I ate brunch with my friend and neighbor Amy on Sunday. We went to a restaurant in Minneapolis called Hell’s Kitchen.
With a nod to its name, you have to take an elevator down to the basement of the building to get to the restaurant. Once inside, we were surrounded by stylish décor all suited to the restaurant’s theme. Very red, low-lit and intriquing. Because it was Sunday brunch, all the servers were dressed in pajamas.
Amy ordered the Lemon-Ricotta Hotcakes, which she loved.
I got the Nearly-Classic Eggs Benedict (named because it was made with slow-roasted pit ham instead of Canadian bacon; a moot point because I ordered it sans meat). It came with fresh fruit and hash browns. It was quite tasty and the portions seemed manageable (as opposed to those places that can barely fit your food on the plate, which drives me nuts).
The menu mentioned that the homemade peanut butter was a don't-miss so we ordered that as well. It also came with little jars of blood orange marmalade, blackberry jam and baguette slices. It definitely was some of the best peanut butter I’ve every tried. It was so thick you could barely spread it and it was chock full of teeny bits of peanuts.
Turn’s out hell’s not so bad.