Martinis Galore, But Where’s the Gin?
Over the past few weeks, I have been working on a story for a Chicago publication about newly-opened bars and lounges. I am not usually the kind of person who frequents these establishments because I prefer to spend my money on better food and drink in an atmosphere where I can actually hear the person across from me. Still, it has been interesting to visit these places and take note of some of the major trends. From the prevalence of sliders (mini-burgers) to the new trend of deep-fried mac and cheese cubes, the menus at many of these places have a lot in common. But there is another, more irksome, drink-related trend that has been all but constant through the numerous bars and lounges I’ve visited: the devolution of the martini.
According to Merriam-Webster, a martini is: “a cocktail made of gin and dry vermouth.” In the past few weeks I’ve read bar lists offering: a chocolate peanut butter martini, an oatmeal cookie martini, a key lime pie martini and appletini, among many others. Not only do these sound uniformly repulsive, but none of them, I mean not one, shared the menu with even a drop of gin. Granted, the Merriam-Webster entry does contain a reference to a vodka martini, which the dictionary calls: “a martini made with vodka instead of gin.” While the gin martini is undoubtedly the original version, I will grudgingly grant legitimacy to the vodka version. But the fact remains that these drinks are really mixed drinks made with vodka— not martinis.
Why does this bother me? I’ve come up with two main reasons. The first is that I really like martinis— the kind with gin and vermouth (and maybe a little olive juice). The martini earned its classic status; it’s got kick, complexity and sophistication. And it’s a shame that generations to come may grow up never having tasted the real thing. Maybe gin and vermouth is a little harder to swallow than vodka and chocolate, but Shakespeare is harder to swallow than Seventeen magazine.
The second reason that the glut of faux-tinis gets on my nerves is the lack of creativity and laziness on the part of bartenders that they demonstrate. Just because chocolate, Baileys and vodka shouldn’t be called a martini doesn’t mean the drink shouldn’t exist. But the bartenders who create these concoctions should show enough pride in their work to come up with a creative name. Many of the well-known cocktails of history have lasted in part because they had memorable names, such as Manhattan, Bellini and Gimlet. And many of those that have been forgotten are being revived by places like Chicago’s The Violet Hour and The Drawing Room thanks in part to enticing names like the “Gloom Lifter” and “Between the Sheets.” If the faux-tinis get their own names, the worthy ones will be more likely to linger beyond their current status as a passing fad.
Perhaps I am too sensitive about this trend. Maybe I should be less of a stickler about rules and definitions when it comes to something that’s supposed to be pleasurable. But if we have rules about classifying our food, we should expect no less of our drinks. Call it what it is: if it doesn’t have gin (or vodka) and dry vermouth, then it’s not a martini. And if you don’t know what to call it, make up a new name.
Empanada Boy was feeling sick this weekend. His appetite wasn’t up to its normally vigorous level. By dinnertime last night, the only thing he had eaten was a few pieces of French toast at breakfast. When I asked him what he wanted for dinner, he said: soup. As I’m sure the Jewish mothers that came before me would agree, soup is indeed a marvelously curative dish. Thanks to Mango Mama, I have a number of great, hearty recipes that I can usually whip up with what I have around. I have been doing some of my own research this winter, experimenting with fish stews. 
I found a recipe on the Internet and made it with a few modifications when Mango Mama and Daddy Salmon came to visit. I had some cod fillets in the freezer, so I decided to make the stew again. This time, I added celery and used crushed tomatoes instead of whole ones. The result was a smoother, more tomato-infused broth. Not worrying about Lent and with about a half pound less fish than the recipe called for, I also added a couple of pre-cooked chicken sausages. I sliced and browned these in a separate pan. Other modifications could include adding frozen corn or peas or even adding potatoes. Fresh tomatoes would also be ideal during the summer months. I used oregano and thyme, but other spices could give the soup a totally different flair. What follows is the soup I made for Empanada Boy. Adjust, add and subtract as you see fit.
