Borough Serves Art, But We Came for Food

Pubby and I ambled out of a scuzzy bar in the Warehouse District and were met by two of Minneapolis' hottest restaurants, just standing there like celebrities brushing their dogs. Such is life in the new Hollywood of creative dining. Acclaimed chefs, locally and nationally, are setting up shop all over the Mini-apple. I stood, starstruck, on the corner of the street.


"Is that ... Borough!?"

I talked Pubby into trying this new hot spot, known for artful plates and the luxurious taste-bud massages brought on by its food. It had all the right props - on the menu, on the walls, in the air - but Borough's panache couldn't atone for its lack of substance.

Aaaand, ACTION!

The Basics: Located on Washington Avenue, you could throw a snowball from Borough's front walk and hit Bar La Grassa. This matters for next week's review. Their menus are seasonal, and the current ones are right here. You can read about the chefs here. They're certainly not rookies. They have a downstairs bar called Parlour with a limited menu.

We walked in the front door and a chess match ensued. Pubby already had a target in mind for dining, and it wasn't this place, but my desire to lift every fork in the city aligned me with the hostess. She scored a checkmate with this clever move:

"Why don't you guys go to the bar, get a drink, try an appetizer, then make your decision?"

So at the bar we ploppeth, between a wall section of glossy white tiles and steampunk-looking bar taps. To my far right, a short wall hosted a pair of mismatched china cabinets beyond a cluster of light covers fashioned from cheese graters. The other walls were concrete and cruddy, decorated with smears of putty as if still under construction. I don't know if Borough was stylish or not, but I could certainly tell they were trying.

The hostess made a selling point of the appetizers, claiming them to be sharing plates, so the $14 carapaccio should work ... right? That's what we ordered. Meanwhile, the bartender introduced Pubby to a "Minnesota Corona" - a Grain Belt with a lime in it - and served me a Brau Bros Moo Joos.

The sheen hadn't come off Pubby's new drink sensation yet when a large, mostly uncovered plate was set between us. Before I could say "Where's the rest?" the server was gone.

The entire dish could have fit in the palm of my hand. I took one bite and was afraid to eat any more until Pubby had some. So much for sharing size. He looked at the dish, even smaller after my bite, gave me his tenth-best "This is why I don't listen to you" look, and went back to a phone call.

Wrong dish, wrong time? Looking at other photos of their food online, I don't think that was the case.

Pubby comes from the Duluth area, where five bucks can buy you a food coma, but I understand the concept of fine dining and that it's not about the portions. You're going for dazzling appearance and otherworldly taste, and I'm fine with paying for that as long as it's there. The carapaccio had neither.

Every stick figure I draw has scoliosis, and I could make this "art" at home. It tasted Mike Tice: It was what it was. It tasted like a sliver of roast beer with one pebble of shrimp and minced ... stuff. It was like a movie with Justin Timberlake in it, where all he has to do is be Justin Timberlake and the acting doesn't matter because his fans just gawk at him anyhow. Fine dining establishments are supposed to create classics. That's why they're fine. That's why, when studios need acting like Christoph Waltz' in "Basterds," they don't call Justin Timberlake. And I'm not ready to eat average food at Borough just because it's at Borough.

Aaaand CUT!

Is it unfair for me to review a restaurant after four bites? Absolutely not. Borough would have kept us in our seats with four sock-knockingly good bites or anything close to the portions Pubby's accustomed to. Instead, Grain Belt won best actor for its portrayal of a Corona and Pubby and I left the show early.

Of course, Borough has its uses. I know enough people who would come here just for the Facebook boast or to impress a date by acting like it's "their kind of place" when he's only been there a handful of times (kind of like how I talk about Vincent). Otherwise, Borough is a victim of the very culture it wormed its way into: I'd love to give this place a second chance down the road ... but, for every actor who blows his audition, there's another one on the corner waiting for his big break.

Such is life in the new Hollywood of creative dining.