A Christmas Eats Story
Mecca's Christmas dinner consisted of DanDan noodles, soup dumplings, and a killer porkbelly with crispy rice.
Image credit: Photo by Robert Couse-Baker via Creative Commons
A tumbleweed might have appeared at any moment. Such was the scene on Hennepin Avenue on Christmas Eve evening. You could hear the echo of your own footsteps on the pavement, and only the very occasional shadowy figure of a fellow human being appeared around dark corners. Bar and restaurant windows were also darkened, with chairs and barstools stacked upside down on tables. The otherworldly, way-afterours feel of the cityscape was at once eerie and magical. I wished for snow to further set the stage.
On this most recent non-traditional holiday, my date and I were flummoxed to find not even a dive bar open for business, and we walked deep into Northeast, only to find Conga opening soon, but not yet. A lone Somali cabdriver, the only taxi to pass by over the course of several minutes, agreed to drive us to the Jewbelee at First Avenue. “Is it always like this at Christmas?” he asked. We assured him that tomorrow, Christmas Day, would be worse. He yawned and decided we would be his last fare. The meter wasn’t even running.
Inside of The Depot, First Avenue’s adjacent bar/restaurant, a complimentary Chinese buffet stretched out for any takers. The frozen eggrolls were met with disdain by my date, but beggars can’t be choosers. Actually, the event, organized by TCJewfolk.com, was the hoppingest place to be all night, and is a charming and viable option for those not bellying up to a ham-and-potato-laden dinner table in Iowa or Wisconsin. After a few numbers at the Entry by Adam Levy and other performers of the Hebrew persuasion, we decided to try our luck for better eats. No luck. Would you believe me if I told you we ended up at the Super America cobbling together a dinner of Nachos and donuts? It’s true.
Christmas Day, we decided to do better research. Just as A Christmas Story suggests, Chinese restaurants are indeed open, including our most stellar Szechuan establishments, like Szechuan Spice and Little Szechuan. The former delivered with the most exquisite feast of DanDan noodles, soup dumplings, and a killer porkbelly with crispy rice. Eat your heart out, grandma.
Later, we met up with grandma and her contemporaries at Monte Carlo, the restaurant that time forgot, with its classic-uniformed waitresses in black dresses, white aprons, and sensible Keds. This was a festive place to be, with everyone jammed in like sardines sipping Manhattans and waiting for a table. Restaurateurs listen up: Christmas is a moneymaker. Throw open your doors! Some meatloaf sandwiches, dirty martinis, Cobb salads and loaded bakers later, we were ready for a nightcap. But where to go?
The strip club of course. We checked out Luxe, the new Seville-like space that has taken over the old Skyway Lounge. The consensus? We miss the Skyway and its charming grit, friendly dancers, and stiff, cheap drinks. Still, a nightcap was to be had, and we had it.
Like all my quirky, non-traditional holidays, I’ll remember where I was and what I was doing come next year. And, maybe I’ll see you, now that you know where (and where not) to go. Happy Holidays!
+ METRO's resident foodie Mecca Bos contributes to the magazine's food and drink section. She blogs for metromag.com between meals. See more of her work on her author page.
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