Restaurant review: Vann brings classy coastal touches to the Twin Cities suburbs

A weekend dinner jaunt to Lake Minnetonka for the freshest catch of the day will unlikely entice you this time of year, when temperatures are below freezing, dusk settles as early as 5 p.m., and ice fishing sounds like a barren fantasy.

At Vann, the likelihood of making this journey is greater during balmier seasons, when the breeze feels restorative and the lake views are visible longer. Vann's nautical theme, full of blues, diamond wall patterns and coastal-style sconces — reminiscent of the kind of realty office you'd find in Nantucket, Mass. — seems more fitting then.

When chef Eric Skaar opened Vann less than three years ago at the Spring Park site that once belonged to Tonka Grill & BBQ, he likely didn't plan for his restaurant to operate solely around peak seasons and serve muddy walleye by the pound.

Lucky for us, he curated a small menu of dishes that rotated frequently, only recently switching to a three-course prix fixe. Given Skaar's heritage — Vann, pronounced "vonn," is Norwegian for water — the day's catch may encompass any coastal region. During visits to the restaurant beginning in November of last year, I had trout from Scotland, scallops from New Bedford on the South Coast of Massachusetts, and king salmon, an Ora breed, from New Zealand.

Sourcing quality ingredients for a seafood-centric menu that rotates daily? Ambitious, especially during a pandemic, when seafood prices have ratcheted unsustainably. It could justify why his menu is a reasonable $75 (more about that later). Given Skaar's skill in handling fish and his experiences working under James Beard award-winning chefs who dabbled heavily in seafood — and more recently, the Bachelor Farmer and Tilia — I didn't expect anything less.

What I did expect from Skaar is his command of flavor and technique. On both counts, he nearly delivers. And given the frequency with which dishes change, maintaining his level of consistency is something I rarely encounter, even among the more pedigreed chefs of late.

Consider cold-pressed lemon oil, a citrus concentrate. Adding too much can tip the balance of a dish into medicinal territory. Used judiciously, it adds aroma. Skaar uses this lemon oil to dress small, belt-buckle sized slices of hamachi, or yellowtail, crusted with everything spice and crunchy nibs of capers. In less creative hands, lemon juice — instead of the oil — would have been used to dress hamachi crudo, which is on the menu of seemingly every spendy New American restaurant these days.

During another visit, lemon oil appeared again — this time, in braised hare on rice porridge, a more unexpected pairing. The gaminess of the meat benefited from comté cheese, which lent an appealing sharpness and went well with the floral oil.

Skaar's brand of cooking recalls his Norwegian heritage more in discipline than in flavor — save for maybe the Norwegian butter he dabs on gougères, which I found forgettable — so his dishes are reductive to a point where ingredients, like that oil, work harder.

Spice, when used, flickers heat quietly. I marveled at the way Skaar uses yuzu kosho, a type of fermented chile paste made from the zest and juice of yuzu, in a sauce as vibrant as green goddess. It elevated those fat New Bedford scallops, which had been preserved in lemon, olive oil and salt until their pink flesh barely paled yet remained lush, and topped with wispy, pompom-like furls of briny dulse — a breed of deep red seaweed meatier than nori. If not for the overly sweet pickled radishes, this dish could have been an ace.

I admired the way Skaar uses heat to tease seared trout — through raw, fiery mustard greens and shaved horseradish. Black garlic purée, silky smooth and as dark as a cauldron, was just sweet enough to foil the spice. The combinations are particularly stunning.

Part of Skaar's genius may be attributed to the ways in which he expresses savoriness, or umami, through another culture: Japan. The yuzu kosho. The pickled radish that rests on those scallops. And his frequent use of nitsume, a syrupy and sweet version of Japanese soy that he incorporates into a glossy, barely set egg custard — as pleasurable as the one I enjoyed from Alma's prior winter menu — which he tops with steamed mussels sans shells. Less thrilling, but still populist: a Wagyu short rib, swapped in place of bison, which pulled apart with relative ease and was served with nutty, roasted maitakes and a potent soubise that I could swear had dashi snuck into it.

Sometimes he gets carried away. A kind of sweetness that permeated black-forbidden rice overwhelmed, and the raw amaebi, a type of shrimp commonly served at Japanese raw bars, was oddly lukewarm. Salmon, on one night, was served with shiitake, daikon and kimchi broth. The accoutrements were fine, the fish decidedly not. Black cod, a milder but equally fatty fish, might have been a better choice.

And, at times, technique gets the best of him. Overdoing the sweetness might be forgivable, but overcooking the prized Ora salmon to the point where its flesh visibly leaches albumen is not, even when calibrating for the way Skaar generally cooks his fish (medium-well, unfortunately, at least for the trout). And the date purée that accompanied an otherwise juicy squab was starchy and cloy.

Faults aside, there is little doubt in Skaar's way with ingredients — even with dessert. An Asian pear tart with frangipane and pistachio and a chocolate and sour cherry tart are as blessed as some of the jewel-box pastries you'd find at a tony pâtisserie. Another, a semifreddo, was simpler but its rich yet weightless mousse resonated deeply of coffee and banana. Only one underwhelmed: a textureless chocolate cake that looked and tasted like package dessert that you'd defrost from the frozen aisle.

Not long ago, Vann tightened its menu. Where there were three options per course (except dessert), there are now two. I didn't mind the change, and the gougères' dismissal didn't bother me. But a lack of an amuse-bouche in place of it did. Cuts notwithstanding, the plates still don't feel substantial — certainly not blockbuster — the portions Lilliputian. Bigger plates and more supplements could go a very long way.

Trading up, after all, is the least to expect from a gifted chef who clearly can cook. Sometimes, more is more.

** ½ Very good

Location: 4016 Shoreline Drive, Spring Park, 952-381-9042, vannrestaurant.com.

Hours: Open 5-10 p.m. Wed.-Sun.

Price: Three courses for $75.

Beverage program: Several red, white and sparkling by-the-glass wine options ($10-$17) as well as beer, cider and N/A choices. The N/A choices are terrific and the wine pours are generous. Bottle options ($44-$170) include a good selection of varietals from different regions.

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