1. THE BEST RESTAURANT WE DON’T TALK ABOUT

How often do you think about the COVID days? Almost two years in which the restaurant industry had to make money any way it could—delivering pizza, serving people in big plastic domes on the sidewalk—but not in the ways it had worked, literally, for hundreds of years before that. I had to tell that story, and reconstruct the timeline, for my (still upcoming!) book, and it surprised me which parts of it lasted longer than I remembered and which flitted by quite quickly (remember when we had to show our vaccination cards to get into restaurants? I think I actually did that once in the month that that was the new normal, before it was replaced by something else).

But I think there were parts of it that we really don’t want to remember. There were parts of it that rationally, can only be seen as hysterical overreactions, in which people turned on the restaurants that employed them and blamed them for everything, as if they’d been cooking bats from the wet markets causing it all. Here’s how I described it at the time:

We had 20-plus years of the chef as a hero, taking us to new sensations, artist and world explorer and pirate captain all in one. It was a great ride, and then it came to a screeching halt and what did we have? We were stuck at home making beans and sourdough, the people who worked in the industry were forced to scrape by with paltry benefits, there’s no guarantee that that cool world and how we felt to be part of it will ever come back. That sucks, man.

Someone must be to blame (besides Trump)! Maybe those way cool chefs were false prophets—they were exploiters and users, they yelled at us and paid us badly and scraped mold off jam and culturally appropriated food that wasn’t theirs.

People turned on the chefs they’d worked for, blaming them for COVID with the power of social media, so that police activity against African-Americans became the fault of… an Asian chicken wings place. I know that makes no sense in 2025, but somehow not posting “Black Lives Matter” on social media led to Landbirds, which had ambitious expansion plans, being chased into closing up shop by… someone nobody ever heard of, but who, in that hothouse moment, could claim all the moral authority in the world on Instagram. That was our world then.

One of the positive things that came out of all that was that, in the face of most mainstream media knuckling under instantly to people on social media named @JusticeWarriorSquiggy, and after a few other platforms demonstrated all the commitment to free speech and open thought of warm Jell-O, one came along that was vigorously in favor of letting writers write what they pleased, and the market would decide if it was rewarded: Substack. And Substack is where Michael Nagrant has his The Hunger newsletter, and not coincidentally, where he just wrote the first review of a very good restaurant that no mainstream publication would dare touch, even now, because of the attacks it faced in 2020:

In 2020 during the Covid epidemic, Fat Rice and its chef Abe Conlon came under scrutiny for a variety of things including raising his voice at employees, code-switching, grabbing an employee, throwing things and having tantrums. The picture that was painted or that at least was left for most was that these things happened as a result of deeply entrenched racism and abuse.

I’m not saying people weren’t hurt, mismanaged, or treated poorly. Some were, but also I’ve talked to a lot of people including former employees and I’ve read the evidence given in all of the reported stories. I fundamentally believe the entrenchment was mostly emblematic of the kind of friction that exists anytime you have social, generational, and power differences in the workplace. What had changed is that now society just accepts correlation as causation. If you discipline someone and they’re from a group that has been marginalized, you’re obviously racist, sexist, ageist, whatever it is someone wants to assert. And once that assertion is made, it becomes fact.

Nagrant is not reviewing Fat Rice, RIP, but Noodlebird at Fat Rice, which is its successor; Conlon has departed and it’s now run by his ex-partner Adrienne Lo. Still, you can’t wash away sins by changing the name, and surely Fat Rice’s sins were great, everyone in 2020 said so, from Eater Chicago to Grace Wong in the Tribune to the New York Times:

One of the reasons the reporting was so devastating is that the New York Times picked up the local stories about Fat Rice. If the Times sprinkles a whiff of racism or abuse, the de facto outcome is you’re racist and abusive.

One ex-employee—of all of two or three days, depending on your source—was the main source and evidence for most of these stories; being Vietnamese-American and some form of trans or non-binary, 2020 granted them all the credit in the world for being just in their tale of oppression under Conlon, which ranged from accusing him of cultural appropriation for cooking Asian food (that Lo was Chinese-American was universally ignored) to saying that because they were Asian-American and Conlon was a white guy, he had no business telling them how to plate (it’s not his food!) Conlon is a student and scholar of Macanese food, and, you know, the chef-owner, but in the magical Year Zero-ness of 2020, them having Asian genetics meant he was supposed to bow down to that and let the cooks run his kitchen. Throw in other sins—Eater faulted Conlon for playing hip hop in the restaurant as a white dude–and Fat Rice was quickly restaurant non grata. So Noodlebird is too, in 2025:

And yet, it still feels like there’s a tacit blackballing from local food writers afraid to talk about its greatness, and that doesn’t feel right. I do not know Lo personally, but I know a lot of people who do. They all pretty much attest to the fact that she’s one of the most thoughtful, kind, and genuinely caring humans they know.

