The Mango Lassie » Chicago, IL

The Restaurant Right Below Me

Mango Lassie — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 03:02:05 +0000

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

¿Tapas? Sí. ¿España? No.

Mango Lassie — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 21:12:21 +0000

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 Cafe Iberico, saying it was the best of the bunch. Finally, last week, I decided to give it a try. Empanada Boy went with our friends Matzah Man and Cilantrix— both Iberico fans— and our mutual friends Red Delicious and the Earl of Sandwich. Entering the restaurant was like entering a raucous sporting event in full swing. The cacophony— voices of patrons trying to communicate and the clatter as servers cleared (and more than once dropped) the hundreds of small plates— bounced right off the hard marble floor. It was hard enough to talk to my friends next to me, let alone order any tapas. I ordered a bottle of albariño and left the food ordering up to Matzah Man and Cilantrix. We ordered the champiñones a la plancha (shown above), which were satisfying, cooked in garlic and olive oil. We also tasted the pulpo a la plancha: grilled octopus, cut into pieces and served with a mound of greasy, soggy fries. A better dish was the calamares a la plancha (shown here), grilled squid bathed in garlic, lemon juice and a little too much olive oil.

The goat cheese, which came sitting in a pool of flavorful tomato sauce to be spread on bread layered with garlic-parsley oil, was boring and seemed Americanized. (Oh how I longed for the pan con tomate of Barcelona!) Mejillones a la marinera were fine, but similar to the run-of-the-mill variety offered at so many bistros.

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.

All things considered, I thought the food at Cafe Iberico was better than Emilio’s Tapas and Café Ba Ba Reeba, two other Spanish places in Chicago that I’ve tried. It also did a better job than many of the higher end small plates places of portraying tapas as they are meant to be: small and inexpensive accompaniments to drinks. That said, the food wasn’t amazing. Even when some good ingredients were used, they were often combined with too much not-very-flavorful olive oil or another overly greasy accompaniment. There was little of the freshness and vibrancy that I associate with Spanish ingredients. Once again, the tomatoes, olive oil and proteins lacked that distinctive Spanish flavor that would have really satisfied me. Granted, there were many dishes on the lengthy menu I didn’t try. But after leaving with my ears still ringing from the noise, I realized it was unlikely that I’d be back to order more.

Cafe Iberico
739 N. La Salle Dr.
Chicago, IL 60610
312.573.1510

Baba Ghannouj and the Bet Din

Mango Lassie — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 04:21:23 +0000

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? Taboun Grill in Rogers Park was a perfect way to welcome the new Jew.

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.

We finished our meal feeling completely stuffed, but satisfied. A friend of mine who went to Israel with me had mentioned Taboun Grill as the only place in the U.S. he’s tried that comes close to what we ate there. I will second his words and modify them; the food at Taboun Grill is better than most of what I remember eating in Israel. It was a meal fit for a special occasion, and EB’s entrance to Jewish life was just that kind of an auspicious event.

Taboun Grill
6339 N. California Ave.
Chicago, IL 60659
773.381.2606

Bread on a Knead-to-Know Basis

Mango Lassie — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 04:22:37 +0000

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 Grand Central Bakery, Ken’s Artisan Bakery and Pearl Bakery, among others. Most supermarkets also sell wonderful loaves from these and other local bakeries. I was surprised when I moved to Chicago to find that things were not the same here. There are a couple of good local bakeries like Red Hen Bread and the one inside the gourmet market, Fox and Obel, but both are over-priced and far from my house. Supermarkets near me usually have meager selections, especially when it comes to firm, crusty breads to accompany salads or hearty stews. I have gotten by over the past few years by buying a decent sour batard at Trader Joe’s and occasionally visiting the other establishments. Still, the lack of good bread has been one of my favorite ongoing culinary bones to pick with Chicago.

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 article on “No-Knead Bread” in the Nov. 8, 2006 issue of The New York Times. Bittman adapted the recipe from Jim Lahey of New York’s Sullivan Street Bakery. The secret to this appropriately “minimalist” recipe— which really doesn’t require one iota of kneading— is that a tiny bit of yeast is allowed to ferment in wet dough for a long time, almost a full 24 hours. The recipe made a huge splash among foodies and bloggers when it first came out, starting a wave of home bakers. I guess I never tried it because I wasn’t convinced it could really be that good. Too many bad memories of bread-machine loaves flooded my mind every time I thought about it. The recipe also calls for a cast iron, enamel, Pyrex or ceramic Dutch oven, none of which I own. (There is a nice big enamel Le Crueset on my wedding registry list. Hint, hint…)

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.

No-Knead Bread
As printed in The New York Times on Nov. 8, 2006
Adapted by Mark Bittman from Jim Lahey, Sullivan Street Bakery

Time: About 1½ hours plus 14 to 20 hours’ rising

3 cups all-purpose or bread flour, more for dusting
¼ teaspoon instant yeast
1¼ teaspoons salt
Cornmeal or wheat bran as needed.

