It's a restaurant critic's plight. When someone I'm meeting for the first time finds out about the unorthodox way in which I make my living, here's what invariably happens: My brain turns into a YouTube.com download. As the opening credits of "60 Minutes" flash the stopwatch's tick-tick-tick, I count down the seconds--usually it's less than five--before my newfound friend asks, "What's your favorite restaurant?"

I hate to disappoint my new pal, but the answer never waivers: I have not one but many, depending on both my mood and, more important, on who's going to pick up the check. There are, however, several spots that occupy a permanent berth on my hit parade. One of them is Restaurant Alma.

Alma isn't for everyone. The bare tables, the sturdy commodity dinnerware, the wide-open kitchen and the staff's Casual Friday attire are comfortably honest rather than elegant. The deliberately leisurely pace may nudge Type A types into fidgety despair, and the sane portion sizes could send coupon-clippers back to their local all-you-dare-consume buffet. No matter. The word restaurant has its roots in restore, and alma is Spanish for soul. The name fits, like a glove.

-- Rick Nelson Taste/ Star Tribune Thursday July 6, 2006 excerpts