When I first heard about the Lebanese restaurant 
Since moving to Chicago, Empanada Boy has remarked on the surprising lack of good falafel stands, at least compared to those he enjoyed as a student in New York City. While it’s true that Chicago has almost nothing in the way of stands, the falafel at Al-Khayameih is exceptional. It has a perfect, crisp shell and an interior that’s soft and not too heavy. I ordered a plate of it, accompanied by bright, vibrant stuffed grape leaves, tahini and yogurt sauce. The pita was also fresh and warm from the oven at the bakery and grocery next door.
A vegetarian could go wild at Al-Khayameih, but in many ways, this place is about the meat. The menu includes everything from kababs to kibbie to roasted cornish game hens and seafood. Still yearning for the stands of his New York days, Empanada Boy ordered the shwarma (shawarma, chwarma, shuarma, etc.) platter. It came with a massive pile of lemon-drenched meat (probably goat or lamb) cut straight off the skewer turning in the open kitchen. There was also rice, tahini and a traditional salad of lightly dressed cucumber, tomato, parsley and onion. There was enough food for three people on that plate!
I know this page has been consumed with the unhealthy tales of burgers, hot dogs and fries recently, but I can’t resist one more meat-laden post. Mango Mama and Daddy Salmon are visiting us in Chicago this weekend. Needless to say, we’ve done a serious amount of eating. The indulgence began after Mango Mama landed at O’Hare on Friday afternoon. (Daddy Salmon had to work, so he stayed in Portland until Saturday.) I picked her up at the airport, and we drove directly to 
There is a lengthy sausage 
Almost as good as the encased meats are the duck-fat fries. Mango Mama and I got a small order, which could have easily served four. Still, we couldn’t resist gobbling up the delightfully crispy, deeply flavorful, spears. “We’ll take some home for Empanada Boy,” we told ourselves. A few minutes later, we had eaten the whole basket.
Friends often ask me where they should go for a good, inexpensive meal when they’re shopping on Michigan Avenue, or having lunch on a work day. For a long time, I had very few suggestions. There’s 
Silver Spoon is owned by the same family as the previously reviewed 
The bitterly cold day inspired Empanada Boy to order soup. He selected the Bamee BBQ Pork with egg noodles in a hot, fragrant broth. The broth warmed us up, and the pork was smoky and delicious. The noodles had a grainy texture that made them a little stiff and not quite as flavorful as I was expecting. Still, this was a distinctive dish, probably not available at your run-of-the-mill Thai joint. 
There is a strange little space right down the street from my house. It has a small ground level space cut down the middle with stairs that lead up through a pseudo-mudejar archway meant to evoke Arabian palaces. It used to house a Moroccan cafe called Marrakesh Expresso, which had hookah and low cushioned chairs around tables in the windows, but which never seemed to have any customers. Empanada Boy and I used to talk about going there sometime, but we never got around to it. Sadly, I don’t think there’s anything we could have done to save the place. We weren’t surprised to see a “for lease” sign hanging in the window a few months ago.
The restaurant is BYOB, so EB and I started things off with some Sapporo left over from our last sushi outing. EB was feeling in the mood for something substantial, so he ordered the Unagi Don (pictured above). It came in a lacquered box filled with pickled ginger-flecked rice, topped with strips of grilled eel (unagi). The unagi was coated in the sweet, teriyaki-like sauce, traditionally used with eel. The dish looked beautiful, but the fish served a little too cold, and even the rice was lukewarm. This made me wonder whether the dish had just been prepared or if the pieces had been sitting around in the kitchen for a while. My nigiri sushi, shown here, was fine but definitely not amazing. I had a piece of yellowtail and a piece of red snapper. The quality of the fish was decent, although not as thick or firm as I thought the $2.50 and $2 a piece price tag merited. The rice could have also been a tad bit warmer.
Grand Katachi’s maki menu seemed to be mostly made up of cooked fish. Only a few of the pricier rolls had super white tuna and other notable fish additions. Not feeling like springing for an extra $5, I went with the spider maki. These were made with deep fried soft shell crab, avocado, scallion and a spicy Japanese mayo. I like this roll because it’s crunchy on the inside and softer on the outside. This particular version, while tasty, wasn’t innovative or inspiring. The ingredients were good, but there was no flavor that stood out and carried the dish beyond the average. 
