Remembering Ruth Adams

Whenever anyone asks me where to take someone visiting the Twin Cities from out of town, my answer always begins with the words "Nye's Polonaise Room." And one of the big reasons for that was the presence of Minneapolis legend, Ruth Adams, who began playing polka music there on a tiny stage located right next to the bathroom way back in 1975. She was part of The World's Most Dangerous Polka Band, and seeing them play was one of those things you could absolutely rely on, like Mickey's Diner being open or Tim Pawlenty's self-aggrandizement.

This is my Ruth Adams story. It was a December evening a few years back, and my friend and I were on our way to a downtown condo for a Christmas party. And, unlike this year, that winter was dry, brown, and colorless. We hadn't had more than a flake of snow.

My friend and I stopped by Surdyk's to pick up a tasty beverage to bring to the party. We found a bottle of soju (my friend was Korean), but for some reason the store was oddly empty. This emptiness was all the more obvious because Surdyk's was having some sort of promotion where they'd mined the store with young women in Santa-themed outfits standing behind podiums giving away free booze. You could literally walk around the store and bored people would just hand you free samples and chat with you. So we did.

No little time later we emerged from Surdyk's feeling refreshed, and that's when it became apparent why the store had been so deserted. It was snowing! And it wasn't just any snow, but that beautiful first snow of the winter that makes you really excited. I know it's hard to think about enjoying snow in March, but there's a magic about that first snowfall every year that escapes description. And that's the snow that was coming down all around us as we walked toward the Central Avenue Bridge to the party.

I remember hearing Nye's before I even saw it. The streets were pretty empty, and there was that dampening snow-effect where someone turns down the volume of the city as the snowflakes absorb the soundwaves. The noise of cars disappeared and Minneapolis became smaller, zooming in until it seemed like there was nothing beyond Hennepin Avenue. Instead, all I could hear were the soft big band tunes coming out of the outdoor speakers at Nye's, lit up in the fading light as flakes glided onto their red awning.

Just then a red Jeep pulled up to the curb, stopping right in front of the Nye's Polonaise Room's front door. A middle-aged man opened up the driver's door. He looked vaguely familiar in his coat, but I couldn't place him until he called over to me. "Hey can you give me a hand?" He was the trumpet player for the World's Most Dangerous Polka Band.

"Sure," I said. And I hesitantly approached the SUV. The man walked round the hood and opened up the passenger door and there was Ruth Adams looking mighty tired, bundled up in a thick coat and (if I recall) pink sweatpants.

"Would you help her inside?" asked the trumpeter.

And so, gentlemanly, debonair, and smiling in the twilight, I held out my elbow and Ruth Adams took my arm. She didn't say anything. She was surprisingly heavy and seemed very fragile, and we walked together slowly, carefully through the newfallen snow, and through the front door of Nye's Polonaise Room as Sinatra sang out onto Hennepin Avenue. And I've never felt more at home in Minneapolis than in that moment.

Ruth passed away last week. She was 79, and she's made more people smile than I could ever hope to.

Bizarro Twin Cities #1: Nye's / Mancini's

[The Twin Cities are non-identical, but they have a lot of shared traits. Sometimes they really rhyme. Here are some examples, like the Bizarro Jerry and his crew, of places that are a little too alike except for one big small difference.]

 It breaks my heart that Nye's Polonaise Room is closing. Nye's Polonaise, the former "best bar in America" offers the kind of irreplaceable history that you cannot manufacture with a million pre-packaged Applebee's displays.

But as Max Fisher once said, glory fades. Eventually Ruth Adams passes on, and you can't play the barking polka song forever.

The great thing about Nye's Polonaise Room is that it offers so much. There's a main-entrance lounge area with old-school piano bar karaoke, a sort of welcome mat to the place. Further along you'll find the amazing glittery yellow booths, all circa 1964, into which great groups or cuddling couples can sink happily as they wait for their plates of pierogies.

There, you're faced with a choice: turn left to find the wood-paneled back dining rooms. They have an almost church basement feel, and are perfect for large informal parties.  Turn right to find the tight little bar, the world's smallest polka stage. The dance floor infamously shares space with the bathroom doorways, so that you can't use the facilities without doing a polka step or two.

Almost without fail, the servers are older women who have seen everything and could tell you a thing or two about Minneapolis. And knowing you’re supporting these staff, dignified in the lost magic of their bowling-esque outfits, proves a palliative for the high prices.

But now that Nye's is on life support, soon to be a developer's footnote, where can you go? Why, to Nye's bizzaro twin in Saint Paul: Mancini's Char House.

