Like at any easygoing restaurant, the menu of the low-slung, white tavern building in Northeast offers oysters, smash burgers, waffle fries and a Caesar.
But you’ll also find pierogi, a fried chicken sandwich and an octopus chorizo stew. The Polish staple is a fine expression of what a grandmother would make — glossy dumplings shaped like miniature scallops, filled with potato, dotted with chive — beautifully presented on dishware that she’d reserve for guests. The batter on the fried chicken tenders shatters on command. And though the octopus doesn’t lend much except brine to this stew, it delivers the soul-affirming heft you need as winter beckons.
The restaurant that delivers (finessed) comfort across cultures is Black Duck Spirits & Hearth, and its chef, Jason Sawicki, is cooking food that transcends his experiences cooking and working under Alex Roberts at Alma and Gustavo Romero at Oro.
Yes, there are dishes that may recall ones from those storied restaurants, but at Black Duck, fire, Sawicki says, “transcends cultural traditions.” Flanking the open kitchen, where a towering Sawicki holds court, is a large hearth, a vessel over which the meats and vegetables are smoked. This is the place to commune for a meal on both casual weeknights and more buttoned-up weekends, in the industrial environs that encourage any restaurant goer — neighborhood dwellers, couples, families, among others — to dine as they wish. But to get closer to the action, I recommend that you sit at the kitchen counter, by the fire.
It’s fire that inspired Sawicki six years ago, after he opened the Northeast restaurant Popol Vuh with his friend, chef Jose Alarcon. When plans for his own restaurant began to form, and while waiting for a loan to clear, Sawicki drove a food truck from San Antonio, then parked it at the space where Black Duck’s patio now sits. There, he began experimenting with hearth-cooked fare, vending poblano mac and cheese, ribs and tacos. He called it Fare Game.
At Black Duck, Sawicki more deeply embraces terroir, grounding dishes in time and place as Minnesota’s foodways evolve. And the namesake duck entree does transcend cultures. It arrives magnificently fanned like the feathers of a peacock, a bestial pink, juxtaposed against mole amarillo and gigante beans. It’s French in guise, Mexican in flavor, New American in spirit and — when the kitchen gets it right — a terrific dish.
When in a simpler mood, I think more fondly about the harissa-glazed pork belly: its dark, crisp edges; the textbook ratio of fat and lean; the very cumin-forward carrot purée. I preferred it to the moist-enough pork chop atop a sauce that’s thin but throttled with mustard — a good thing — and crowned with cubes of pickled squash for brightness.
On my mind, too, is the way Sawicki incorporates smoke into the bone marrow aioli that binds beef tartare. He adds to an already dizzying repertoire of the tartares across the city by envisioning and executing a version that deserves your attention. He smokes the marrow, scoops it out, leaves behind a smoked, fatty tallow that slowly streams into the aioli, then serves it with tartare and soldiers of handsomely singed brioche.
