Pannenkoeken: Flatter Than a Pancake
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
One of the many things that struck me about Chicago when I moved here was how much more significant St. Patrick’s Day was here than in Portland or anywhere else I had lived. The city’s large Irish population takes these things a lot more seriously than I had expected. The seriousness extends to Irish food, and, more importantly, beer. Empanada Boy and I aren’t really into the St. Patrick’s Day festivities because, for many revelers, they end up turning into an excuse to get rip-roaring drunk each day for the entire week beforehand. Still, we enjoy any culture that celebrates robust ales and hearty food. That’s how we found ourselves eating a late-night dinner at 
The Grafton is a neighborhood pub known for serving Irish fare and for having live music most nights. The beer list includes some Irish favorites along with a smattering of craft and run-of-the-mill domestic, Belgians and a few Germans. I was a little unimpressed with the draft selection, especially considering the better-than-your-average-bar reputation of the food here. Empanada Boy ordered Boddingtons, the English pale ale. I ordered a Belgian-style witbier— Blue Moon’s superior cousin— which came in a tall glass with a slice of orange.
For dinner, EB opted for the fried fish, a culinary tradition shared by the Irish and the Wisconsinites. His cod fish and chips (pictured above) were flaky and flavorful with a pleasant, light crust. The coleslaw was too sloppy, and the chips were fairly standard. But the latter came with an excellent curry mayonnaise for a truly British twist. Dipping chips in curry has been popular in the UK for ages, demonstrating the influence of Indian cuisine and culture in the area. I decided to try the shepherd’s pie, a stew of carrots, peas, onions and ground beef. I knew the dish came with mashed potatoes, but I assumed they were on the side and that the pie had an actual pastry crust. As it turned out, the crust was the mashed potatoes, which were scalloped in a way that allowed them to brown on the peaks. The pie filling was hearty and flavorful, but I wasn’t too keen about the texture or flavor of the potato topping. I’ve never been much of a mashed potato person, and the bland, lukewarm, pasty potatoes here did little to convince me. 
I got an email on Saturday from a German girl who has become my pen pal. She found me on the Internet when she googled her own name because we have the same first and last names. The connections don’t end there: it turns out that her mother grew up— and her father now lives— in Cologne, where my grandfather’s family lived before being driven out by the Nazis. This girl who shares my name isn’t Jewish, but she and I seem to have a lot in common. It’s hard for some of my relatives to contemplate the idea of exploring a shared German past, but I know that my friend is more knowledgeable about and respectful of Jewish culture than many of my fellow Americans. Like most German students, she has studied the war and the concentration camps in great depth and has even done some research on the places where my relatives lived in Cologne.
It seemed fitting to me, then, to follow my latest pen pal correspondence with a trip with 
When it came to food, though, the fest was quite affordable. We went up to one of the two booths, which are run by older men and women volunteers from the German-American community. Both men and ladies take their jobs very seriously. The ladies strode around their tent purposefully, assembling sandwiches, plating giant pretzels and scooping up pieces of cake. EB and I also spent some time watching one of the men as he boiled the sausages before putting them on the grill. We asked if he used beer, and he told us the health department wouldn’t let them, but he recommended we try it that way at home. 
The deliciously plump brat that Empanada Boy ordered (shown above) was, nonetheless, juicy and flavorful. It came with a nice side of warm, fresh, kraut and tangy German potato salad. I had a whole herring sandwich, made with red onions and tasty pickled herring. For dessert, we shared a piece of spongy cake fill with rich, eggy custard and topped with baked almonds. We sat and ate our lunch while listening to one of the many German bands that entertains the crowds through the weekends.