[Signage.]

Just like Nye's, there are a whole host of different social and spatial environments: an old-school steakhouse supper club to the right, and Saint Paul’s greatest lounge to the left, where you’ll find seas of giant red booths straight out of the Goodfellas opening credits, the CDH Wall of Fame, a comfortable bar, and an array of seating options for any size of party, military homecoming, political fundraiser, or softball team.

The icing on the cake is The Midas Touch, the house band that plays evenings beside a small dance floor in the corner. Their repertoire, executed with cool efficiency by men wearing vests, is an object lesson in wedding music, and the place has the overall feel of a cruise ship that never docks, forever lost in the sea of West 7th Street grit and charm.

These two places, Nye’s and Mancini’s, are the touchstones of an era. They walk the line between sincerity and irony like Philip Petit crossing the twin towers, joined at the hipster and separated at birth.

When and if Nye’s shuts its doors, I fear the Twin Cities will be out of balance. But until then, experience the bizzaro one last time.

[Booths.]

[Mounted wall history.]

[The party that never ends.]

The Year in Twin City Sidewalks: My 2011 "Heavy Eleven" Report

I'm a little late. You're supposed to do posts like this in the down-time leading up to New Year's. Oh well. Nobody ever side that sidewalks were the fastest way to get around.

I was lucky enough to be invited onto the Salon Saloon: 2011 Show a few weeks back, and it was a blast. Andy, Colin, and Shanai had 5 guests who'd appeared during the past year come back and share their ten or so 'best' and 'worst' from the past year. Together, we were... The Heavy 100.

Here are mine:

#11) The biggest loss to St Paul: The Closing of Porky's

Despite my dislike of the 'drive-in' as a concept, Porky's was a special case. It was a very early, kitschy-beautiful example of the drive-in diner. It typified everything that Venturi et al described in Learning from Las Vegas, the classic "decorated shed," complete with the best neon sign in the Twin Cities.

On top of that, it was the heart of University Avenue's hot rod culture, which even though I don't understand or participate in, I could appreciate from a distance. At least here you had folks with cars who weren't constantly driving them, but had stopped them, gotten out of them, and stood around in the city talking with other human beings with their face. Street life of any kind is rare enough in St Paul. It's too bad to see it go.

Finally, I liked how it added an interesting element of diversity, of strange juxtapositions. Porky's was located directly next to a large old-folks home, which I always found amusing.

I wrote about this when it happened. Lots of folks blamed the LRT construction for Porky's closing, but it seemed in retrospect to be more about the owner just wanting to get out of the business. It's too bad. It would have been really interesting to see how Porky's adapted to the new light-rail street. (It probably woulda been a lot like a diner I visited in Seattle one time, which eventually transformed into a pedestrian-centered walk-up locale.)


#10) The biggest loss to Minneapolis: Ruth Adams' passing

I told my "Ruth Adams story" on stage at the Bryant Lake Bowl, and this is probably the biggest loss to the City of Lakes over the past year. Nye's Polonaise easily boasts the most sheer character in the Twin Cities. While it will carry on even despite the loss of its actual characters, Ruth Adams was a treasure.

Sure, she wasn't a paragon of health. (What's the opposite of paragon?) But she lived for playing every weekend on the world's tinyest stage, in front of the world's crappiest dance floor, with the World's Most Dangerous Polka Band. I like to think that playing at Nye's was the main thing keeping her going.

She led a life filled with joy and polka, and everyone loved her. If they can say that about me when I'm gone, I'll be pleased.

[Ruth Adams rapping.]

#9) The most humiliating urban planning moment: The closing of the Block E Applebee's

As I've written before, Block E is a classic planning fiasco, a bad idea made worse over time. As such, it's part of a long line of such bad ideas that mark the city of of Minneapolis like warts. And like the proverbial dead horse kick, Block E proved incapable of keeping even the world's most generic ubiquitous restaurant in business.

The Block E Applebee's was the exact opposite of Nye's Polonaise Room. Now there's nothing alive in Block E save for The Shout House (shudder) and (somehow) the Mrs Fields' cookies-bigger-than-your-head establishment. Someday downtown folks will figure out that cities can't compete with the suburbs by replicating them, but need to create unique, locally-owned, walkable places. Keiran's Pub is a good start.

Meanwhile, Block E sits on Hennepin Avenue like a hippopotamus at a dog show.

