The Restaurant Right Below Me
This is my last post as a resident of Chicago. As I write this, I am on a train with all of the clothes I own (and some of Empanada Boy’s) to New York City. I’ll arrive in time for the orientation for the M.A. program at Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism. EB will join me in a couple weeks. We have spent the past week or so trying to say goodbye to our friends and relatives in Chicago. We’ve even said goodbye to some of our favorite restaurants, like Tanoshii, the sushi place where we had our first date (which I didn’t know was a date). But I decided my last post in Chicago would be devoted to a restaurant that EB and I had never visited until last weekend. Though we had never eaten there, we were intimately familiar with it. We know this restaurant almost as well as we know our own kitchen because we live above it. And after two years of smelling the sausage frying every morning, we decided to stop in for breakfast at Ravenswood Restaurant. My friend Berry Jamb, who lives in the neighborhood and couldn’t believe we hadn’t tried it, came along.
You may be wondering why it took us so long to try a restaurant that was just sitting there below us. There are a number of reasons. First, it isn’t open very late for dinner, so we usually turn to Erick’s Tacos across the street. Secondly, I almost always prefer to make food in my house if I’m not going out for a special meal. We never order in, and when we do pick up food nearby, we almost always bring it home. Finally, I always assumed that Ravenswood Restaurant was a dive-y diner, serving greasy home fries and mediocre omelets, which is how it looks from the outside. In fact, Ravenswood Restaurant probably does have these items on its rather encyclopedic diner menu. What I didn’t know is that it also has a fantastic section devoted to Mexican and Latin American breakfast specialties, obviously the foods the cooks and servers actually eat at home. Needless to say, we ordered from that section.
Berry Jamb had raved about the Guatemalan breakfast (second picture from the top), which he ordered again and let us sample. It comes with scrambled eggs, black beans, fried plantains, chorizo or longaniza links and warm corn tortillas. The longaniza that Berry ordered was definitely the highlight of the dish— full of spice and juicy flavor. EB struck gold with the Guatemalan chilaquiles (pictured on top). These were thin layers of fried corn tortillas spread with a smoky chili-infused sauce and stretchy cheese. Rice and refried beans came with it. My dish— Huevos Mexicanos— was eggs scrambled with tomato and green pepper with sides of beans, rice and corn tortillas. It was a little less enlightening than my compatriots’ meals, but it could beat a standard diner breakfast any day.
Perhaps the most delightful part of the meal was the two homemade salsas served alongside the food. The red was hot and dusty from smoked peppers. The green one was even hotter, burning our mouths and making our eyes water. Our waitress came by to ask about our meals: “Is the salsa too hot for you?” “No way,” we replied. And she smiled. It’s the little things, like the extra heat in the salsa that let you know you’re eating something approaching authentic. And to think, it was waiting just two floors below us all along.
Ravenswood Restaurant
1968 W. Lawrence Ave.
Chicago, IL 60640
773.561.9010
As many of you know, I spent a summer in Spain in high school, traveling with some good friends who were on a sabbatical and taking care of their kids. My love of regional Spanish cuisine definitely began during that summer as we moved from Barcelona to Menorca to the Pyrenees, Asturias and the Basque Country. But it wasn’t until I returned to Madrid as a student during my sophomore year of college that started my simultaneous study of Spanish food. I took a cooking class in the home of a wealthy Spanish woman whose father had been high up in the Franco regime and who had learned to cook from the Spanish dictator’s own chef. In hands-on sessions, my classmates and I learned to make three kinds of gazpacho, pollo al ajillo, paella mixta, fabada asturiana, pisto manchego and much more. We also learned to make classic tapas like tortilla española, patatas a la brava, ensaladilla rusa and champiñones al ajillo. Everything we made in our teacher’s kitchen was delicious. But what I didn’t realize was how difficult it would be to recreate those flavors back home in the U.S. Like the baguettes of Paris, the ingredients of Spain— the tomatoes, the olive oil, the cured meats— have a unique flavor that comes from the way they are grown, produced and packaged. 
I have not been back to Spain since then, but I dream of being there. And I am always looking for a quick way back to those flavors. Because I’ve built up these expectations, tapas restaurants tend to be disappointing. That’s what I found at most of the so-called Spanish restaurants in Chicago. But everyone always asked me if I had tried 
It was the Earl of Sandwich’s birthday, so we ordered him a trio of flans. Each was a different flavor, but the all tasted like the raspberry syrup that was poured over them. A more sensitive saucing to highlight, instead of mask, the individual flavors, would have yielded better results. We also tried this bread pudding, which was good but tasted more like a dense, rich cake.
