1. BOOK NEWS: BRINDILLE, JUNE 8
At last! I’ve been working on setting up a special event—maybe a series of them, we’ll see—and I’m excited to say that there will be one hosted by a chef who’s such a big part of the history told in my book, Carrie Nahabedian, at Brindille on Monday afternoon, June 8 from 1 to 4 pm. There will be a Q&A with me hosted by Monica Eng (also part of the history in my book), plus food from Brindille and drinks by Peter Vestinos (Bisous, Sparrow). Tickets, which include a copy of the $36 book which of course I will sign, are $50 and can be had here. (If you already have it, now you’ll have another one for a holiday gift! But I’ll happily sign the copy you already have as well.) I think it will be a unique and fun dive into the history of restaurants in Chicago with a Q&A host who knows the scene deeply and a chef who was there. So I hope to see you there—click on the ad below to get your ticket (and if you get the newsletter version, my apologies for the fact that the link from the ad accidentally went to Meathead’s book, but the one in this paragraph goes to the right place).
2. ALINEA ALINEA, OH HAVE YOU SEEN ‘LINEA
Grant Achatz has been posting a lot about what he’s doing new and differently at Alinea—go here for the stories behind three of the new dishes. Grimod at Understanding Hospitality checks out—is it Alinea 3.0 now? His contention is that Alinea had become a spot for first-time tourists more than a place repeat diners would go to view evolution:
The classic bites, centered on crowd-pleasing flavors, were a bulwark. Over time, their power faded, and, even when the kitchen tried offering what amounted to a steak course, the results were uninspiring. Somewhere in their ceaseless pursuit of provocation, the chefs lost total touch with deliciousness. “Performance,” indeed, formed a fatal crutch. They seemed completely siloed off from a larger movement toward unique ingredient sourcing and/or cultivation. Everything had to be transformed into something it was not rather than striking, honestly, with some superlative expression of its essence.
So is that changing as Achatz changes the menu?
A beeswax-coated surface—irregularly rippled, faintly sticky to the touch (and to the bottom of one’s glass)—forms the heart of the design. Wax candles rise above it. Weighty, somewhat ominous black orbs sit upon it. A letter, sealed with a bee-emblazoned wax stamp, sits before each diner.
Nobody dares to break the seal until, 15 minutes later (once everyone has been seated), we are instructed to do so. In the meantime, it’s not hard to surmise that the orb, with its concentric grooves, nests multiple dishes. I would never have guessed there would be seven contained inside it: an opening sequence that—connecting the thematic dots—is referred to as the “Hive.” Following the presentation of each component, patrons also get a peek at what comes next (the identity of which they can learn by following along on the menu contained within the envelope).
First, there’s the “Spring Onion Cream,” which combines the titular element with sweet-and-sour ramps, a charred ramp top butter, nuggets of golden honey, and a dash of amontillado. On the palate, the resulting effect is beautifully creamy and immediately soothing. Bits of crunch and bursts of oxidative tang provide definition. However, the core expression is one comforting, lip-smacking allium taken to a sweet extreme without ever proving sickly. This is a highlight—and not the kind of cooking I typically associate with Alinea.
With reviewers pretty much having stepped away from exploring Achatz’s restaurants—unlike the days when Phil Vettel turned up for each new Next menu—Grimod is the only one I know of looking at it in depth, so a few excerpts here can only give you a hint—a taste.
For comparison, here’s Achatz talking about the same set of dishes, The Hive.
3. OXHEART AND BOATSWAIN
That was a fake name I invented for a gastropub circa the Longman & Eagle days. And now we have Ox Bar & Hearth, which is not a gastropub but a place crafting midwestern, farm to table food—while, to judge by the time I went, the burger on the menu flies out of the kitchen. Anyway, John Kessler reviews it at Chicago mag:
At Lincoln Park’s Ox Bar & Hearth, which he owns with Alain Uy, Asbaty prepares an earnest farm-to-table menu from an open kitchen. The ingredients come from local producers whenever possible — even the cocktail menu will draw your attention to the mix of spirits in its Negroni riff, all distilled in the Midwest. That ain’t nothing compared with the veggies. Ask this chef about the provenance of a carrot, and you’re suddenly on a first-name basis with the farmer.
Good thing Asbaty also walks the walk. There’s no “secret” to his roast half chicken, other than that he seasons it well in advance of service, then cooks it over a hearth with adjustable-height grates so that the skin crisps while the juices stay intact. It’s a modest miracle.
4. TWOSHI
Michael Nagrant reviews two sushi spots. First, Tengoku Aburiya:
Tengoku isn’t fancy. It has your standard black highlights, dusty blonde woods, and a lantern and banner here and there featuring Japanese script.
