No, this restaurant would take the term food-forward to a new level. It would do a few things, selected based on what’s fresh and available or newly arrived or that the chef felt disposed toward for whatever reason, and do them well. And, while no interior designer would have ever been consulted on the décor—even obviously, perhaps—it would nonetheless suggest a creative, fun attitude about the place on the part of the owners (who would, of course, happen to be intimately involved with every aspect of running the restaurant).

Bakery on Grand, the luncheon rendezvous for B and me this week, won’t elicit the same reaction from most of our readers as it did from me. I haven’t seen B’s review as yet, but I suspect that his appraisal (of perhaps a notch above mediocrity) will be more typical. But, as you might have gathered already, I am quite taken by the place.

The coowner of Grand is a former waiter at PVD, which, in my mind, isn’t what it used to be since he left. He started Grand a few months ago with his wife, who used to be the pastry chef at Lucia’s. They have been slowly expanding their operation. First more tables were added, then, recently, Grand started doing dinners as well as lunch, and from next week they’ll be serving wine (Doug promises a wonderful, reasonably priced wine list).

You don’t even know in advance what’s for lunch at Grand. The menu is jotted down on a small whiteboard around 11:45—who wants to cater to those uncivilized Americans (such as Messrs. A and B) who arrive for lunch at 11:30—which is then walked around by a waiter. With only a handful of items on it, decision making isn’t onerous. (The menu is equally small for dinner, but it is printed daily—around 5 p.m., before which what’s cooking is a mystery.)

Here, in its entirety, is the lunch menu on the day in question: lentil soup; salade Niçoise; three sandwiches: triple cream brie on boule, ham and gruyere on baguette, BLT; crépes with garlic sausage and gruyere. Provincial French, you might say, although without any of the pejorative associations of the modifer.

B and I both wanted the crêpes, but I spoke first. B decided to get the brie sandwich. The crêpes were very authentically French—they took me back to a trip to Brittany some years ago—and very good. Thin yet robust, lightly browned, slightly sweet. They were rolled up with the sausage and gruyere, the latter melted in the skillet through the layers of pancake. The sausage was mild and diced up, and a drizzle of creamy, herbal emulsion brought variety and a decorative touch.

I liked B’s sandwich too, although it’s not something I would ever order. A bite or two of triple-cream brie is fine, but a whole sandwich is another matter—even if, as in this case, good, dense boule, leaf lettuce, and the pungent rind of the brie complement the artery-clogging richness.

Grand being a bakery in part, there’s more of a selection for dessert than for savory lunch items. One goes up to the display case by the register to view the offerings and make one’s selection, and if you’re like me you may get distracted by the A Vision of Paris book (text by Proust, photographs by Atget) you may see there. I finally settled on the maple panna cotta. It was perfect for a summer day; cool, light, refreshing, with a subtle hint of maple syrup. We ended with B getting a hot tea and I ordering my typical espresso. Neither of us was pleased with our beverages; mine was thin and acidic.

Grand isn’t for everyman, but I’d eat there everyday.

A has been espousing the virtues of the Bakery on Grand for a while. He tells me that it was started by a former PVD waitperson; PVD can do no wrong in A’s eyes and if my last two experiences are anything to go by I fully concur. But it is a bit of a reach to think that some of the qualities of PVD would be transferred to this new restaurant with the waitperson and indeed they have not. The Bakery on Grand is a unique experiment: a functional bakery that also happens to serve lunch and dinner almost on a whim it would seem. The Lunch normally likes to go into session at 11:30 AM, unless one of us is running late. This hour proved to be a little too early for the bakery, which was still serving breakfast goodies with coffee and tea to its customers. I must have seemed a right barbarian for demanding a lunch menu at 11:40 AM. I was politely told that they weren’t quite prepared to serve lunch yet.

With nothing to do, not even the customary glass of wine, I had ample opportunity to study the bakery and its clientele. The bakery is equipped with what appeared to my untrained eyes as old-fashioned equipment but nevertheless it kept slicing bread and the oven too appeared to be operational. The seating area is tiny and can probably seat no more than twenty people. The floor is wooden with a desperate need of a refinish but this, if anything, adds to the charm of the bakery. Baked good are on display in a glass shelf/counter, along which people line up to order and to pay their bills.

The reason for the non-production of lunch menus became clear when around noon a white board was trotted out with the menu written by hand on it. This was a cute touch and it almost seemed like the chef (or her assistant) had just pedaled back from the local market, buying whatever caught her fancy: a sniff at a cabbage here, a poke at a cheese there and the final triumphant return with leeks, fresh salmon and a pungent goat cheese. But seriously the menu for lunch is so miniscule that I am producing it here from memory: leek soup; salad Nicoise; triple Brie sandwich; ham & Gruyere on a baguette; crepes with spicy sausage; and a BLT. A Belgian country lunch in the heart of South Minneapolis!

Not being spoiled for choice both A & I wanted the crepes but since in an earlier lunch A had allowed me first choice it was only right that he should get the crepes this time. I, instead, chose the triple Brie on boule. This was nicely layered with lettuce but still became boring after a few bites. I didn’t care for the sourness of the boule; a baguette might have worked better. For dessert I had an almond lemon bar with strawberry jam. It was like most bars its only saving grace being the strawberry jam that gave it what little flavor it offered.

Espresso was served in a suitably chipped cup and the bill came to $23.00 (no credit cards accepted—cash on the barrel). The service was polite and pleasant.

The Bakery on Grand is located across the street from Victor’s 1959 café and seems to be in an area that is a hub of left leaning causes. Next to the bakery is a store that I can only describe as a pamphleteer’s heaven; outside it is our version of the Beijing’s Democracy Wall on which the first anti-cultural-revolution posters appeared; in our case there are exhortations against [the] war and pro-environment sentiments. Sentiments that are eminently noble in their futility.

B