When was the last time you visited Edina’s 50th and France and had a good time?
Maybe not after your $50 workout class, where uninspired salad bowls and $10 cold-pressed juices await. Certainly not after visiting the chiropractor to get your neck adjusted, as I did recently.
For roughly the same price, all-in, you can dine at Mr. Paul’s Supper Club, where every night feels like VIP night at your Louisiana friend’s hip new boîte. The valet ($10), hospitality (fawning) and acoustics (loud) will guarantee it, as do the artful takes on club classics, like Pimm’s and Juleps, tall and handsome, which you sip in the company of expensive-looking patrons and the raspy tunes of Jo-El Sonnier. It’s also the sort of place where glasses break routinely — as they did during two of my three visits — but no one blinks an eye.
Let your mind wander a bit, and Mr. Paul’s can be as family-friendly as a Mad Hatter’s tea party. See: circus colors at the bar and a wild assortment of chandeliers throughout the restaurant — some have beads, one has feathers, another has tree bark. If you’re celebrating, don’t forget to notify the staff; there are balloons.
Food is served, too. Creole and club classics? Steaks and chops? A salad? There’s enough for you to choose your own adventure, and they’re mostly great. When you’re in the care of co-owners Tommy Begnaud, who was executive chef at Butcher & the Boar, and Nick Kosevich, the highly decorated mixologist, you shouldn’t expect anything less.
Sure, you can eat extraordinarily well with timeless club classics, like the smashburger and the steaks, which are fairly priced and emerge pitch-perfect from the chargrill. The supper club strip, with its blackened armor and evenly rosy interior, costs $28 for 12 ounces, and it’s probably the best food deal in the neighborhood. Another favorite item on the clubby menu are the popovers, which are golden and crisp on the outside, moist inside.
But you would miss out on what Begnaud had set out to achieve with his supper club when he and Kosevich opened Mr. Paul’s last December. Visiting Mr. Paul without trying his takes on Creole classics would be the culinary equivalent of traveling to New Orleans on Fat Tuesday without celebrating Mardi Gras. Begnaud may be Minnesota-born and -raised, but he leans heavily on his family’s Louisiana heritage. That may explain why his crawfish gratin is among the finest I’ve ever had: sweet lobes of shellfish in a stew so viciously rich that I paused between mouthfuls to pace myself, then proceeded to ensure that every crevice of the plate was accounted for.
The étouffée is lighter but still full-bodied. It’s terrific, as is his intense take on bourride, the thick shellfish stew that gilds a faultlessly cooked Chilean sea bass. These experiences can be wonderful when you surrender to Begnaud’s brand of excess.