Getting Caught Up

Dear Bang Bang, marry me.

A whole lot has happened in the Chicago food universe since I last regularly posted. So here's a quick list of some of the weighty matters I'll jump on... and others I'm just telling you about to testify:

1. Grant Achatz has expanded his empire with Next and Aviary, and I haven't been to either one because I'm the working mom of a toddler and don't have time for that Facebook reservation b.s. If I have to hire a personal assistant to make it happen, it's not going to happen.

2. Yes, now I sometimes cook in a slow cooker and have mastered freezer meals. But I don't drive a minivan, wear Crocs, or clip coupons from the Ladies Home Journal, so don't go jumping to conclusions, ok?

3. I took a job at Steppenwolf Theatre because it's an amazing, inspiring place run by great people who are making Chicago a smarter, better city with their courageous brand of visceral, passionate theater.... This has little to do with food except that it's now part of my job to regularly eat with my donors on that stretch of Halsted that holds the theater, as well as BOKA, Alinea, Balena, and the Rustic House. God bless the arts. They are my people.

4. After 15 years as a pescatarian, I returned to eating meat a year ago.This involved going off the rails for a few months at first (veal ragout on day 3, if memory serves) but I've got it under control now. I can't get used to bacon or pork sausage though, so I'll be the only person in all of blogdom not barraging you with pork, pork, pork, all day long, pork. Not even if it's on a doughnut with maple sugar sprinkles. Pass.

5. I started juicing this summer after having the absolute crap scared out of me by the documentary Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead... in an inspiring sort of way. Juicing is fantastic. Juicing is awesome. If I had a personal assistant who could run to Stanley's and then scrub down my chunky juicer parts later, I would do it daily. As such, this isn't the case, but we do what we can.

6. My sister in law and her new husband have gone vegan. They're coming to stay for a weekend. And now I'm trying not to be one of those people who bitches about having to feed vegans.

7. Can we talk about places like Burger Bar and Epic Burger? Sweet Jesus. Yes, we can. Also there is Bang Bang Pie Shop, which probably requires a three-part investigative treatment, as they're obviously doing God's work.

8. My good friend Don Sritong had to close his Just Grapes wine store on Washington after seven years (booooooo), but is currently working on a few new concepts with investors. At least one will be a wine bar. Don attacks every project he works on with a singular passion that makes most hardworking people look like deadbeat stoners, so I'm excited to see what materializes. Also? I'm jealous that he gets to fly around the country going on research trips to wine bars in the meantime. College counselors should really ask you to consider these factors when you weigh your future, non?

9. Another friend, Michael Taus, closed his restaurant Zealous after over 20 years. The last night of service was on sub-zero New Year's Eve, during which a group of his biggest fans gathered for a final dinner. I can't show you the pictures from that night because a certain Mrs. Taus raided the bar's tequila supply on our behalf after dinner. However, I'm totally excited to try Michael's newest brainchild Da Lobsta (DA LOBSTA!), and will be happy share those photos.

10. I've become a fan of the Vivino app to keep track of what's stashed in my wine closet. We'll talk.

Taste of Next

As the opening of Next approaches on April 6th-ish (955 W. Fulton), the Achatz/Kokonas promotional machine is in full swing. Dish just published a sampling of items from the first menu. My fave is the lowly anchovy elevated to elegant status on a quail egg, done all soft a fab on the inside. Gorgeous as a Vosges truffle....not to mention personally relevant since "Aunt Chovy" is my mom's nickname to all of my cousins, and she's no slouch when it comes to presentation either.

Eating Paris 1906

I just saw this short video about the menu development underway at Next, Grant Achatz's anticipated new restaurant. The concept is innovative in that the menu theme will dramatically change every few months, with Paris in 1906 being the first.

Watching them plate this dish reminds me of my most favorite cookbook ever - the posthumous publication of Toulouse-Lautrec's personal recipes, circa 1905, entitled The Art of Cuisine. Oh Monsieur Lautrec... I could spend hours talking about how he was a brilliantly gifted misfit in search of acceptance from the Parisian women celebrities he adored from afar, and eventually made icons during his short life. Almost better, he was a sparkling wit and a skilled hunter with deep family pockets that he used to support his true love of the kitchen. Like his art, this book is an endless joy that tells so much about the person who adored nothing more than throwing an over-the-top and totally out-of-hand-party for his circle of now-famous and infamous friends. You can find it at used book dealers through Amazon.

