I Tried It: Date Night at the Vegan/Alcohol-Free Restaurant

This... did not go as expected

Last summer, I learned the neighborhood’s longtime coffee/counter service restaurant closed.

No love lost here— on my last visit, I asked for half-and-half for my coffee, and they unapologetically announced they did not have it. Which felt like the wrong answer at any coffeeshop, especially since there’s a grocery store across the street.

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I fantasized about what it might become. Maybe a new coffee/counter service spot that stocks half-and-half! Or a cute bakery! Or one of those places with punny-named bowls that are embarrassing to order!

The possibilities were endless.

So endless, in fact, that when I read the space would hold a vegan, temperance restaurant, I thought to myself, Well, they’ve really thought of everything! Digging deeper, I learned that while the restaurant wouldn’t serve any alcohol (temperance, baby!), they would sell THC drinks, recently legalized in Minnesota.

Cool, I thought. But I… didn’t really get it? Less about the vegan aspect, and more about the focus on THC.

I’ve enjoyed consumed a few THC drinks in my day, and can tell you that half of one is more than enough for this gal. And the thought of drinking one at a restaurant and getting home? Well, good thing I live within walking distance.

Hi Flora! opened last summer. Walking past most days, I was struck by both the branding (very fun and festive!) and the abundance of plants (of the regular houseplant variety). In the evenings, the lighting and vintage sofas give off that opium den, but in an Instagrammable way vibe. And yet… I didn’t go. After looking at the menu, it was clear to me that this wasn’t a great option for our kids, and if we secured a babysitter, my husband would probably want to eat animal products paired with a Manhattan.

But then… I launched Hey Eleanor 2.0. All of a sudden, I’m needing to try new stuff because I need things to write about!

On a recent Saturday night, we dropped the kids at my dad’s and walked to Hi Flora! for our 7pm reservation. We didn’t get to sit in the front of the restaurant, and instead were seated at the banquette in back where I’d probably spent, hmmmm, 423 hours clacking away on my computer when it used to be a coffeeshop. But hey, they’d put purple lightbulbs into the old fixtures, so it felt a little different?

Our server walked us through the menu, explaining the three sections:

1. Non-alcoholic craft cocktails made in-house

2. Vegan food (small plates, sandwiches/wraps, entrees, dessert)

3. The Euphoric Menu, where patrons may purchase house made tinctures of THC

Okay, okay, okay. So I guess the deal that you purchase THC drops separately (available in 5mg/10mg/50mg tinctures) and add them to your drink or water or straight down the hatch. Makes sense that you, not the bartender, administer the the THC due to culpability of the legal variety.

After making a few suggestions, our server gave us a moment to look over the menu.

The “intentionally crafted zero proof drink menu” offered bevvies like IMMORTAL FRUITING BODY ($15): a heavenly mix of Little Saints St. Ember with lions mane topped off with Botanical Lucidity’s Longevity Mushroom Potion and a dash of beetroot. Know them by their fruits, and shots of MOON WATER ($8.88): elixir of the night sky. Enchanting potion mixed with butterfly pea flower. AWAKENS INTUITION.

Though it seemed we’d marched right into a Portlandia episode, I soldiered on and selected the CARROTRITA: Bonbuz Blood orange, grapefruit, and jalapeno, mixed with fresh pressed carrots, turmeric, and lime combine for a slowburn and an explosion of flavor that brings the lips to a tingle and the body to heat. Josh went for the SMOKED JUNIPER, which claimed the tantalizing aroma of smoked juniper would transport him to the serene forests where he’d be purified.

We then ordered the citrus and fennel salad; Hi! quesadilla; and pasta in bianco— a pasta dish with cashew cream sauce, oyster scallops and brocollini.

Then…. we awaited our journey into the serene forests of juniper.

Josh’s drink arrived with its own show, and delighted us both.

My CARROTRITA arrived and looked like this:

BEHOLD: a $19 glass of juice!

I readied myself for an explosion of flavor on my lips and a tingle to heat my body. But… it tasted like carrot juice ? Served in a thimble? With salt on the rim? No heat, no tingle. And no THC or alcohol, which at NINETEEN DOLLARS felt like a punch to every. single. one. of. my. chakras!