#8) The least interesting political non-event: Tim Pawlenty's disappearance from everyone’s consciousness

For most of my Twin Cities' life, ever since he took over as a House leader during the Ventura administration, Tim Pawlenty has pretty much been in charge of the State of Minnesota. He did a lot of terrible things. But, mostly, he spent that time calculating in the most Machiavellian way, exactly how to use his current position to craft an image perfect for higher office. And it seemed to be working, at least if you're a Republican. He made it almost to Vice-President during the McCain campaign, and was one of the "candidates" jumping out of the clown car this year.

Then, he wasn't. Tim who? Paw-something...?

It's amazing that so calculating and careful a politician could so completely fail. But he did.

#7) The most forgotten important political event: Minnesota State Government shutdown

I don't know if you remember, but the continual annual state budget deficits finally got caught up in the gears of broken politics  during the middle of the summer. Pawlenty's 'no new taxes' party somehow took control of the state legislature, while an aging "classic liberal" failed Senator somehow won the Governor's office.

(He won by the slimmest of marigins, by the way. If Emmer had managed a few more votes, we'd have had a political summer very similar to the one over in Madison, WI.)

I fear that this summer's shutdown wasn't an anomaly. This kind of political 'blue screen of death' is going to happen more and more, as both parties struggle with a changing economy and a lack of resources. Failures at larger scales will force cities and counties into all kinds of budgetary contortions. (See, for example, the next item on the list.) Expect more of this in the future!

[A sign of the times.]

#6) The Stupidest local Minneapolis "bike-lash" moment: Bike/Ped cood'r v. firefighter fight at city hall

"Bikelash" is a term that refers to the "backlash" against the "bicycle." This, too, is likely to increase in the future, as bikes become more popular, gas prices rise, and cities struggle to maintain existing road infrastructure.

Minneapolis is pretty good for bikes, so this bikelash moment was a bit surprising. The city firefighters, facing cuts, singled out the new "bicycle coordinator" position as a classic example of government waste. And the Star Tribune backed them up, penning a short-sighted column against the need for such a position within Public Works.

Well, especially in times of economic hardship, Public Works desperately needs to focus more attention on non-motorized transportation. Unfortuantely, most transportation engineers aren't really trained in how to build anything that isn't solely designed for the automobile. Thankfully, the City Council didn't take the bait, and the city recently announced their new hire.

#5) The stupidest local St Paul "bike-lash" moment: the appearing, disappearing, re-appearing bike sharrows of the Jefferson Bike boulevard

Meanwhile, over in St Paul, things didn't go as smoothly. Bike v. car politics came to a head in the most car-centric part of the city, as the city (with support from Federal dollars devoted to non-motorized transportation) sort-of kind-of attempted to build a bicycle boulevard through Highland Park.

It didn't go so well. Even the first, most basic part of the project -- the painting of "sharrows" -- turned into a political football, as ex-CM Pat Harris objected to the expense and waste of the triangular paint. He demanded that Public Works NOT paint sharrows along his part of the route, and got his way. Except that someone in the painting department didn't get the memo in time, the sharrows got put down on the street, and then someone had to go BACK over the street and 'un-paint' them, covering them up with some sort of black substance.

Well, there was a delicious moment of schadenfreude when the final black substance disappeared, and the sharrows re-emerged to embrace the sunlight, declaring that this was indeed a "bicycle friendly" street (even though nobody really notices them or cares that they exist).

#4) The worst boondoggle: The Block E casino / Vikings stadium

This is obviously still going on. I wrote about this extensively, but for a time there was an attempt (which I found quite admirable in its magnificent foolishness) to link the Vikings stadium to a Block E casino downtown.

Both are epically bad ideas. It's fitting that they wanted to be friends. Enough said.

[Ha!]

#3) The best new trend: Lyndale Avenue Open Streets

I loved this event this summer. It took a huge amount of arm twisting, meeting attending, and good luck to make this happen. Many business owners, bureaucrats, and politicians were very wary of doing an event like this.

But Minneapolis proved to have enough mental flexibility to try something new, and it worked beautifully.  Now every neighborhood wants one. Look for more Open Streets to come.

[Even though nobody played hopscotch while I was watching, this was terrific.]

#2) The best new time unit: "The Kardashian"

72 days. Happy Kardashi-versary Manny and Mark! You just got married, but you can already celebrate.

Meanwhile, to Aunt Peg and Uncle Bob up in Edmonton, Happy 522th Kardashiversary!

[Um. Yeah. That happened.]

#1) The most intriguing but enigmatic political event: The Occupy Movement

Who knows what it meant? Who knows where it will take us? All I know is that it is sometimes interesting, sometimes not, and its important that we start talking about politics, public space, income equality, and the financialization of our economy. I don't see anyone else doing that, and I don't see anyone else hanging out at 8pm in Government Center Plaza.

