When A Rebours closed earlier this fall, I — and just about every other food writer in the Twin Cities — bemoaned the dearth of fine dining in St. Paul.
“I don’t know what’s happened,” I wrote on September 20. “There’s practically nowhere left in St. Paul to get a decent upscale meal. The only exceptions are Heartland and I Nonni.”
But how could I have forgotten Zander Cafe, which has been serving terrific, reasonably-priced and very fine food and wine in Cathedral Hill for nearly ten years? I just don’t know. Perhaps it’s because this modest little brick building on Selby Avenue has a polka-dot sign in kitchen appliance blue that reminds me of the early 1970’s and my mother in stirrup pants doing exercises in front of the TV with Jack La Lanne. Or it could be because Zander closed for three months this summer for a renovation that was completed in the long, slow days of late July.
In any case, consider the omission corrected.
I went to Zander for drinks on Friday, ended up staying for a bite to eat, and was utterly charmed. First, there was the wine list — note, this is where wine mogul Sam Haislet of Sam’s Wine Shop got his start as a server and ad hoc sommelier — which included a Domaine de Piaugier Rhone wine by the glass. It was smooth, full of cranberry and raisin, with a nice, hot finish, for only $8.25. And the full wine list offered some incredible values, such as a Foris Pinot Noir for $25 (I pay about $17 retail) and an entire section devoted to Chateauneuf-du-Pape.
I shared an order of Pappardelle Monte Cristo, a mosaic of noodles, fresh basil, pan-fried eggplant, goat cheese, and roasted red pepper tapenade, which was chewy and crisp, earthy with herbs and cheese, smoky and thick and warm. But best? I talked to Alexander Dixon, the eponymous chef “Zander” who — if you don’t mind my saying (Who else will, after all? Jeremy?) — is one of the cutest, most unassuming chef/owners in town.
He’s a hirsute and rather rumpled fellow, with owlish eyes behind heavy horn-rimmed specs. And he slinks through the restaurant like some random guy who was sent to check the heating ducts. In fact, Dixon stopped by, even before introductions were made, to talk about the strange, aching gospel-ish music (Nina Simone) that was playing in the bar.
And about his renovation — a clean bit of sprucing with terra cotta walls in butter and moss, tatami carpet, and desert photos in frames — Dixon said, simply, “It was time.” The man who created what he called a “crude, urban bistro” in 1998 was ready to dress things up.
His customers, apparently, are not. There were diners in jeans and terry cloth sweatsuits, scruffy in that unmistakable St. Paul style, supping on Three-Soup Mosaic, Salmon en Papillote, and Moroccan Lamb Kabob. Afterward, dressed down as they were, these same patrons might have stepped into Zander’s piano bar — Ferdinand’s, according to the retro sign outside — to listen to a group called the Tributary Jazz Ensemble.
The Dakota this is not. There were no sleek suited men or women carrying lizard bags or people taking money at the door. The piano had worn keys and the menus were paper, not leather-bound. But I’d put Dixon’s cuisine up against any in town. And there are few places I’d rather hang out than at his little 7-seat bar. Drinking Rhone wine and listening to the throaty grace of Nina Simone.
In St. Paul. Now, isn’t that a wonder?
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