On the fourth day of my first visit to Minneapolis, my buddy JJ and I embraced Minnesota Nice…read moremantra and invited Matthieu, a newfound bar friend, to a Twins game. We all slept through first pitch, but that didn't stop us from ordering combo platters of shots and beers. Three hours of baseball and day-drinking can take a toll on a man, so Matthieu proposed an after-party at his favorite eatery, Red Rabbit.
The hostess seemed surprised when three guys in full baseball regalia requested a lunch table, but she welcomed us and honored our request to sit far from any families or members of the clergy.
Matthieu came out swinging suggesting a hard-to-find AleSmith Nut Brown Ale. He paired it with the Burrata Grilled Toast, topped with micro basil, pesto, and roasted tomatoes. The toast inspired such devotion that we divided the final piece into thirds like diplomats negotiating a peace treaty.
Some Minneapolitan-Neapolitan cultural exchange was clearly at work in the Garlic Bread Cheese Curds. This layered appetizer starts crunchy, turns puffy, and finishes with the curds' satisfying squeak. It needed marinara about as much as Joe Mauer needed Justin Morneau, but the sauce still improved the experience.
Before you alert the pizza police, PB&J Pizza stands for pineapple, bacon, and jalapeño. This Hawaiian-adjacent combination hits close to home because it mirrors my preferred PP&J: pineapple, pepperoni, and jalapeño. I may have to add it as a favorite in the Papa John's app.
The Vodka Rigatoni with Meatballs arrived creamy and light on the Calabrian chili. I would have added Italian sausage for more punch. Still, JJ had only recently graduated from tri-color Bomb Pops to gelato, so the milder approach probably suited him. He cleared his plate, which settled the argument.
Then things started to slide.
Our server, whose identity I'll protect, was mostly professional and attentive but sometimes appeared overwhelmed. Trouble began with the Cheese & Salami Board. When he tried to upsell me to the large, I naturally asked which cheeses and salamis it included.
"Um... salami from Italy, cheese, nuts, olives, and chocolate," he replied.
I skipped the CliffsNotes and moved on. I wasn't spending nearly $40 on mystery salami, bar nuts, and another serving of burrata.
Every dish up to that point had cleared the fence, so we expected another home run from the Chicken Parmesan. Unfortunately, it arrived soggy, as though someone had forgotten it under the broiler. Only the edges that escaped the cheese and sauce remained crispy.
While my buddies mauled the accompanying Bucatini Alfredo, I ordered a Gluek's gluten-free Cream Ale. The first sip made me wince. JJ, who has watched me enjoy tablespoon-sized bumps of Sevruga caviar, immediately noticed. He took a sip and responded with a tongue-scraping motion. Not one to be left out, Matthieu sampled it and reported, "I see where all the discontinued pennies went: into making this beer."
I flagged our server, who carried the beer to the bartender, who sniffed it, inspected its color, then poured a comparison taste of Metal High Life from the draft. He declared the Gluek palatable, and sent the verdict back through our server. I didn't care if the President of the American Brewers Guild had personally pinned a gold medal on it. The beer tasted like a fistful of loose change, and no diner should need expert testimony to prove that.
Seeking a palate cleanser, we ordered the Spritz Tree, or flight, featuring Campari, Hugo, Midnight, Watermelon, and Tequi...
"THAT'S FIVE!" the server snapped.
We responded with three raised eyebrows.
Fine. The deal included four spritzes for $50, not five for $40. Maybe I had developed late-onset dyslexia. Maybe the $2 Twins Pils from earlier had finally entered the lineup. After that frosty exchange, our server kept circling the table to ask whether we needed anything else. You couldn't have fit a toothpick among the plates and pours, so I interpreted the check-ins as a not-so-subtle suggestion that we continue our Minneapolis mayhem elsewhere.
Waiter fatigue aside, Red Rabbit delivers playful food, inventive cocktails, and enough Twin Cities character to warrant a return visit. We left without conquering as much of the menu as I had hoped, but that gives me a solid reason to come back.