After years of punching other peoples' time clocks, chef Steve Vranian is finally cooking in his own kitchen. This is very good news. Vranian's so-easy-it's-hard brand of cooking comes by way of his mentor, California chef Jeremiah Tower. The rules are few: Buy great ingredients, combine them in fresh new ways and prepare them with as little folderol as possible. You start with, say, a mesquite-burning grill. Take oysters plucked from Puget Sound, split them open, place them over the charcoal for a few moments, add a smoky tomatillo-jalapeño salsa and serve. What could be more delicious?
Or try this: Form grated potatoes into thin patties, fry them in duck fat until they're crisp and golden and put them on a plate with a barely embellished whitefish salad. Or sear plump shrimp on the grill, then cool them with a refreshing avocado-mango-mint garnish. Or how about braising deeply flavorful beef cheeks low and slow, until the meat falls apart at a fork's slightest pressure. Add a mellow parsnip purée and you'll never settle for stringy pot roast and starchy mashed potatoes ever again.
That's Nick and Eddie. Outwardly, the restaurant is an homage to a former 1980s Manhattan hot spot, reincarnated alongside the spirits of the former New French and Loring bars. But get past the revivalist trappings and this enterprise is all about Vranian, a chef who lives by another key word: restraint. What an admirable trait. (Here's another one: value. Entrees average $17, and most appetizers fall in the $5 to $7 range).
Vranian puts the grill's attributes -- searingly high heat and sinuously smoky flavor -- to very good use. An exceptionally tasty chicken breast, the skin boasting a slight crackle, the meat marvelously juicy -- is a steal at $15, especially given the nicely bitter Swiss chard and super-crisp fries that share the plate. Salmon, meltingly succulent, stood up very well against caramelized Brussels sprouts. Minnesota-raised duck, so tender it barely needed a knife, gets the north-south treatment with a blended bed of wild rice and hominy.
A smoked paprika-cayenne-chile marinade puts a spicy twist on a pan-sautéed steak; it's paired with collard greens and deliriously creamy mashed potatoes. Instead of potatoes for his gnocchi, Vranian turns to choux pastry, piping it out into light little bite-size balls and drenching them in béchamel. The kitchen uses the liquids from that braised beef as a base for its ruddy, spicy borscht.
Former Bakery on Grand head baker Jessica Anderson is Vranian's business partner. Her Parker House rolls and old-fashioned semolina loaf are the embodiment of simplicity and integrity. Ditto her lovable chocolate roulade and exceptional single-bite cookies. A slab of moist gingerbread is balanced by a bit of tangy crème fraîche. Her crowning achievement is a voluptuously caramel-ey butterscotch pudding finished with a splash of cream.
The vintage storefront has been seamlessly restored using salvaged details and modern embellishments. An appealing bar wraps around Vranian's display kitchen and a long stretch of windows look out to Loring Park. There's also a killer sound system, a vehicle for a musical selection that's obviously been curated within an inch of its life.
This isn't a quibble-free zone. Some dishes were heavy on the salt. A few plates -- a grilled vegetable risotto, a tough pork steak -- had me stifling yawns. The menu might induce restlessness among regulars. Oh, and could someone please crank up the thermostat?
But while a friend patiently listened to my gripes, I found them quickly evaporating during the bliss of a relaxing noon-hour visit.
