On a Thursday morning in late October, before the weekend rush starts building, Colleen Sheehan is behind the cheese counter at Surdyk’s doing what she’s done most of her adult life: cutting a wedge of Manchego at a precise angle, wrapping it in wax paper, and telling a customer — with the tone of someone who has earned the right to be definitive — that yes, this one, not the other one.
Surdyk’s has been at the corner of University and Hennepin in the Marcy-Holmes neighborhood since 1934. The building looks like it has always been exactly where it is, which is a quality Minneapolis doesn’t always manage to hold onto. The liquor side occupies one entrance; the cheese shop occupies the other; the two operations share a wall and, presumably, a philosophy about not cutting corners.
Colleen didn’t found the place — the Surdyk family did — but she’s been working the cheese counter long enough that for a meaningful portion of the customer base, she basically is the place. She knows which regulars are buying for a dinner party and which ones are buying for themselves to eat in the car. She does not judge the latter. She might quietly upgrade your selection, though.
The cheese shop carries somewhere north of 200 varieties on any given day, a mix of domestic and imported that skews toward the serious without being obnoxious about it. You’ll find your aged cheddars and your approachable bries alongside a rotating cast of washed-rind cheeses that smell like a dare. The staff actually knows what they’re selling, which is rarer than it should be. Ask a question and you’ll get an answer, not a shrug followed by a label-reading performance.
The wine and spirits selection next door runs about 7,000 labels. That number is less useful than knowing that the staff there operates on similar principles — opinionated, but not condescending. They’ve seen every variety of customer walk through those doors over the decades, and they’ve developed the particular patience of people who genuinely like what they do. If you walk in knowing nothing and say so, they’ll work with that. If you walk in knowing exactly what you want, they’ll probably have it.
Prices are honest. A solid hunk of cheese for a cheese board — say, a quarter pound of Gruyère and something funky alongside it — might run you twelve to fifteen dollars total. A bottle of wine in the twenty-dollar range will be a decent bottle, not a consolation prize. This isn’t a cheap-wine shop dressed up with atmosphere, and it’s not a precious boutique that makes you feel bad for buying a six-pack. It occupies a useful middle ground that Minneapolis doesn’t always offer.
The neighborhood around Surdyk’s has changed considerably since 1934, and even since 1990. The corner of University and Hennepin has seen its share of Minneapolis’s larger story. The shop has kept going, which requires a certain stubbornness. Colleen’s version of that stubbornness expresses itself quietly — in the precision of the cut, in the extra thirty seconds she’ll spend explaining why one cheese will work better than another for what you’re actually trying to do.
Saturday afternoons get crowded. If you want to have a real conversation with someone behind the counter, Thursday morning is the move. Parking is available in their lot. Go before the weekend traffic reminds you why you usually order things online.
