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From Eating Out
Posted by Michael Nagrant, May 10, 2008 at 2:00 PM
It seems like every year one of my favorite Pakistani restaurants burns down. Two years ago it was Khan BBQ, my favorite spot to grab green chili slathered charcoal tandoor fired chicken boti. The fire turned what was once a dingy smoky cabbie joint, thick with smoke from poor ventilation, into a relatively elegant peach colored banquet hall with a chandelier that would be at home in the Taj Mahal.
Last year, apparently due to faulty wiring, my other go-to spot, Sabri Nihari, burned down. Unlike Khan BBQ, the new incarnation, a narrow El car-wide corridor of a restaurant outfitted with more mirrors than a ballet studio, is a step down from the old, pure white Liberace-like garishness of the old spot. The owners assured me this was a temporary location, though it’s been open for over a year now, so maybe not.
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From Eating Out
Posted by Michael Nagrant, May 2, 2008 at 2:15 PM
Screw the Michelin guide and its ilk. Like the SAT or personality tests, reductive rating systems that award mini constellations, forks, spoons, or pepper shakers can never see what's in a restaurant's heart.
The endurance of these systems often encourage readers to skip the meat of a review and go straight to the final number as an arbiter of whether they should call for reservations.
Some of these systems are just plain impossible. Consider the S. Pellegrino 50 Best Restaurants in the World. Did Gordon Ramsay U.K. really improve 11 spots in a year while its proprietor was out traveling the world berating and dehumanizing line cooks and restaurateurs? In one year, did Charlie Trotter's, which has been fine-tuning things for 20 years, really suck it up so bad as to drop from 31 to 38 and lose the title of Chicago's best restaurant to upstart Alinea?
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From Eating Out
Posted by Michael Nagrant, May 2, 2008 at 11:15 AM
In Chicago, we have not yet been blessed with a noodle god like Momofuku’s David Chang. We’ve instead had to settle for noodles from a handful of lower level deities, like Tony Hu at Chinatown’s Lao Szechuan or Vanna Gumtrontip at Spoon Thai. Last week, I discovered a new star to add to the mix. I may not actually know the star, as I didn’t get the chef’s name, but his fried duck noodle soup speaks quite well on his behalf.
Served at a new Argyle St./Little Vietnam storefront named Pho Xua, this bowl of soul is filled with a fresh nest of pliant egg noodles, a deep, rich ducky broth, and a fat, fried, crunchy-skinned duck leg, along with a garden of bok choy, scallions, and little earthy mushroom rafts. Slurping it down banished the seasonal mood swings I’d been indulging after a string of weeks of ubiquitous overcast, slate gray days of drizzle and chafing wind.
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From Required Eating
Posted by Michael Nagrant, April 25, 2008 at 10:30 AM
They say if you want people to pay attention all you have to do is put up signs that say “free beer” or “free pizza”. It seems the same holds true when you put pizza in your beer.
Walking around Chicago’s supreme liquor warehouse, Binny’s South Loop, I’d spotted a case off tri-color bottles labeled Mamma Mia Pizza Beer sporting the cheesy faces of a couple of floppy Chef Boyardee-style chef hatted folks dubbed Chef Tom and Chef Athena. Turns out Tom and Athena Seefurth are just as cheesy as their pictures suggest. A closer look confirmed this was an ale brewed with oregano, basil, tomato, and garlic. Intellectually, I wanted to wretch, but as a man who loves organ meat, I know you always find great eats in unexpected places.
Surely Chef Tom and Athena knew this, as the bottles were marketed as singles and not in multi-packs. For a $1.99, even if it tasted like Natural Light or Milwaukee’s Best, my wallet wouldn’t sweat it.
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From Eating Out
Posted by Michael Nagrant, April 24, 2008 at 3:30 PM
"Each of the 46 flavors spanning the international scene, from Jamaica (Fire Jerk, Rum BBQ) to Italy (Parmesan, Tomato Basil Pesto), is a study in balance and contrast."
Chicago's Wings Around the World is like the Baskin Robbins of Chicken Wings. When they opened in January of 2007, they had 34 flavors of wings. A year and a half later, another twelve have been added to honor their motto, “Flavors to Infinity”. Abeng Stuart founded the spot and concocted the sauces with his mother Lorna Greene and his manager Andre Palmer.
