Urbane cowboy

The dude with the mullet taking a stab at singing Living Colour's "Cult of Personality" had no chance. Certainly not at our table, where the shrieking and sloshing and shouting of a half-dozen young women and a lone guy seemed to crescendo interminably, drowning out Mullet Man's meager warbling.

"C'monnnnn, Bill, sing!" "You gotta do it, dude!" "More Patron shots!" "Aiiieeeee!"

It was Karaoke Night at the classic Central/E. Hennepin Avenue dive bar U Otter Stop Inn, but the theme at our table was "Kill Bill." And anyone observing the scene, whether the Toby Keith-lookalike propping up the bar or the Vikings-clad table toasting Brett Favre's retirement that day, would have been hard-pressed to guess two things:

That these women were actually out with their boss, Bill Summerville, or that Summerville is the urbane, buttoned-down maitre d' and sommelier of perhaps the most formal restaurant in the Upper Midwest, La Belle Vie.

Yes, that was the über-urbane Summerville fending off some very assertive cajolery. And those were employees of Solera, La Belle Vie's sister restaurant, drowning out everything around them to prod him to grab the mike. That's a recurring quest on "Kill Bill" nights, which come along every two to six weeks, often spontaneously.

"These guys used to be intimidated by me," Summerville bellowed above the din. "There are nights when you wanna recharge your batteries. I'm reinvigorated by people who greet me with this kind of energy. It's so important to have balance, and these guys balance out my need for order."

Which might help explain why Summerville, who turns 44 in April, could pass as a contemporary of the twentysomethings filling the center table of this triangular room. They certainly are treating him as a peer, dissing his reluctance toward taking the mike, and he's returning the favor, suggesting that a couple of them should sing "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" and leaning in to hear their every word in the ear-splitting cacophony.

And a far cry from Summerville's stately bearing on most other nights, when he meets, greets and meshes with customers at La Belle Vie, recently cited by Gourmet magazine as one of America's 50 best restaurants. La Belle Vie also is a James Beard Award national semifinalist for best restaurant wine service, a tribute to Summerville's foremost, but not only, area of expertise.

"He has a unique way of relating to customers," said Ward. "After one or two questions, he completely understands them."

While Summerville is widely regarded as the Twin Cities' most knowledgeable wine manager, he comes by his penchant for the beer-and-a-shot scene naturally. His stepfather's Air Force career meant a lot of moving around, until Summerville graduated from Brookline (Mass.) High School and went on to Ripon College in Wisconsin.

"Living in Wisconsin introduced me to brats and 50-cent tappers and pickled eggs," he said. "I love drinking in places where people are people."

He gravitated toward the restaurant business ("my mother was a great cook, and I learned to love food from her") and eventually landed at D'Amico Cucina and finally La Belle Vie when it was in Stillwater. He's now part owner and general manager at the relocated Minneapolis restaurant and put together not only its celebrated wine program but also the all-Spanish wine/sherry list at Solera.

As for singing himself, though, Rolling Rock longnecks and tequila shots would not get that job done on this night, even though Ward predicted the carousing would last "until closing time, and then some."

"I'm not gonna sing, hell no. I'm just gonna chill," he told his beseeching cohorts, more than once. "I sing great at home but horrible in public."

That depends on one's definition of "public" actually. Summerville finally allowed that he recently had taken on Aerosmith's "Train Kept A-Rollin'" on Solera's third floor "with some leftover equipment from the holiday party."

So the man can let his hair down, at least figuratively. But there's a reason Summerville's trademark gel-laden 'do, which Ward dubbed "The Coif," stays in place even on "Kill Bill" night.

"I showed up once at Solera without gel in my hair," he said, "and walked up to a bunch of folks and went 'What's going on?' They looked at me like 'Who the hell are you?' They had no idea who I was."