If the dining-out deities decreed that I could consume just one breakfast dish for the rest of my mornings, I just might choose the biscuits and gravy from Sun Street Breads.
Those expert buttermilk biscuits, which taste as if they have dual advanced degrees in Tender and Golden, are perfectly in tune with the peppery pork sausage gravy, which miraculously achieves a lightness without sacrificing a scintilla of flavor. That's a tall order for a truck-stop staple that invariably reverts into gluey cardiologist cautionary tales. I'll even go a step further and state that the pillowy fried chicken version, topped with a slice of smoky bacon, is even better, and that's saying something.
Breakfast -- and you've got to try the exceptional sourdough pancakes, honest -- is just one of many entry points into the business that spouses Solveig Tofte and Martin Ouimet incubated from a stand at the nearby Kingfield Farmers Market into a bricks-and-mortar gathering place.
Tofte is more than a Biscuit Whisperer. Before launching her own bread- centric business last spring, she spent nearly a decade at the helm of Turtle Bread Co. The Sun Street crew alternates five or six breads daily, and the sourdough- obsessed Tofte seems to go out of her way to differentiate that selection from that of her former employer.
A decent baguette is always available, but my appetite yearns for the hearty loaf where whole-wheat flour blossoms under a pale ale produced by Harriet Brewing in south Minneapolis. Another celebrates the Red River Valley's agricultural prowess, merging semolina, flax meal and roasted potatoes; each bite offers up flavor traces of supremely buttery mashed potatoes, an ingenious bread-baking sleight of hand.
A loaf to remember
The bronzed, dimpled challah tastes even better than it looks, a rarity. My favorite? It's a slightly embarrassing admission, because Tofte intended it as a kids' lunch bread, a springy, oatmeal- enhanced basic that's a nuanced alternative to those insipid supermarket white sandwich breads that most brown-bagging Americans of my generation grew up consuming.
It's the backbone of a winning sandwich that, like so much of Tofte's work, is simplicity itself. It starts with turkey that has been rubbed with butter and herbs, roasted and pulled off the bone. The meat is kept warm and juicy in a fanatically reduced turkey stock, waiting until it can be piled high, straight up, between a few slices of that oatmeal bread. It's just five bucks -- at that price, it's like Groupon without logging on -- and I'm getting hungry just thinking about it.