Let's hope that someone, somewhere keeps occupying something in Minneapolis and St Paul.

[Who knows what this is? But it's interesting.]

Today in Minneapolis Restaurants from 1972

[According to Ervin J. and Ervin J. (1972) The Twin Cities Explored. Saint Paul, MN: Adams Press.]

Al's Breakfast; 413 14th Avenue Southeast. The interior of Al's Breakfast shows signs of being busy, but is perfectly clean. And there are even some handsome pieces of pottery among the things with which one is served. Service itself is efficient and amiable. The menu includes juices at 20¢ and 40¢, breakfast meats at 45¢ to 60¢, potatoes (30¢), toast (15¢), and English muffins with preserves (25¢). Eggs are variously offered: scrambled, they are 45¢ to 60¢, two-egg omelets are 80¢ to $1.00, and both types includes toast and coffee. The special Israeli breakfast consists of two scrambled eggs, kosher salami, onions, coffee, and toast -- all for $1.20! [...] If you are particularly fortunate you may be treated to a lively panel discussion, with the staff and customers all participating.

Becky's Cafeteria; 1934 Hennepin Avenue. No pretense here. Becky's is honestly conservative, four-square "square." Interesting, the meals we had at lunch one day were not at all bad, and we can recommend the cucumber-and-sour-cream salad, the home-baked goods, which includes rolls and apple pie, and such beverages as an orange concoction made with an egg. [...] Other edibles available in the cafeteria line at lunch includes juices at 20¢, salads from 18¢ to $1.15, beef loaf at 72¢, hash at 99¢, sirloin of beef pattie at 72¢, and other meat and fish dishes [....] As for the atmosphere, it is, well, incredible. You enter to the deep, soft tones of an organ, and find that the Bible is open for you on a table near the entrance; the passage for today is Jeremiah, XXXI. The serving room to the rear, where you take up position in the cafeteria queue, also contains Becky's Book Boutique, where suitable religious works are for sale, and a collection of very small pink furniture grouped about a small fountain. On the wall is a motto: "Love One Another."



Mama Rosa's; 1827 Riverside Avenue. An Italianate menu, the availability of light or dark beer on tap or bottled, and its cheek-by-jowl accessibility for the West Bank campus of the University have together made Mama Rosa's one solution for lunch or dinner in this part of town. A pleasant surprise on entering is the changing exhibition of photographs or prints that hang in the lobby. The décor of the dining rooms is less successful; they are dark and rather improbably bowered by pendant leaves and grapes [...] Pizzas, pastas, steaks, and chicken are also available, as are other salads and sandwiches. The mugs of dark tap beer can be quaffed with some satisfaction because of the paucity of any beverage stronger than a nice cup of tea in most of the University precincts.



Nye's Polonaise Restaurant; 112 East Hennepin Avenue. Do not run away when you drive up to Nye's and see, on the ugliest facade in the Upper Midwest, Chopin in bas relief batting out a few bars of a nocturne. Although the Polonaise Room is indistinguishable from the Chopin Room -- both are noncommital mid-twentieth-century salons, swathed in cavelike darkness -- and most of the menu is indistinguishable from the pike, trout, steak all-around-town déja vu, one can order genuine polish speciaties of some merit at Nye's. Highly recommended are the pierogi (Polish ravioli) with sour cream, Polish sausage, sauerkraut, and golabki (stuffed cabbage rolls), all of which are served with hot bread. [...] The result is well worth it, judging from our experiment with the Polish specialites and the pleasant, efficient service at lunch. (You should be warned, however, that there are "live" music and dancing at night.) Any sort of alcohol seems to be available, and Polish wines are on the menu.



Ricksha Café; 5412 Penn Avenue South. For the dedicated epicure willing to anticipate the condition of his gastric juices at least twenty-four hours in advance, the management of the Ricksha Café will prepare a Formosan dinner (preferable for from six to twelve people.) Since our one visit to the Ricksha was on a spur-of-the-moment basis we can only report that it seems worth planning ahead for the Formosan spread, the exact number of courses for which depends on the number of persons in a  party. Roasted shrimp, rice noodles, with seasonings somewhat different from mainland varieties, Bee Hoon -- a mix of chicken, plum sauce and fresh ginger -- form part of this promising meal. We can report from our own dinner there that the Ricksha is another small, carefully hovered-over restaurant in which you know that the owners are there and care about the quality of the food. [...] Appetizers such as egg roll are from $1.25 to $1.55, soups 40¢ to 95¢. The inevitable chow meins and chop sueys range from $1.05 to $1.95, and American sandwiches and a few other meals are there. There is a lively take-out service or for a table as it is a small restaurant. Overlook the décor, which is an uninteresting Sino-American blend.



