Review: Blondette in downtown Minneapolis is rowdy, fun and wildly delicious

It may take a while to settle in at Blondette, the hip, airy new restaurant on the fifth floor of the Rand Tower Hotel in downtown Minneapolis.

Maybe it's the makeshift setup, which feels like a prom after-party organized by a rogue PTA. See: pixelated logo stretched over six TV panels, floating like a screen saver; the kind of string lights seen at outdoor patios; chairs upholstered in snakeskin pattern, matching the white cowboy boots that a server wore, ensnaring you with $16-but-worth-it cocktails.

Maybe it's the lighting — a suffocating purple that isn't very Instagram-friendly. Under the disco glow, wines resemble jungle juice. Food won't look good; only humans do. When you visit at the golden hour, when light spills from the spectacular retractable glass roof, the dyed bobs and fluorescent Balenciaga hoodies make for great people-watching; by dusk, they begin to look like long-lost relatives of Barney the dinosaur.

Or maybe it's a reminder of how the concepts among Daniel del Prado's growing portfolio of restaurants are starting to blend. Like the other restaurants, more than half of the dishes on Blondette's menu have parsley, mint and serrano chiles.

Appearances and concept notwithstanding, Blondette, in fact, runs one of the most progressive French kitchens in the Twin Cities.

Under del Prado's watch, a team of chefs consisting of Jeff Watson, the culinary director for the restaurant group, and Steve McMullen, who runs the kitchen, Blondette initially makes the case that straying from authenticity can be unsettling.

But it has shown to produce extraordinary culinary experiences, too.

Consider the Pommes Anna, which at Blondette isn't really one. That a recipe that calls for only potatoes and butter is buried with mimolette cheese fuels del Prado's rebellious streak. Try the charred leeks, the texture of which may be better suited to teething diets; they certainly are not the clean, uniform logs of al dente stalks that you'd encounter at a French bistro. Or the sauce américaine, pooled under the poached lobster — further from the thick, shellfish-rich sauce, and closer to a dark, tobacco-hued vinaigrette, which tastes gratuitously of butter and acid.

These dishes may be as French today as Des Moines, but they are unquestionably delicious. The Pommes Anna could double as a crowd-pleasing gratin; and though you must rummage to identify them, the leeks feel like something you'd top nachos with to make them "fancy." Alongside are jalapeño-cilantro pureé, leek-ash oil and jalapeños — bright and soulful.

I don't know how I'd rename the sauce américaine, but it was still vivid and cut through the richness of judiciously poached lobster — one of the best I've had in recent memory.

Sauces, after all, are the hallmark of a marquee French restaurant. The jus in duck a l'orange walks a tightrope between sweet and tang, coating the back of your spoon like caramel. And though the grilled wagyu zabuton was rubbery despite its marbling, the jus was softly ringing with chocolate.

The cauliflower purée atop it was velvety; so was the carrot purée served with grilled chicken — a sweet-salty foil to foie gras jus. While the kitchen had the je ne sais quoi of serving butternut squash until mid-April, well out of season, they could have gotten away with it because the purée had a gliding sheen, the right pairing for commendably cooked scallops. Same with the pea purée, a new preparation cued to spring. Only one sauce in Blondette's repertoire divided our table: an over-reduced, Marmite-like Bordelaise in a strangely composed escargot dish.

It may come as a surprise that the chef de cuisine, McMullen, ran the show at del Prado's Wayzata restaurant Macanda. The style here, both conceptually and in execution, is like comparing the film "Basic Instinct" and its straight-to-video sequel. Both are alluring; one for the right reasons, the other not. Sauce work aside, his French-y dishes are more technical than they need to be.

For one, he downplays the fact that the grilled chicken is a marvel. Under its skin, there's a supple boudin blanc, and it helps keep both breast and thigh meat juicy. Besides that glorious orange sauce, the duck is tender and encased with thin, crisp skin. Gâteau Basque, my favorite dessert, is the upgrade from an apple pie we never knew we needed. We do. This month's special is red-apple, and in addition to the dense yet flaky pastry, there's a caraway crème anglaise (delightfully) muddled with fennel pollen and olive oil. It would fit right at home in an Anthropologie.

