The scallop was evaporating inside my mouth, collapsing on itself in a cloud of ethereal juiciness. It was one of those dining-out moments where my body's involuntarily response was to slump into my chair, block out everything else around me and wallow in the bliss that was enveloping my taste buds. When I regained consciousness, I had one thought: Yeah, chef Steven Brown is back.
That out-of-body experience was taking place at Tilia, the Linden Hills restaurant that Brown opened in March. Familiar favorites are energized anew, brilliantly, at remarkably accessible prices. I'll never eat another chicken wing after falling head-over-heels for Tilia's roasted chicken thighs, the dark meat bursting with rich flavor and enriched with a sort-of jerk seasoning, minus the smoke. The fish taco model is crossed with the McDonald's Filet-O-Fish sandwich, and the looky, tasty results are spectacular. The turkey burger is tops in its field, and the Reuben sports a corned beef that can only be described as dreamy.
I particularly admire how Brown writes his menu, inserting a little bit of his life experience -- travel, friendships, his rural South Dakota upbringing, punk rock -- into each dish. Snappy grilled shrimp was born from an impromptu dinner he whipped up for his wife. Gravlax is an homage to former Nick & Eddie chef Steve Vranian, a supple and beautifully presented version with the flavors of dill and juniper hovering in and out of each bite.
A catering gig fomented the delicious idea of serving house-made grilled flat breads with a fruity olive oil and an addicting blend of cumin, coriander and toasted almonds. Brown also hoists the humble hot dog up on a pedestal, cranking up the Chicago-style embellishments with sharply pickled cauliflower, strips of crisp bacon, a sharp stone-ground mustard and sprightly sprigs of dill, proving that hot dogs are an amazingly versatile flavor-delivery vehicle. The idea sprang from an ill-fated proposal, pre-Tilia, for the Lake Harriet refectory.
Smart snack ideas abound, whether it's grilled bread spread with house-made mozzarella, or luscious chicken liver pâté topped with a sweet-pungent swipe of puréed eggplant seasoned with fenugreek and honey. I've developed a serious craving for the grilled kielbasa, dressed with a sprinkle of crispy garlic and laid out on a bed of sinfully creamy whipped potatoes. The complex soups are little adventures in a bowl, filled with surprise ingredients and carefully calibrated tastes. Salads are so artfully composed that it's almost a shame to dig into them.
If only the dining experience were the equal of the eating experience, a comment that in no way impugns the hard-working service staff. There just doesn't seem to be enough within their ranks to meet the demands of the crush of customers. A major issue is inadequate door management, which, coupled with a no-reservations policy and the distinct lack of a lobby, can quickly escalate the vulture-like impulses I witnessed among the Hungry and the Impatient. Chipped dishes, tarnished flatware and stained menus also broadcast a sort of harried neglect.
Still, there are countless other reasons to love. Start with the setting. All traces of the former Rice Paper have been obliterated, replaced by an animated storefront, its width bookended by an L-shaped bar and fascinating kitchen counter where Brown's kitchen crew works its magic.
Then there's brunch. Brown & Co. are demonstrating exactly how to tackle it, deftly turning out one winning, imaginative dish after another. Delicate cornmeal waffles, topped with perfectly poached eggs, chunks of sweet poached lobster and so much supple hollandaise, are easily the city's most awesome way to greet the weekend.
Dessert is also similarly fetching, with a date-caramel cake -- an exercise in butter, love and chutzpah -- at the front of the pack, and the sublime butterscotch pot de crème running a close second.
A caution: Be prepared. Chances are, you'll be waiting for a table.