Taj Mahal; 1034 Nicollet Avenue. While the Twin Cities have some distance to travel before they enter a gastronome's list of cities to be visited, the growing number of Asian restaurants gives one hope. In July of '72 the Taj Mahal's spicy menu put some much-needed bite into downtown Minneapolis cuisine, with such dishes as Taj Tanduri (chicken with spices), chicken, beef, lamb or shrimp curries, keema alo (ground beef with potato) [....] In order to sample a fairly wide variety we tried a kaleidoscopic luncheon of side dishes and found all of them interesting, with channas too hot a curry for our Western palates, but undoubtedly true to its origins. [...] Undoubtedly, the lamb curry had been somewhat lowered in pungency to accommodate Nicollet Ave tastes, and very good it was. [..] Some realistic concessions to totally American taste buds are made, with American sandwiches and meals of no particular interest being offered. There is also a vegetarian meal which sounds Indian in its bent. In its early weeks, the Taj management had not done much to eradicate its noncommital coffee-shop look, but perhaps the owners in time will dream up ways to waft us a bit closer to Delhi.



Fuji-Ya Restaurant; 420 South First Street. Food is not only food, it is much else: people, the configuration of light and shade, memory. And of course it is ambiance. The menu at the Fuji-ya tells us that the restaurant's name means "second to none" in Japanese, so perhaps the best way to describe the ambiance in which one lunches or dines at the Fuji-ya is to say that in the Twin Cities is is, well, fuji-ya. The building overlooks the Mississippi River, though not its most pleasing bankside, for industry came early to this area and has scarcely been dislodged by time. But the water is there, and more important, the interior of the Fuji-ya is satisfaction enough. The first dining room one encounters has high ceilings from which giant paper covered lamps depend. [...] The next room, low-ceilinged and with windows which give on the river, is even more in the Japanese fashion: the tables are low and one sits crosslegged before them. Waitresses in kimonos serve you, and prepare some of the dishes on hot plates on the table. One can preface or accompany the meal with sake, warm or on the rocks, with Japanese plum wine, or with Asahi lager beer. (Whiskey and other Western potables are discernible at the bar at the end of the first room.)

Saint Paul Living History by Decade: 1860 to the Present

Have you ever been in a place — a restaurant, home,  office, or bar — and thought, “wow, it’s just like being back in time?”

Some establishments seem chronologically dislodged. The old Nye’s Polonaise Room was like that, a time capsule of the 1970s that finally met its end last year. Saint Paul, too, is full of such places, small bits of the past that together recreate the cold march of progress.

A distinction: I’m not talking simply about old buildings, places whose exteriors match a particular date. No, I’m talking about places where history is still alive, places whose uses, rhythms, and cultures still cling to some ancien regime, where lost practices of the everyday remain alive, if possibly transmuted. Places where the past isn’t just a museum display, but an actual experience.

Here’s the question: which places in Saint Paul best reflect different decades of living history?

The Still-Kickin' Decades of Saint Paul

1860s - The Stone Saloon

[Rear of the Stone Saloon, currently being restored.]

This is an 1857 lager beer saloon that is currently being painstakingly restored. It should open by next summer and, when it does, you’ll be able to actually legitimately experience what it was like in the 1860s to drink beer in small wooden room in then-nascent Saint Paul!


1870s - Forepaughs Restaurant

This is a early 1870s French-revival mansion off Irvine Park, supposedly haunted by the ghost of a maid who hung herself in the 1880s. Today it’s a restaurant, but if you sidle up to the bar or sit in front of one of the many fireplaces, you get a sense for what the place might have been like back in the Victorian era.

[Forepaughs' carriage entrance.]

1880s - Spot Bar

[The old wood walls of The Spot.]

The oldest continually operating bar in Saint Paul claims to date to 1885, and today still has the feel of the 19th century. While a lot has changed in the intervening century and a third — for example, there used to be an organ in the back, where an organist would play tunes and patrons would sing along — a lot has remained the same. You still have guys sitting around drinking all day, an occasional weekend vintage apparel sale, sometimes potluck sloppy joes, and they serve plenty of whiskey above a half-finished basement cellar.


1890s - W. A. Frost

This great restaurant and bar is housed in the 1889 glorious Dacotah Buidling. While the original W.A. Frost was a dry goods general store, and today’s fancy dining experience probably doesn’t reflect the original use of the building, the trappings and accouterments of hanging out in the bar or wonderful basement lounge does feel a bit like being back in the midst of Saint Paul’s boom decades at the end of the 19th century.

