Posts in the ‘Urban Fare’ Category

Publican, Fulton Market

Saturday, September 10th, 2011

he said:

After making our reservation months in advance, when it was finally time for our Friday date night at Publican, I was less than enthused. Summer was in full swing, and all I really wanted to do was have a low key dinner with my wife. Despite my desire to see what all the fuss was about, I just wasn’t in the mood for a fuss.

I didn’t want a scene. I just wanted something nice and relaxing. Turns out, Publican was the perfect place to go.

We sat outside on a night with perfect weather. We were away from the hubbub inside, and the meatpacking district, surprisingly, isn’t a bad place to be on a warm summer evening.

Making up for lost time

We started with a plate of pickles, and I was in love. The pickled cucumbers (most people call them pickles) were only okay. But the pickled asparagus and cauliflower were delightful. Sweet and surprising, I don’t know where these have been all my life.

Speaking of missing out on something, I’ve never had pork rinds. It wasn’t by accident, it was a conscious choice. But Publican is known for theirs so I had to try them. And I’m glad I did. They’re super crunchy with an awesome spicy salt rub and a texture that kind of reminded me of Cheetos. Only better. And louder. Did I mention they were crunchy?

Country Rib Confusion

For my main dish, I had the country ribs, which were unlike any rib I’d ever had. As in, I’m not sure they gave me the right dish. Who out there has had their ribs before? I expect ribs to show up in a neat line with a bit of meat between them. This cut reminded me more of a chop. Am I crazy, or did I get the wrong dish? Please, if you can, enlighten me.

That confusion not withstanding, my “ribs” were great. They had a salty and sweet sauce that worked perfectly.

If it’s a scene, it’s my kind of scene

I’m so glad we went. The food was on par with what I’d expect for a neighborhood swarming with foodies, but the atmosphere was much more low key and simple than I’d anticipated.   The food and drinks (and my wife’s company) were so spectacular that I would have enjoyed Publican even if it had been the scenester scene I was expecting. When I’m surrounded by such delicious treats, even the hugest of deals can’t distract me.*

*Cryptic, huh? Read on and you’ll understand.

she says:

If, ten years ago, someone had told me that they planned to open up a restaurant in the heart of Chicago’s meat-packing district, I’d have had some serious doubts.  I mean, who would want to dine beneath the shadows of those industrial slaughter-houses, amid the smell of butchered meat? I’ll tell you who.  Everyone!

He’s right.  The area – with hipstastic eateries like Girl and the Goat, Publican, and Maude’s Liquor Bar – has developed into a full-blown scene.  Still, it’s funny to hear a relative newcomer (my husband) talk about the district as if it’s passe.  It’s a funny phenomena for those of us with a longer memory.

True to the roots, Publican is an homage to the meat-packing district’s glory days, if such a thing exists.  I read that they bring in a whole pig each Friday – alive or dead, I do not know, but I believe they butcher on site -  and, from what I could tell, every ounce of that oinker, from snout to tail, is served up in one way or another.

The inside of the restaurant, cavernous with hanging globe lights and large communal tables, exudes the warmth and comradery of a German brauhaus.   Along the sides of the room, gated stalls (styes?) offer a slightly more private dining experience.  To  ensure I adequately captured the scene so I could tell you all about it, I walked around the perimeters of the room several times .  After my third lap, I ran into my husband on his way back from the bathroom.  “Are you stalking?”, he asked, only to be met by my blank, confused stare.  As is sometimes the case, I had no clue what he was talking about.  Until, of course,  he tilted  his head towards a nearby sty where I spotted one Robert Downey Jr. (!!!) seated with a group of friends.  One cool thing about my husband: he has a real knack for spotting celebrities, even if sometimes they’re just random actors who have been in one obscure commercial.

But I digress.  Here’s the thing - there’s no shortage of Publican reviews out there so I’m going to keep mine short and to the point.  If you’re hungry for meat, like to eat organs, and love, love, love all things pig, you’re going to be in hog heaven at Publican.  If you’re a vegetarian, even one who thinks they can find something yummy on almost every menu (like me), you are out of luck, my friend.  Most the vegetable courses are cooked in some sort of animal fat or with some animal part.  Interesting pickles are great, but you’re probably not going to find enough to eat or anything extraordinary about the vegetarian food you do find.  Vegetarian fare is not their gig.  Consider yourself warned.