Most food-related New Year’s resolutions involve pledging to eat less, but I prefer to look at it a different way. This year, I plan to be more aware of the food I’m eating, including where it comes from, who made it and how it was grown.
7. I will eat less red meat. While I can’t pledge to cut red meat out of my diet for good, I will do my best to eat it only a few times per month. I’m not doing this because I feel sorry for cows; 
4. I will only eat fish that are safe and sustainably caught. The first step to doing this is to get the right information. One reliable source is 
Lucky old Empanada Boy didn’t have to work at all between Christmas and New Year’s. In contrast, I had to work on Christmas Eve and the day after Christmas and will be working tomorrow (New Year’s Eve day) as well. Empanada Boy spent most of the past week in Wisconsin visiting his family. Determined not to mope, I decided to spend some time catching up with friends. My friend Jamaican Jerk Sauce and I went out for breakfast Sunday morning before she took off for New York. She had been telling me for weeks that she wanted to try a brunch place in Uptown called 
Tweet is a cute little sidewalk cafe tucked away on an otherwise restaurant-less stretch of Sheridan Avenue. In many ways, Tweet reminds me of Portland restaurants I’ve frequented. It has funky decor, including a glass display case filled with pretty vintage tea sets and cakes and cookies to go. There are a few tables on a raised platform that looks out onto the street. Outside seating is available in the summertime. The menu is organized around fresh, largely organic vegetables, meats and dairy products. Vegetarian options abound. This was ideal for Jamaican Jerk Sauce— a non-meat eater. She ordered the Vegetarian Country Benedict. This consisted of an English muffin topped with a vegetable or bean-based patty, topped with eggs and a thick, peppery white gravy. This dish was flavorful, but incredibly filling. And although the patty was surprisingly good, I probably would have opted for one of the other egg dishes. 
It was the little things that really won me over at Tweet. The meal started with an amuse bouche of tasty carrot cake sqaures, a pre-breakfast treat that reminded me of the temporarily-closed 
Empanada Boy and I are always on the lookout for new restaurants opening in and around our neighborhood. A few weeks ago, as we were driving past the Lawrence Red Line stop, we noticed that a previously abandoned restaurant space was about to reopen as an Ethiopian restaurant. Neither of us had very positive memories about our earlier experiences with Ethiopian food. We both remembered it being too bland, and we recalled stomach-churning moments resulting frominjera, the traditional, spongy, fermented bread, used instead of utensils. But in the spirit of supporting local business efforts, we decided to give this new place a try. That’s what brought us to 
From the moment we walked in and saw tables filled with Ethiopian people and smelled the scent of ginger, garlic and caramelizing onions, I knew this restaurant would be different. The walls are hung with traditional Ethiopian artwork, and the windows are draped with soft curtains, giving the room a mellow glow. We sat at one of the traditional wicker tables, designed to fit the platter on which the food is served. Our hostess lifted the cover, and we sat down to ponder the menu. We were starving, and everything we read sounded good. This left us only one option: the combination plates, which allowed each of us to order two meat dishes and two vegetarian dishes. These were delivered to our table atop a large round of injera, lining the single metal platter. The dishes are too numerous to describe each in detail, but I will point out the highlights. I loved the spicy doro wot, a chicken drumstick marinated in lemon and Berbere sauce (a flavorful African spice mix) with onions, garlic, ginger, a hard-boiled egg and a homemade cottage cheese. Being a huge jerky fan, Empanada Boy went crazy for the ye-kwanta firfir, made with a special Ethiopian-style dried beef, the Berbere sauce and torn pieces of sauce-soaked injera. On the whole, our favorite dishes contained meat, but I also enjoyed the collared greens and a sauté of cabbage and carrots, seasoned with onions, garlic, ginger and green pepper. 
Demera doesn’t have alcohol on the menu, but it’s not clear whether BYOB is allowed. I decided to opt for what the Ethiopian patrons were drinking: an aromatic, cardamom and cinnamon-infused tea. The meal was far more flavorful and used better, fresher ingredients than either of us had remembered from our previous experiences. We still didn’t love the sour flavor of the injera, but we are both willing to go back and try more of the dishes on Demera’s lengthy menu. One thing is for sure, though: we will never have room to sample Demera’s desserts.
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