I wish there weren't jarring temperature zones in crème brûlée, in addition to its impenetrable sugar crust. I wish they would choose a side with the bacon in the lyonnaise salad — not thick enough for a jerky-like texture but not small enough to be crisp, either — because the frisée is well-dressed and the poached egg runs.

And I wish the gnocchi, while clearly a bowl of comfort, was served with a crumble that's less greasy and more distinctly contrasted from the well-seasoned, pillowy pasta.

Make no mistake — those are small tweaks that could make this good restaurant truly great.

Still, there are downers. Burrata tartine could have fulfilled an easy mission, but the pesto atop it was too salty and didn't counterbalance the prized cheese. Spot prawn crudo was sweet and fresh — a wild-caught Alaskan breed, shelled in-house — but the uni butter was prepared in a way that took it in an off-putting direction, like pecorino that had soured.

Simpler dishes, the obligatory ones in a hotel restaurant, could be reworked. I didn't expect tubes of verdant asparagus, but the ones that arrived at our table were under-trimmed and shriveled, blanketed with zest and a vierge sauce that lacked vibrancy. And the risotto is faultless (right chew, on-point seasoning) but it, too, paled in comparison to other dishes as the bites progressively became monotonous.

Across the board, there is a sense that spice takes no prisoners, and I was no exception. You must like heat to enjoy several dishes here.

It surely works for tuna crudo, one of the more compelling staples I've tried recently: lush and sinew-free, encircled with a thin layer of horseradish, the signature serrano chiles; little segments of beets and its vinaigrette splayed around, staged like a macabre scene choreographed by Tom Ford.

And it — jalapeño bourride — worked like a charm in gussying up beef tartare, an homage to the uncontested one at 112 Eatery, developed by del Prado mentor Isaac Becker. There are fried caper berries, mustard seeds and a beautifully split oil, so it's cleaner yet no less gratifying.

Is the bigger homage conceptual? Nearly a decade ago, a similar restaurant, Dirty French, opened to great fanfare in New York before spawning another rowdier one in Miami. The minds behind Dirty French and its sister restaurants have a track record of building loud, buzzy thematic eateries, oftentimes dependable for their food.

The aspirational clientele here may be the same — a group of women next to me staging an intervention for their friend, martinis in tow; another taking selfies for an hour before ordering food — but the service feels more personable. After five visits, I am convinced that Blondette's front-of-house team, under the spell of veteran operator Bill Summerville, is in a league of its own. All servers had a fine command of dishes' ingredients. Acquaintances who dined without me experienced a similar professionalism, perceptive yet unstuffy. On one night, a busboy noticed leftover sauce and offered extra bread.

Although it may mirror many dishes from Dirty French, Blondette takes bold steps — better big ones than none — and marches to the beat of its own drum. And in a direction that I wanted from del Prado: a return to form.

⋆⋆⋆ highly recommended

Location: 527 Marquette Av. S., Mpls., 612-224-3750, blondettempls.com

Hours: 5-10 p.m. Sun.-Thu., 5-11 p.m. Fri.-Sat., brunch 10 a.m.-2 p.m. Sat.-Sun.

Prices: Starters and sides range from $11 (burrata tartine) to $21 (spot prawn crudo); entrees from $19 for a risotto to a top price of $48 for grilled wagyu zabuton. (Or treat yourself to the Côte de Boeuf for two for $125.) Save room for dessert ($11); the gâteau and trifle are worth it.

Beverage program: Under the guidance of bar director Megan Luedtke, the lively cocktails include a can't-miss gin and tonic ($16), a popular martini ($20) and a well culled wine and beer list.

Parking: Meters are usually available past 6 p.m., but valet is free if you're dining at the restaurant.

Tip or no tip: No hospitality charges included; standard tipping model applies.

Noise level: The later it gets, the louder it gets.

Worth noting: You can choose your Daniel del Prado adventure; the fifth-floor cocktail lounge Miaou Miaou has a tropical flair with lighter bites, and the ground level Bar Rufus, with an all-French wine list and a selection of dishes from Blondette.

What the stars mean

⋆⋆⋆⋆ Exceptional

⋆⋆⋆ Highly recommended

⋆⋆ Recommended

⋆ Satisfactory

Jon Cheng is the Star Tribune's restaurant critic. Reach him at jon.cheng@startribune.com or follow him at @intrepid_glutton.