Anthony Bourdain vs. Food Critics

Jeff Ruby, the amusing Chicago magazine food critc, wrote a piece this month on why you should ignore Anthony Bourdain's advice and read food journalism for your restaurant recommendations rather than going to a site like Yelp. In a nutshell, Jeff tells us a) you can't trust Yelpers and b) they probably don't share your tastes anyway. I would add to the list that reading most of them is pure agony, whereas Jeff has sparkling wit and can spell "fork" correctly.

This made me think about how I make my restaurant decisions. Case and point, my wedding anniversary is coming up, and as new parents who've worn a path between our condo, offices and Target for four months, we've decided to go big. Not Alinea-big, but pretty dang big.

Problem is, I don't know where to go big at, because I've been in baby-love lala land for so long. Here's about how it breaks down these days:

1. Go to Urbanspoon online. Look at Talk of the Town list. Decide that this crappy economy is the reason that Alinea is the only expensive restaurant on it.

2. Go to Menupages online. Search for $$$$ restaurants that look intriguing. Click on descriptions of the newer ones. Link over to a couple of the restaurant websites to look at pretty pictures of dining rooms. Wonder if I have anything to wear. Decide new peeptoes may be in order.

3. Go to Open Table. See which of those places have bookings open. None do. Decide that this crappy economy is the reason that there aren't more options. Launch a new search for expensive restaurants that do have openings. Decide to book NoMi as a backup plan.

4. Go to Zagat online. Troll through reviews. Did I miss anything?...No. Get tired. Decide NoMi will be lovely. Go to bed, promising myself to read up on restaurants again at some point...by reading Helen Rosner at the Menupages blog, because the girl's got skills.

So Jeff, I have a recommendation for you. Develop a Jeff Ruby app for the iPhone. Charge $1.99 a pop. Now your writing is even more relevant and you don't need to rely on Chicago mag's plastic surgery ad revenue to keep you in foie gras.

You're welcome. xo

My New Crush

I'm officially crushing on Chef Novelli from Bravo's reality show Chef Academy, which is one of the only food shows that makes me want to cook even more - ok...just as much as - I want to eat what I'm watching. He's a master with food. He makes basic things extraordinary. And he's so French, it kills me. Sweet Jesus. Men can surf porn online - women have this.

It also doesn't hurt that Novelli's students are on a much more relatable level than the technical stars of Top Chef. Their job is to master the essentials he's teaching them, not create on their own.

Case in point on making the simple extraordinary, this cooking demo on Novelli's pea and mint soup:

Wine Makers Update

Don Sritong has returned from California a survivor. He made it through the first round of eliminations as a contestant on PBS' the Wine Makers last weekend. He said his back and knees are killing him, so I'm guessing there was some toiling in the vineyard. He'll be on his way to Rhone soon for the rest of taping. Thankfully, we have the awesome Maggie to hold down the fort at Just Grapes while he's gone.

His audition video for the show is here:

Roundup: Graham Elliot, Pig Cheese, and Local Rock Star

1. OMG. Graham Elliot's truffle-Parmesan popcorn deliciousness at Lolla absolutely rocked. Hugely. There was no line at the booth, but that's probably just because they'd already sold out of the lobster corndog. Or perhaps it was because I was one of the few there who, due to my seasoned years, realized that truffle oil trumps drugs and alcohol any day.

Due to said popcorn consumption, my post-concession stand conversation went something like this for a while:

The Hubbles: What's happening over at Perry's again?

Me: Mmmmm....merph-um-wahumf. (crunch crunch crunch)

The Hubbles: Wow, hon. I really wish we could find you a napkin.

Me: Yumph. (crunch crunch)

And thank you Helen at GrubStreet for once again demonstrating that you have my back on these deeply weighty matters.

2. I've been around Greece a bit, and the feta cheese is pretty spectacular. But Whole Foods' store brand (the one with the plain black goat sticker on the front) makes me swoon more than any I can remember eating in Hellas. Last night I was savoring it, and two things occurred to me:

a) Goats aren't chubby, yet their milk turns out lovely cheese.

b) Pigs are extremely chubby, and yet they don't join their barnyard brethren in producing dairy products. So why no pig cheese?

Naturally someone has already explored this on the Interweb. Answer: "Pork cheese" is produced in Mexico and Hungary, and probably other places, but it doesn't taste similar to cow, sheep or goat cheese because the fatty acids in it differ from those animals' milk.

We totally need a Food Mythbusters for this type of thing.

c) Hey, didja see the news down below about Don? Chicago's got one more culinary reality TV rock star.

Go, Don, GO!!!

