Continued: Third time's a charm at Heidi's

OK, I'll 'fess it upfront: I have always admired Stewart Woodman's cooking. I was crazy about it at Levain; ditto at the ill-fated Five Restaurant & Street Lounge. Yeah, I'm clued into the guy's Chefzilla reputation, although I've never witnessed it firsthand.

But here's the deal: I don't care if Woodman makes the foul-tempered Gordon Ramsay look like Rachael Ray hopped up on happy pills. I eat his food, period. And I feel fortunate when I do, because, trust me, Woodman possesses a prodigious culinary talent.

His latest gig, Heidi's Minneapolis, doesn't radiate the cocky razzle-dazzle that made Levain such a high-wire dining experience. The Hey-Look-What-I-Can-Do arrogance that permeated Five is history, too. At Heidi's, Woodman is following the lead of his surroundings -- the former Pane Vino Dolce, one of the region's smallest dining venues -- and he's paring his act. He has little choice. The kitchen is so cramped that there's room for just him -- he's always there, visible through a small window, usually bent over a plate, a towel tossed over his shoulder -- with one or two assistants and a dishwasher. That's it.

But from out of such limiting circumstances emerges food of tremendous appeal, at remarkably affordable prices. Entrees hover in the $16 range, and appetizers top out at $9.50. And yet Woodman doesn't pander to the lowest common denominator. There are no Caesars, burgers, pizzas or other mass-market compromises; this is his vision of what an affordable neighborhood bistro can be. I'm all over it.

Magic on the menu

Take what Woodman dubs chicken "lollipops." These are no ordinary bar-food wings. Bones are cut, the meat is pushed down to a single finger-food-friendly stick and then preserved in oil and thyme until it reaches maximum tenderness and flavor. Add small cubes of sweet apricot, a gingerly dash of truffle oil and voilà, you have a truly exceptional snack.

The same goes for his Buffalo-style shrimp, which are skewered, lightly fried and then twirled, cotton candy-style, first in a spicy blue cheese mornay and then in panko and served with a foamed celery sauce. Unlike most remakes that are too clever or too overwrought for their own good, Woodman's are funny, ingenious and delicious.

This is cooking that appeals to all the senses. His salads are exquisite little bursts of art. Butter lettuce is gathered into a wedding-worthy bouquet, and while your eyes are feasting on its beauty, your nose is catching the ginger-citrus accents wafting out of the vinaigrette. Mushroom caps, cut horizontally so they resemble flattened umbrellas, are layered between spinach leaves and fragile shavings of Asiago.

Who knew potato salad could be such a stunner? Fingerlings, simmered in black pepper, are dressed with creamed leeks and a nutty raclette and arranged over a swipe of mustard. But it's not just salads. A roasted butternut squash soup throbbed with intense autumnal color. Cool crab is the star of a spring roll that is sliced, dressed with little bits of pickled jalapeño cut to resemble roe and arranged on a plate so that it resembles all those Paul Klee slides from a long-ago art history college course that somehow linger in the dusty recesses of the brain.

Simply good fare

The ingredients aren't as hoity-toity as in the Restaurants of Woodman Past, but his approach to more ordinary foodstuffs is extraordinary. It's hard to forget the impact of the first time I ordered the pheasant. A dusting of cloves around the plate's edge served as a perfumed salutation, and each seductively tender bite (foiled by a zesty arugula salad) was better than the last. A vegetarian version of a Bolognese sauce is a dazzling sleight-of-hand exercise; it somehow has the oomph of beef and pancetta, minus the meat. Lovely things happen when the menu turns to seafood, too. Barramundi, the skin crisp and brown, the flesh firm and pale, is accented with a gossamer mussel broth and a vividly tinted parsley purée.

Whole beef short ribs are cut off the bone, wrapped like a carpet and then braised for about six hours until the meat melts in your mouth. The bones are used to make a stock, and you won't want to miss a drop of it after it's married with the braising liquids. For starch, Woodman adds a sesame-flecked spaetzle -- so good -- and includes a few sautéed bok choy leaves for color.

Woodman extends the somewhat limited menu with nightly specials, and they happily bounce all over the place. On one visit it was a savory and surprisingly light mushroom stroganoff, the next it was poached lobster tail over fragrant Israeli couscous; both were deeply satisfying. A half-dozen side dishes -- perfectly sautéed Swiss chard or handmade, butter-brushed papardelle -- are tops in their class; so simple, so easy, so tasty. Even the bread basket is a draw, filled with pretty wheat-shaped baguettes and sourdough levain baked for the restaurant by Woodman's former employer, the Turtle Bread Co.

Heidi Woodman, Stewart's spouse, is the pastry chef, and her work clearly reflects her husband's culinary ethos. Right now she's poaching firm pears, dropping in traces of orange and vanilla and pairing them with apple cider vinegar-kissed caramel and tangy yogurt sorbet -- lovely to look at and a pleasure to eat. I love how she candies pink peppercorns to give her luscious, lightly tart lemon crème brûlée a snappy finish. She puts a wintry spin on molten chocolate cake by adding fragrant gingerbready spice notes. Oh, and a cup of melted Vahlrona chocolate, blended with thick cream, follows this equation: more than a cocoa, less than a pot de crème, 100 percent fabulous.

If the Woodmans' new enterprise has an Achilles heel, it's the setting. Something feels lost in translation from its romantic Pane Vino Dolce days, and I can't quite put my finger on it. From some vantage points, the main dining room is charm itself, cozy and casual and not like anywhere else, and from others it feels cramped and dull. Is it the flat, too-white lighting? The not-quite-right color choices? The unembellished walls?

Still, the Woodmans and their partner, Frank Thorpe, have made improvements, most notably the significantly fewer seats (which helps the acoustically embattled surroundings), some handsome new furniture and a tiny but necessary new entry where diners can shuck their coats and catch their bearings. The less said about the adjacent and much smaller annex room, the better.

Feeling a tad claustrophic as I found myself wedged into that bland blue room one night, I made a silent pact: I'll keep my eyes on my plate and put my faith in the Woodmans' ability to match their surroundings with their exceptional food. When that happens, tiny little Heidi's is going to be huge.

Rick Nelson • 612-673-4757