Minneapolis is getting the Michelin Guide treatment. Saint Paul is not, and the decision has ignited concern that smaller and immigrant-owned restaurants could be locked out of one of the world's most influential dining rankings.
The two cities sit just 11 miles apart, yet only Minneapolis secured a spot in Michelin's expansion into the Great Lakes region. The reason is transactional: Minneapolis paid for it. The city's tourism improvement district signed a $250,000-a-year contract for three years to bring Michelin inspectors to town. Saint Paul did not.
Visit Saint Paul's leadership has publicly stayed diplomatic about the exclusion, with CEO Jaimee Lucke Hendrikson emphasizing that regional awareness could benefit everyone. But on the ground, food writers and restaurant owners are asking harder questions about what gets left behind when one city gets the nod and another does not.
Karyn Tomlinson, who owns Myriel, a highly acclaimed Saint Paul restaurant, said the snub stings precisely because the Twin Cities are treated as a unit in the public mind. "When everyone outside of Minneapolis and St Paul thinks of the two cities as a pair, it's hard not to feel it more when St Paul is specifically excluded from something that seems like it should be a win for both cities," she said.
The broader issue, however, extends well beyond city lines. Food critics point out that Michelin's selection process and preferences may inherently favor certain kinds of restaurants while filtering out others that define Minnesota's dining identity.
Dara Moskowitz Grumdahl, a restaurant critic at MplsStPaul Magazine, notes that Michelin gravitates toward high-end establishments with formal service, tablecloths, and elaborate glassware. That preference, she argues, misses the state's most vibrant culinary landscape. "You're going to see 30 service pieces... the servers are going to look great... and they're going to pour your sauce. It's very service intensive," she said.
Minnesota's food scene is shaped by immigrant communities. Nearly a quarter of residents are people of color, and more than half a million immigrants live in the state. Yet Michelin's historical bias toward French fine dining traditions and European culinary frameworks means restaurants serving Hmong, Ethiopian, and Somali cuisine often fall outside its scope, even when they are exceptional.
Kirstie Kimball, an independent restaurant critic, points to specific examples of this blindspot. "Some of our best restaurants are in malls fully dedicated to one cuisine, like Hmong Village, or the Ethiopian restaurants that are outside of the edge of town," she said. Michelin rarely awards its Bib Gourmand designation, which recognizes exceptional food at good value, to African restaurants.
The timing compounds the concern. Earlier this year, Immigration and Customs Enforcement raids across the Twin Cities led to closures and layoffs at immigrant-owned establishments. As restaurants in those communities struggle, a prestigious guide that omits them entirely sends a troubling message about whose food, whose businesses, and whose communities matter.
Kimball worries that visitors and locals will treat the Michelin Guide as the definitive map of where to eat, sidelining the taquerias, Ethiopian spots, and Somali restaurants that desperately need customer support. "What does that mean for our dining?" she asked.
Tomlinson hopes the moment becomes a catalyst for closer collaboration between Minneapolis and Saint Paul, and for diners to think beyond official endorsements when choosing where to eat. "Community-shaping food and hospitality is never defined by city limits or by award systems," she said.
Author James Rodriguez: "A guide's power lies not just in what it includes, but in what it erases. Michelin's Minnesota expansion risks cementing a narrow vision of excellence at the exact moment when immigrant restaurants need visibility most."
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