But there’s a pulsing energy. The servers and the food runners mimic that energy on an individual basis, explaining everything they drop off in detail, including instructions on how to consume certain things. They do this without making you feel like a rube.
The black cod has a mirin-like sweetness and a mica-like flakiness punched up by pickled scallion.
Then, Jinsei Motto, which moved out of CH Distillery (that sushi counter is now called Joto) and to Logan Square:
The foyer at Jinsei has a cooler featuring the flayed carcasses of aging snapper. It looks like a futuristic Dutch still life of wild game as interpreted by AI that signals you’re not in for mushy maki and wildly inconsistent cuts of piscine flesh.
There is also a wood oven on the premises, a legacy of the previous restaurant Testaccio.
The kitchen is putting it to great use by firing vegetables like edamame and shrooms. I can’t remember the last time I ordered edamame at a sushi spot as I’ve mentally filed it in the free chips and salsa category of novice sushi consumer moves, but it’s clearly good because the guy next to me was housing his umami and lemon dusted soybeans like a vulture. He was clearly not on a first date or if he was there might not have been a second one after this because he was basically wearing the vegetable version of grills all up in his gums by the end of the feast.
5. SOTTO VON BISMARCK
Not sure what my headline means, it just came to me. Anyway, I met up with Nick Kindelsperger at Sotto in the basement of the Italian Village, and was surprised to learn that the chef was David Rodriguez, who was featured in this Fooditor piece years ago. He’s the reason that you’ll find things in a 100-year-old Italian restaurant that have ingredients like the spicy Korean paste gochujang:
Unlike The Village’s multiple-page tome two floors up, Sotto’s menu fits comfortably on a half sheet of paper. The contents are different, too. Sure, there’s pasta, but now it can come with gojuchang and lemongrass.
This menu is the work of chef de cuisine, David Rodriguez, Jr. I first met him at this family’s restaurant, Xocome Antojeria, a splendid Mexican restaurant on the Southwest Side. His dishes maintain the coziness of Italian and Italian-American cuisine, while adding punchy, unexpected flavors.
6. NOTES FOR A ROAD TRIP
And just in time, considering the weather as I write this, Titus Ruscitti talks about places to go in the Illinois River Valley area of Lasalle County:
As mentioned in many previous posts of mine, there’s lots of spots for fried chicken in the Illinois River Valley region. I’ve been to many of them but never got a chance to check out the Wedron Office until last year. It’s in the middle of nowhere (Pop. 140) but it’s far from hidden. Found on the outskirts of Ottawa, Illinois the Wedron Office has rustic supper club vibes. It stays packed pretty much all day, every day. Two of it’s big draws are fried chicken with a thinly coated cracker crisp crust as well as a freshly pounded breaded pork tenderloin sandwich which is pictured with a side of locally made “ravs” which is what they call tortellini in these parts. All of that plus a 1/2 order of onion rings and trip to the salad bar (I guess those survived covid after all) made for a blowout meal. Each dish was as perfectly fried as the next.
7. KRYPTEMPURONITE
Kevin Pang goes to Tempura Man in Schaumburg, from the team behind Chicago Ramen:
In the northwest suburbs, where the finest Japanese restaurants in Chicago are located, Tempura Man, located at 1606 E. Algonquin Rd. in Schaumburg, is the superhero-themed brainchild of Kenta Ikehata, the chef behind the popular Chicago Ramen chain.
Adorned in cape and mask and flying high on a crispy shrimp, Tempura Man is kitschy, no doubt. But behind the comic book aesthetics is a serious restaurant that takes its tempura frying seriously.
8. KIMSKI SCHMIMSKI
At WTTW, Daniel Hautzinger on Kimski‘s 10th anniversary. Chef Won Kim talks about why he likes collaborating with other chefs:
“I didn’t have time to go out to eat at other people’s places, so I would let them come here so I could eat their food. It was self-serving,” Kim says. His current menu at Kimski features products from friends around the city: Cariño tortillas to wrap duck breast in a ssam plate, Akahoshi Ramen noodles for black bean sauced jja jjang ramyun. The menu skews a bit more Korean than Polish these days, while still maintaining a fondness for disparate juxtapositions such as Asian-style dumplings topped with giardiniera and cheese sauce. The restaurant’s cultural fusion presaged Chicago spots based on other unexpected combos: Indian-Mexican, Cuban-Filipino, Colombian-Polish.
9. KOUKLAS, BANNOS AND AUDREY
Making punny Kukla Fran & Ollie headlines will last as long as Kouklas in Niles, from the Bannoses, does. (Audrey is managing partner Audrey Witte.) Anyway, here’s WBEZ on the Greek restaurant from former Purple Pig chef Jimmy Bannos Jr., and his dad of Heaven on Seven fame:
Many of the dishes are inspired by the traditional Greek cuisine Bannos Jr. grew up with. But these aren’t “fusion” dishes, Bannos clarifies. They’re “interpretations,” he says.
