The Southern - Chicago

The Southern.  Has the. Best. Fried. Chicken.  Let's let that sink in for just a few minutes.

I'm no expert on fried chicken - far, far from it.  I rarely eat it, and can probably count the number of times I've ever had it on both hands.  It wasn't a food we ever, ever ate growing up (although I spent a fair amount of time begging mom and dad for KFC buckets).  I've never had homemade fried chicken from anybody's home.  I've only ever had KFC, Popeyes, and Stanley's fried chicken (a Chicago bar serving up barrels of peanuts and Sunday "chicken and waffles" brunches).  My scope of fried chicken exposure is shockingly small.

Yet for weeks I've had this inexplicable craving for it.  A and I both have been "threatening" to pick up fried chicken buckets on the way home, and contemplating paying $16.95 for West Town Tavern's Monday night fried chicken special (a great neighborhood restaurant, by the way.  It's nice but not "fancy," inexpensive but not cheap, with a menu that's both familiar and inventive - and worth every cent.  Go.)

After going to a friend's father's wake yesterday, our group was in need of something to nourish our souls and bellies.  After a short debate of the many options along one arbitrary stretch of North Avenue (Uberstein, Lillie's Q, Piece) we settled on The Southern - "a central gathering place where the tallest order of the day is a cocktail, conversation, and relaxation."  It's been hyped (justly, we found) since opening earlier this year for its riffs on southern food, elevating the homestyle recipes without making anything seem fussy or fancy.  The rough-hewn wood tables, many fireplaces, and southern rock playing in the background reinforce this casual, at-home, comfortable vibe - but the food is much better than most home kitchens!

We started with the Southern Mess - a take on Poutine, made with hand-cut fries, smoked tasso ham gravy, and locally sourced cheddar cheese curds that had been broiled to a caramelized perfection.  This disappeared in rapid speed.  Fries covered in gravy and cheese - yeah, it's not hard to make something like that palatable, if not great.  But this is Grrrrrrrreat, sayeth Tony the Tiger.  The curds were not greasy at all, as blankets of cheese are wont to be, and the smoky, salty ham gravy was a nice taste and textural counterpoint to the chewy curds and crispy fries.

Usually, the Southern offers its fried chicken only as a reserve-in-advance, 6-person-or-more, part-of-a-family-style-dinner dish.  Except, as luck would have it, on Wednesdays, when since two weeks ago the Chef has been offering half a fried chicken, a homemade biscuit, and mushroom gravy as a $14 blue plate special ($3 Abita beers are also on special every Wednesday - score!)  When we learned this little fact, well, 2 or the 3 had their minds made up for them - it's fried chicken for dinner tonight.

According to our server, Chef Cary Taylor marinates the chicken in buttermilk and spices for two days before breading and frying the chicken.  And, much like the two-dip fry technique used to make the best french fries, he fries it once, cooks the chicken through in the oven, then returns the chicken to the fryer to crisp it up again before serving.  A unique process, no doubt, but would it be worth it?

In a word, yes.  Lest you think the three-fold technique would dry out the chicken, it didn't.  The perfectly cooked chicken was very moist, tender, and flavorful.  The crust and skin were unbelievable crispy, with a hint of spice.  Perhaps, just maybe, I wanted a bit more salt on the chicken.  But, then again, I want a bit more salt on just about everything, so let's chalk it up to a salty preference on my end.

Besides the great food, cheap beer, interesting cocktail menu (punch bowls - seriously?  I'm coming back just for one of those!) and inviting atmosphere (you could easily stay a long, long while), the service was pretty awesome.  Except for one 10-minute time frame where we never saw our server, he (and his bussers/runners) was mostly spot-on with recommendations, timing, filling empty drinks, bussing plates, and answering questions.  Above and beyond that, exec chef Cary was out and about the entire night, talking to every table multiple times and genuinely wanting to make sure everyone in his place was enjoying themselves.  Whereas sometimes I might find this intrusive, the people here just seemed friendly and, more importantly, invested in what they were doing.  Which was being awesome.