Oh, the excitement! My good friend Don Sritong, the mind behind Just Grapes on Washington, found out yesterday that he's made the cut for Season 2 of PBS' reality show The Wine Makers! Contestants of the show will fly to the Rhone valley this September to compete for the honor of creating and launching their own wine brand nationwide (presumably stateside rather than in the French market). Season 1 airs this fall.

Don is on his way to California this weekend to start filming the first round of challenges and cuts. As the only person I know who's more competitive than my husband, my money says that he'll show up with all guns blazing. And a killer wardrobe.

Go, Don, go!!!

Grab Your Mallets and Your Mouse(s)

I'm stoked about Julie & Julia opening this Friday. Its timing conflict with Lollapalooza means striking a hard bargain with my husband to wedge a viewing in somewhere between Andrew Bird and Jane's Addiction over a sweaty marathon music weekend. But so be it. Madame Streep as Julia Child is simply not to be missed, and I'm absolutely giddy to have a foodie movie to sink my chops into since Ratatouille. (You can only get so much culinary mileage out of animated vermin, even if it comes from the genius pen of Pixar.)

Many of my compatriot bloggers are not however so enthused about Julie Powell's turn of fortune in all this, and we have what's left of the tattered newspaper world to tell us so. I don't mind dissent in the ranks. In fact, among bloggers I think you have to presume a certain constant dull roar of it. Snark is our favorite candy. 

It got me thinking though. Julie & Julia is a two-part story that offers up two heroines. Both are brash, fearless upstarts entering the culinary world during entirely different eras and through entirely different means. How each enters the fray is a fascinating look at how much life and popular culture have changed, but both women have the moxie to search their foodie souls in full public view. And at a minimum, isn't Powell's version of that moxie exactly what all food bloggers share? I hope so.

Speak, Gastronomy

Nabokov gave us Speak, Memory. Hemingway, his Movable Feast. Fisher, her Postcards from the Edge. And Grant Achatz is working on his memoirs, Life, on the Line - at 35. Maybe I'm naively old school about this, but as a fellow Gen X'er, it seems way too early for a career retrospective. Even for the most accomplished among us and even for someone who's had to wrestle with mortality so young. I say save it for Oprah, and then get back to work on the actual line.

David Lebovitz: My Bono

Any 12-step program will tell an addict to avoid their triggers, much less invite them into your home on a live-in basis. This is why I've never allowed myself to purchase an entire box of cake mix for no specific reason or, say, date a pastry chef. Not that I haven't fantasized about those things. (Those 80s commercials about "living in the land of Dairy Queen"? They still haunt me to this day.) I just know that my personal danger zone of no-holds-barred consumption behavior is paved with butter cream frosting, so I only allow myself to indulge in limited doses, preferably with my husband or friends to serve as backup. This is a Category 5 sweet tooth I have, people.

Despite his considerable chops as a nationally-celebrated pastry chef, I'd never heard of David Lebovitz before two days ago. Alice Waters and Chez Panisse? Yes, of course. But David's fame is from two all-dessert cookbooks he wrote after spending years at Panisse, both of which I've averted my eyes from in bookstores to resist taking home in plain brown paper bags and stashing greedily under my bed. This week, however, I was in le mood for some nonfiction foodie reading and saw that The Sweet Life in Paris by Lebovitz is #6 on Amazon's Kindle nonfiction list. Now I'm in awe of this man doing God's work in France as a transplant, and dispatching books and blogs about it. Aside from Paris's art world, which I explored somewhat in my late college years, he's given me the foodie half that I just knew existed - and it's even better than I hoped.

It's been my dream to take a romp through Paris that I've very creatively entitled the "Let's Eat Our Way through Paris Trip." Despite having a willing spouse and knowing two great couples to go whole hog with me on the idea, it's still just a glimmer in my eye, thanks to the recession, the underperforming dollar, and my own career ambitions of late. So. Lebovitz's book has been an excellent substitute. He's not only a witty observer, he opens up his personal life to make his essays feel like the first-hand accounts of a friend, one with a three-dimensional life that just happens to revolve around 5 kilo slabs of chocolate.

Amazed at his description of G. Detou, the pastry-makers paradise he describes in the book, I pounced on his blog online and MON DIEU! found that he leads culinary tours through the city. The one I'm fantasizing about is this Gastronomic Adventure in October, and I swear, if I went he would certainly not need to give me the shorts and fanny pack lecture.

One day, my friend. One day.

(The above photo of G. Detou is by Jason Whittaker.)

