Love on a Monday Night

BY CARLA WALDEMAR

Café Maude
5411 Penn Avenue South
612-822-5411

Why isn’t dining out always this pleasant? At Café Maude, nobody’s too cool for school. The personnel, from host to wait staff and even the bus crew, seem to have checked their egos at the door and treat you like treasured house guests. They make it their mission to show you a good time. Thus, they could serve me cornflakes and I’d still be charmed. Fortunately, the menu’s about five stars above that. In fact, Maude’s new chef comes from a chi-chi Boston kitchen, but the born-in-Minnetonka lad hasn’t forgotten his Minnesota Nice. The food, and his presentations, are terrific.

And here’s the sweetest part of the story: Stop in for dinner on a Sunday or Monday evening and you’re practically a charity case. The restaurant offers a limited menu of three courses plus a glass of beer or vino for a mere $25. No wonder the sweet, unpretentious little bistro was packed. Among the shadows I spotted romantic couples, gabbing gals on girls’ night out, and four tops of graying boomers, clearly enjoying each other’s company as much as the food. Tables are closely packed, yet the low-decibel music enables the dwindling art of conversation to flourish—another good reason to show up here.
You won’t be disappointed with the weekly-changing menu, either. Well, I take that back. You may very well be quite disturbed that you can’t have everything and are made to choose.

I started my dinner with an appetizer “tart,” a cupcake-size gift from heaven of chilled crabmeat—lots of it—combined with cucumber bits for moisture and crunch, all topped with tiny, lipstick-bright baubles of caviar and a brittle, cumin-scented wafer. It comes sided with a tiny (OK, the place isn’t perfect: too tiny) dab of tzatziki, that tart and zesty Greek yogurt. Divine. Except for the fact that it meant I had to do without the other appetizer choice, a luscious-looking plate of snappy arugula tossed with marinated mushrooms, crispy artichokes, lemon, olive oil and shaved Parmesan. See what I mean?

The two entrees choices are just as swell, and frustrating: hangar steak or cod? I went with the fish—a generous, thick and pearl-white, juicy portion, served over couscous tossed with snippets of ratatouille veggies and set on a thick, satiny fennel cream. Yum. Steak fanciers would, no doubt, have said the same for their filet, served with fontina-cheese-and-truffle-oil tater tots (my waitress rolled her eyes heavenward while describing this culinary option), along with broccolini and a wild-mushroom demiglace.

I sipped a luscious, fruity glass of Cotes Rouge while I pondered the dessert decision and finally just commanded my waitress to do the choosing. Voila: a warm chocolate-pistachio mini-cake, moist and dark and devilishly addictive, served with chopped nuts and Sebastian Joe’s pistachio ice cream, abetted by puddles of chocolate/mint oils. I didn’t spot the lemon cheesecake alternative come out, garnished with fresh berries, a ginger-lime curd and whipped cream. Just as well; it’s so gauche to break out into tears in public.

Will I be back? Well, I’ve got the phone number on speed-dial. And, did I mention free parking? See you there!