eat + drink

When it happened for the third time -- in a nearly empty dining room -- I beat it to the men's room for a quick once-over in the mirror. Phew, no visible grooming or style gaffes. Although I'm no George Clooney, I can usually achieve presentable, even on my worst days. Yet to the host staff at the M Street Cafe, something about me apparently transmits a "Seat this guy in the back, next to the servers' station" message.

Maybe it's the solo diner's curse -- keep those pesky singles out of sight! -- although the theory seems out of place in a hotel restaurant that is presumably used to feeding its share of one-tops. Luckily, my social-pariah feelings subsided the moment breakfast arrived, evaporating in the face of a pretty parfait layered with lime-scented yogurt and fresh berries and other fruit. Golden melt-in-your-mouth pancakes, drizzled in a fine maple syrup, could have been lifted straight off the pages of a flapjack textbook, and the corned-beef hash, topped with two tenderly poached eggs, had a pleasingly mellow horseradish tang.

Two prior visits put me through the same drill: second-class seat, stellar breakfast. Thin, delicate Swedish pancakes were topped with tangy lingonberry preserves. I inhaled every scrap of an ample scramble of woodsy mushrooms, tangy goat cheese and fresh herbs. An exceptional Benedict, finished with a chive-studded hollandaise, substituted fork-tender beef tenderloin for ham, to luxurious effect. A sturdy sourdough sandwich was stuffed with fried eggs, tomatoes and nicely aged white cheddar.

Bacon -- smoky, crisp but not crunchy and coaxed into slight sweetness with a maple glaze -- was so good that Porky Pig couldn't put it down. An over-the-top French toast formula piled bananas and a silky caramel sauce on thick, egg-battered bread, and a hefty omelet was stuffed with a wake-up combo of asparagus and Gruyère. One misstep aside -- a messy misfire of steel-cut oats, caramelized brown sugar and raspberries -- the M Street's breakfast is the kind of go-the-extra-mile morning fare that has become increasingly rare in our Egg McMuffin world.

One caveat: the not-so-great all-you-can-eat buffet. A plush house-cured salmon comes with all the right trimmings, minus one: bagels -- a sacrilege. A few slices of rustic white bread gone stale were not a suitable substitution. The rest of the mix -- over-roasted potatoes, a few perfunctory pastries, a so-so fruit, yogurt and cold cereal collection -- didn't appear to add up to the $9-per-person tab.

Sandwiches are first rate

When noon rolls around, the buffet -- or, in M Street-speak, the Sideboard -- improves considerably. Diners can graze among a smallish salad and soup bar for $7, a few entrees for $9 or both options for $13. A lunch last week started with a pleasing blend of cavatappi, mushrooms, zingy sausage and Parmesan and segued to a juicy chicken breast topped with a sultry tomato sauce, a crunchy broccoli-raisin-bacon salad and a rich, creamy three-mushroom soup. It was fast food at its best; I was in and out in 25 minutes.

Much of the lunch menu continues the morning's thoughtful follow-through, with several first-rate sandwiches (especially the egg salad topped with rock shrimp and a monster chicken BLT with a garlicky bite) and an eye-catching Caesar. But I'd skip the overdressed, underseasoned tuna-soba noodles salad and the one focusing on drab, out-of-season tomatoes. And while folding lobster into mac and cheese certainly classes up that comfort classic, the salty results tiptoed toward inedible.

Desserts, including pumpkin cheesecake and a flourless chocolate cake crowned with a vanilla bean ice cream, seemed obligatory rather than inspired. Sunday's brunch buffet was another disappointment. Flavorful cut-to-order prime rib, plump chilled shrimp and the aforementioned bacon aside, little else among the slim selection merited the steep $18.50-per-person tab.

The M Street's most valuable asset is its setting. With liberal doses of rich golds, pale greens, dark woods and blond brick, Minneapolis design firm Shea Inc. cleverly transformed a dowdy into a dandy. The vividly bright lighting ("I could use an SPF 30 down here," snapped my friend) erases all thoughts of being seated in a windowless basement. And heavy library chairs and the 96-year-old building's grand columns add historic touches without going overboard, although it would be nice to see more of the fascinating vintage photos dotting the cafe's outer edges.

In short, the St. Paul Hotel has what it has long lacked: a casual, price-conscious yet business-savvy alternative to its St. Paul Grill. And a reason to go -- and stay -- in the basement.

Rick Nelson • 612-673-4757 • rdnelson@startribune.com