“It’s not like your grandma’s cooking,” [chef Kevin] Stack said. “I mean, the pastitsio recipe we’re doing is [Bannos Jr.’s] grandma’s recipe. But we’re just taking it up an extra level. We’re searing it in a pan, crisping it up.” The Greek “bolognese” dish is served with a dollop of béchamel foam.
10. MEXICAN-AMERICAN’S TEST KITCHEN
I didn’t know this until week, but Jonathan Zaragoza—I shouldn’t even have to mention his family’s restaurant, but I will, Birrieria Zaragoza—has been on the staff of America’s Test Kitchen since February, as “a member of America’s Test Kitchen’s Editor in Residence program, where he is developing rigorously tested, ATK-exclusive recipes alongside video, podcast, television, and cookbook projects.” One time I was at his family’s restaurant and he brought out a sandwich he’d been working on; it would have made my ten best list for that year, except it would have been a dick move to list something you couldn’t have unless you just happened to be there that day, like I was. Anyway, follow the link above and check out the two salsas he shows you how to make.
11. LISTEN UP
At Dish from Chicago magazine, they talk about things that bug them in restaurants. To be honest, I’ve never noticed the first one John Kessler complains about (busboys picking up your dirty plates while clutching, and sharing with you visually, someone else’s half-chewed schmutz), but it made me conscious of other things that bug me. Shortly after I went somewhere that had a burger on the menu but other, more interesting things, and asked the bartender (I was sitting at the bar to eat) what I should have that wasn’t the burger. Of course, she immediately started selling me on the burger… my own damn fault for bringing it into the conversation at all, I guess.
At The Dining Table, David Manilow always asks chefs their favorite places to dine. He calls out one Chicago classic in particular as having been the most consistently mentioned—let’s just say it’s the other, less expensive Michelin star in the 1700 block of Halsted.
Joiners talks to Zubair Mohajir, of Coach House, Lilac Tiger, Mirra, etc. etc.
The Chef’s Cut talks to a fellow Top Chef veteran, Afro-Caribbean chef Tristan Epps-Long of Houston.
IN MEMORIAM
Somebody on Twitter said you can’t tell the story of eating in Chicago without mentioning “cheezborgers” at the Billy Goat. Well, as someone who just told that story, I’d say you certainly can, culinarily—there’s nothing outstanding about their burgers. But in fact they get a mention in my book, at the beginning of Chapter 4 as I start to tell the story of Chicago having its own distinctive, non-French food culture—not for the burgers, but for a famous Saturday Night Live sketch that marked national recognition of post-Richard J. Daley Chicago as a unique city culture:
As every Chicagoan knows, [the sketch] was inspired by the Billy Goat Tavern on Lower Wacker Drive, with Chicago native [John] Belushi imitating Greek-accented owner Sam Sianis shouting “chee-borger” to the kitchen and telling customers “no fries, cheeps” and “no Coke, Pepsi” (SNL got that one backwards). The sketch, first aired in 1978, marked the ascendance of Chicago as a flavorful and distinctive local subculture on the American scene, a decade after Mayor Richard J. Daley made it best known for police beating up hippies at the Democratic convention. Now it was the city of John Hughes and Siskel and Ebert, Michael Jordan and Oprah.
Sam Sianis, nephew of original Billy Goat founder William Sianis, outlived his impersonator and lived long enough to see the Cubs win the World Series, ending the curse that began when the senior Sianis tried to take his pet goat to the ballpark. Sam Sianis was 91 when he died on Friday. Here’s the Sun-Times:
“My dad was always a person who lit up the room when he walked in, always in a good mood,” said Mr. Sianis’ son Bill Sianis, who, along with his brother Paul Sianis, has operated the family tavern since their father mostly retired about a decade ago.
“I think he became a part of Chicago because of how he was, a hardworking person, but also with a big heart,” Bill Sianis said.
Mr. Sianis opened the Billy Goat Tavern on Lower Michigan Avenue in 1964, three decades after his Uncle William “Billy Goat” Sianis opened its predecessor on West Madison Street.
It was at this subterranean location on Lower Michigan that Mr. Sianis became famous for telling customers in his thick Greek accent: “Cheezborger, cheezborger, cheezborger. Cheeps, no fries, Coke, no Pepsi,” thanks to a 1978 Saturday Night Live skit that mimicked him.
Mr. Sianis became an icon who could be found behind the bar or at the grill, often taking pictures with customers.