[An ad for W.A. Frost c. 1893.]

1900s - The State Capitol

[Old colorized postcard of the Capitol showing the old neighborhood.]

This building, currently in the final throes of its extensive restoration, is pretty much used for the same purposes that it had when it was built in 1904. Some things have changed — for example, every type of conceivable phone — but many other things retain exactly their use and luster from the first decade of the Twentieth century. (For example, racist paintings.) Walking up the marble steps, now bowed from the subtle weight of a million fancy shoes, is to trace the steps of a century of Minnesota’s leaders.

1910s - Wabasha Street Caves

[The Caves entrance in autumn.]

If you can find your way into these caves for an event or a tour, set in the bluffs of the West Side, you will feel the presence of generations who’ve come before you. The city’s caves are surely the city's oldest useful structures, and this one was originally a mushroom-growing operation before becoming a nightclub and then speakeasy in the early 20th century.

1920s - Original Coney Island

This semi-mothballed diner and bar is half-housed in the oldest commercial building in either downtown. It dates to 1923, and what’s more, has been completely preserved (as if in amber) since it shut down in the 1990s. It’s quite literally a time capsule, as it’s only open about once or twice a year. If you get a chance to get a beer (or a coney dog!) at the OCI, don’t pass it up. You’ll be stepping back in time.

[Inside the Original Coney Island on a rare business day.]

1930s - Yarusso’s

[Painting of Swede Hollow on the wall at Yarusso's.]

This Railroad Island Italian restaurant and cultural institution on Payne Avenue doesn’t seem to have changed much since it opened in 1933, in the midst of the depression. The other day, a waiter who’d worked there 53 years (!) give me a plate of “spicy rav(ioli)” on the house, and I pictured generations of hungry people coming into Yarusso’s and getting a free meatball. The whole of Railroad Island is a bit anachronistic, but Yarusso’s especially so.


1940s - Mickey’s Diner

This vintage railroad car diner  hasn’t even closed since it opened in 1939. They accept credit cards now, and I think they do change out their cooking oil every few years. But otherwise, this is as close as you’ll ever get to having World War Two-era food.

(Also note: Serlin's Café would have been perfect for 40s living history too. Plus the Turf Club actually says "best remnant of the 40s" on the sign.)

[Buncha hippies outside Mickey's during the RNC.]

1950s - Porky’s Drive-in (Defunct) / The Gopher Bar

[George, that old asshole, at the Gopher.]

Porky’s dated to 1953 and would have been perfect, but it's gone now. Places like Snuffy’s Malt Shop are 1980s re-creations of the 50s’ diner, back when 50s nostalgia was really popular. (See also, Back to the Future.)

My nomination for the best 50s-era living history remnant is The Gopher Bar, actually, a politically problematic coney-dog-slinging downtown dive that dates to 1949. It hasn’t changed much since it opened, the hot dogs certainly are the same. If you’re wondering what it was like to walk into an old hole-in-the-wall sixty years ago, uncomfortable feelings and all, step through their un-glamorous door plastered with anti-government stickers.


1960s - Rice Street Sears

This building is still doing what it was designed to do when it was designed and built in 1962 by Victor Gruen, serve as an all-encompassing store for everything. It’s difficult-but-possible to drive up, squint, and imagine what the store might have looked like when it was brand new and state-of-the-art, when it represented the ultimate retail fantasy, when its parking lot might have been full of fins and chrome. Today’s retail experience must be a pale shadow of that glorious time.

[The modernist Rice Street Sears and its massive parking lot.]

1970s - Red’s Savoy Pizza

[The anti-car barrier outside Savoy Inn.]

Walking into Red’s, which was founded in the mid-1960s, does feel like what I imagine the 70s to have been, all weird color palettes and urban dystopian vibe. I’m sure the pizza hasn’t changed much, either, nor have the sometimes-questionable bar conversations about East Side crime or the struggling economy.


1980s - Café Latté

I remember going to this amazing café in an “urban mall” (how 1980s!) back in the day when it was new, before Starbucks when the word “latté” was really exotic. To take a tray with a piece of cake, a coffee, and a Oblaten wafer up the very-80s staircase onto the terrace just screams “Miami Vice” to me. And in the best of Saint Paul fashion, the place hasn’t changed much. They muted their color palette a bit and added a wine bar in the rear, but other than that it’s pretty much the same.

