Restaurant Review: Boulevard Kitchen & Bar

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Many of you have come to read my restaurant reviews today. Why, I’ll never know. I don’t do them that often, and I usually do a mediocre job compared to the “real” reviewers. My review of Boulevard Kitchen & Bar may be a rare exception. Then again, probably not.

Bright where it needs it, intimate where it counts.

Bright where it needs it, intimate where it counts.

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Let’s get right to it: the reviews are all over the place on the web. The same thing emerges in all the 2 and 3 star reviews: too pricey. Yeah, that’s probably fair. We dropped 125 with tip for 3 lunches, two desserts, four beverages (all nonalcoholic.) and a comfortable place to talk for 2 hours.

On the other hand, the food was really wonderful. Appetizer for us was the Boulevard chili shrimp and avocado. Most people would call it a Ceviche, but since I’m not sure how it was prepared I’ll walk away from that and stick with the bar’s name for the dish. Lots of avocado, plentiful shrimp, and a fresh flavor that left no doubt that it was prepared that day. The chips were good as well, and everyone at our table gave it at least four stars out of five.

appetizer

appetizer

The next item was a crab cake BLT. I was a bit nervous about this, as the person who ordered it is a fanatic on the subject of crab cakes. For an extra two bucks they opted for the sweet potato fries as the side. Nicely done, good consistency of product, and a great taste that was not out of a can, our diner gave it 4.5 stars. Not bad at all. Crab cake BLT

Two of us had the same thing: chicken pot pie. The top crust was beyond puffy. That thing deserved it’s own zip code. Light, flaky, and rich, it held the heat in for a cast iron pot full of amazing chicken and vegetables. Different than a standard pot pie, it was more like a thick soup than the usual gummy innards you find at most restaurants. I loved it. That one got five stars without a doubt. It was the daily special, and probably should be on the menu every day.

Two zip codes needed

Two zip codes needed

Coffee was strong and rich, truly good stuff. Minnesota is widely known for its restaurant coffee: most is lousy.This was as good as you’d get in any high-priced froo-froo joint with a funny mermaid in its logo.

Last on our tour was the cake. An apple cake with apple ice cream on the side. The cake was served hot. Like, fresh out of the oven hot. The ice cream was cold. As in, won’t melt instantly. Home made cake that had all the great things I like: flavor, texture, drizzled caramel. Yup. Five stars for desert. applecake

Our server knew the menu well, had great timing, and kept us topped up on beverages. Sunny smile, great disposition, and good recommendations. I noted, as the afternoon drew to a close and dinner neared, that a veritable herd of servers came in to go to work. Not just a handful, but a platoon of people with clean, white shirts on hangers. That told me a lot about the staff and what is expected of them.

There is a private dining room for functions, and while I peeked in all I got was an impression of a really nice space for a rehearsal dinner.

The kitchen is open to view and dazzling in its cleanliness. Same with the bathrooms (cleanliness, that is…)

All said, it’s a go. If you have some spare cash and want a great dining experience this is the place. Yes, it’s spendy. I can’t deny that for even a second. But you know where Arby’s is if that’s your goal. The BLVD Kitchen and Bar is a nice place for a great lunch. Dinner would be reviewed but I was full from lunch and couldn’t plow through another meal.

Je Suis Charlie Hebdo. Mon Cœur Est Français.

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I will admit, I used Google Translate to make sure I got it right. I knew all the words, but my French is rusty. It was obtained on the fly travelling through that country in the 80’s, and mostly confined to hotel rooms, hot food, beer, and the beach. My name is French, my soul is American. Today, my heart is French as well. I hope yours is with France today in the wake of the attacks against the innocent writers at Charlie Hebdo in Paris on Wednesday.

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I have a spot in that heart that swells with pride when I listen to La Marseillaise played during the movie “Casablanca.” The French were some of our earliest allies as a nation. I’m not naive, I still think that going to war without the French is like going deer hunting without an accordion, but they have some troops that are among the best in the world. And nice submarines.

