Does anyone remember the House of Breakfast? It was this little counter-service joint run by two Eastern European women out of a house-front in South Minneapolis. The omelets were decent, the pancakes were fine, but that’s not why you went. It was the walls. Near the counter you could read the menu, which was scrawled on paper plates, but every other inch of wall space was covered in paintings: Pitiful puppies, sad harlequin clowns, waifish girls, and pathetic kittens—all with dark saucer eyes, rendered in the style of those kings of seventies kitsch, Walter and Margaret Keane—stood watch over your every cup of coffee. It remains the only restaurant that I’ve patronized specifically for the décor.
Obviously, there are other places we go because of the buzz or to soak up a certain vibe, but often that has as much to do with the people attracted to the space as with how the space itself is put together. Would we still hang out at Chino Latino on a Saturday night if it were packed with nattering IRS auditors? The point is, décor and ambience are two distinctly different things. Case in point: The décor at Psycho Suzi’s, in Northeast Minneapolis, is a tacky tiki wonderland—but its patrons and cheeky staff give the place its edge.
There’s no question that restaurant design—along with great food, service, and people-watching—is a crucial part of the magical and all-too-elusive formula that makes a restaurant successful. But there’s no template to follow, no style guide that ensures success. Note that I’m not including the theatrics employed by themed restaurants, as mechanical dinosaurs and timed thunderstorms are more than decoration; they’re more like a three-year-old’s chicken-finger-fueled acid trip. Those spectacles aside, you can basically define one end of the spectrum with casual-dining favorites like Applebees, which plaster their walls with flea-market finds (or impeccable imitations of flea-market finds). At the other end are fine-dining temples along the lines of 20.21, which artfully decline to put anything on the walls. The issue at hand isn’t whether one approach is superior. The question is: What does this all have to do with the dining experience?
TGI Fridays, Applebees, Ruby Tuesdays, and the locally owned Famous Dave’s have become expert at the former approach. The collections of vintage photographs, battered musical instruments, wooden sleds, and all manner of other vaguely aged clutter serve to “localize” their restaurants, with the aim being to insinuate the place into the community. All that stuff on the walls is also supposed to grab our attention, make us feel at home, and incite conversation. But in some cases these heaping helpings of junk become a blur—a visual version of white noise that we’ve trained ourselves to ignore. Sensing a growing indifference, TGI Friday’s began reworking its design concept a few years ago, adding more contemporary objects like PeeWee Herman shoes, BMX bikes, and skateboards. The hope is that these things, more so than a Radio Flyer, will strike a chord of relevance with the younger consumers of mozzie-sticks.
Moving up the scale in expense and prestige, the basic rule seems to be that the better the food, the less crap on the walls. Take the year-old Fugaise, in the East Hennepin neighborhood: an austere, windowless space with grayish walls and dark abstract art by a single artist, Daren Steneman. Some find the heavy color scheme severe, but when the food arrives, it’s clear that the focus is meant to be on the vivid squash soup set before us. As many of us can (and do) passionately argue, food is a conversation-worthy art form all on its own.
Furnishing a restaurant can be a huge gamble if you’re looking to make a striking impression. Let’s not forget the ill-fated Rock Star restaurant and the first line Star Tribune restaurant critic Jeremy Iggers wrote in his 2002 review: “Loved the food. Hated the décor.” The room featured oversized black-and-white photos of pseudo-celebrities, harsh lighting and horrible acoustics, tacky carpeting that looked like it could have come from Elvis’ attic, and an unfortunate location in the Piper-Jaffray building. You couldn’t get comfortable, but neither did you quite feel glamorous (the only acceptable reason to sacrifice comfort). Not even the amazing dishes from Chef Steven Brown could overcome the drastic décor. But now that he’s at the warmer, friendlier Levain, which is tucked into a quiet neighborhood of South Minneapolis, Brown’s food is rewarded with a consistently packed restaurant.
In response to an increased emphasis on interior design: Locally, restaurant design has become big business as Twin Cities-based entrepreneurs continue to test new concepts. When they demolished Nora’s just northwest of Lake Calhoun and rebuilt it as Tryg’s, the owners hired Shea Architects, a firm that has created a plethora of local restaurant spaces, from Solera to Famous Dave’s, to come up with something beautiful yet safe. (We might call it “Café Gabberts.”) Bucking this trend, the owners behind a newer Minneapolis venture, Five Restaurant and Street Lounge, hoped to strike upon something fresh by seeking out architects who’d never designed a restaurant before. The result is unexpectedly soft while maintaining a modern edge, keeping the diner at ease while introducing new ideas. Then there’s the much-anticipated Cue, the restaurant in the new Guthrie Theater. With a menu created by Lenny Russo (of St. Paul’s Heartland) and interior design by another well-known firm, the Durrant Group—all wrapped in a building by the vaunted French architect Jean Nouvel —it will be exciting to see whose influence leaves the most lasting impression.
However, let’s not forget the middle of the restaurant-design spectrum. Call it a laid-back backlash against all the gloss and dough being shelled out for high-concept design, but there seems to be a trend toward a more organic approach to creating a dining room. The colors and artwork somehow tie in with the food (which is why some of us go to restaurants in the first place). The estate-sale finds, local artwork, and hand-carved furniture at Café Barbette in Uptown all work together to give the place its whimsical feel, and fit nicely with a menu that doesn’t take itself too seriously. Midtown’s new Town Talk Diner could have styled itself retro, but didn’t. Instead, the owners kept diner pastiche to a minimum, allowing the old, original counter to be reborn as their bar and evoke the spirit from which their snazzy menu draws. Restaurant Alma, in southeast Minneapolis, is another example. Its clean lines, modern maple tones, exposed brick, and birch branches give the dining room a fresh, natural feel, which makes sense given the menu’s focus on seasonal ingredients. Colors are easy and play well with candle light. Decoration is simple, timeless, and yet the minute we try to soak it all in, it fades to the back, allowing for the simple enjoyment of food and good company.
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