I don’t love the burger, but it’s hard to think of any Chicagoan who better embodied the spirit and the evolution of the city over the last half-century—from a hangout for hard-drinking journalists to an iconic stop for visitors.
WHAT MIKE ATE
It’s been several weeks since I’ve done reviews—thanks to Alexa for filling in week before last—and so let’s run through some recent things. The fanciest was my anniversary dinner; I had pretty well checked off my list of new places, Petite Edith and The Radicle and Creepies and so on, so I was trying to think where we could go. But the answer when there’s nothing new left is somewhere that’s not new—but the chef is. So 25-year-old North Pond, now under Cesar Murillo, was the logical choice. It turned out to be the first gorgeous day of the spring, so there were people in all the outdoor seats as people and their dogs went by.
Some things about North Pond never change—the arts and crafts room, a certain commitment to local produce of the moment, thus rhubarb turning up a couple of times (longtime chef Bruce Sherman was on the board of the Green City Market). The big change is that Murillo is adding more global flavors, mainly Mexican but at times hints of Asian. (Sherman had lived in India, but rarely pushed such flavors.) The result is a North Pond that belongs in a conversation with the likes of Topolobampo and Cariño more than other upscale, contemporary American restaurants.
Mostly I liked this a lot, starting with the amuse-bouche of a chicharron topped with salmon roe, perched on a cup of sort of a chorizo bisque. Sometimes the Mexican flavors could overpower, lacking the delicacy you expect in a tasting menu—there was something called a tetela, a triangle of masa stuffed with chevre and topped with wild mushrooms, sitting in a salsa verde. But the salsa verde was strongly acidic and salty, giving it more bite than the subtle goat cheese asked for. But generally I was impressed with the use of global flavors—probably my favorite course had little poached shrimp in a coconut-mustard seed broth, with texture provided by boondi crunch, an Indian crunchy snack like you might find in bhel puri. A very good, consistently interesting meal, and the service as always at North Pond was warm and highly accomplished.
I had a free night, and so I took off around 4:00 to try to get into Cerdito Muerto in Pilsen right when it opened. I succeeded and plopped myself at the bar, watching it quickly fill up behind me. The menu is very short—it made me kind of surprised that Louisa Chu had done a full review (which of course, was mainly about the family who opened the place in their grandmother’s house, rather than the food). But I ordered three things off the menu of tacos—a pastor taco, an arrachera quesadilla, and, enticed by a phrase I had never seen before. an asparagus taco (the bartender said it was a brand new addition to the menu, as if “ramp salsa” hadn’t already told me that). The last perhaps demonstrated why you haven’t heard of asparagus tacos, but I very much enjoyed the other two, all served on blue corn masa tortillas crisped up on the griddle. Chatting with the guy next to me, who turned out to be one of the family members (he said he grew up in the house). We talked about the transformation of the neighborhood, and then he wanted me to try the birria taco, so he had them send me one. It might have been the best of the bunch, tender goat in a tomato-chile broth.
A very short menu was also what I found popping into a place I’ve seen often on the way to other places in Logan Square—La Licor Panamericana. In this case, though, the menu seemed not just short, but incomplete—we ordered tropical drinks and then looked for something to eat, but (aimed mostly at soaking up what you’re drinking) the only thing that seemed appealing was an octopus, decently prepared, in a tomatoey sauce. I looked for something to go with it, but nothing appealed. You’re not going back to a place when you’ve run out of things to try… after one item.
Finally, I was way out in an uninteresting part of the world, needed a quick bite, and I suddenly had a perverse idea: McDonald’s! Specifically, the new Big Arch, made famous when CEO Chris Kempczinski nibbled at it gingerly like a vegan being handed a pani ca meusa. I don’t hate McD’s, though I think it basically tailors its food to the 8-year-old in us all: not much actual beef flavor or texture, gooey American cheese, and a lot of sugar (in the ketchup, etc.) to sell it to your 8-year-old brain. And basically, take that core taste/mouthfeel, more plastic cheese than raggedy beef, and put mayo and too much pepper on it, and you have the Big Arch, which is vaguely more grownup but, alas, not at all good. It’s also kind of a mess—too much sauce, too much gooey cheese that tried to slide the Quarter Pounder patty straight out of the bun. I didn’t even finish it, and I’m sure I won’t be inclined to try it again (but then all I ever have from Mickey D’s these days is the very occasional breakfast). Yet this Big Argh was not the worst part; I guess I haven’t actually been inside a McD’s in years because the new, soulless interior design, all generic grays and utterly free of any of the cartoon charm it still had when my kids were kids, felt like a bus station, including the other passengers hanging out there. Nothing about it—the ordering kiosk, having to ask for anything (not just ketchup but napkins), the sad and desultory mood inside—made me want to ever be there again.