A bright spot in the north

I've always had a soft spot for Minneapolis' Victory neighborhood. My mother grew up in that far northwest corner of the city, and during Decembers when I was a kid, my folks would pile their four offspring into my dad's Vauxhall (or whatever crazy car he was driving at the time) and we would slowly motor up and down Victory Memorial Drive, oohing and aahing over the elaborate, pre-energy-crisis Christmas light displays.

To a 10-year-old growing up in a 1,000-square-foot rambler, those houses appeared to be mansions. My overheated imagination would always get swept up by the Drive's imperial grandeur as I'd try to tally the elms -- each a commemoration of one of the 528 Hennepin County servicemen killed in World War I -- until I'd lose track as they raced past the car window. Later I would daydream about living on such a grand thoroughfare.

Fast-forward several decades: I'm still awed by the Drive, and the neighborhood remains a well-tended enclave. So why is the area, with a few exceptions, a dining desert? Virtually every other section of the city is enjoying an indie restaurant boom -- I can rattle off a dozen newbies from Armatage to Audubon Park faster than the governor can dare to whisper "Vice President Pawlenty" into the mirror. An exception is the relatively quiet quadrant north of Olson Highway.

It's a mystery I'll leave to the economists and social scientists. Instead, I'll express my gratitude to John Conklin. After a career of working hard for others, from Bakers Square to the Sample Room, Conklin chose the former Rix Bar & Grill-- where he hung out for a year, watching, listening and taking notes -- to finally open his own place. "I live 12 blocks from here, and I see nothing but possibilities in this neighborhood," he said. "There's just nothing worth a damn here in terms of moderately upscale food, and I'm going to change that."

A new approach

Yeah, this is one determined guy. After taking over in December, Conklin and sous chef Chris Wolfe quietly labored and scrubbed for five months before they felt good about yanking the Rix name and replacing it with Sauced. From the sounds of it, the night they liberated the kitchen of its hated deep-fryer was a cause for considerable celebration. "I didn't want my name tagged to a place as rundown as this place had become," Conklin said.

All that sweat equity shows, particularly in the duo's appealing and approachable menu. After a round of lovely starters -- a refreshing cantaloupe-peach soup, little crostinis generously topped with smoked salmon and a gently sweet tomato sauce, long stems of crisp romaine drizzled with an anchovy-packed dressing and several vigorous grinds from the pepper mill -- one south Minneapolis-centric friend made an admission: "This is not what I was expecting when you suggested having dinner here," she said.

Oh, ye of little faith. Just then my eyes were soaking up the color that turmeric and bits of red pepper gave to firm, gently sautéed cakes built with spaghetti squash, and my taste buds were enjoying every morsel of an herb and caramelized onion risotto drizzled with a basil-walnut pesto and topped with a pair of nicely browned scallops. Nope, this is no corner bar.

"Will this kind of thing fly in this neighborhood?" asked another pal a week later, as we all enjoyed crostinis topped with slices of rare, pepper-crusted beef. Absolutely; seasonally minded food at sensible prices is a recipe for success just about anywhere.

Still, Conklin doesn't forget his bread-and-butter audience, neighbors who want to drop by for an affordable bite and a bump without getting bored. Which explains why two hefty burger variations are far more interesting on the plate than they sound on paper. The same goes for a tuna melt, with pink slabs of ahi and a smear of gruyère sandwiched between a sliced baguette, and a Cubano, stuffed with crunchy pickles, thick cuts of house-roasted turkey and ham and plenty of grainy mustard.

Aside from doing some serious roasting, Conklin also turns to smoking to impart flavor, particularly with chicken, skewering it and dressing it with a dark coffee mole, dropping it into a spinach-strawberry salad and serving it as an entree finished with a zippy corn-cilantro salsa. It's all good. There's a thoughtful nod to vegetarians too; a favorite dish was a big, hearty bowl of hollow spaghetti tossed in a creamy red pepper sauce and augmented with roasted mushrooms and asparagus.

Be and breathe

Sometimes I wish Conklin would take a deep breath and relax. He's already hooked us with a hearty beef tenderloin, cooked precisely to order and paired with roasted asparagus and sprightly red potatoes, at least until he goes overboard with an unattractive and oddly sweet currant demi-glace. The primal richness of salmon was lessened by overcooking and then being asked to compete against too many flavors. A powerful peanut-Sriracha sauce (a Thai hot sauce) overwhelmed a clean shrimp ceviche. Desserts are up (a peach-strawberry tart) and down (low-energy sorbets, clunky walnut-crusted chocolate truffles).

There are other rough spots. The breads, such an essential menu component, are drearily generic, and the salads can run toward clumsy. One day I arrived at noon and was told that because the wait staff didn't show up for work, lunch would not be served, a lesson in how not to build a steady clientele. But I have to think that such bumps will smooth out over time, if only because Conklin and Wolfe are clearly cooking their hearts out as they serve this underserved neighborhood, and as they do so with integrity.

One night last week, after a pleasant evening on the restaurant's flower- and herb-trimmed patio, we climbed in the car and made our way home via the Drive, just like I used to all those years ago. Our guests, both Twin Cities natives, had never seen it. "I had no idea this was here," one of them said, more than slightly awed. Now you know. Hopefully a few more restaurateurs will follow suit.

Rick Nelson • 612-673-4757