The early signs of a new restaurant opening the neighborhood are always enough to fill me with curiosity and excitement. But when Empanada Boy and I learned that a new restaurant moving in down the street from us would have over 50 beers on tap, we were itching for it to open. Finally we would have a nearby pub— besides the overly crowded, but wonderful, 
The beer lived up to our self-created hype, but the food could still use some work. I requested my strip steak sandwich medium rare, but it arrived much closer to well done. The meat tasted too dried out, and the flavored mayonnaise spread on the bun didn’t make up for that. Roasted vegetables improved things a bit, but the bun itself was also too dry. The accompanying French fries brought back memories of the deli at Portland’s Jewish Community Center, which is not necessarily a good thing. These were too limp and bland. Thick cut steak fries can be good— they just need to be cooked more crisply!
EB took it upon himself to test the burger. It looked nice and juicy and came with a choice of cheese and grilled onions. The burger was closer to medium than medium-rare, but more significantly, the quality of the meat just didn’t seem up to snuff. A more fatty and juicy selection would have made all the difference. But even if better meat weren’t available, a little garlic and some salt and pepper would have gone a long way toward helping this rather bland sandwich along. As with the steak sandwich, a fresher bun would have also been nice.
The first of Chicago’s many neighborhood festivals began with Mayfest this weekend in Lincoln Square. Nearly every neighborhood in Chicago has at least one festival during the summer and fall months, celebrating the area’s ethnic roots (eg “German Fest”) or a particular food (eg “Ribfest”). 
Empananda Boy and Butternut Squash both ordered the chicken pot pie. This had a nice, flaky, buttery crust, but the inside was a bit of a disappointment. Personally, I have never met a chicken pot pie I really liked, and this was no different. The filling was creamy and rich cream with chunks of chicken, peas and carrots mixed in. It was certainly better than past examples I’ve tried— more fresh tasting, less lumpy and less like a can of cream of mushroom soup— but still not my thing.
There are also a number of daily specials on the menu. Sir Cheesalot opted for the wrap of the day, which contained a firm white fish that I can’t recall. It looked delicious, and I can vouch for the tastiness of the thick-cut sweet potato fries that accompanied it. I picked the duck egg salad, which had a large, deeply flavorful fried duck egg on top and thin slices of smoky Spanish chorizo scattered through the vinaigrette-coated mache. 
I ate a lot of Thai food while I was in college at Wesleyan University. Two of the more popular restaurants in Middletown, Connecticut were Thai spots, and neither was particularly remarkable. My grandmother, Trader Joanna, has long frequented another fairly run-of-the-mill Thai place near her house in Portland, and I’ve joined her there for dinner many a time. These restaurants are all fine, but they serve the same dishes as the majority of Thai restaurants in this country. Pad Thai, green curry and satay chicken have become ubiquitous and unexciting.
Mango Mama, Empanada Boy and I stopped in at Spoon to sample some of these dishes. Armed with my printed copy of the menu, I had already sought recommendations from other bloggers on dishes to order. We started with the delicious banana blossom salad (pictured above), made with strips of banana blossoms, poached chicken, shrimp, coconut milk and chile jam. This thin, sour curry had large chunks of tender Mudfish floating in it, along with onions green, beans and coconut. It was deeply flavorful with an almost fermented pungency to it, and it was very spicy, a sure sign that the dish was not altered for the bland Midwest palate.
We also tried two meat dishes. The first was a Thai-style fried chicken with sweet tamarind dipping sauce. The meat was nicely browned and crusty, but Mango Mama thought it was too hard to enjoy it because there wasn’t much of it on each piece of bone. That was not the case with the grilled Issan-style pork and rice sausages, which came topped with chile, ginger and peanuts. These had a similar fermented pungency to what I noticed in the soup. Each piece varied in texture and composition because some parts of the sausage had more meat and some had more rice, making for uneven, but interesting, cooking results. 
At the insistence of Empanada Boy, we finished the meal with some banana sticky rice. The little patties of sweet rice came wrapped in a banana leaf. In addition to banana, each was also speckled with fermented black beans. This is a good example of the wonderful Thai tradition of sweet and savory dessert combinations.
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