Most of all, they are in a struggle against the poison that is Islam. For those of you now holding your noses and starting to click away, I’d like to point out a fundamental difference between Christianity and Islam: If you are true to the followings of Jesus Christ, you will do all you can to love your fellow man and ease their place in life, hoping and praying that they will follow your example on the road to redemption and eternal life. If you are true to the teachings of Mohammed, you will conquer your enemies and force them to convert to Islam, be heavily taxed, or be put to death. Wednesday, in Paris, the terrorists enforced this and put the cartoonists and writers to death for offending Mohammed. Can you imagine doing that for Jesus? Not in the modern era.

Well, they asked for it by bearding the lion. Yeah. That’s how some think of it. I think Charlie Hebdo managed to offend pretty much everyone over the last few decades and a think skinned group of killers murdered them for their “offense.”

I’d like to remind you, dear reader, that this is not unexpected. It is the normal course of events for those that follow the teachings of Mohammed to the letter. Can it happen here? Let’s see… New York and Washington D.C. on September 11, 2001 ring a bell. Or, perhaps, London, England in 2005? Spain in… well, you get the point. It’s a definite pattern.

We have a choice: submit or fight back.

You choose. I already have. It’s at the top corner of my blog and as much a part of my heart as my French heritage: I’m a Christian. I will not submit. And I’ll protect you if need be, as I’m a sheepdog as well.

This is not the end. It will happen again. And George Bush had nothing to do with it in any way.

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I have a favor to ask of my readers: would you kindly share this blog with your friends, family, and colleagues? We hit a million views in 2014, and while the readership continues a nice growth trend, it could be a lot better. Just hit the Facebook like button, share it on your timeline, tweet the blog with a link, and tell that person at the next desk that there’s this lunatic who writes about all sorts of stuff that they might like.

I appreciate your help. When we hit 2,000,000 readers I will give away something cool to a drawing from the subscribers (that’s the box on the right toward the top) who have helped promote this mess. No used sheets, probably not honey, more likely gift cards. Be a part of it. I’ll update from time to time where we’re at in the count. Thanks.

Lunch With Roy

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The brittle cold outside vanished as I walked through the giant/wheelchair sized revolving door at the Veterans Affairs Medical Center in Minneapolis. It was so cold out that there wasn’t a single wheelchair occupant with an oxygen tank taking a smoke break. (Grim humor, but a good weather indicator: those guys are out for their smoke in most weather.)

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I had some time to kill so I wandered around doing my appointment making. Everyone was uniformly helpful, pleasant, even eager to serve. I got it done in record time. The next time someone badmouths the VA please remember that it was the administrators, political appointees, that killed veterans with their schemes to get bonuses. The average employee is a veteran, or at a minimum, helpful to veterans. They have my admiration. They remember the maxim that nobody is shouting from blocked freeways: “Veterans’ Lives Matter!” Over 1,000 vets were likely to have died because of neglect in the last decade. Why aren’t there riots over this?

But I digress. Once the paperwork was done, appointments set, I headed to the cafeteria. This is not an event to be cherished in most hospitals. But since they craft the menu for cranky old people like me, I like this place. Starting with the fudge/donut/coffee bar as you walk in the entry. Let’s get things started out right!

The smell today was amazingly enticing. Monte Christo sandwiches were the featured item. I’ve made no secret of my love for that item, but today I had a lunch date after I got done at the hospital, so I settled for a Diet Dr. Pepper.

Drink in hand, I approached the cash register. Dead ahead, right in the middle of the channel, was an old, bent, arthritic man with a walker trying to juggle a tray with a cheeseburger.

I’m no fool. I’m at the VA today for treatment. They will be taking care of me if I reach the age of this man. He is me in forty years. I offered to carry his tray to the register. Deaf as a post, just like me, he needed two tries to get the message. The smile was beautiful. My heart and head agreed that this would be our good deed for the day.