My First Chicago-Style Dog

Ever since Phil Foss responded to Menupages' street food challenge with the lobster dog at Lockwood, I've been flirting with the idea of ordering it up. I usually make most non-life-altering decisions in about a nanosecond, but I vacillated on this. Maybe it's because I feel so left out of the Symphony in Pig movement, as Dennis Ray Wheaton coined it in Chicago mag this month, that's seduced dozens of chefs at places like Mado and The Publican. These are restaurants where pescatarians like me feel a little like Tracy Flick showing up at an orgy. The cults of Hot Doug's and charcuterie are having such a moment lately, even something as honestly marine as Foss' creation struck me as getting a little bit sucked into the pork vortex.

But, hell, I work a block from Lockwood and literally walk through the Palmer House lobby several times a week. And a girl's gotta eat something other than tuna wraps for lunch. So I parked myself at the bar today fully expecting to order the crab cake sandwich, as I did last time I was there. Except that there is no crab cake sandwich anymore. It's been replaced by the dog. So I ordered it... with truffled chips.

It really is quite good. Not life-changing. But surprisingly rich and delicate at the same time, if not a touch too oozy with more saffron-ginger buerre blanc than it needed. Foss did a great job of honoring all the textures and flavors of the hot dog (if I remember anyway...it's been 15 years or so) using lobster, scallop mousse, leeks, tomatoes, a potato bun and spices. But even if you were oblivious to the provenance in say, a blindfolded, 9 and 1/2 Weeks type situation, it stands on its own as inventive, decadent, comfort food. I don't know anybody who isn't going for that right now. At $18, it's not a recession darling, but I'm not going shame you from enjoying one. Quite the contrary. Despite what the media wants to tell us 24-7, some people have money right now and they're still spending it on things that make them feel good. As were the six other people eating at the bar with me today.

Our waiter mentioned that Potter's, the cocktail lounge at the Palmer House, is offering the dog for half price on Wednesdays. That's nine more bucks for your cocktail kitty.

Ferran Adria's Ice Cream Maker

Liquid nitrogen in the kitchen sounds so NASA to the culinary world, but this video by ForaTV shows us it's really just a very handy sorbet-maker.

Wine for the Innocents

In yet another excuse to write about dogs this afternoon (!), I saw that Alpana posted today about how her Pug, Haruki, loves to sniff newly opened wine. She's stopped just short of letting him have a slurp. Kind of amazing to consider what his canine sense of smell is bound to be able to detect in there, don't you think? I'm sure his nose beats the absolute pants off Robert Parker's. Just imagine if Haruki could spell and had opposable thumbs.

Haruki's appreciation reminds me a little of my friend Don's 9-month old son. Yesterday at brunch, his wine-loving parents showed us how he's already learned to lean in and sniff the bouquet in a glass, imitating his dad's most serious expression while he does it. Pretty awesome. It made me feel slightly less freakish for having grown up in a family so Italian that I was literally enjoying veal cutlets and watered down vino in my highchair.

Et Tu, Atlantic Food?

My closest friends and family know that I daily walk the line that crosses into Crazy Dog Lady territory, but even I think the tsunami of press coverage about Bo the First Portuguese Water Dog is getting out of hand. Marion Nestle of the Atlantic's food blog is chattering about what Bo should find in his food bowl every day. Ah, that the press had its own trainer with a firm hand and some smelly liver to lure them into a nice, calming Sit-Down-Stay.

Anniversary Dinner with Mayor Daley

As of today it's been 20 years since Mayor Daley took office as the benevolent dictator of our metropolis. Holy crap is right, Chicagoist. In honor of this occasion, perhaps you could celebrate by going to Gibson's and asking for "the Mayor's table." This of course will not get you a decent table at all, but one near the kitchen that the wait staff refers to this way to appease demanding jerks who walk in with no reservation. Gibson's was old school Daley.

For new school Daley, skip that and go to Santorini in Greek Town where he's reportedly been trying to lay off the red meat in favor of pasta, seafood, and olive oil. Don't forget to order an Old Fashioned before dinner though. You don't want to go too crazy with the healthy. For the evening's entertainment, you'll want to get yourself to the Lyric Opera. Which production? Faust, naturally.

What's Going Down in the Next 60 Days

So here's the deal. I've been working on the capital campaign to build the Art Institute's new Modern Wing for well over a year, which means I'm a tired, cranky woman who writes about food to distract myself from the myopic focus, insomnia and general pissiness that such a massive undertaking requires. Despite that, we are a mere four weeks away from one of the proudest and most painful moments of my career - the two-week marathon of opening events that will damn near kill me and most of my colleagues. Twenty-four events in 22 days, to be exact. I'm telling you this because I'm just not sure how much love I'll be able to lavish on the Dirty Dish pages over the next two months. I will try my level best.