In a word, go to The Southern.  Say hi to Cary, too.

A. G. Ferrari's Deli in San Francisco

Across the street from this little hotel is a small Italian specialty food store and deli.  It looks like a nice, new little place.  A quick Google search reveals that it's a mid-size California chain, although it doesn't feel much like a chain when you walk in.  It carries Italian candies, wines, imported pastas, and olive oils, in addition to its well stocked deli of italian meats, cheeses, and prepared food items.  It would be a fun place to explore were I a local resident. 


But I'm not, so none of these food finds really caught my eye, since my 50.5 lb suitcase can take no more contents unless I want to pay a $100 oversize bag fee when I fly back to Chicago on Wed.  No matter how special that olive oil is, I'm not paying a hundo to take it with me on the aeroplane. 

They look like black-eyed peas to me...

Sandwiches, on the other hand, are something I can enjoy.  And A.G. Ferrari makes those by the tenfold.  Their "seasonal" (doubt it" menu lists about 20 varieties, and I'll give them credit that only one or two feature deli smoked turkey.  Instead, they stuff their (freshly baked?  maybe) bread with cured Italian meats, roasted veggies, house-made dressings, and less-common cheeses.  A welcome find. 


Going back to that across the street location, it's no surprise that it has fed me lunch two days running now.  Yesterday I selected #4, a tuna and celery salad with tomato, arugula, and olive tapenade on foccacia.  The not-too-mayo-y tuna salad had a fair bit of crunch, and the chunky olive tapenade cut through the richness with its salty brine.  The foccacia as well wasn't greasy like this olive-oil laden bread can sometimes be, making it a nice counterpoint to the savory contents it held.

Today the #9 Veneto called my name.  Layers of spicy, rich sopprasetta, asiago cheese, red leaf lettuce and--the deal clincher--pickled vegetables on crusty italian bread.  A side of cannellini bean, celery, and pecorino cheese salad with red wine vinaigrette somehow made its way into my cart, too.  Strange how these things happen.  


This was a great sandwich.  Great.  The peppery, salty salami balanced perfectly against the vinegary, crunchy vegetables, and mixed with the creamy asiago and the chewy bread it became perhaps my perfect sandwich. 


If you find yourself near this place (as I will tomorrow) I highly suggest helping yourself out and heading inside.  The #8 sure sounds good too.....   

Thirsty Bear Brewing Co.

First free night in San Francisco, and I happened to know that there was a little brewery and tapas restaurant not three block from my hotel.  “Happened to know” being, of course, a euphemism meaning, “as always, I heavily googled the area surrounding my hotel to unearth any available information on local restaurants, and then spent hours reading over their menus, and then when I got to the hotel also perused the magazines, handouts, and hotel guide to learn if I might have missed anything.”

So I knew of this brewery, is the point.  In addition to my sincere, deep, and abiding affection for beer—the bitterer, the better—I love tapas.  Because, my friends, you get to eat so many of them.  If you are, like me, cursed with the affliction that prevents you from deciding between a handful of options from any menu you see, then a tapas or small plates restaurant may well be the cure.  Instead of choosing one, you choose three, four, five, ten, depending how many people are around, or just how gluttonous you want to be.

We'd already eaten a couple. Oops.  

The Thirsty Bear Brewing Co. was our destination on Friday.  While I was honestly not too impressed with the two beers I tried, my mind changed when I stood up and realized how STRONG they must have been. Wow.  The Howard Street IPA was nicely bitter, but didn’t seem to have many additional citrusy or floral flavors that I usually crave (especially citrus) to give more interest to the shocking hoppiness.  The Brown Bear Ale likewise was caramelly, a bit malty, but also a little thin bodied.  Of course, to be fair, my sinus cold could have been the true factor swaying me away from liking - or tasting - them more. 