I picked up the tab for lunch and grabbed cups of condiments for him. After setting down the tray, he very graciously thanked me like I was a long-lost son. Moved. Seriously moved that someone would be so grateful over such a small thing.

Once he was seated, I asked if I could join him. Turns out his name is Roy, he was a Chief Petty Officer during WWII and served in all sorts of interesting places. Instantly he was Chief to me. We had a great conversation for the next thirty minutes. It covered everything from technology to randy Yeomen that we had known.

Roy was a brother, even though he’s four decades older than I am. In his eyes I saw not the scars of age, but the dancing orbs of a young man doing important things for the war effort seventy years ago. Seventy. He’s been married for 67 years to his bride, an English girl. Roy didn’t want to have her be a war bride, so they agreed to wait until she could come to the United States after the war. Married to the same love ever since.

Someday, soon, I’ll be the old man with the walker. Some kid who served in Afghanistan will be carrying my tray to the table. And when we sit down to talk, he’ll be my brother as well. He’s already Roy’s brother. There may be seventy years between them, but under the skin we’re all brothers and sisters.

I’m proud to be a vet. I’m proud to have Roy, and that young one from Afghanistan, as my brothers. Extends to my sisters as well. Got a big, big family that I’m so blessed to be a part of in my time.

So, carry a tray for an older person this week. You might just hear some fabulous tales about drinking Triple Sec in the back of a truck as it bounces across Morocco and Algeria. I did.

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I have a favor to ask of my readers: would you kindly share this blog with your friends, family, and colleagues? We hit a million views in 2014, and while the readership continues a nice growth trend, it could be a lot better. Just hit the Facebook like button, share it on your timeline, tweet the blog with a link, and tell that person at the next desk that there’s this lunatic who writes about all sorts of stuff that they might like.

I appreciate your help. When we hit 2,000,000 readers I will give away something cool to a drawing from the subscribers (that’s the box on the right toward the top) who have helped promote this mess. No used sheets, probably not honey, more likely gift cards. Be a part of it. I’ll update from time to time where we’re at in the count. Thanks.

Cleaning Up The Sleigh

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The fat guy in the red suit is back in the closet for a while after 35 events in 25 days. How long until he’s back? Never know, so I always have a suit ready to go on a one-hour notice. But as of a few days ago, all the thank-you notes had been sent. The schedule for 2015 is up at www.santajoe.com.

Yes, I am booked years in advance, and if I don’t get it published right away there are people wondering if I’ve forgotten them. If you are looking for a Santa in the Twin Cities, hit the schedule and see if I’m available. Just remember: If I’m out performing I’ve left a heavily armed Sheltie behind a ring a of steel and an alarm system. Did I mention most of my neighbors are armed and nosy?

Please follow me on Twitter, and “Like” the Facebook author page. Don’t forget to subscribe (the box is on the right side of the page) to be eligible for free e-books and other benefits!

Every year since I became Santa the amount of baggage has shifted and changed. It started with one suit and a green bag. Then came stockings that I stuffed with chocolates and toys for the children I visited.

A second suit was acquired, along with another bag. The annual candy purchases got out of control as I grew the business. You had to have spares because when Mom said there’d be 14 kids at the party, it failed to take into account the two nephews and the neighbor girl who were invited at the last minute. I don’t know about you, but handing out gifts to 14 of 17 children at a Christmas gathering wasn’t going to cut it for me. I was burned once and then started bringing spares.

That meant I needed more stockings, and a couple of Santa hats for the people serving as my helpers. Naturally I needed a couple of story books to read, eventually adding a Bible. You find very quickly that the attention span of tired children is incredibly short, and the best stories are a bit long. So you start reading “Santa Mouse” (a personal favorite) to the younger set, and save “How The Grinch Stole Christmas” for the six year olds who truly appreciate the fact that Santa can do all the voices and read the book upside down.