On the bright side, the art tribe loves beautiful food, and it's a big part of the Modern Wing's many amazing celebrations, not to mention Tony Mantuano's new restaurant that will reside permanently on its third floor. Many foodie details are under wraps that I'm verboten to share. But I promise I will when I can.

Deal? Deal.

xoxo, E.

The First Garden Goes Live

The inevitable photos of Michelle Obama and co. digging into the White House lawn for a garden have hit the wires. A few thoughts:

1. Girl, who do you think you're kidding in that outfit? Maria Pinto and the sheath dress notwithstanding, ditch those city boots stat and put on some denim and a pair of Wellingtons. America loves a First Lady who can dig in the dirt like a real woman, I just know it. All of Kansas and Nebraska are laughing at you right now.

2. Would the media please stop calling Alice Waters for a minute? We get it. Organic. Sustainable. Out of the ground. All very, very good for the future of food policy and the planet. Now let the woman zip it so she can roll up her sleeves and DO.

3. Alice "never dreamed of the brilliant stroke of bringing in schoolchildren" for the garden? Wow. She really hasn't been around the block with politics much. Or anywhere near most urban garden programs, apparently.

4. Landscape architects are likely a little miffed that Alice said they taint the movement. She better watch herself before they organize and build a manure topiary on her front lawn.

5. Yay fifth graders. Yay Sam Kass.

Review: Sixteen

Ever since Trump planted the first shovel in the ground on Wabash for Trump Tower, Chicago has honed its art of publicly hating the Donald. It's hard to resist. Between his obnoxious antics, ego, and excess there's enough to make your lip curl. At some point though, that gets trite and you may as well see if the reality lives up to the hype.

Sixteen's space is just as gorgeous as every review describes - stellar architectural views of the Wrigley and Tribune towers, and a luxurious interior to match - but then that's not really a rarity. There's no shortage of expensive, opulent restaurants in Chicago, although I don't think any of them have been vaguely derided for it like this one has. We went to Sixteen last night to celebrate my husband's birthday, and overall the food and wine pairings of our blind tasting menu were just shy of excellent, with truly great service that's actually too rare in our city.

Over three hours, Paul our sommelier presented all 10 of the small courses and their wine pairings to us. Chef Frank Brunacci's kitchen did a great job of adjusting the menu around my dietary restrictions of no meat or poultry, with one hiccup that was quickly resolved. The highlights were Brunacci's signature scallops with "bang bang" pear chutney, a Tasmanian sea trout with an amazing ginger reduction... and fried winter point oysters that I'm still thinking about. My husband's scallop, accompanied by fois gras, was his favorite of the evening, followed by a duo of fillet mignon and short ribs that had him swooning. The plate of artisanal cheeses was one of the best we've had anywhere, followed by two very good dessert courses. Paul's wine pairings were solid with moments of brilliance, and when he learned of our fondness for the Mary Edwards Pinot Noir, he sent more. You only eat like this a couple of times a year, if you're lucky. Would we go back? In a hearbeat.

The consumate lover of a great view, my husband eyed Sixteen's massive terrace from our table all night long. Paul said they plan to open it for brunch service later in the spring.

Raising a Glass to Cook the Wolf

I'll confess, I rarely enjoy the food and wine writing that I bother to read in newspapers. Maybe I'm a snob or I just take eating too personally, but I almost never enjoy what the populist foodie pages are dishing up. Bill Daley... how do you go on? Every time I read a question posed in that column, I want to tell the author to put their bloody pen down and go back to their box of Franzia.

I know, Mee-OW.

Literate, personal, insightful food writing...now that's the stuff. Some blogs have it, some don't. I'm not entirely sure that I read Emily Nunn's work in the Trib when she was with them, but I'm already a fan of her new blog, Cook the Wolf. And I'm not just saying this because we share a first name, a salon, or blog titles inspired by MFK. She wants to tell me about her grandma's mayonnaise? Bravo. I'm all ears when someone tells me of a formative food love. Especially when they know their parts of speech. She wants to suggest turnip perfume? Well.

The Demeter Fragrance Library doesn't have turnip cologne spray specifically, but comes close. How about Basil, Beet Root, Celery, or Dirt? Wet Garden maybe? Or better, in honor of a much needed new direction in life, New Leaf.

I'm personally a Tiramisu + Paperback + Champagne Brut blend. My own grandmother would definitely be Clean Windows + Angel Food + Gin and Tonic. No question.