One more thing – and I’m shocked that my husband didn’t bring this up -  I must applaud Publican’s beer menu.  It’s one of the most eclectic, extensive and all-around impressive selections I’ve ever seen.  It was, for me, a saving grace, along, of course, with the white fedora that Robert Downey Jr. was sporting.


Acre, Andersonville

Tuesday, November 23rd, 2010

Photo courtesy of Urban Daddy

he said:

It seemed to happen overnight.  Charlie’s Ale House turned into Acre.  Charlie’s had been a quiet Andersonville mainstay for a long time. People seemed to like it, despite its quasi-Applebee’s atmosphere and menu.   But let’s not dwell on the past.

Thankfully, the new owners left the antique bar and beautiful old light fixtures. As near as I can tell, they didn’t do much to the interior, other than take down some decorations and slap some gray paint on the walls. It has a similar feel, though it’s  a bit more austere than good old Charlie’s.

As it turns out, the new owners aren’t exactly new.  The fine folks behind Anteprima are in charge now. What I didn’t know until I read this article was that they owned Charlie’s all along. Apparently, they’re just updating things and bringing over the chef from Anteprima to enliven the menu.

Acre is split into two restaurants. The Tap Room and the Dining Room have two completely different menus, and separate kitchens.  On one side: upscale pub grub and flat-screen TVs. On the other: American gourmet, fireplaces and artwork.  You can’t order from the Dining Room menu if you’re eating in the Tap Room, and vice versa.

The Tap Room

The beer menu is awesome. Not Hopleaf awesome, but there’s thirty beers on taps and a plethora of bottles. Our meal started with the baked feta, which was really good. Creamy and a bit tart, with a texture of cottage cheese.

Things went downhill fast when we got to the main dish. I ordered the turkey pastrami, and was kicking myself for not going with the burger.  Having lived in New York City, I  expect a pastrami sandwich to be loaded with artery-clogging goodness. What landed in front of me had as much girth as a PB&J. There were two slices of turkey pastrami between the bread. Seriously–two fricking slices. It tasted bland, and everything else on the sandwich overpowered the meat. My imaginary Jewish grandmother would be appalled.

The Dining Room

Meanwhile, on the other side of the wall…

Much better experience. If this was one of those old westerns, where the sheriff draws a line in the sand and says “which side are you on?”, I’d go with the Dining Room. Even though there are no flat screen TVs showing sporting events.

Here, I ordered the Amish chicken breast, and it was perfect. Tender and juicy, perfectly seasoned, and with one of the crispiest, tastiest skins I’ve ever had. I can’t say enough.

And the service matched the food. Whereas in the Tap Room, I’d label the staff as a little “unconcerned,” in the Dining Room, our waiter was attentive and knowledgeable.

I’ve never been to a place with a split personality, but I’d say Acre has one. Good and bad, fine dining and pub grub, delicious and disappointing. It’s hard to know what to make of this place.

There’s definitely enough potential here to warrant many return trips.  I hope they figure out a more consistent approach.   I feel like the neighborhood has traded a bedrock institution for something with more promise, but also more frustration. Each time I go, I’ll be hoping for the former, but preparing myself for the latter.

she said:

He’s right, Acre does seem a tad schizo with its two-restaurants-in-one approach.  My hunch: they’re hedging their bets with Charlie’s devotees.  The Tap Room menu is way more sophisticated than Charlie’s menu, but it hasn’t lost its hearty comfort-food appeal or its reasonable prices.  I was a huge fan of that feta dish he mentioned, but it wasn’t on the menu the last time we visited.  The selection changes daily, depending on what’s in season.  A good thing, no doubt, but be careful with your heart and don’t get too attached.

While I’m all about swapping fish sticks for oysters on the half-shell (which are actually on the menu), my sense is that the Tap Room is still finding its sea legs.  In addition to shabby service, my vegetarian mac and cheese came sprinkled with bacon bits, but there were so few that I’m pretty sure they caught their mistake and tried to remove the the evidence.  I’m on to you, Tap Room.  Like a hawk.  Oh also, when the waiter took my dish away, he dropped the cheesy spoon onto my dress.  Accidents happen, but the dish should have been taken off the bill.