Josh’s tasted… fine? But at $19 apiece (yes… $38 TOTAL, not including tax and 20-percent service charge… so almost $50), these drinks should have brought us perilously close to O-face town.

I googled the price of mocktails at some of New York City’s most high-end restaurants. Hardly any listed prices, however: Eleven Madison Park’s most expensive mocktail clocks in at $18. This is a 3-Michelin-starred, plant-based restaurant that’s considered one of the best in the world, in one of the world’s most expensive cities. Then, I looked up prices for cocktails with booze at one of Minneapolis’ best restaurants, Spoon & Stable. $15 apiece.

So… what am I missing here with this CARROTRITA?

The salad arrived ($17). Greens, sliced fennel, fennel sprigs, and a few pieces of citrus fruit. While it looked pretty on its giant serving platter, it came with zero serving utensils. Problematic, since the dressing was served on the side in a metal cup. Like a side of ranch you’d ask for at a Denny’s.

Call me old fashioned, but dressing on the side should be a request, not the default, because it is really hard to adequately disperse salad dressing without a giant bowl. Especially on a plate with a fork and knife you stole from a mason jar on the table next to you, where they are stored with the smallest, most pathetic paper napkins I’ve seen outside of a small town ice cream parlor.

The napkin, fully unfurled. You do know that larger paper napkins are also compostable, right?

Our quesadilla ($14) was legitimately delicious, priced appropriately, and something I would never in a million years be able to recreate at home.

The pasta ($33) arrived and yeah, it just wasn’t for me. Too rich, to slop-like, and that’s not brocollini, but if I were vegan and enjoyed fettuccine Alfredo, this certainly would’ve scratched that comfort food itch you just can’t get from a salad.

When you’re here, you’re family.

Our bill for two non-alcoholic drinks, a salad, a quesadilla, and fauxtuccine alfredo, plus a 20-percent service fee?

$138.

And when our server handed us a device to enter our payment, it suggested giving an additional 18 percent gratuity. So, you know, like 38 percent.

I’ll be the first to admit that my threshold for expensive dinners is pretty high (anyone remember this?). Food costs a lot. It’s expensive to run a restaurant. Both front and back of the house staff should be paid fairly. And while alcohol and animals products, especially meat, are pricey, so is vegan food. Do you know how many cashews it takes to make cashew cream?!

But this dinner made me… feel things. One of them was gassy (TMI). The other? A simmering rage.

In therapy, I’ve been doing a lot of “parts work.” The short version: Each person is made up of different parts/characteristics, and sometimes it’s helpful to let those parts talk to each other so you can fully understand your feelings.

Here’s what my parts said after this dinner:

Part of me thought: Molly, you are not vegan. You are not the intended audience, and therefore, your opinion on this experience doesn’t matter.

But then another part of me thought: But Molly! You believe we all should be eating less animals products. It’s healthier, and better for the planet. And it’s important to show us omnivores that meatless meals can be delicious!

Then this part chimed in: Oh, Molly? Have you forgotten that you can barely drink alcohol anymore because it gives you terrible heart palpitations and you’ve been seeking out non-alcoholic options at restaurants for years? This zero-proof concept *is* meant for you, and you are allowed to be critical of it.

Another part of me thought: Okay, even if you didn't like this meal and thought the drinks were a rip, is writing about it the nice thing to do? Especially when it’s a small, woman-owned business in your neighborhood?

And yet another part said: The pricing of this restaurant fits squarely into a fine dining experience, and it felt like a casual lunch place (with a flame thrower). You don’t get many opportunities to enjoy a meal with your husband sans kids. For what you paid, you should be walking away feeling something other than bamboozled.

I thought this experience would lend itself to some lesson about how it’s possible to enjoy a fancy, satisfying meal without meat, cheese, or alcohol.

Instead, I learned that you can’t enjoy a meal when you don’t feel respected or taken care of, as though the restaurant considers your wallet more than they consider your experience.

We left our half-full (or was it half-empty?) drinks at the table and ate ice cream at home. The real stuff.

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