It was a Thursday around 6:30 when I showed up at Tongue in Cheek on Payne Avenue in St. Paul’s Dayton’s Bluff neighborhood — yes, technically St. Paul, but close enough to Minneapolis that half the regulars at the bar had driven in from South Mpls and Northeast. The dining room was already three-quarters full, which caught me off guard for a weeknight in early March. I grabbed the last open two-top near the window.
Tongue in Cheek opened in 2013 under chef Leonard Anderson, and it’s held a reputation for inventive, ingredient-driven cooking ever since — the kind of place where the menu rotates just often enough to keep you paying attention. The room itself is narrow and a little rough around the edges in a good way: exposed brick, dark wood, low lighting. It doesn’t feel precious. The noise level sits right at the edge of lively without tipping into obnoxious.
I started with the smoked beef tartare, which came with a soft egg yolk, crispy capers, and a swipe of something mustardy underneath. It was bold without being a stunt — exactly the kind of opener that makes you slow down and reconsider the rest of the meal. The bread service was simple and good: house-baked, served warm, not overthought.
For a main I went with the duck breast, which was cooked exactly to the rosy side of done, plated over a root vegetable purée with a vinegar-forward jus that kept the richness honest. My companion ordered the pork belly and cleaned the plate, which is always a reliable indicator. Neither dish crept above twenty-two dollars, which for this level of cooking felt almost wrong.
The cocktail list deserves a mention. My Negroni came out properly bitter and cold, stirred well, with a fat orange peel — no drama, just correctly made. They have a modest but well-chosen wine list, and the staff actually knows it. When I asked about a natural orange wine I’d noticed on the menu, our server had an informed opinion and wasn’t just reading from a description.
Dessert I nearly skipped, but the table next to us ordered the pot de crème and it looked too good to ignore. It was. Dark chocolate, the texture exactly right, with a little fleur de sel on top. Five dollars. I thought about ordering a second one.
The bill for two people — two cocktails, shared tartare, two mains, two desserts — came to just under eighty dollars before tip. For what we ate and how the evening went, that felt like a genuine deal. You don’t get that math many places anymore.
Getting there from Minneapolis takes about fifteen minutes by car; there’s usually street parking on Payne or the adjacent side streets. Reservations are smart on weekends and increasingly useful on Thursdays. They’re closed Mondays. If you go, give yourself two hours and don’t plan anything after — not because dinner drags, but because you’ll want to sit with a last glass of wine and not feel rushed. That’s the kind of restaurant this is.