The Dining Room has its act together, though.  I had the turnip graten and the celery root risotto.  Both were divine and both came topped with a hard-boiled quail egg, a fact for which I have no explanation.  The decor is rustic and modern (don’t listen to my guy; it’s changed drastically), with tractor seats and wagon wheels on the walls.

We’ve been to Acre three times since it opened up a month ago.  I forgave the mac and cheese incident and am very excited about our new neighbor.   Don’t get me wrong, Charlie’s was alright, I guess, but – sorry, Charlie – Acre is just so much cooler.


Tiny Lounge, Lincoln Square

Wednesday, November 10th, 2010

she said:

Truffle.  Cheese.  Fries.  Combine these ingredients and what do you have?  Heaven?  Bliss?  A divine trifecta?  You’d think so, right?  Not so much.  The Truffle Cheese Fries at Tiny Lounge were a waste of calories.  They needed salt and without the help of tamarind ketchup (which does not come with the fries, but which is available if you ask), they were as bland as melba toast dipped in milk, and almost as limp.

Next came the Pizzetta Margerita, a crispy thin-crust pizza (topped with mozzarella, basil and tomato) served on a wood cutting board.  Sound like a winner?  Yeah?  Wrong again, sucka.  It, too, was rather light in the flavor loafers.  Instead of tomato sauce, the pizza is coated in herb-infused oil which just made it greasy.

Normally, I’d never order fries and pizza in one meal, but I had no choice.  They were the only vegetarian options.  Wait.  That’s not true.  There was another version of the fries, this one served with garlic mayo and the tamarind ketchup, and there was another pizza.  A truffle cheese pizza.  You can see my dilemma.

So, I must really hate Tiny Lounge, right?  Wrong.

The lounge is cozy and candlelit, with a modern vibe and very nice staff.  The drink menu offers dozens of classic and original cocktails, an extensive beer list and quality wines.  Clearly, drinks are their specialty.  If approached as a cocktail lounge, rather than a restaurant, Tiny Lounge is the cat’s pajamas.  It’s nice that they have a menu, rather than bags of old peanuts.  Plus, it’s not their fault that I’m a vegetarian.

I’ll definitely be back.  My prediction:  after a couple of their specialty Hemingway cocktails (flor de cana aged rum, turbinado sugar, fresh lime juice), those fries will look (and taste) pretty damn good.

he said:

Here’s the thing about Tiny Lounge: we entered under false pretenses. We were going just for dinner. We’d made some…questionable choices the night before and didn’t really feel like drinking it up. Had we known that this was a bar with a gourmet grub menu, we might have saved our Groupon.

We had a hard time using up our $40 deal without ordering from their expensive drink menu. A Dark and Stormy, a classic mixed drink in the Florida rum-bum tradition, was the extent of our alcohol bill. Nice and tasty, though at $9, it’s a bit pricy for your typical Floridian rum-bum.

Salt-licked

My beautiful wife loves her salt.  A whole lot. So when she complains that the fries weren’t salty, that’s not saying much. I thought the fries were great. They had a different flavor profile than the McDonald’s variety – - more rich, more interesting, more layered. They were superior BECAUSE they weren’t salty. Salt would have taken away from all the savory stuff that was going on there.

Slide-Slipping

For dinner, I had the Tiny Burgers, which are sliders.  These little guys are definitely the star of the menu, as I saw them on almost every table in the joint. And they are exactly what I’d want to eat at the end of a long night of Hemingways and Dark & Stormys (Stormies?).

The burgers come on a great pretzel bun, with good angus beef, smoked bacon and delicious cheddar.  The accompanying tamarind ketchup and garlic mayo came together in a weird melange that tasted like barbecue sauce, which has no place on a burger if you ask me. And it could have used something to crsip it up, like onions or a pickle.

I’d head back to Tiny Lounge, but I’m not going to make a point of it. I feel like I’ve already sampled half of their menu, and there was nothing to fall in love with.


