Caribe

BY CARLA WALDEMAR

791 Raymond Ave., St. Paul
651-641-1446

Hopes up! Keen on Caribbean food, and pale enough to testify that I didn’t get anywhere near the source last winter, I sped right over when I learned that a new restaurant, Caribe, had opened in the Twin Cities. (Well, “sped” is a euphemism for what happens when we of South Minneapolis hit 94E during rush hour, but anyway ...) Take the 280 exit to University, hang a left on Raymond, and !ay caramba! It’s Caribe, all right, glowing with the colors of the tropics: popsickle orange façade under a sunshine-yellow awning and lime-green door. It’s a brilliant re-do of the former Chet’s Taverna (Chet now owns The Craftsman on East Lake)—still a hole in the wall, but the hole is a whole lot brighter now, thanks to travel poster-worthy murals in succulent sarong hues capturing a whimsical day-in-the-life of a tropical beach. Even the mandatory ceiling fans are painted a brilliant cobalt blue. Couldn’t be prettier. And the short, sweet, bargain-priced menu (lunch sandwiches under $10, dinner entrees under $17) set my taste buds shimmying.

Hopes dashed. Every dish we tried was dry and punch-less—well, except for salt. There was plenty of that. And I expected it in the bacalitos—half a dozen salt cod fritters—but these were so puckeringly saline that we discarded them after one bite. The accompanying mojito dip—tomatoey, but spiced a la Heinz ketchup, not Puerto Rico, as promoted—didn’t begin to combat the fried-to-death dryness of the fritters. (The kitchen hadn’t prepared its listed conch fritters that evening.)
We also shared a doubles, the traditional street-food sandwich of Trinidad, composed of fried quick bread—like a pita round, but thicker, greasier, more mealy and more amenable to sopping up flavorful juices, if there were any, that is—and curried chickpea filling, which was mild, indeed. It’s served, says the menu, with a topping (absent) of jerked banana/mango chutney and a side (present) of hot pepper sauce, about which our server cautioned us. Hey, it’s not all that hot, sister—especially as Caribbean peppers go, and only your Scando grandmother might object; but I bet she wouldn’t be caught eating curried, and, I must say, virtually unseasoned, chickpeas, anyway.

Adoring—OK, downright craving—jerk food—the kind that customarily puts sweat on your brow and a smile on your face—we ordered the jerk chicken, which arrived, again, dry, dry, dry, under its jerk-free coating, aside another item that also tasted like yesterday’s leftovers, a dessicated fried (when?) dumpling. Plus a portion of rice and pigeon peas that, with a tip of the hat to grandma, perhaps, resembled a Minnesota hot dish (i.e., bland and far from hot at all).
Next, the grilled kingfish arrived, standing in this evening for the listed grilled marlin—also cooked well beyond its prime, served—the menu says—over grilled mustard greens (totally missing) and root vegetables (taro, plantain and such, like tasteless French fries). Its side of jerked banana/mango chutney proved pleasantly fruity, although again, woefully short on heat. The kitchen hadn’t prepared its customary flan or tres leches cake (“The chef didn’t have time today”), so instead we split a light and lovely slice of cheesecake. (The Puerto Rican-born chef/owner formerly cooked in the kitchen of fancy Ballanotte in the Warehouse District as well as St. Paul’s former Au Rebours, another upscale café, but apparently, except for the deft dessert, little transfer of knowledge occurred on his shift.)

Drinks may be the forte here. We enjoyed a Jamaican Red Stripe beer. There’s also wine on offer, including one from Hawaii, but it’s the Caribbean soft drinks that most evoke the islands—a Puerto Rican coconut soda; Ting, the sweeter-than-7 UP soda from Jamaica; a Trinidadian pear number, a watermelon rendition, and one spotlighting yerba mate, a soothing tea. Also one called Chubby, which scared us off by the very name.

Clearly on the night of our visit, the chef had phoned it in. He’d better hit the griddle in more timely fashion or this pretty place is doomed. And that would be a pity.