It’s been two weeks since I last wrote a blog entry. I skipped over the past two weeks because I had little time to visit any restaurants, and as a result, little to say. Empanada Boy and I have also been very busy in the run-up to our wedding (three weeks from today!). This past weekend was a particularly momentous one: EB’s parents, his siblings and my mom were all in town to witness and celebrate his conversion to Judaism. Yes, as of Friday, EB is officially a Jew! The parents, EB and I drove out to a synagogue in Wilmette where EB met privately with a panel— called a bet din— made up of one rabbi and two cantors. They asked him questions to be sure he was ready to go ahead with the whole thing. Then we all went over to the ritual bath, or mikveh, where he was given instructions to strip, clean himself and immerse himself into the bath, saying some important prayers in between. The male cantor witnessed his immersion, but the rest of us could hear him recite the prayers. When he was done with the last one, we all called out: “mazel tov!” It was an emotional and exciting process that left us feeling hungry for lunch. What could be a more appropriate stop than a restaurant serving kosher Israeli and Morrocan food? 
Our elation and emotional expenditure made us ravenous, and the delicious smell when we walked into the restaurant added to our eagerness to get food to our table. A tasty array of pickled vegetables, including beets, cucumbers and a hot pepper kept us occupied until we ordered appetizers. We decided to start with Moroccan Cigars— thin, crispy, sticks, reminiscent of Chinese egg rolls, which came filled with beautifully spiced ground beef. Falafel, served with hummus was our second appetizer. The freshly made balls had a crackly textured, and were well-seasoned. EB and I agreed these were the best we’d tried in Chicago. Feeling a little more sated, we settled down to await the arrival of our entrées. 
Tofutti Cutie ordered the eye-catching salad combination plate (pictured above), which came with hummus, Moroccan eggplant salad, purple cabbage and baba ghannouj. All were tasty, but I especially enjoyed the eggplant salad, which was rich a flavorful. A taboun is the oven used to make pita. And, indeed, the pita served on the side was exceptionally thick and fluffy with a nice char. Popover tried the fish pita made with tilapia. EB, Mango Mama and I were looking forward to trying the restaurant’s highly-touted meats. We couldn’t decide what to order, so we opted to share the Grill Combination platter and a schwarma pita. The pitas was packed with flavor and spices. Nothing about it was tame. But the combination plate stole the show. It had spiced meatballs called kefta, pieces of juicy steak and delicious chunks of chicken thigh. The meat was fantastic, juicier than any other kosher meat I’ve tried. Blood is drained from kosher animals when they are killed, usually making for a drier, chewier texture. This was not the case here. The only downside: kosher meat is expensive, which explains why our dish was $26. But this alone would have been enough to feed the three of us. I assume the same is true of the other meat entrées. 
Baking bread is one of the few food preparations that I have long felt is best left up to the experts. That belief hasn’t changed; the best baguettes will still come from the wonderful yeasts and flours, the perfectly fashioned ovens and the master bakers of France. And there’s no way I could make a bagel in my home kitchen that rivals those of Brooklyn. But sometimes good bread just isn’t that readily available. I was surprised to find that was true when I moved to Chicago. In Portland, there are artisan bread makers in most neighborhoods, including 
It may seem strange, then, that I didn’t jump at the chance to make my own bread when Mark Bittman published his now well-known 
After a conversation last week with a friend who has been doing a lot of bread-baking experimentation, I decided to try it. After consulting some blogs, I used my stainless steel Dutch oven, which I knew had no melt-able parts. As it turned out, the recipe was incredibly simple, and the final product was phenomenal. The bread had great flavor, a delicious, light and chewy interior and a solid crust. I was rushing out of the house, but if I’d had more time, I would have browned the crust for another five minutes or so. Otherwise, the results were stellar. The best part is that all I needed was all-purpose flour, a tiny bit of yeast, salt and water. Empanada Boy and I had buffalo meat sliders on slices of the bread for lunch on Saturday and then brought the loaf to make caprese sandwiches at an outdoor concert that night. We ate the last of it today for lunch. While it might not bode well for our waistlines, I am now hooked on bread. I can’t wait to make my next loaf. Here’s the recipe, so you can make your own.
