The Wake

The beginning of this particular food expedition occurred months ago, before the onslaught of winter, at a barbecue party my roommates and I hosted. We were in the midst of a bet only horny college girls would implement: the make-out-with-a-random boy bet, when out of nowhere I went from jolly to tipsy to pie-eyed and plastered. Blurbs of memory from that night flicker clear and then fade, but I do know this — I won and so did my other roommate, but in the same impalpable fashion. Our prize was dinner, paid for by our less prosperous roommate. Only in college can you win a wager and get treated to dinner without actually remembering how you won.

To claim our blue ribbon for bawdiness we were taken to the Highland Grill, a decked-down ‘50s diner, the usual nostalgic records and Fonzie memorabilia missing from the walls. The décor was modern—black metal lights hung against bright green walls contrasting the red ‘50s booths.

It was Saturday night. We took two steps in the door and became part of a hungry parade of sardined patrons, all waiting to put their names in. While we waited, my wandering eye caught glimpses of stacked high sandwiches, colorful salads, and to my delectation, overflowing omelets and hash browns. “They serve breakfast,” I squealed, my inner child enraptured by the chance to have pancakes for dinner. We promptly put our name in and were told it was only a fifteen minute wait—praise the diner gods for their in-and-out ethics.

The menu was extensive and the exploration of it was a frustrating fiasco. A medley of entrees, burgers, salads, sandwiches, and breakfast items beckoned to be tried. Choosing just one seemed an injustice to the menu and my stomach. But alas, in the end, my roommates and I shed a tear apiece, buckled down, and asked the waiter for a couple more minutes.

I was ultimately cajoled by the fresh spinach salad with chicken. I know what you are thinking — salad? You could have had breakfast you fool! I’ll admit it; I am a sucker for salads, especially a fresh spinach salad with seasoned grilled chicken, candied walnuts, dried cranberries and brie cheese all floating in harmony with a tangy raspberry vinaigrette. This was where my stomach began to sing … “Heaven, I’m in heaven la la la.”

My other victorious roommate ventured into the award-winning world of the turkey burger. Voted best turkey burger by Mpls.St.Paul Magazine in 2003, this burger had a twist of Thai in it. Peanuts, jalapeno, onion, garlic and curry blended with ground turkey and accented with pepper jack cheese, poblano pesto aioli and greens.

And finally, the benefactor of our meals strapped on her “Blue Suede Shoes,” warmed up her pelvis, and sunk her teeth into a burger from Elvis. The Elvis burger was a meaty morsel with a six-ounce beef patty, two strips of bacon, American cheese, lettuce, tomato, onion, pickles and roasted garlic mayo. Her only complaint—too much lettuce.

After all of us had scraped our plates clean, we were brought the bill. I omnisciently smiled at our waiter. We were not done yet. I explained that our vision had been obscured throughout the evening by piles of whip cream and we were prepared to investigate. We ordered crème brulee and a brownie sundae. The crème brulee came dressed as its rich, fresh-vanilla-bean self and was, as always, a treat for the taste buds.

However, the heavyweight champion for the night was a humongous brownie topped with vanilla ice cream, chocolate and caramel sauce, and two walloping puffs of whip cream. The sundae’s nimbus lingered even after the last bite of divinity was devoured.

Highland Grill serves up quality American cuisine, infused with unique ingredients that even the most avid meat and potato lover will enjoy. The reasonable prices and good service make Highland Grill king of diner country.

The Highland Grill is located at 771 Cleveland Ave S, St. Paul 55116. The Wake reviews a restaurant every issue and rates each one with various arbitrary adjectives.