I have eaten at Noodlebird three times in the last six months, making it my most frequent visited restaurant that isn’t Lee’s Chop Suey takeout Chinese.

Pick a random dish, and it is perfect. I know because I have eaten almost every single one.

Again, here’s the successor restaurant to a place that won its chef a James Beard Best Chef Great Lakes award, and it has never been reviewed by the Tribune (which did publish a 2021 piece headlined “Fat Rice to reopen as Noodlebird more than a year after closing amid accusations of racism”), Time Out Chicago, the Reader, or The Infatuation, to name the major remaining sources of reviews in Chicago. (Since you asked, I reviewed it in tandem with a post-cancellation interview with Abe and Adrienne.) 2020 both seems a million years ago, and to still cast a shadow over 2025.

2. TROTTER II

With Next serving its Charlie Trotter menu in the restaurants 1987-2012 space, could Trotter’s son Dylan revive his father’s legendary restaurant? All I know is, at the Banchet awards last week, everyone asked Giuseppe Tentori if he was going to take it over (he says, firmly, absolutely not). Maggie Hennessy talked to Dylan Trotter:

It’s not all for nostalgia’s sake. Dylan aims to reopen the restaurant later this year, to connect younger generations to his father’s legacy — and to carve out one of his own.

“People under the age of 40 don’t know who Charlie Trotter was, and my goal is to change that,” Dylan said. Charlie died of a stroke in 2013, less than a year after closing the restaurant. “This is a historic Chicago landmark that should be known by everyone, young and old,” said Dylan. “I think the younger generation should look back at history and see: How did we get to where we are now?”

3. LASAGNA LOVE

Steve Dolinsky checks out a couple of places for a warm pan of dead of winter lasagna, but you can kind of tell his heart is with Freddy’s in Cicero:

Stepping into Freddy’s Pizza in Cicero is like walking back in time. The impossibly small yet well-stocked store has been around since the 1950s, but Joe Quercia started here in ’68. 56 years later, he owns the joint with his wife, Ann Marie, presiding over a riot of pizza, gelato, Italian specialties, and of course, lasagna.

“We use homemade noodles, it’s made fresh every time we make a lasagna,” said Joe Quercia, the co-owner of Freddy’s.

4. PIEC’ PIZZ’

The Infatuation visits hot new Pizz’Amici:

Starting with the crust—it’s impressively thin and crackery, with a structural integrity that should get shout-outs in PBS specials about Chicago architecture. And the bottom of each pie is a dalmatian-spotted, charred beauty. The smoky flavor complements the slightly sweet tomato sauce and cheese that oozes to the edge. It’s the perfect canvas for whatever toppings you decide to throw onto your build-your-own pie (the fennel-forward sausage is particularly great).

Speaking of Pizz’Amici, Steve Dolinsky talked to co-owners Cecily and Billy Federighi on his Pizza City podcast; find it at your podcast app of choice.

5. CHINATOWN CHANGES

Maggie Hennessy asks if old school Chinatown can survive in this era of hotpot and other Asian flavors, visiting Grand Palace (home of dinosaur-sized chicken wings) with 3 Little Pigs owner Henry Cai:

His family didn’t eat out often, except on birthdays and occasionally at Christmas. When Cai started crossing the bridge from Chinatown to Bridgeport on his own to eat, it was usually to house a chicken parm sandwich and vinegary wings at Ricobene’s, grab a pizza at Phil’s, or enjoy an Italian ice at Fabulous Freddie’s Italian Eatery.

Over time, Grand Palace – like Chinatown’s Seven Treasures on Wentworth, which closed last year – became one of few threads connecting Cai to the culinary legacies of his parents’ generation. More second-generation kids are opting for the comfort and stability of 9-to-5, white-collar jobs rather than taking up ownership of the family business, Cai said.