1. In a large bowl combine flour, yeast and salt. Add 1 5/8 cups water, and stir until blended; dough will be shaggy and sticky. Cover bowl with plastic wrap. Let dough rest at least 12 hours, preferably about 18, at warm room temperature, about 70 degrees.

2. Dough is ready when its surface is dotted with bubbles. Lightly flour a work surface and place dough on it; sprinkle it with a little more flour and fold it over on itself once or twice. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let rest about 15 minutes.

3. Using just enough flour to keep dough from sticking to work surface or to your fingers, gently and quickly shape dough into a ball. Generously coat a cotton towel (not terry cloth) with flour, wheat bran or cornmeal; put dough seam side down on towel and dust with more flour, bran or cornmeal. Cover with another cotton towel and let rise for about 2 hours. When it is ready, dough will be more than double in size and will not readily spring back when poked with a finger.

4. At least a half-hour before dough is ready, heat oven to 450 degrees. Put a 6- to 8-quart heavy covered pot (cast iron, enamel, Pyrex or ceramic [or stainless steel!]) in oven as it heats. When dough is ready, carefully remove pot from oven. Slide your hand under towel and turn dough over into pot, seam side up; it may look like a mess, but that is O.K. Shake pan once or twice if dough is unevenly distributed; it will straighten out as it bakes. Cover with lid and bake 30 minutes, then remove lid and bake another 15 to 30 minutes, until loaf is beautifully browned. Cool on a rack.

Yield: One 1½-pound loaf.

Tampopo? Just So-So

Mango Lassie — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 03:43:24 +0000

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 Tampopo, in Chicago’s West Rogers Park neighborhood decided to do. Does this shop successfully elevate noodle soup to an art form? Empanada Boy and I were craving Japanese food and decided to find out.

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.

I would definitely go back to Tampopo to eat sushi again. Everything we tasted in that department was fresh and reasonably priced. We also enjoyed a delicious cold sake. I don’t know if I would ever risk ordering the noodles again. The menu descriptions are tempting, and other ramen dishes, udon or yakisoba may, in fact, be tasty. But it would be hard to endure another disappointment when the noodle soup fails to hit the spot.

Tampopo
5665 N. Lincoln Ave.
Chicago, IL 60659
773.561.2277

The Bloody Battle of 2008

Mango Lassie — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 03:42:08 +0000

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 Bloody Mary Bracket, culling recommendations from friends across the city and compiling them into a chart like the ones you see with sports tournaments. She divided the bracket into six different neighborhoods, with four spots to sample in each area. She even developed score cards for brunch attendees to evaluate the drinks on the basis of taste, texture, appearance, etc. Bloody Mary is a graduate student and an almost full-time employee at a law firm, so she wisely waited until the end of the school year to embark on her quest. Her first visit was to the Twisted Spoke, which specializes in rather elaborate versions of the drink. I couldn’t make it to that trial, but you can read her summation of the reviewers’ comments on her blog. This weekend’s trials were held at Stanley’s Kitchen & Tap in Lincoln Park. This time Empanada Boy and I joined Bloody Mary and eight others to sample and weigh in on the debate.

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.

Hahn’s Bloody Bracket
www.hahnsbloodybracket.blogspot.com

Stanley’s Kitchen & Tap
1970 N. Lincoln Ave.
Chicago, IL 60614
312.642.0007

The Dog Days of Early Summer

Mango Lassie — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 20:05:34 +0000

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 Hot Dogs, one of her favorites from her old stomping grounds. I couldn’t turn her down with the excuse of predicted hot dog overload, so yet another hot dog was added to my weekly diet. (Poor, good, Empanada Boy ordered a turkey sandwich and only ate half. He’s lost 14lbs now!)

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. Budacki’s may have been a little juicier, but there were no seeds on the buns. The fries were medium-thick and nicely crisped on the outside. The only thing I could have asked for was some mustard for dipping my fries. Ketchup is allowed for fries, but I take my mustard seriously.

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.

When it comes to Chicago hot dogs, there is little that can distract me from chowing down. Huey’s may not have the old-timey atmosphere of Budacki’s, but their hot dogs come out to be just as good. Three hot dog stands in one week sounded tough at first, but I think I’ll make it through four with no problem.

Huey’s Hot Dogs
1507 W. Balmoral Ave.
Chicago, IL 60640
773.293.4800

Eat Gourmet, Shop Gourmet

Mango Lassie — Sun, 25 May 2008 23:03:27 +0000

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 Bradmer Foods, a venture capital firm that invests in niche specialty food companies. He was in Chicago for the All Candy Expo, scoping out the scene for one of his companies, a chocolate maker. Mr. Fancy Food is a true foodie and will seemingly stop at nothing to try the best a given city has to offer. I met up with him before he left for the airport, and he had already visited many fine restaurants. But when he is in Chicago, he always stops for breakfast at the Southport Grocery & Cafe for personal and professional reasons. It was there that we met at 8 am, entering as the doors were being unlocked.