But the food provided no such challenge to taste.  We started with a Jamon Serrano Flatbread with Manchego and Figs---great, great simple snack.  The crunchy crust had a buttery richness that elevated it above your standard dough, and the quartered figs brightened up the salty, cheesy dish. I could have used more ham, but the sweet, perhaps balsamic syrup underneath all the toppings made up for it.  We also had the empanadas, filled with pulled pork shoulder and queso fresco and sitting atop a squash and pepper sauce.  These were tasty little morsels, but perhaps not anything too out of the ordninary.  Still, a fried dumpling is a fried dumpling, which in my book means delicious.

I will have dreams about this. 

I must have been hungry when the second round of food came, because I forgot to take pictures and instead dove right into eating.  Who would have thought, right?  We got one of the night’s specials—squid stuffed with house-made chorizo and sitting atop braised winter greens.  The chorizo was not as spicy as I would have preferred, but the squid was perfectly cooked and tender, not chewy, with a bit of char from a grill/salamander.  Greens gave a nice herbal note to the meaty bundles, but were otherwise not too out of the ordinary. 

And the bocadillos?  GREAT.  Sure, they are a Spanish riff on a slider/mini-burger, but the interesting addition of hard boiled eggs and capers to the garlic aioli sauce gracing the lamb, pork and meat-burgers was interesting—salty, tangy, rich and delicious.  And the lightly pickled squash salad on their side once again balanced the plate, cutting through meaty, rich flavors with vinegar’s bit and veggies’ crunch.

Definitely recommend.  In fact, I want to go back before I leave…

Are you going to San Francisco?

If my last hotel was “the hotel from the FUTURE,” this hotel is definitely a thing of the past.  And I say that is a fond, affectionate way.  While it’s not my personal style, as in I’m not gonna run out and get a four-poster bed for our little apartment bedroom, I appreciate the history of the place. 

Around since before the big ol’ earthquake, San Francisco’s Palace Hotel surely reflects a storied past of when this “City by the Bay” was, in some respects, still the wild west.  It feels old—again, in the best possible way—and reminds me of how much differently we see and experience life today than they did just 100 or even 50 years ago. 

Take, for instance, my shock at stepping off the elevator on the seventh floor and seeing a marble staircase across the foyer.  Stairs!  On the seventh floor!  Who would climb up that many flights?  Of course, everybody, if they were born before the elevators were installed.  Then I scoffed at the completely functional, non-ornate bathroom.  What?   No slick basin sink?  No iPod dock for shower tunes? No in-mirror TV screen? (Yes, I actually stayed in a hotel – for work – with one of these.  And I actually called to the front desk to get a replacement remote for my broken one, because I’ll be damned if I’m going to stay in a room with an in-mirror bathroom TV and not watch that thing every hour of the day.)

But then I remembered that the bathroom works. The ceilings are luxuriously high.  And the wingchair alongside the heavy wooden desk is just something you don’t see every day.  Sure, they’ve made some concessions to the changing times—a flat screen TV on the sideboard; a wireless connection; I suppose even the digital alarm clock next to the bed counts as a modern concession, although it sits upon an honest-to-god piece of furniture, not some slickly installed plasticine shelf. 

Really, would you want it another way?  It does us good to remember that what we take for granted are beyond luxuries; they’re unfathomable to those who came 25, 50, 100 years ago and slept in this very room.  Maybe I should spend more time thinking about those who came before me than how I’m going to best feed media into my brain today.  No, today I’ll do it the old fashioned way, with a book and a bath—kindle and Jacuzzi-free, of course.

And, lest I forget the point of this blog, this historic hotel has a foodie connection! As averred on its website, the Palace Hotel is the birthplace of green goddess dressing.  So when I landed tonight, half sick with a sinus cold and coming off 5 ½ hours in the air (DC to San Fran is not a short flight) I knew that room service once again would be my destiny.

My kind of cold medicine.

Chicken noodle soup—addressing the virus-y half of me—and veggie crudités with green goddess dressing—for my hungry, food-loving half. Chicken soup is chicken soup--it was good, darlings, but i just don't think it can be great.  Great for a cold, though.  The green goddess is unlike any other incarnation of the stuff I've ever come across--and, like the hotel, i mean that in the best possible way.  Tangy, thick, herby, it definitely leaves you wanting more, while being also much lighter on the taste buds than a heavy ranch or onion dip.  

