The St. Paul Grill

by G. Sax (@gsax)

I'm not even going to lie. I totally blew the completion of this post last week. Thankfully, due to some late-night Twitter crying, T picked me up with something more "real estatey" and life was grand. My excuse, however, is solid. Something came up that I simply couldn't pass up:

Dinner at The St. Paul Grill.

This is one of those places that a heathen like me is willing to stop everything for in order to exist in its space for an evening. As it turned out, some nice people were in town from California and wanted to treat me and a coworker to dinner there. It's an experience like few others in the Twin Cities, and on par with fine dining establishments across the nation, especially if enjoyed in moderation and with good company.

I had the ribeye. We shared some hash browns, of course, because when you're at The St. Paul Grill, you have to get the hash browns. We mixed in some calamari, because nothing goes with breakfast food like fried squid. A couple of Summit Extra Pale Ales. A taste of Steele Zinfandel. Spoonfuls of a hellishly delectable Ghirardelli chocolate sundae.

I suspect that some downtown mucky mucks and governmental yucks find their way to The Grill with more frequency than I probably do, and maybe some of them are reading this and saying, "Yo, dude, act like you know."

And I say to them, "Oh, I know things, ye suited and shoe-shined professional persons." I know the entire layout of the building. I know the bathrooms and the bars and the lively roundabout and fantastic views of Rice Park and the Landmark Center and the Main Library and the Ordway.

The purest essence of paradise right there in downtown St. Paul. If you haven't been able to tell by now, I recommend both the restaurant and the city.