(*Personal Trivia Warning: I own a copy of “How The Grinch Stole Christmas” in Latin. The French and Spanish editions are in the mail. The German version is over $100. So if any of you are in Germany, or traveling there, I’ll gladly buy a copy through you if you’d be so kind. Flat fee of $25.00 to cover the book and a schnapps at the airport. Contac me via email if you’re interested.)

In the last 15 years I’ve grown the pile of Santa stuff to the point where I have a full photo studio that can travel, 11 Santa Suits (used to be 12, gave one as a starter to a good friend who’d finally grown a good beard,) two pairs of boots, six santa bags, innumerable hats, antlers, bells, appropriate under shirts (must be red, found out white shows through on some of the older suits,) and a really great belt and buckle.

This means that my house needs help after the season. Last year one suit was hanging in the spare bedroom “airing” for the full year. Stuff on the floor, etc. My wife was kind about not setting me on fire in my sleep. I just didn’t get around to properly stowing it all.

This year was different. I spent four hours shining belts and buckles, packing up spare fur and Velcro (suit repair material,) and sorting out suits. They are now hung in a logical order in two different armoires. The one in the spare bedroom is dedicated to Saint Nicholas. That one has neatly rolled Santa bags on the top shelf. They are next to the hats and the belt. The buckle is in a soft bag so it won’t scratch.

Next to the bells/buckles/belts/hats is a stack of Christmas books. They wear out eventually. But more importantly, if a youngster helps me out by flipping pages well they get the book as a souvenir. I write a nice note in the front before they go in the bag. Talk about a keepsake! Some of those books were discovered on Friday as I put things away in the attic. I found two containers full of toys, stockings, hats, and books. And another bag of fur.

Fur is what makes the suit look good. I change fur on the suits once they’re dirty. I designed the suits to make it easy. But good fur isn’t always on the market. I went a few years with some really crappy stuff, but that’s all that the big stores were stocking. No longer an issue, I bought two bolts of the good stuff last year. In a reminder of my mortality, I figure that will last me until the end of my days.

The closet also holds my nebulizer for those days when the asthma is too much to cope with. Great, a guy who flies at altitudes more fitting for reconnaissance aircraft has cold weather asthma. Another reminder of God having an expiration date on this model.

Last, but not least, there’s a blue hat in that closet full of Santa stuff. I bought it over thirty years ago when I was in basic training in San Diego. It says “Cryptologic Technician” on the front. I was not allowed to wear it until I’d finished training. I don’t think I’ve worn it more than five times in thirty years. But it’s every bit as much how I think of myself as when I see pictures of me as Santa.

Some core items truly form us. I started out my final identity as a police officer. Moved on to spook, and now I’m a jolly old Santa. Not a bad transition. The three of them all live inside of me. They get along. All are protectors of the weak.

Most of all, and this is where this whole thing started out, the house looks good. All the things that don’t belong are put where they do. Like us: each of us has parts of our identity that don’t come out often, stored away for when we need them.

I count that as a blessing. So does my wife: she can finally get to the back bookshelf in that room.

Happy New Year!

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I have a favor to ask of my readers: would you kindly share this blog with your friends, family, and colleagues? We hit a million views in 2014, and while the readership continues a nice growth trend, it could be a lot better. Just hit the Facebook like button, share it on your timeline, tweet the blog with a link, and tell that person at the next desk that there’s this lunatic who writes about all sorts of stuff that they might like.

I appreciate your help. When we hit 2,000,000 readers I will give away something cool to a drawing from the subscribers (that’s the box on the right toward the top) who have helped promote this mess. No used sheets, probably not honey, more likely gift cards. Be a part of it. I’ll update from time to time where we’re at in the count. Thanks.

My Apologies

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A draft from quite some time ago got released into the universe instead of deleted. Please ignore it as it’s old and no longer germane.

Only my subscribers will get a copy of it, and if they like it they’ll also note that it’s not edited nor does it have any tags.It was like a lab rat that escaped.

Carry on.