Chowing Down in Chi-Town: Day 2
Good morning Chicago!
After an eventful first day, I slept soundly in my giant bed, and awoke ready to repeat. As has been the case with so many of my trips, I was blessed with beautiful weather; cool, yes, but sunny and clear (and once you get moving, you warm up pretty quick…especially if you’re wearing a spiffy new North Face Summit Series jacket…I mean, I’d imagine).
There was a year in my childhood during which I attended private school, meaning instead of (lovingly) shoving me onto a bus every morning, my mother had to schlepp me in the minivan. Apparently, South Natick traffic jams were too much to bear without proper caffeination, and biweekly stops at Dunkin Donuts caused my short-lived but ferocious love of lemon-filled and blueberry cake donuts. (It also marked the beginning of my long-lived but equally ferocious addiction to caffeine. Yes, I was ten—don’t judge my mama…that’s my job.)
Anyway, outside of that aberrant period, I’ve never been overly excited by donuts, but when more than one person informed me of the cultish following inspired by the those offered at the Donut Vault, I made an exception.
On the corner of an unremarkable side street off of Kinzie, the whimsical facade gives way to a charming—and tiny—interior.
With one speed rack full of wares, the one employee constantly updates Twitter on the remaining donut count. They serve ’em til they’re gone, and many mornings this means lines out the door. Luckily, on this morning, I breezed right in.
Dollar coffee, and a couple of painstakingly-chosen donuts…
A big ol’ outdoor table all to myself (come on, Chicagoans—it wasn’t that cold).
The generously sized classic yeasted donut; I got it with the chestnut glaze.
The texture was ethereal, and nearly melted when dunked into coffee, but for me, it was just too sweet…hence my general ambivalence towards donuts, I guess.
The diminutive gingerbread donut, usually sold in stacks of three, is cake style.
Much more my speed.
After a brisk walk around the loop, I came across a place my coworker had talked up.
Intelligentsia roasts their own beans, and has a number of coffee houses as well.
‘Twas definitely the most hipster scene I’d come across in the city thus far…
…and they take their brewing very seriously.
A soy macchiato, served with a tumbler of mineral water. The espresso (I got the special Ethiopian one) had an amazingly pungent aroma, and though it came on strong at first, it finished with less bitterness than expected, and amazingly vegetal, almost squash-like notes.
Next, a metro ride followed by a decent stroll up California Ave. to…the encased meat emporium.
Also known as Hot Doug’s, it’s been said that this is the place to get a Chicago dog. It doesn’t hurt that Monsieur Bourdain dined here on an episode of No Reservations, either.
The line usually winds around the block, and today was no exception. I cracked my book and inched forward with the rest of the sausage enthusiasts until I made my way inside the doors.
Incase you had any doubts, this place is not known for its ambiance. I think that wall color is called Highlighter.
The dogs are all named after celebrities, and while I’m not totally sure what Brigitte Bardot has in common with andouille, I appreciate the creativity.
I gave my order to the man at the counter (who apparently was Doug himself), and found a table.
The Dog: a classic Chicago dog with tomato, pickle, caramelized onions, celery salt, mustard, and relish, all on a white-trash squishy poppy seed bun.
Despite the shockingly vibrant colors, it was pretty fresh and natural for a hot dog, with just enough sausage-casing snap to keep it slutty.
The duck fat fries, only available Fridays and Saturdays, looked promising enough, but were pretty lackluster—not crispy enough, and not a whiff of ducky goodness.
A diet root beer, cuz that balances out the calories…
Later, while walking around downtown, I was completely taken with these funky buildings. With cars parked on the bottom half, and apartments up top, they were fanciful yet practical, something from the Jetsons brought to life. On my architectural tour the next day, I was to learn that the two structures designed by Bertrand Goldberg comprise Marina City, but are lovingly referred to by Chicagoans as the corncob towers, for obvious reasons.
After another brief hotel layover, and another heavenly foot soak in the tub, I headed out across the river to Randolph street, where the majority of the Paul Kahan restaurants are located. The same dude behind the Violet Hour and Big Star from the night before has a number of more upscale restaurants as well. I had a reservation at Blackbird, but decided on a preprandial stop at Avec for a beverage.
A wood-dominated decor kept the interior of the tiny restaurant homey feeling, yet elegant. I sat at the bar, browsed the unique list of brews, and made my selection.
Headshot.
The Alvinne Eerwaarde Pater from Ingelmunster, Belgium, had a deep, rounded, slightly caramelly aroma, and a sweet-sour taste of dark fruits.
Onto Blackbird!
A completely different aesthetic, as you can see…
…all sleek and white, slightly obsequious service, waiters in full suits (cuz that seems practical), etc.
An amuse of seared Spanish mackerel with quince puree and Jerusalem artichoke.
A glass of 2009 Lucien Albrecht Reserve Riesling from Alsace. Nice, but not as much acid as I would’ve liked.
Charred baby sepia (like squid) with green tomato, blueberries, chamomile, almonds, and Cynar. A fascinating combination; with every bite I continued to dissect it—the flavors, the textures…in the middle of the plate was a tomatillo broth, that was fruity and clean, the sepia was crusted with chamomile, and the cream underneath was infused with bitter, herbal Cynar. It was a pleasure to eat, but I still don’t know it the combination really worked; was it bravado that impressed, or a true understanding of the ingredients and how they harmonized? Was it a dish that simply seemed genius because it was so unique, or one that was genius, because the components complemented each other? If it’s the latter, why are sepia, green tomatoes, and blueberries not the new beets, walnuts, and goat cheese? Curious…
A pleasantly grainy bread was served with a thyme-dusted pat of butter.
Wagyu tartare. Another plate painstakingly composed to appear as random as a Pollack. A cube of meaty tartar with sizeable chunks of beef was flecked with cucumber as well, which was a beautifully fresh foil to the meat; a relish of golden beets as well as wedges of chioggas; grilled cucumbers with a measured smokiness; shallot vinaigrette; and borage leaves, that had an incredibly briny, oceany flavor, almost like sea beans. A well thought out plate of simple flavors with an overcomplicated description.
Half glasses of both a 2008 Jolete Pinot Noir from the Willamette and a 2006 Chateau Coronne Ste Gemme from the Haut Medoc; a creamy New World Pinot and a simple but classic Bordeaux.
Confit of suckling pig, perhaps the most bizarre I’ve ever seen. It’s hand pounded into a sheet, draped over smoked dates, stewed hazelnuts, and wilted dandelion greens, and topped with pickled shallot, spicy pickled lime, and fresh greens. Rich yet light, with the intense sweet-smoky flavor and chewy texture of the dates impersonating bacon bits, and playing off the porky confit.
To go with dessert…
…a glass of Rare Wine Company’s Boston Bual Madeira.
Bittersweet chocolate cremeux. Quenelles of rich, creamy mousse, cashew brittle, butternut squash puree as well as meaty little chunks of candied squash, and cilantro. This one may have been overcomplicated, but there’s no doubt in my mind that it worked…magical.
Overall, my Blackbird experience was a good one, but it’s not a place I would return to. When it comes down to it, I want the food without the pretension. If it means that my sepia is simply charred, and not dusted with chamomile, so be it, if it means my pork confit isn’t hand pounded paper thin, I suppose I’ll survive, and if it means that the bar doesn’t look like something from a space station, and my server isn’t wearing a tie pin, than praise the lord.
Hungrily Ever After 