I will admit, I haven’t seen the movie “Tampopo.” I know it’s one of those classic food-centered movies that all foodies should see. I also know the basic plot of this Japanese film revolves around two truck drivers who try to help a lady, Tampopo, build up her noodle shop to make it a paragon to “the art of noodle soup making.” Considering this rather loaded back story, it is a bold move indeed to give your own noodle and sushi shop the same name. That’s what the owner of 
A whole bowl of ramen wasn’t in the cards for Empanada Boy, considering his diet. He would order sushi, we decided, and try some of my ramen on the side. We started with a dish (pictured above) that was completely unique from anything I’ve tried. It was two large mussel halves topped with crabmeat and masago (smelt roe) and baked. The result was something like a Japanese version of escargot; beneath the lightly crisped, creamy, salty topping of crab and roe was the warm, juicy mussel. EB and I were impressed. We were also pleased with the quality of the nigiri sushi that EB ordered, including white tuna, red snapper, octopus, masago and scallop. These would have been better with more built-in seasoning from wasabi or vinegar, but the fish was firm, and the rice had a good freshly made texture. All fell into the reasonable $2 to $2.75 price range. 
EB also ordered a tasty crispy unagi maki, which was filled with thin, sweet strips of eel and got its crunchiness from a thin layer of panko around the exterior. It was another winning sushi dish for under $8. You may be wondering why I have yet to discuss or picture the ramen. That’s because the Gomoku ramen, which I ordered, was a big letdown. (The reason I don’t have a picture, though, is that my camera ran out of batteries during the meal.) The dish was a huge bowl of soup filled with noodles, napa cabbage, baby corn, bamboo shoots, onions, bean sprouts and carrots. It was also supposed to come with shumai shrimp and fish cake. What I got was a few thin pieces of fish cake, one tiny shrimp shumai dumpling and one shrimp. When I found the shrimp, I assumed that it was one of many in my bowl and offered it to EB. Little did I know it was the only shrimp to be found in my huge $10.50 bowl. To make matters worse, the broth was under-seasoned and severely lacking in that inexplicable flavor found in many Asian foods, known as ummami. Empanada Boy defended the soup, but I could not be convinced. Maybe I had built my hopes too high, eating flavor-packed pho at so many Vietnamese restaurants. Still, there was no excuse for the skimpy seafood and the broth did not quench my craving. 
My friend came up with an idea that amounts to genius. I wish I had thought of it myself. She is a big fan of bloody marys, and one day she decided it was time to find the best Chicago has to offer. This friend, let’s just call her Bloody Mary, decided to establish a 
Stanley’s is a bar by night and a hugely popular brunch spot by (weekend) day. The brunch is a massive buffet filled with random offering everything from corned beef hash and biscuits and gravy to scrambled eggs to made-to-order waffles and omelets. There are also cookies and the makings for sandwiches, along with a fruit plate. Empanada Boy summed up the vibe very well when he suggested that the place reminded him of a college cafeteria. And the food quality wasn’t much better than that. EB and I were disappointed in almost everything we tried. Our favorite two dishes were the crispy corned beef hash with potato chunks and the juicy fried chicken. Neither of these items was particularly well-suited for EB’s diet, but he tried a few bites. Stanley’s Bloody Mary Bar falls into the same multiple choice formula: you get a jumbo paper cup with 3.5 shots of vodka and then go to the bar to add any sauces, spices and garnishes you choose. The offerings included pre-made mix, V8, celery salt, horseradish, steak sauce and much, much more. They took up about a third of the lengthy bar. 
The result, as EB and others who tried the DIY bar found, was about at good as you make it. His drink (pictured here) was tasty, but lacked the kick I require. It also didn’t have olives or pickles, the former because those weren’t provided and the latter because they ran out. EB makes a mean bloody mary at home, so I don’t blame him for any of the shortcomings of his drink. It’s hard to taste and experiment when you’re pushing through hungover ex-frat boys to get to the bar. Not wanting to chance it with my limited mixology skills, I ordered the smaller (pint-sized) version that the bartenders mix up for you. My drink (pictured on top) had good kick and decent texture once you stirred it, but was severely lacking in the garnish department. A measly celery stalk and a lemon wedge made for a pretty sad sight. Still, the drink turned out to be less than $7, making it a pretty decent value. Overall, I thought the balance of my drink was better than that of my compatriots, mostly because it’s too hard to assemble a great drink under pressure. I guess you could say I like my brunches and my bloody marys assembled and served by experts, two reasons that Stanley’s just isn’t my cup of tea.
