Oh Chef Lenny Russo. . .you had me at the duck fat dinner rolls: Heartland

My life has been a series of going-away parties.  A delicious series of farewells.  

This past Friday evening, we met Jake’s family for our first meal at Heartland.  

It’s not secret that I’m infatuated with their deli offerings and looked forward to having an official dine-in experience. 

To begin, we enjoyed beverages which were surprisingly affordable.  The men enjoyed the unique beer list on which nothing was priced above $5.  

A staff member began the parade of food by offering us two choices of dinner rolls.  Fiddling with my camera, I was completely tuned out until I heard him mention the words “duck fat.”  To which I immediately perked-up and replied “yes, please.”

To the left is half of a duck fat roll and to the right is a grainy, nutty variety.  Not that there was anything unlikable about the wheat roll.  Except its unfortunate proximity to one featuring duck fat.  I delighted in the bread’s subtle richness as I tore through its mighty crust.  Heartland also served soft, spreadable butter molded in shallow dishes that I spread onto each bite of bread, duck fat or no duck fat.

Next, the chef provided an amuse bouche.  A sweet and tart mixture of apples and pickled onion topped a crispy potato cake. 

We wrestled with Heartland’s compelling menu, even though it was comfortably concise.  Finally, Jake’s brother and I chose the Fauna three course tasting menu, $40, consisting of omnivorous delicacies.  

My first course was described as “Lake cisco, tricolored carrot salad, french cress cream.”

The small fillet of cisco tasted similar to oily varieties of fish such as mackerel or fresh sardine.  

Providing a contrasting texture, the thin slices of carrot tasted lightly pickled and refreshingly crunchy.

I dove into the creamy, green cress sauce.  It coated my tongue in flavorful velvet.  The cress provided a mild herbacious flavor and tasted perfectly salted.

Jake’s family looked on, in horrified amusement, as I slurped the green sauce with my fingers.  Our waiter motioned to collect my plate and I instinctively guarded it, begging for him to wait until I had licked the remaining smears of the sauce.  It was that good and the onlookers were incredibly amused.  Or horrified.

Soon after, my roasted lamb arrived.  The menu described this course as “lamb roast, golden potatoes, Brussels sprouts, smoked tomato-goat bacon sauce.”

The dish contained thick slices of roasted lamb, roasted to a plush pink.  The meat was tender and silky.

I gingerly bobbed for caramelized halves of roasted Brussels sprouts and chunks of potato that lay beneath the lamb.

I audibly exclaimed my delight at my first taste of the smoked-tomato-goat bacon sauce.  It was glisteningly reduced and perfectly salty, umami-filled and complex.

  
I dodged Jake’s flying utensils and elbows and quickly stole a few small bites of his ribeye.  It was cooked to the requested medium-rare and richly beefy.  Steak juice coated my palate and each bite was tender.  I enjoyed the gravy that clung to the steak, though I preferred my tomato-goat bacon sauce.  Jake noted the steak was trimmed to include just enough fat to be enticing.  Again, I revealed my “un-ladylike” tendencies by sucking on the fat he had pushed to the side of his plate.

The steak perched a top roasted potatoes and caramelized, green cauliflower.

Jake, formerly wary of beets, ordered a side of pink, roasted Chiaggia beets studded with roasted hazelnuts and coated in an apple cider reduction.  Further proof that fresh, garden-fresh beets can break down anyone’s beet-hating barriers.  The beets were tender, hazelnuts, toasty, and the reduction, sweet and sour.

Our waiter graciously investigated my query to replace the dessert course with a small cheese plate.  I was given choice between three different types of cheeses and randomly chose the middle option.

I could smell this beautiful plate of a washed-rind cows milk cheese, crackers, honey, and berry preserves as it approached our table.

As the smell intensified, my heart sank.  It smelled exactly like the stinky cheese I bought from the deli on a previous weekend and had a difficult time consuming.  I described this pungent, washed-rind cheese as “butt cheese,” mortified when our waiter overheard my endearingly crude term.  One of these days, people are going to stop taking me places.

Forgoing the my past experience, I re-tried this cheese, mostly enjoying it atop Heartland’s tasty choice of crackers, dripping with sweet preserves and honey.  Jake expedited the process by consuming an entire slice of cheese in one bite.  We all cringed every time his breath singed our noses.

By golly, Heartland had gone out of their way to create a thoughtful cheese plate and we were going to eat it.  And we did in its entirety.

In Closing
Our meal at Heartland was memorably delicious and hardly overrated.

I’m not exaggerating when I claim our proteins were flawlessly cooked, the sauces well-balanced, and elements carefully seasoned.  The service was smooth and notably patient.

A truly beautiful sendoff from my beloved hometown.


Heartland Restaurant & Farm Direct
289 E 5th Street
St. Paul, MN 55101
651-699-3536