What’s crazy is that this isn’t some spot where they throw chicken in the deep fryer and haphazardly toss the half soggy/half crunchy overcrowded fried chicken with a drippy Franks Red Hot Sauce and margarine glaze. Each of the 46 flavors spanning the international scene, from Jamaica (Fire Jerk, Rum BBQ) to Italy (Parmesan, Tomato Basil Pesto), is a study in balance and contrast. The selection is a thoughtful cornucopia of glazes and seasonings spiked with the right amount of heat, sour, and sweet. The chicken itself is uniformly crunchy if deep fried, or soft, pliant, and smoky if you get the wings grilled. Of course, on this stretch of 35th street lined with a Churches, Popeyes, KFC, and a local JJ Fish and Chicken chain, you gotta bring the goods if you want to survive more than a year.
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From Eating Out
Posted by Michael Nagrant, April 19, 2008 at 1:00 PM
Rosario’s has a serious pig problem. There are little porky tchotchkes on the counter, statues of swine behind the counter, and a few huge piggy bank–looking porkers above the freezer case. Even the neon sign on the front of the building depicts a bunch of happy piglets jumping in to a grinder. Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything less from one of Chicago’s best Italian sausage makers.
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From Eating Out
Posted by Michael Nagrant, April 11, 2008 at 8:30 AM
Last week, Good magazine named Chicago’s Broadway as one of the tastiest streets in the U.S. Good magazine’s criteria said a best street features “exquisite food you can actually afford." Haute cuisine is out of the equation. That said, as usual, a bunch of dudes writing from the coasts (this time L.A.) get it wrong. Broadway’s not even the tastiest street in Chicago.
It may not even be in the top five. Off the top of my head, I say 18th Street, Devon Avenue, Clark Street, Halsted Street, and Milwaukee Avenue, amongst others, might be better. My gut says there’s no question that the real tastiest street of all though, is Western Avenue.
Western Avenue, which runs 23.5 miles, is the longest continuous street in the city of Chicago, but its strength goes beyond length. There’s a density and diversity that just can’t be beat.
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From Eating Out
Posted by Michael Nagrant, April 4, 2008 at 9:45 AM
Mercat a la Planxa: Jose Garces, former protégé of Stephen Starr and Douglas Rodriguez, took a break from building his mini-empire in Philly to unveil some Catalan tapas-style love on his hometown of Chicago at the newly refurbished Blackstone Hotel. The mod space outfitted with gleaming hexagonal tiles and mirrors etched with organic (think birds and leaves) motifs and bare hanging bulbs is one of the funkiest dining rooms to grace our austere storied hotels. The term “smoke filled rooms” actually originated in the Blackstone, and it used to refer to the cigar laden atmosphere in which party bosses once chose Warren G. Harding as a presidential nominee. Today it refers to the smoky romanesco sauces and salbitxada served with deep fried peppers, or the grill-marked succulent lamb chops and head-on shrimp from the grill. The rabbit agnolotti with black truffle may be my favorite dish of the year, and the restaurant itself is one of the best openings of 2008.
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From Eating Out
Posted by Michael Nagrant, March 28, 2008 at 11:00 AM
Rick Bayless, chef/owner of Chicago's Frontera Grill and Topolobampo, has me brainwashed. Inspired by his example for the last few years, I’ve been telling everyone that you either go regional Mexican or you go home.
If the shadow of a Chipotle and their swaddled infant-sized burritos fell across my path, I’d consider taking a shower. Scarfing down Oaxacan moles and Yucatecan puerco pibil meant I was living right; chewing on chimichangas and noshing on Nachos Belgrande, not so much. Then a few weeks ago, I discovered Mexican Inn.
Mexican Inn is a 47-year-old corner joint located in the shadow of the Chicago skyway. It’s in a south side neighborhood called the East Side, an island of land separated from the rest of the city by the Calumet River and surrounded by behemoth factories with flatulent smokestacks. The East Side is closer to Indiana than it is to downtown. It’s a place most Chicagoans never stop for, though many drive through when the tollway gets backed up.
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From Eating Out
Posted by Michael Nagrant, March 21, 2008 at 11:00 AM
When people find out I’m a food writer, they always ask me what my favorite restaurant is. I always respond that answering the question is like asking me who my favorite child is. I usually ask them what kind of food they’re looking for and give them a top three list of options for that particular cuisine.
Truth is, though, if some hungry felon held me up at gunpoint and needed to know my top five favorite spots, Hot Doug’s: The Sausage Superstore would absolutely make the list.
Owner Doug Sohn, a culinary school grad, brings his chops to bear on the humble hot dog. He serves the best Chicago style salad dog in the city. But, it’s not the basic dog I come for. It’s the duck fat fried French fries glistening with sea salt and the custom sausages with ridiculous luxury ingredients.
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