that the alcohol served in the First Class cabin might cause birth defects and untold other calamities) nobody here looks down their noses at drinkers.

Nobody here would ever consider a guy holding a beer to be of flawed character, like the guy in the city park clutching the brown bag -- or a recovering Obama voter.

In the frozen heartland, everyone gets into the act. Young, old. Liberal, conservative. White collar, blue collar.

If you have any doubts, just check out Bourbon Street on a weekend when the Green Bay Packers or Minnesota Vikings are in town to play the Saints. (Now that’s a sight I won’t soon forget!)

Clearly a local neighborhood hangout, I was the only one sitting at the crowed Tavern on Grand bar that didn’t know everyone else in the room.

While a local favorite, the Tavern has a statewide reputation for good beer and walleye – the freshwater fish ubiquitous in all of Minnesota’s ten thousand lakes.

The northern fishing lodge décor is dressed up with framed pictures of Soviet Commie Mikhail Gorbachev chowing down on Walleye sandwiches. Apparently, in June of 1990, Gorby stopped by the Tavern for a pint and some Walleye.

Hey, if it is good enough for a Commie, it’s good enough for Suit757.

Living two blocks from the Atlantic Ocean, I eat plenty of quality seafood. But maybe that’s why I appreciate the full flavor and soft texture of perch in Cleveland, catfish in Alabama and trout in Indiana. Eating something different is one of the few joys of modern travel.

Minnesota walleye never disappoints.

My fried walleye sandwich featured a crispy filet on a top-notch flour dusted ciabatta roll. The delicate flaky fish just melted in my mouth. Topped with lettuce, tomato and some homemade tarter sauce, this is fish sandwich perfection.

On the side, I opted for Tavern’s famous chicken wild rice soup, a hearty, creamy stew loaded with big chucks of tender chicken. Perfect to warm you up from the inside out on a cold Minnesota night.

As you might expect, the Tavern on Grand boasts a pretty good beer selection.

I started with a Summit Extra Pale Ale, a local beer brewed right down the street here in St. Paul. A fairly standard microbrew, neither the hops nor the malt dominated the other. Not a bad choice is you are drinking decent beer all night long.

But I wanted something more interesting for my second choice.

Surly Furious, another local brew, gave it to me. A dark, powerful IPA, this beer packs a hoppy wallop. Awesome!

I noticed one of the loudest, most fun-loving – and inebriated – bar patrons was wearing a Surly tee shirt.

I was jealous. Jealous of the shirt?

No! Jealous that he was doing so much more than me to keep his state near the top of the national rankings.

That’s a man who takes pride in his state – and in his favorite waterhole’s proclamation.

There is nothing more worthless than one beer. Indeed.

Rating: Serious Thought About Buying Shirt.

Making a Mess in Minnesota

Dari-ette Drive-In
1440 E. Minnehaha Ave.
St. Paul, MN
Visited September 23, 2010

Beer selection: None

Food: Out-of-this world Italian food -- served drive-in style!

My excessive dry cleaning bill has often prompted me to wonder: Am I a messy eater? Or do I just like to eat really messy food?

I mean, am I some sort of mutant, the only person on the planet who can’t seem to keep mounds of melting cheese and runny tomato sauce precariously stacked on disintegrating buns off my Brooks Brothers suit and tie while driving 75 mph on the interstate?

Or am I just the only idiot on the planet who would even contemplate such a feat?

A visit to the Dari-ette Drive-In in St. Paul certainly doesn’t do a thing to clear up this mystery.

The Dari-ette looks like an ordinary drive-in, with parking spots next to little menu boards, parking lot-patrolling car hops and a neon ice cream cone on the sign. The menu includes typical drive-in fare like burgers, hot dogs and ice cream. Stuff that’s manageable for mere mortals like me to eat off the rental car dash board.

But take a closer look.

The whole place is decked out in the vibrant green, white and red of the Italian flag – the mere sight of which makes my stomach growl.

No, the Dari-ette is no typical drive-in.

No one over the age of 12 orders burgers or hot dogs here. The specialty is Italian food. Really, really good Italian food.

But here’s the question: who in their right mind attempts to eat spaghetti and meat balls while sitting in their car???

Not me.

Fortunately, the Dari-ette Drive-In has a small dining room with a handful of cozy booths for messy eaters like me.

My biggest dilemma was what to order.

The meatballs are hand-made and deep fried and served under a blanket of homemade marinara and melted mozzarella on a sub roll. That was tempting.

You know how Suit757 feels about deep frying.

Anything delicious is instantly made more so with a quick submersion in a bubbling vat of grease. Deep fried, Italian spiced balls of meat? REAL tempting.

But the Dar-ette’s specialty is its homemade Italian Sausage. And I’m a sausage connoisseur.

For a moment, I even gave serious consideration to ordering both the sausage sandwich AND the meatball sub. I had my rationalization all ready: why not, since this is the only meal I’m going to fit into my Suit757 schedule in a 48 hour window?

“I deserved this.”

Then I came to my senses.

Twenty minutes of federal bureaucrat testicle-fondling and four hours in a middle seat was going to be miserable enough. Three pounds of slowly digesting processed meat wasn't going to make the experience any more pleasant.

No, I had to choose.

I chose the Italiano, the sausage sandwich of my dreams.

Topped with melted mozzarella and an avalanche of Dari-ette’s famous marinara on thick sliced Italian bread that was soft as the business end of Kim Kardashian (or so I imagine) and yet, miraculously, never disintegrated under the weight of all the goodness it was containing.

I’m not saying I’d even think about trying to eat it in my car, but it held together surprisingly well.

The onion rings on the side were thick and juicy and a nice compliment to one of the best sausage sandwiches I’d ever had.

But still, I couldn’t help but feel just a tinge of sadness and regret over missing Dari-ette’s famous fried meatball sub.

No doubt about it. I’ll be back. Just don’t look for me in the parking lot.

I’ll be the suit sitting inside behind the giant mound of napkins.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!