Alisada sandwich at the Briar
There have been a lot of changes at the Briar, the cozy northeast Minneapolis cafe, since it opened a year ago. What began as a daytime spot with unique coffee drinks and nonalcoholic beverages has recently become a full-fledged bar with a cocktail, beer and wine program. There are now evening hours, a happy hour and brunchy cocktails on weekends.
It's also opened its kitchen to a residency from Houndstooth Modern Tavern, which has been collaborating on dinners since Nov. 15. It's exactly as the place was intended to be — a day-to-night spot with serious coffee and libations from a Bachelor Farmer/Marvel Bar alum; fresh salads, sandwiches and snacks from a former Victory 44 and Travail chef; and p.m. revelry over Sunday suppers.
I can't wait to try all of it. But I was there for a working lunch with a colleague, and the place felt as congenial as I'd found it last winter when it was just a coffee shop. We ordered a couple of sandwiches off a menu that accomplishes a lot in a very small space, and the Alisada ($8) wowed us. Laune Bread's sourdough is smeared with sobrasada, a spreadable Spanish sausage bright with paprika, its kick mellowed by crumbles of farmer cheese and preserved lemon. Another winner was the Pork Cutie, a breakfast sandwich topped with house made porchetta and white cheddar, with a zing from cornichon aioli ($7.50). Day or night, there's something here for everyone. (Sharyn Jackson)
1231 NE. Washington St., Mpls., briarbar.com
Cassoulet at Myriel
With Thanksgiving in the rearview mirror and the first real nips of blustery winds seeping in, it's time to embrace the grand entrance of Minnesota winter, lean into the crisp fresh air and tuck into cozy season. It's time for cassoulet ($34).
The classic French comfort food is a mix of meats and creamy beans buried under a buttery, crisp crust. I've found my favorite dish at Myriel, Karyn Tomlinson's Highland Park restaurant.
The dish is built around a base of skillful charcuterie, courtesy of Isaac Kirkpatrick, that mingles with beans, giving it just the slightest resistance — it's the food equivalent of, "Oh, OK then, I guess I'll go to the party." It's the humblest of food yet utterly occasion-worthy during this season of going out with friends. Under the soft glow of the restaurant's lamps, the crispy skin of the confit duck leg beckons, belying the tender fat-cooked meat below. Tomlinson has long been a master of rendering duck into a humble star protein, and she's done it again. The bowl arrives piping hot from the oven, and eats like the world's fanciest stuffing. The interior is creamy and rich, but teeters away from being hefty or requiring a post-meal nap.
It's a dish I can't wait to have again. (Joy Summers)