“We had so much hubris and ego to open that place. Now, it’s the opposite,” said Travis Serbus-White.
“Well,” conceded Ben Siers-Rients, his business partner of just under a decade, “maybe still a little hubris.”
That hubris and ego came with the opening of Lyn 65, a restaurant that had as many differences as similarities to their newest venture in Minneapolis’ Longfellow neighborhood, Lynette.
To understand all that goes into running a cafe that serves freshly made pain au chocolate and cardamom-laced coffee cake in the mornings, segues to a daytime soup and sandwich cafe, and then to dinner service that fills the dining room with couples on date nights and family outings, it’s best to start at the beginning. Lynette’s DNA comes from an unlikely, ambitious restaurant in a strip mall.
“I don’t think we trained anybody,” Siers-Rients said of Lyn 65, which opened in 2015. “We had no manuals — nothing. We were trying to dig ourselves out of a financial hole and the reviews came in harsh and early. I still have a T-shirt with the best one printed on it: ‘A group of 3rd graders could open a better restaurant.’ ”
What they did have was ambition. The kitchen was resting burgers, letting the juices settle, treating them like steaks. By the time they arrived in the dining room, they’d gone cold. “People want a burger that’s going to burn their mouth, with juices dripping down their hands. We had to relearn how to do everything.”
They looked to the chefs at the top of the fine-dining field at the time: Tim McKee, Steven Brown, Isaac Becker, Doug Flicker and Alex Roberts. When looking to those bold-name chefs with a collection of James Beard Awards, people tend to think of starched white linen. But the young chefs learned that the key to long-term success has nothing to do with the big guy in the kitchen barking orders. Instead, they needed to get quiet.

What they built was a restaurant that looked up: to their mentors in the hospitality field; to what a neighborhood restaurant could be; and to its customers, whom they trusted enough to really listen to the sometimes-hard-to-hear feedback.