6. AND THAT STANDS FOR POOL (HALL GRUB)

Titus Ruscitti gets your 2025 road trip plans started by going to Kentucky; here’s a pool hall burger:

Ever had Pool Hall Grub in Kentucky? Ya that’s a thing. Handfuls of pool halls are hanging on around the Bluegrass State and each one serves up some form of locally loved grub be it chili dogs, burgers, or both. Below is the Willie Burger from an old pool hall in Bourbon Country. Nothing special as far as the prep or dressing of it (fresh ball of beef lightly smashed with lettuce, tomato, mayo, onion) but it was one of the best burgers I had that year. I had to pass on the country ham sandwich bc this was a second lunch so I limited myself to just one choice for the sake of this massive food database that I continue to build. I hope to add a few more Kentucky pool halls at some point before they all close.

7. TROPIC OF DENNIS

At The Party Cut, Dennis Lee checks out a Dominican restaurant, Tropical Taste in Humboldt Park:

Once we stepped into the place, we were immediately charmed. First off, it was packed for a Saturday mid-afternoon service, and the place was brightly lit and full of character. We were greeted by a friendly gentleman who’d be our server, who handed us some menus and eventually took our order. If there were any language barriers previously, there aren’t any now, and if you don’t know anything about Dominican food (like us), the staff will patiently explain everything to you.

8. ENZO’S END

I never heard of Enzo’s, an Italian beef and caramelcorn place in far southeast suburban Chicago Heights which closed last March, but after reading this Daily Southtown obit for Enzo Tribo, I wish I had checked it out.

9. THE FATE OF CLOSED RESTAURANTS

In a suprisingly business-focused piece for the Reader, Jonah Nink talks to real estate experts about how, as he puts it, neighborhood haunts can turn into neighborhood specters.

10. LISTEN UP

I met Sylvia Perez at the Banchet awards, so it’s not really a surprise that she talks to Banchet honcho Michael Muser about them at Supper With Sylvia.

Joiners talks to Dennis Lee. You can just imagine.

And at the Dining Table, David Manilow talks to Jason Chan, now of Gavroche, about food and martial arts.

WHAT MIKE ATE

That we suddenly have a local craze for artisan tavern-style pizza is perhaps the oddest fad to have hit our local food scene—nothing is more ubiquitous than this style of thin pizza. It’s on every street corner, seemingly, and that was my objection to the idea of shlepping out to Westmont for Kim’s Uncle Pizza—how many pretty good to very good pizzas would I pass by on my way there before beginning whatever the wait would be for the hot pizza of the moment? Not that I haven’t shlepped for many a distant pizza—Vito & Nick’s, Chester’s/Orsi’s, Roseangela—but I usually tried to make that part of a larger expedition to a far distant side of town.

Pizz’Amici, from Cecily and Billy Federighi who co-opened Kim’s (but ironically found Westmont a long commute), is a lot closer than all of those—it’s on Grand near Ogden—but it still touted 3-hour waits when it opened. So I was in no hurry. But a friend announced online that he had a reservation (reservation for thin crust pizza!), and so I jumped on it and went. Located in a bit of an Italian restaurant neighborhood, Salerno’s just down the street, Mart Anthony’s around the corner, I was immediately charmed by the 50s Italian look of the joint—like the kind of place where Clemenza would leave a pistol in the men’s for your dinner with the Turk. The pizza is very thin and very crisp, no layers to the dough but just a flat, walnut-brown cracker crust. The toppings—the menu advises no more than three for structural reasons—were measured out perfectly, not the glacier of cheese you so often get, and the sausage and the tomato sauce were bright and lively. It’s quite a good pizza, and I can’t think of an exact comparison—in thinness it resembles Pat’s, in crackeriness it’s a bit like Roseangela or a well-done Candlelite, but really, it shows how much variation is possible in such a restricted style. That said, if you get there and the wait is hours, I would advise you to just walk into Salerno’s, a good old school tavern crust pizza place. Those kinds of places are all over town.

Avaspi Anatolian Tapas is a pretty new Turkish, or perhaps Kurdish, restaurant on Belmont, I think located where Fahlstrom’s used to be near Racine. It’d make for a cool neighborhood first date spot, as it’s dark and romantically lit (a bit less romantic as people bust out their phone flashlights to read the menu). Anyway, despite the promising-sounding name (I was eager to discover all kinds of new things that qualified as “Anatolian tapas”) the menu is pretty typical Turkish dishes—we got haydari (labneh cheese dip) as a starter, with fresh baked bread, and steak and chicken kebabs (steak was decent, but I was genuinely impressed by the tender and juicy chicken, the grill man knows what he’s doing). Anyway, not a groundbreaker, but it made for a very nice Friday night out for this old married couple.