Harvest Pumpkin Soup, Au Bon Pain

Monday, October 18th, 2010

she said:

I would be remiss if I did not urge you run to your closest Au Bon Pain immediately to buy as much Harvest Pumpkin Soup as you can consume before turning into the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.

This time of year, I love all things pumpkin (pie, ravioli, beer, latte, you name it).  This soup gets the blue ribbon.   It lacks the baby food texture of most pumpkin and squash soups.  Instead, it’s brothy with tiny silky particles of pumpkin.  It strikes a perfect balance between sweet and savory and avoids tasting like liquefied pie.  Just try it, you’ll see.  Otherwise, would I be spending my Sunday evening reviewing a huge corporate chain that thousands of people already know about?  No.  I would not.

I owe this recommendation to my dear friend Katie, who’s been urging me to try the soup for months.  I wish I hadn’t waited so long; Harvest Pumpkin is seasonal so I’m not sure how much longer Au Bon Pain will be offering it.

This post, I realize, strays from our dual perspective approach.   That’s because, other than jack-o-lanterns, my husband doesn’t like things made out of pumpkin.  Also, I’ve just spent the last few hours trying to replicate Au Bon Pain’s recipe and our kitchen is totally trashed…. right in time for dinner, which I didn’t make and for which I have no more room.  I’m full of my failed attempts to imitate Au Bon Pain’s masterpiece.

Here’s the recipe I used:

Harvest Pumpkin Soup (delicious but not as good as Au Bon Pain’s)
~2-lb Sugar Pumpkin
~2-lb Butternut squash
S&P
2 Tbsp Butter (salted)
1 cup Sweet Onion, diced
1/2 cup Carrots, diced
1/3 cup Celery, diced

Fresh diced ginger, about 1 ½ teaspoons

1 Tbsp Ground Cinnamon

A few dashes of allspice, maybe 1/2 tspn

A few dashes of ground ginger, maybe 1 tspn

3 Tbsp Tomato Paste (concentrated)
1/4 cup Brown Sugar, packed
8 cups Vegetable Broth (I use the little squares that you mix with boiling water)
1 cup Half & Half

Preheat your oven to 400. Slice the pumpkin and squash from stem to bottom and remove seeds and pulp. Season with S&P and roast on a cookie sheet for 45 – 60 minutes, or until tender.

Ten minutes before the pumpkin and squash are done roasting, in a large stock pot, melt the butter. Add the onions, carrots, and celery and saute until the onions are soft and translucent. Then add the ginger, cinnamon, tomato paste, and brown sugar. Stir to combine heat over medium until the sugar is dissolved. Add the vegetable stock and bring the pot to a boil. When the pumpkin and squash are tender (pumpkin may be more so than the squash), scoop out all of the flesh and add it to the pot, along with the Half & Half. Return everything to a boil. Using a slotted spoon, scoop out as much as you can of the vegetables and pumpkin and squash, and liquefy it.  I used an immersion blender.  Return the liquefied veggies to the pot.  Blend to your desired consistency.  When everything is smooth and heated through, taste and add salt, cinnamon, pepper and ground ginger as needed.

This recipe is taken, but adjusted, from the blog From Ketchup to Chutney.  She used Buttercup squash.  Au Bon Pain uses Kombocha.


Gaztro Wagon, Edgewater (for now!)

Thursday, July 29th, 2010

(This is not an image of the gaztro wagon.  I just think it's neat.)

she said:

The other day, my brother asked me why Chicago doesn’t have food trucks.  He’s a college student in Philly, where food trucks abound and are his primary food source.  At the time,  I was stumped.  It’s a good question.  Why wouldn’t Chicago – a city known for the quality and quantity of its restaurants, a place that prides itself on culinary cutting edginess - be a part of this trend?  Why wouldn’t we embrace an amenity that so many other major cities have enjoyed for years?

I did some research.   There is an answer.   In Chicago, food trucks are illegal.  Sort of.  Can you sell food from a truck?  Yes. Otherwise what would you tell all the children (think of the children!) who, upon hearing the tinny chime of pop-goes-the weasel, drop whatever they’re doing, no matter how important, and run for blocks in a mad and desperate search for ice cream?  Luckily, you needn’t tell them anything because selling food from a truck is Daley-approved, as long as the food isn’t prepared (in any way, shape or form) inside the truck itself.

