Stasiu’s to Stanley’s: Nothing lost in translation

BY CARLA WALDEMAR

Stanley’s
2500 University Ave. N.E.
612-788-2529

There goes the neighborhood. No longer can you count on enabling your inner Neanderthal by hunkering over a greasy brat and a Grain Belt in the dark, unseemly confines of a decent dive bar in this blue-collar stretch of University.

Yes indeed, that Nordeast neighborhood bad boy, Stasiu’s, has bit the dust. But, rising from the rubble, welcome Stanley’s, the slicked-up sequel of its Polish father, touting the same name but translated into the lingo of the hipsters who’ve reclaimed this stretch of town. Longtime neighborhood regulars have returned, too, along with first-timers who’ve heard the word—four words, actually—great beer, good food.

And lots of both. A chronicler of micro-breweries could earn his Ph.D. here, with 32 taps, saluting the froth of regional hop gods from Fulton to Surley and Lift Bridge in addition to 12 spigots devoted to the suds of the ould sod in Ireland. Plus, the night we walked in, Schell’s reps were handing out free samples.

Stanley’s menu hits the mark, too: bar food that appeases the consciences of slumming foodies with made-in-house and locally-sourced ingredients, while simultaneously catering to the more traditional “If it ain’t broke, don’t you dare fix it” crowd.

Thus, apps ($3.79-7.79) like sliders (no pikers these, from house-smoked brisket); fries (gone upscale via hand-cut sweet potatoes, or served with pepperjack sauce); and jalapeno poppers (updated with a ritzy roasted red-pepper coulis). And smoked brisket nachos, unquestionably the best thing to cross my lips in many a week. The chips come shouldered with generous strands of smoky, tender beef in comfy combo with a blend of cheeses, all avalanched with more cheese sauce. Little ramekins at the side provide add-ons, like the kitchen’s snappy salsa, chopped jalapenos for the daring, sour cream to smooth the bite, and a fresh, perky housemade guac. I’ll drink to that.

Well, I did. Then I ordered the walleye (entrees $7.79 and up)—a slim, mild-flavored grilled fillet (or choose beer-battered) attended by a modest, mostly-mayo, house-made tartar sauce and choice of two sides. The cole slaw carried a pleasing sweet-tart zing, thanks to vinegar instead of mayonnaise in its makeup. Better yet: a generous cup of chili, almost thick enough to require a carving knife and stoked with Guinness, along with tomatoes, meat and beans. Or choose a green salad, fries, veg du jour (carrots: forget it), fries or those sassy sweet-potato fries—wondrous, nubile spears, sweet and tender as a love song.

From the plate at my partner’s elbow, I sampled the “big kids’ mac and cheese,” which proved pretty close to a little-kids’ rendition: cavatappi pasta, boiled beyond al dente, in an OK-but-innocuous cheese-cum-beer sauce. The sleeper: lodes of hearty Sentryz hot dogs (tasted like Polish sausage, and that’s a good thing) buried amid the noodles. An accompanying Caesar salad ($4.49 extra) proved a bright palate cleanser of chopped romaine, nutty Parmesan and croutons tossed in a nicely garlicky oil-and-vinegar base.

But here’s what you really need to do to qualify as a Stanley’s groupie: Order the Hamorker, as delicious and disgusting as it sounds, and by far the bar’s most popular burger: a beef half-pounder topped with pulled pork from the kitchen’s smoker, hunkering under a massive lode of Cheddar. Is that even legal? Never mind. The Stanley Burger substitutes brisket for pork atop the pattie, another sign that anorexia shall never make inroads in Nordeast. And that’s the way it should be. Stanley’s rules!