[Top-down view of the counter at Café Latté, with the 80s staircase in the background.]

1990s - Galtier Plaza (Faces on Mears)

[The very-90s courtyard outside Faces on Mears.]

Speaking of urban malls, Saint Paul’s Galtier Plaza still houses a restaurant in the midst of the failed trappings of the old downtown stab at retail pizazz. Despite a few different remodeling attempts, the keynote restaurant, now called Faces, still has a 90s feel. Maybe its the nearby food court or large windows? If retro-trends are any indication, the 90s are going to be cool again soon, and maybe Galtier and the 1990s will become the next big thing in Lowertown, instead of the whole 1890s that’s happening these days?


2000s - Kinkaid’s

The 2000s are still sort of a blank slate. If we were in Minneapolis, I would have said that Block E was the ultimate in 2000s-era living history.

In Saint Paul, it has to be the much-less-ill-fated Lawson Commons building, and the anchor restaurant Kinkaid's might be the classic example. I’ve never been there, to be honest.


2010s - Saint Dinette?

I went to Saint Dinette the other day and it seems like a cutting-edge trend. When we look back and ask ourselves, years from now, what were the 2010s all about, maybe this place, with its wide open feeling and mix of low- and high-brow foodie culture, might be just the thing.

[The Lawson Building.]

Just How Horrible is a Buffalo Wild Wings?

[The MOA Gator's. Now defunct.]

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the worst bar in modern Twin Cities' history was Gators at the Mall of America. Their combination of depressed people, mediocre food, garish ambiance, and a uniquely soul-rending location on the deserted Mall of America 4th floor set a lofty standard which few extant establishments can ever hope to reach. (The Shout House at Block E is the current worst bar in the Twin Cities, but many more things will have to go wrong to equal Gators metro area record.)

On the other hand, there is general agreement that the best bar in modern Twin Cities' history is Nye's Polonaise Room. Nye's laudable accomplishments are frequently discussed, and there is little need to repeat them here. It suffices to say that Nye's is the anti-Gators.

Most bars are somewhere in between. They contain happy and sad people, good and bad appetizers, decor to abhor and appreciate. Some places clash with their surroundings, others seem like they've always been there. A wide range of locale sits between Gators and Nye's, and exploring this vast ecosystem of libation is a life long journey.

[A bit from the facebook page.]

My curiosity was piqued earlier this year when a bar called Buffalo Wild Wings announced they would be remodeling a mediocre strip mall on Saint Paul's Snelling Avenue, opening up a bar there. Quickly, neighbors denounced the plan. Buffalo Wild Wings was a nightmare. Its yellow and black logo was inherently ugly. Its promise of drink, food, and sports would mesmerize young people, causing them to walk the streets at night. It would fail to be "family friendly." Allegations mounted like my aunt's horny Cocker Spaniel.

The whole thing intrigued me. The problem was that I'd never been to a Buffalo Wild Wings. I had no idea what the fuss was about. How bad could it be? I wondered. What is this suburban nightmare? How does it rank on the Gator's/Nye's spectrum?

So I laced up my boots, adopted my best jock attitude, and ventured forth to my nearest Buffalo Wild Wings (on the University of Minnesota campus) to research the matter for myself. Here is what I discovered...

[The UMN BWW.]

The first thing that happens when you enter a Buffalo Wild Wings? You are greeted at a counter by three young identically clothed bored chipper young people. Two girls and one guy. Some wear headsets. One girl will be twirling her ponytail around her finger like Sarah Jessica Parker in that Steve Martin movie (LA Story?), then she'll smile too widely and say "Wow, I love your jacket!"  These people seem to have nothing to do. Because of the headset, one might assume that they're "the brains" of the operation, but after talking to them, it seems unlikely.

Beyond the entrancing counter, a grand canyon of sports bardom opens up before you. It's a bit awe inspiring. The University of Minnesota's Buffalo Wild Wings is in an old fire house, and has tall ceilings and large walls roughly half covered in flat screen TVs. From my barstool, I can see twenty-nine televisions, none of them particularly small. I'm sure I'm missing a few.

The rest of the walls are bedecked in jerzee paraphernalia of different Gopher alumni: Flip Saunders, Neil Broten, Tony Dungy, Gary Steinbeck, others I haven't heard of.

