The holidays should be steeped in tradition. With quirks. 

In a sense, that’s how I feel about W.A. Frost. 

W.A. Frost is kind of like your grandmother, if your grandmother happened to have an eye for obscure oil paintings and antique lamps and an unlimited expense account with which to acquire them. She’d also need knack for recycling architectural salvage, a Victorian sense of refinement, a bit of devil-may-care attitude, and a willingness to go into neighborhoods where grandmothers just shouldn’t be.

When W.A. Frost opened its doors in 1974, the neighborhood wasn’t exactly the stuff of Fitzgerald novellas. But John Rupp — then twenty-something with ink still wet on his Willie Mitchell law degree — convinced a handful of other urban pioneers that the Dacotah Building was worth saving. 

Nice call.

It is a pretty special building. Built in 1889 for the whopping sum of $70,000, in what would become known as “Cathedral Hill”, the Dacotah actually predated plans for the Cathedral by fifteen years. 

Downstairs, a ladies’ bath and manicure establishment (think: Horst jumps the space/time continuum and lands in the 19th century) sat alongside W.A. Frost’s pharmacy, which sold “medicines, medicinal wines and liquors, and fancy toilet articles of great variety.” Upstairs lived people who could afford to go downstairs. In apartments with fireplaces, and electronic doorbells, and speaking tubes, no less.

By the time the Dacotah caught Rupp’s eye, it was a shadow of its former self. A run-down, near-empty building in a neighborhood known more for drug busts and shootings than its historical significance. 

On the other hand, it was a building with thick sandstone walls and a foundation 14 feet deep. A building that wasn’t going away any time soon. A building that once again might serve as the cornerstone of a vital neighborhood, where life is good and things are looking up.

Today, W.A. Frost has the ambience of one of those rambling old houses in which one room twists and tumbles into the next and you’re never quite sure what awaits you. What started as a corner bar amiably adopted a dining room, then sprawled onto a patio.

A wine cellar was built in the cavernous basement: look up from a corner nook, and you can touch the cobblestones that formed the original street. Then another small dining room. And another. All along the way, fireplaces are installed or refurbished. Precious architectural salvage finds a new home. And the antique fairy drops an oversized walnut sideboard here, and hangs a historic portrait there. 

It’s fancy, but not pretentious. It’s too quirky for that. It’s apparent it grew organically, and was more the product of carpe diem than a restaurant designer’s portfolio.

Besides, this place is just downright accommodating. It’s never tried to be trendy. It just tries to be welcoming. In a sense, it’s followed the advice of another Frost, and took the “Road Less Traveled.” A road that any business advisor would say was absolutely, positively the wrong route to take.

“I know it sounds suicidal, but we really do try to be something for everyone. The kind of place where you can bring your aunt for tea on a Sunday and come back Friday night for a five course tasting menu,” says Bob Crew, whose twenty-year tenure as manager serves as yet another testament to the restaurant’s far-sighted view of the world.

“We want to keep our current customers happy, without getting stagnant in the process. We were a bit late in joining the local food revolution, but within a couple of years, we caught up.” (Lenny Russo of Cue and Heartland fame spent the late eighties here, and current chef Russell Klein, who spent his early career in New York working for the likes of David Bouley, is certainly no slouch in the kitchen.)

Klein, whose ambitious repertoire runs the gamut from house-made Squash Ravioli with orange-curry sauce to Black Trumpet Mushroom Crusted Venison loin, shares the hospitable attitude. “I’d like to think our fine dining menu stands up to anyone’s. But we’re not just for special occasions. If you come home on a Tuesday, don’t feel like cooking and don’t want to spend a ton for dinner, well, you can order off the bar menu anywhere in the house.”

So how does a restaurant try to please every one? For starters, a fine dining menu rich with items from local producers like Fisher Farms and Wild Acres. A casually-priced bar menu dotted with interesting “snacks for the table,” hearty sandwiches, salads and soups. A cheese program I found truly impressive. A delectable Sunday brunch. A beverage menu offering, for example, 26 single malts — if you only count those from the Highlands — and a wine list 1100 bottles deep. A great selection of teas and coffees. And a dessert menu that thoughtfully features a selection of some of the area’s most wonderful locally crafted truffles, for those who just need a little something sweet. Oh and of course, that atmosphere, time and time again ranks “most romantic in the Twin Cities.”

At the holidays, this grandmother really flails her arms and begs for guests. Starting the week after Thanksgiving, every room in the place gets the Martha-Stewart-for-the-holidays treatment, and we aren’t talking the stuff from K-Mart. Small rooms will fill with office and family gatherings. The dining room will host a well-fed, multigenerational crowd, and diners who haven’t been there for a while will stop by for a holiday visit.

I’m told the place has ghosts. I tend to believe the stories. Someone’s gotta be watching over this place. Maybe it’s some kind, but sensible grandma. The one who used to live upstairs, and now just wants to make everyone’s evening right.

W.A. Frost

374 Selby Ave. at Western, St. Paul  |  651.224.5715  |  www.wafrost.com.

Reservations recommended, especially during the holidays. Website lists complete menus, and thoughtfully includes pricing.