Not going to eat it all, surely, but the wood-paneled mini-fridge hidden in the sidebar—a holdover from the 70s, surely—can contain the veg for snacking in the work-heavy days to come.  Bear with me, friends.  Like my turbulent flight…it’s gonna be a bumpy ride. 

Gotta sneak in a taste...mmm!

Although I do have some backlogged food porn on my flash drive with me, so don’t get too lonely.  Cheeks will keep you well fed. 

On the road again...

I’m out of pocket this week….or, more accurately, out of the kitchen.  Another work meeting has taken me first to DC, and next to San Francisco, for the next 8 days.  I shouldn’t complain, really.  We get to stay at nice hotels—much nicer than the the hotels my cheap ass reserves when I’m paying the bill.  I get to travel with my friends, as I’m lucky enough to have some really good friends at my workplace.  And we get $60/day to spend on food. Whatever food we want.  Wherever we want.  FOR FREE.  This is sounding better already….

First stop, the Donovan House in DC—or, as I’ve been calling it, using a mystical robot voice in my head (sometimes out loud too…), “the hotel from the future.”  It’s very modern—sharp angles, lots of chrome and white lacquered furniture, and the strangest shower I’ve ever seen.  A snail-shaped molded plastic maze, the shower serves as a semi-translucent wall dividing the bed from the bathroom.  Since I’m traveling alone (miss you A), nobody got to witness the silhouette shower show that undoubtedly was on display for the empty bedroom.  Unless I forgot to close the shades…

Aside from the bizarre, non-private shower, it’s a great hotel.  All the staff members I’ve encountered are super friendly, helpful, and willing to go above and beyond—fixing problems for me, extending checkout to 1 for no extra charge, and just being awesome.  I’m loving this hotel, even if the room is a little small. The décor, futuristic though it may be, is sharp and streamlined.  The bathroom (always the first thing I check out) is appointed with Bigelow toiletries.  And, the bed – specifically the pillows – are actually comfortable, which though seemingly easy to accomplish is so often overlooked that I’m willing to award an extra star just for that.

But my favorite thing about business trips?  Always?  Is room service.  Yes, it’s deliberately, outrageously overpriced.  Yes, it’s not usually the best food you can find in the city.  Yes, it’s really lazy to order in instead of exploring a town you’re visiting.  But it’s so indulgent, and so rare that I do it, that I can’t stop myself from putting on the hotel robe, ordering up a feast, and eating in bed.  Evidence?

Another plus—the house restaurant is a sushi place!  Love it. Love love it.  Instead of crappy onion soup or club sandwiches, which seem to be on every hotel menu (and, having done my fair share of business trips, I feel well acquainted with hotel menus), I got myself some unagi sashimi, a “firecracker” roll (shrimp tempura and spicy crab, topped with cucumber-avocado slaw), and steamed vegetable dumplings. 

YUM.  Maybe not the best sushi I’ve ever had, but certainly the best sushi I’ve ever eaten in bed!  Let’s hope I don’t make this a practice when I get home.  Promise.

Moonshine reaffirms its "Meh" status

Anybody who lives in Chicago's Wicker Park neighborhood undoubtedly knows where Moonshine is, due in large part to its expansive sidewalk patio that turns into a mecca for people-watching, beer drinking, and general tomfoolery every weekend day.  It's insanely popular, with the whole patio filled up more often than not, although for the life of me I could never understand why.  Eating there several times when I lived in the 'hood affirmed their status as a loud, obnoxious sports bar with food that in no way justifies the price nor the experience.  Yes, serving drinks is mason jars is just sooo precious, Moonshine.  True, your huge sidewalk patio is rare and admittedly a great spot to check out the WP action.  And, clearly, you've passed the WP yuppies' muster, judging by how many of them fill your seats every weekend. But there are so many better places to while away a Sunday afternoon.

