Hell's Kitchen

Hell’s Kitchen is a conundrum to me. Its fans line up for two hours to gobble down Sunday brunch. Gourmet’s Jane and Michael Stern extol its virtues and those of co-owner Mitch Omer at every opportunity (and he’s a nice guy, I’ll readily acknowledge). But every time I eat there, I come away underwhelmed. Not disgusted, mind you, just not really getting it.

Omer and partner Steve Meyer moved their breakfast/lunch spot down 9th Street into the old Rossi’s space last fall and added a dinner menu. The innocuous Rossi’s is now tricked out with lots of black and red and netherworld bric-a-brac. The dining room that once felt like a hotel lobby now evokes a country club for Satanists. I don’t know . . . . The space is sprawling and can seem empty and ghostly at times. Staff are efficient, but I found them businesslike—not charismatic and cheeky as is the place’s rep. At one meal, staffers at the host stand waited to greet me for several minutes while they tended a computer problem.

As for the food, some of it was really nice, but much of it was uneven, often served less than hot, or otherwise carelessly prepared. There’s a short-order quality to much of the preparation, but these are not short-order prices. On the plus side is much of the breakfast/brunch fare, including a nice veggie frittata, a competent but unextraordinary crab/shrimp cake benedict, and huevos rancheros that had a sweet quality but were otherwise nicely turned out. The signature rosti hash browns arrived cool but burnt, acrid with singed onion.

Hell’s array of BLTs are worth ordering, including a seductive walleye version with a wonderful scallion tartar sauce. A French dip was gray and gristly while a BBQ bison burger was cooked to well done (ordered medium), which rendered it hard to enjoy. Barbecue ribs were tasty enough but also tough and dry. The Caesar salad dressing looks to be made without eggs as it’s thinner and more acidic than most, but tasty nonetheless, on whole romaine leaves with peppery croutons.

HK’s signature chunky peanut butter, lauded by the Sterns, is terrific, as are its house-made jams, though you will have to have a sweet tooth to like them. (Who doesn’t in these parts?)

I get the feeling that there’s a disparity of experience among occasional diners like me and regulars or those who know the charismatic proprietors. The people who love this place, they love it. I keep leaving with the same mantra in my head: Why don’t I like this place more?

80 S. 9th St., lower level, Mpls., 612-332-4700, hellskitcheninc.com