So, technically, that answers the question of why we don’t have said trucks, but it’s not good enough for me.  Apparently I’m not alone.  As it turns out, there is an entire mobile food movement and the revolution has been brewing right under my nose.  Who knew?  (Lots of people, I guarantee.)  Anyway, Chef Matt Maroni, the founder of Chicago Food Trucks, is at the head of this movement and he’s opened up a sandwich shop, the Gaztro Wagon,  just around the corner.  His approach targets an urban market with a focus on naan-wiches (sandwiches made with Indian flatbread, rather than sand), filled with interesting options like wild boar belly, pork shoulder and even New England Lobster.  As of a few days ago, the “wagon” was a small stationary storefront with limited seating, but the plan is for the operation to go mobile and become a fully functioning travelling restaurant with limitless seating.  You’ll even be able to follow the wagon via Twitter or sign up to receive text alerts on their current location.   First, Maroni’s proposal to change the current restrictions must be accepted by city council.  In the meantime (and this is breaking news), he’ll be able to sell, but not prepare,  his naan-wiches from the truck.  This compromise will require him to reload at the Edgewater store every few hours.  It’s a work in progress, but one with a whole lot of momentum.  Pun intended.

As for the naan-wiches, they sure are tasty.  I went with my friend Laura (my guy was working, so I got him one to go).  We split the portabella naan-wich – which was filled with arugula pesto, goat cheese, and roasted shallots on top of a very flavorful and meaty portabella mushroom – and the vegetarian cappicola (hold the cappicola), filled with fresh mozzarella, basil and tomato.  On the side, we ordered a bag of homemade plantain chips.  (A woman behind the counter peeled and sliced box after box of fresh plantains while we ate.)   The chips, cut length-wise, were sprinkled in sea salt, and served with a pureed herb dip that looks like pesto but tastes like it contains mint, sage, ginger and vinegar.  I’m guessing - I asked what was in the sauce and was told, ”herbs.”

Laura and I also ordered a container of refreshing watermelon gazpacho, perfect for a hot summer day, but even more perfect for a hot summer day spent in the beautiful streets of this beautiful city.  Gaztro Wagon, yummy as it was, probably isn’t a destination spot, but that’s the whole point.  They’ll bring the delicious to you. 

he said:

As a former New Yorker, let me say I approve of all sorts of food trucks. I didn’t love hot dog carts (dirty water dogs, we called them) but halal trucks are the bomb. I still remember making post-bar cab stops at a food truck in midtown and having to wait in a line of other cabs for the chicken shawarma.

So when my beautiful lady told me she was going to pick up some food at a gastro-wagon of some sort, I was thrilled. I took a look at the menu and knew right off that I was going to love the slow-roasted lamb with gyro fixings.

Don’t know much about gastronomy

As she said, I was stuck at home working. I didn’t get to experience any of it, other than the food. You can imagine, can’t you dear reader, why it was somewhat confusing when she tried to explain to me that the Gaztro Wagon wasn’t a wagon? I mean, it has the word wagon right in it. It should have some mode of transport. The more I sought clarity on this issue, the less helpful she was.  I think she was hungry.

But I do know that I love the food

Thank goodness I had my delicious naan-wich to help me deal with my frustration. I was entirely right about the lamb with gyro fixings. It was awesome. The lamb was amazing, cooked perfectly. They could have served that meat in a steakhouse. And the fresh tomatoes (baked a little bit, I believe) and tzatziki sauce were awesome. It was the most delicious, well-made gyro I’ve ever had.

If I had one quibble, it was that the naan didn’t do much for me as a bread. I couldn’t tell much difference between it and a pita. But honestly, with the tastiness going on inside the bread, I wasn’t paying that much attention.

Thankfully, I also got to try a couple plantain chips. Equally awesome. The herb sauce was amazing. My coworker tried a bite, pointed at the sauce and said, “Now that’s something I won’t be able to live without.”

Maybe one of these days I’ll actually see the Gaztro Wagon on the street.  I have high hopes for the mobile food revolution.  Maybe I’ll even be able to find me some some shawarma.