Then I read a few months ago that Moonshine had hired a new Chef and had started a brewery, now offering a selection of 10 or so house-made craft beers and a revamped and expanded menu.  Perhaps it was time to give this stalwart of the Wicker Park yuppie bar scene another chance at being decent.

We went for brunch and, among the three of us, had green eggs & ham, corned beef-hash (made with house-made corned beef brisket), and some biscuits and gravy, accompanied by a selection of their beers.  First, the drinks.  While this hops-head liked the IPA well enough, it had an overtly plant-like aroma that bothered another at the table--not from drinking it, mind you, just from smelling that greenery constantly.   The "extra" ordinary ale was liked, although perhaps not deserving of the first adjective in its name, and the Chicago-style pale ale was probably the favorite of the group--slightly sweet and fruity backed up by hoppy bitterness.  Nothing wowed us here, but on special at $6 for a tallboy, worth the price.

Then came the food.  The menu is different than I recall, though not drastically different style-wise from any other American-food type place: lots of burgers, sandwiches, appetizers and flatbread pizzas.  There seems to be a bit of a Mexican/Southwestern trend to the place, especially on the Brunch menu, which includes huevos rancheros and a breakfast burrito. The "green eggs" were simply eggs scrambled with New Mexico green chiles and accompanied by ham (or the meat of your choice--we got sausage), bread and potatoes.  Nothing special here, although no complaints either. The house-made corned beef was good, but made into hash was overly salty--to the point where it became difficult to eat.  Likewise, the gravy gracing the biscuits got raves, but the biscuit itself was tough, dense and heavy--not light and flaky like a good biscuit should be.

Overall, it is better.  I sincerely appreciate that they're trying to improve and making a lot of their offerings in-house rather than sourcing them to food service places or macrobreweries.  They just still have a lot of work to do, seeming as they do right now to be pretty inconsistent.  Like, why spend all the time brining and corning your own brisket, when whomever hashes it up hasn't mastered the salt shaker yet?  Why scratch make sausage gravy when your biscuits would sink in pudding? (Admittedly, biscuit-making is probably much more difficult to master than making a simple white gravy.)

Yes, it's better than before. And, having spied lots of gorgeous, glistening, pretzel-roll held burgers being brought out of the kitchen, perhaps we should give them another chance.  But when you have a table-full of customers wishing they'd gone somewhere else for a similar meal, you aren't likely to get another chance out of them.

You must eat here on Sunday

You must.  Or don't, because then I'd have to wait in line.  I like it about 1/2 empty, as it currently seems to always be, because it doesn't get loud and you get better service--and food.  Although if the 1/2 emptiness is going to lead to out-of-business-ness, then GO! NOW!  Just not too often, or I may have to throw a fork at you.  It's happened before.

Moving on...

Branch 27 opened in the hood a little over a year ago in an old branch of the Chicago public library.  Since they opened in 2009, they've gone through two menus, and, I believe, are on their third menu and second chef.  While the dinner menu's newest incarnation takes it a step up, cuisine-wise -- from elevated American comfort food (burgers, sandwiches, predictable entrees) to internally-influenced, meat-centric courses (pork rilletes, brazilian seafood stew, grilled 'cowboy' ribeye) -- I must admit to missing menu's previous the casual vibe.  What can I say?  Sandwiches are my favorite food, and while I fully recognize a more talented and creative chef is now helming the kitchen, I'd like to be able to get a dinner for under $15 there, a feat no longer possible.

But, to solve the dillema, in steps brunch.  I'm not usually a brunch person--brunch menus tend to be fairly standard, as is the fare that ensues from them. I'm a savory, real-food-in-the-morning typa girl, and dainty fruit plates and oatmeal aren't what I go to restaurants to eat.  That's why I usually prefer diners to brunch spots--you won't get anything out-of-the-ordinary at a diner, but you'll at least get real food from real people, with a minimum of strollers and yuppies interfering with my paper, coffee and hangover. 

