As we learn from our increasingly simpatico Old Testament friend Job, we’re all dust. Nothing lasts forever, except perhaps cheating money grubbers, philandering politicians, Bernie Madoff’s prison sentence, and plastic garbage bags.
A difficult thing to swallow, dust. If my muse weren’t working so feverishly on cost reduction, I might have found a more comforting way to express it. The fact remains.
When you actually see finitude in action it’s a little disconcerting. Some things seemingly have been around forever, and after a while you just assume they’ll always be there, e.g., Michael Jackson, Billy Mays, Denny Hecker, Mike Fairbourne, etc. So, when one crashes it’s worth noting.
D’Amico Cucina, Minneapolis’s fine dining icon since 1987, was one of the first of its kind in this town. Short-lived Chouette and La Tortue preceded Cucina, but until the D’Amico brothers, Richard and Larry, opened their doors in Butler Square, fine dining was mostly sitting down to a big steak, a groove dominated by vintage joints like Murray’s, Charlie’s (gone) and The Lexington.
D’Amico closed last week. I visited one last time before the lights went out. Just so I’m not seen as a special-occasion diner, I’ve done D’Amico countless times over the past 20 years. However, Cucina was the go-to spot for birthdays and anniversaries, a fate that may have compounded an already bleak restaurant economy.
In its final weeks, Cucina offered an extraordinary menu of special dishes that its impressive list of chefs compiled over the years. There were apps and entrees from the likes of Seth Bixby Daugherty, Tim McKee, Alex Roberts, John Occhiata, J.P. Samuelson, and others.
When we arrived, standing at the front desk was our longtime waitress, Christine, the flamenco dancer. The food was predictably fantastic, rich but fantastic. The fat harpies won the battle over the cholesterol angels. After all, here were all those wonderful dishes from years past to choose from: the ravioli of Maine lobster, goat cheese and tomato consommé, the classic Cuccina pizza with prosciutto and mozzarella, the scallops, halibut, eggplant-wrapped snapper, every possible iteration of veal and pork, the legendary sweetbreads, and a huge list of Italian wines, not to mention, im-pec-ca-ble service.
On the way out, we stopped to listen to the fabulous piano stylings of longtime Cucina bar maestro, Benny Weinbeck, accompanied this night by the liquid bass of Gordy Johnson. Doesn’t get much better in this town.
The sad news is Cucina is gone. The good news is the D’Amico’s are taking over the Chambers food operation. The sad news is Cucina is gone.
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