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.

On the whole, however, I enjoyed the atmosphere and the freshness of the food at Southport Grocery & Cafe. I’d like to come back sometime to try the steak and eggs (supposedly massive) or the hash. And now I know where to replenish my supply of pimentón de la vera, the Spanish paprika I bought when I was there. I’m sure there is a line out the door on weekends, but there’s something luxurious about going out to breakfast on a weekday morning. Considering that, I’ll try to time my next visit as Mr. FF did this one: 8 am on a Thursday morning.

Southport Grocery & Cafe
3552 N. Southport Ave.
Chicago, IL 60657
773.665.0100

Top Chef in Chi-town

Mango Lassie — Sun, 23 Mar 2008 22:47:46 +0000

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 Top Chef. This season takes place in Chicago, and my familiarity with the location only adds to my enjoyment. Amazingly, I’ve even gotten Empanada Boy hooked on it. All it took was the first shot of the Chicago skyline and the season’s opening scene inside Pizzeria Uno to get him excited.

For those of you who’ve never seen it, Top Chef (Bravo, Wednesday 10/9c) features 16 chefs from around the country who compete against each other for the title. Each episode includes a Quickfire Challenge where chefs have half an hour to complete a simpler assignment and an Elimination Challenge where they spend 90 minutes on a more major assignment. The chef who is judged the weakest performer gets set home at the end of the episode. Among the challenges in the first two episodes of the season were a deep-dish pizza competition and a test of the chefs’ knowledge of classic French dishes. In the most recent episode, the chefs catered an event for the staff of the Lincoln Park Zoo where each team designed a menu based on the diet of one of the animals. The penguins won with a table of seafood dishes. It’s a real credit to the show’s creators that they can keep coming up with interesting location-specific challenges. And that’s one of the reasons I’m hooked.

Another reason this show is so addictive is the characters. While watching Top Chef the other day, Empanada Boy remarked that the interactions between the chefs reminded him of working with musicians. In other words, drama is prevalent, and emotions are constantly running high. There are also plenty of prima donnas to keep things interesting. All of these traits are pretty typical of most reality show casts. The difference here is that these people also have a considerable degree of talent to back it up. They may whine about their fellow competitors behind their backs, but they can also completely reinvent duck a l’orange in 90 minutes flat. (Chicagoan Stephanie Izard did this and won on the first episode.)

One final thought about why this show has captured the hearts of so many foodies and aspiring foodies: this is a competition that allows viewers to get a taste of what goes on behind the scenes in a fine-dining restaurant. I’m not trying to imply that restaurants are under the same kinds of start-to-finish time pressures or the same challenge-specific stipulations. But all chefs have to perform under pressure and develop menus that will please guests while also remaining in a given budget range. More significantly, the show allows us to see these chefs in action as they chop, sauté and plate the food. Instead of just seeing the finished plate, we see how it got that way. I’ve heard that many restaurant chefs like to watch the show, mentally putting themselves in the place of the contestants and determining what they would do in the situation.

I know I’m not the only Top Chef fan among my readers. I would love to hear from you about your take on the show and your predictions for the final outcome. And for those of you who haven’t seen it yet, don’t judge me until you have. You may find yourself an addict like me.

Pannenkoeken: Flatter Than a Pancake

Mango Lassie — Sun, 16 Mar 2008 18:38:46 +0000

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 Pannenkoeken Cafe. Pannenkoeken are traditional Dutch pancakes. They are thinner and lighter than the average American pancake, similar to crepes or Swedish pancakes. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones to whom this sounded appealing; our friends Butternut Squash and Sir Cheesalot invited us to go there for breakfast last weekend.

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 Cafe Descartes for some pre-breakfast coffee. Sir Cheesalot’s cell phone rang less than half an hour later, notifying us that our table was ready. We eagerly dashed back to our seats and opened our menus. We all wanted to try the signature dish — the menu also has a couple omelet choices, regular buttermilk pancakes, a breakfast sandwich and French toast— of which there were only five options, making our decision quite simple.

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.

Perhaps more significantly, I could have made all of these in my own kitchen in less than half the time. And that just brings me back to my tired old refrain about breakfast restaurants. So few of them are worth the money and the time waiting in line when my own kitchen can produce omelets, pancakes and baked goods aplenty. Still, there are those breakfast places— M.Henry, Cadillac Cafe, and Tweet, to name a few— that make interesting food, giving breakfast the same treatment a nice restaurant would give lunch or dinner. I’m always on the lookout for these wherever I go. And until I find them, I’ll be spending most weekend mornings in my kitchen at home.

Pannenkoeken Cafe
4757 N. Western Ave.
Chicago, IL 60625
773.769.8800