The third thing you notice are the gender dynamics. This is a brotopia. Men rule here, and all the servers are women, gliding like bees in matching black and yellow jerzees with the number 84 on the back. (Why 84? That was the year Buffalo Wild Wings was founded, according to the cloying narrative on the plastic menu. You also learn that Buffalo Wild Wings was fittingly born in Ohio, our most average state.) The gender roles aren't just about the waitstaff, either. Here, with few exceptions, men stare intently, high-five each other, and use nicknames. Girls come to flutter eyelashes and are happy to be excluded in clusters. I've always disliked this aspect of sports. (E.g., despite the fact that seemingly 80% of the staff are women, I'd bet that every Buffalo Wild Wings "manager" is a guy.)

On the other hand, sports is the real saving grace of a Buffalo Wild Wings. Televised sports are inherently corporate, mass marketed, difficult to reconcile with a yearning for the authentic. In a way, Buffalo Wild Wings's pure devotion to sports makes it more honest than an Applebee's, which has to rely on vague notions of "neighborhood."

[The wild wings (actually honey BBQ)]

The food is fast, and slightly above average I suppose. Honestly, its difficult to screw up chicken wings. There are a million flavors, but the most popular is Honey Barbeque.

There's little left to say. If you like watching sports on TV and drinking beer, Buffalo Wild Wings is satisfying. You can watch eight different events at the same time: a golf tournament, a Premiere League match, two different baseball games, and hockey highlights. I'm sure that during a live event, a Vikings-Packers game or a Gopher playoff, this place is an electric zoo. Most of the time, it's relatively relaxing, better than some, good if you want to stay anonymous.

I suppose the key thing is that Buffalo Wild Wings is a "corporate bar." This place has the same relationship to the classic sports bars of the U of MN campus -- Sally's, Stub and Herbs, Big 10 -- that Starbucks has to a local coffee shop. It takes all the markers of authenticity and reproduces them according to a formula. I suppose it fools some, others are unconvinced. 

The new Saint Paul Buffalo Wild Wings is like a watered down version of Billy's on Grand (sadly, without the patio). I doubt it will be as obnoxious. It will likely be more boring.

Its a cliché to say so, but the line between unique local business and corporate franchise is more blurry than ever. (Though more fiercely guarded, for that reason.) Even a great local Saint Paul bar like the Groveland Tap is undermined by its reproductive owners (the "Blue Plate Group"). Lucés spread through the burbs. Blue Door Pubs split like amoeba to cover both sides of the river. Bulldogs reproduce. What is a chain any more? Does it still matter?

In the end, Buffalo Wild Wings. It ranks somewhere in the middle of the Nye's -- Gator's spectrum, about average with a strong taste of corporate schlock. It's much better than an Applebee's, about equal to a Chili's, and this central location will likely keep it from becoming exceedingly average.

[The schlocky "story" of Buffalo Wild Wings.]

TCSidewalks Tour: Noteworthy Parking Lots of Minneapolis Bike Tour

It's time once again for a psychogeographic tour of noteworthy places led by yours truly. This time we're going to "look at the parking lot, really see the parking lot for what it is, and try to find god in the parking lot." We will examine the past, present, and future of parking lots, the faded utopian dreams of parking visionaries. So much happens in a parking lot, glazed with oily water, beside the white Hondas.

Questions asked will include:

Q: What is a parking lot?

Q: Is it it nothing?

Q: Is it everything?

[Crown jewel of the parking lot park system.]

In a sense, parking lots are the urban water through which we swim. They sit invisibly, the emptiness around us, that which keeps us apart. 

We will visit and explore five noteworthy parking lots centered around downtown Minneapolis, beginning with the parking lot in front of the Lake Street K-Mart at the corner where Lake and Nicollet ought to be.

We will travel north from there to visit two parking lots in downtown Minneapolis, and two parking lots in Northeast Minneapolis.

• What: Bicycle tour of five parking lots in Minneapolis
• Where: Meet at the K-Mart parking lot (Lake and Nicollet) 
• When: Wednesday 4/29; departing at 6:30 pm
• How long: About 5 miles on bicycle, probably 90 - 120 minutes
• Why: To explore the urban landscape of the Twin Cities

[RSVP at the Facebook invite here. Or don't. Bring a friend.]

[The parking lot from Fargo.]

The tour will include the K-Mart parking lot, the downtown parking lot where the film Fargo was shot, the parking lot at the former Nicollet Hotel site, the parking lot outside Nye's Polonaise room, and the Northeast Bank parking lot park, probably the most unique parking lot in the Twin Cities!

[See previous tours here: Dive Bars of Old Fort Road, Dive Bars of South Minneapolis, The Last Holidazzle, Overlooked Parks of Saint Paul, Dive Bars of the Green Line, Skyways of Minneapolis, and Chinese Restaurants of East Lake Street.]

[Parking space: the final frontier.]