I got an assignment from a magazine that I write for to visit three classic Chicago hot dog stands and pick a winner for the “Best of Chicago” section. I was gearing up for a week of hot dog sampling when I heard that my niece-to-be, the Reading Corndog, would be visiting the neighborhood with her parents and brother. I had promised her months ago that I would take her on a restaurant review to 
Huey’s is a small storefront on a side street in Andersonville. The interior is brightly painted in mustard color with ketchup-colored trim. A big chalkboard displays the menu to customers who line up at the counter. Offerings range from basic dogs to chilidogs to burgers and a few sandwiches. All dogs come with fries. I ordered a charred hot dog, which means that it has been placed on the grill and blackened in addition to just being steamed. I am of the mind that the char can only add to the entire flavor combination. Sous Chef ordered a steamed dog, proving that there are some who prefer the purity of the original. Slim McDinner had a Polish sausage. Like any good Chicago dog, these had pickle spears, tomatoes, hot peppers, onions and mustard (no ketchup!). The franks were tasty, with good snap and an excellent poppy seed bun. 
Contrary to her name, the Reading Corndog, opted not to get a corndog. Instead, she went with a regular hot dog without toppings, to which she applied a generous slathering of ketchup. (Chicagoans under the age of 15 or so are exempted from the no ketchup rule.) She seemed to enjoy her meal, although she may have spent more time defending her fries from her brother than she did actually eating them. The foosball table, strategically placed next to the plastic kids table was also a distraction from the task at hand. 
Since Empanada Boy has been on his diet (11 lbs lost!), I’ve had to find other people to accompany me on most of my cheap eats adventures. Luckily, there are always eager candidates to be found. I don’t usually have mid-week breakfast offers, but last week I met up with Mr. Fancy Food, a Wesleyan graduate who lives in Baltimore and runs 
Just as its name suggests, Southport Grocery & Cafe is a grocery store, selling high-end gourmet products from artisanal pastas to imported spices to small batch chocolate and house-made baked goods. Mr. FF’s chocolate company has some of its offerings on the shelves here. The racks of goods line the edges of the room and run through the middle. The area around the perimeter is devoted to cafe tables where diners can order breakfast, fresh sandwiches, salads and soups. Mr. FF is my kind of dining partner in that he was eager to order and share half of each dish. As the seasoned veteran, he recommended the stuffed French toast, filled with citrus-cream cheese struesel and topped with blueberry compote. This sounded decadent and delicious but a little too sweet for my early morning palate. On the advice of our server, we chose the sweet and savory French toast. This was made with challah, topped with rosemary-roasted ham, Gruyere and a side of mustard-infused maple syrup. While the challah, ham and cheese combo may be causing my ancestors to turn over in their graves as I write this, the results were delicious. The French toast was light and airy and the sweet-salty ham and cheese added texture and depth. All of this was made cohesive by the phenomenal syrup. It was sweet, but had little mustard seed balls floating in it. The combination made everything explode in my mouth.
Mr. FF is a big fan of Southport’s housemade sausage, and our second selection, the sausage, mozzarella and pesto omelet, gave us a chance to sample it. As it turned out, the omelet actually didn’t have as much sausage as I had been hoping, and what was there was a little too mild for my taste. The mozzarella gave the dish a good stretchy texture, but its mild flavor didn’t add much. Pesto dominated the flavor, but it wasn’t exceptional. I did like the potato salad that came on the side. This just confirms the validity of my normal rule about not ordering omelets at restaurants. I could do just as well at home.
I never thought I would be writing this, but my favorite show on television right now is a reality show. My excuse: there’s food involved! As you’ve probably guessed by now, the show is 
From the first moment we saw it moving in on a somewhat run-down stretch of Western Avenue, Empanada Boy and I were intrigued about 
For a place that’s only been open for a matter of months, Pannenkoeken Cafe seems to have developed quite a following. Or maybe the line out the door when we arrived can be attributed to the fact that there are only six tables inside this tiny space. We were told it would be a 45 minute wait, so we went to 
At least half an hour after we ordered, our pannenkoeken finally arrived. How it took so long for the kitchen staff to prepare four thin rounds of batter with minimal topping for one of six tables in the place is puzzling indeed. But we were prepared to forgive the pacing if the pannenkoeken were as good as our grumbling stomachs hoped. As it turned out, they were not. Empanada Boy’s bacon, cheese and mushroom variety was tasty, but a little sloppy looking and not as flavorful as an omelet filled with the same ingredients would have been. Butternut Squash and I ordered similar dishes. Hers had apples and ginger marmalade on top, while mine had raisins baked inside and dollops of ginger marmalade on top. The bright, tangy ginger marmalade was the interesting, flavor-driving element of both options. The apple slices could have been more lovingly caramelized, and my raisins were few and far between. Sir Cheesalot took the dessert-for-breakfast tack with this chocolate banana version. Decadent though it was, the chocolate could have been richer and the presentation more attractive. 