Oh, but Branch 27 knows how to do brunch for real people (click the link for the menu).  Real people who like to eat interesting interpretations without having to save up for a month to do so. Southern-fried pork belly with cheddar grits and sausage gravy?  Seriously, man, how could you not want to eat that!  Biscuits and gravy, a diner staple, is spun into a new being with Southern gumbo gravy and grilled shrimp--all of a sudden, it seems much more appealing.

I had the Chilaquiles, the fried tortilla, red sauce, chorizo and egg scramble, and almost keeled over from how delicious it was--spicy but not too hot, large pieces of perhaps house-made chorizo, and perfectly poached eggs perched sumptiously on top.  Is there anythign more fun than poking your fork's tines into the runny yolk of a poached egg and watching the food below get bathed in sunny deliciousness?  A friend E had the above-mentioned pork belly--a small portion, thank god, since it's all necessary ingredients for a coronary on one plate--and it was good, and somehow not nearly as rich as you'd think.  Sissy got the french toast, and I'll be damned if it wasn't the best thing on the table--chewy, crispy sourdough, just sweet enough, tempered with bitter candied orange peel and lightly coated with the cream cheese anglaise...DAMN but I all of a sudden like sweets for breakfast!

What I liked even more than the food (the bloody mary?  my intended answer, but do yourself a favor and order it.  the fact that it comes with a full-blown meal-on-a-stick is only one selling point; the house-made mix and spicy, strong flavors should seal the deal) was that they had clearly addressed some issues that we had last time we at brunch here.  The bloody maries were much better--gone was the bitter undertaste, pronounced was the southwestern spiciness and, perhaps, a hint of chipotle smoke.  The hash browns, previously thin, sad little shredded potato paties, were nowhere to be found, having been replaced with dark-brown, caramelized and salted quartered new potatoes, fried and plated in their own miniature cast-iron pans.  More, please.  Much more.

We may be going back on Sunday...so watch out, internet.  Cause more raves are sure to come.

Hotel Food, day two

Work meetings continue...

But buffet lunches are fun!  Hotel food is never the greatest, in my experience, but there is just something I love about a buffet---sheer volume of food, of course; all the choices, all the many dishes to sample; trying to strategically organize the plate to allow as much to fit on it as physics allow. It's endlessly entertaining...and delicious.

Trying to eat healthily at a hotel buffet, however, poses many more challenges.  Yes, large vat of mayonnaise, cheese platter and salami tray, I see you all.  But my 1/2 slice of whole-wheat bread, dijon mustard and smoked turkey don't need any of your glamor right now.  Potato salad, chicken salad, oh how I adore thee...but just a tiny scoop of you will have to do, since I have to give the majority of my plate to the greens and veggies--mixed baby greens, sliced cukes, radishes, carrots and cherry tomatoes, with a bit of balsamic vinaigrette.  See--not too bad.

I may have eaten a cookie, although since nobody saw me do it did it even really happen?

Zocalo Restaurant and Tequila Bar

Met good friend/bridesmaid/fellow wino C for dinner at Zocalo last night.  It's a mexican restaurant and tequila bar---both descriptors of which I'm very fond of, tequila being the only liquor i can actually drink straight. 

Yet I managed to resist the 100+ list of reposados, anejos, and blancos---and even the flights and infused tequilas--and instead focus on the food elements of the menu (stage 2 wedding diet prohibits extra alcohol...keep reading to see how well my resistance played out...)

The menu is mexican, but not "americanized" mexican (no burrito in sight) and not entirely authentic either.  I think they are going for slightly upscale versions of mostly familiar mexican items, but with an interesting twist.  Dishes are much more creative than your typical mexican restaurant, and devotees of wet burritos might find the menu to be a bit unfamiliar or unapproachable. Most entrees fell between $12 and $20, making it very affordable, for the city, anyway.

We skipped an appetizer and decided to get drinks instead.  C spent about 10 minutes grilling the waitress on the drink menu--which drink was stronger, which size glass they came in.  It was funny to watch.  I got a cactus pear martini--pear and coconut liquor with pear juice and a lime slice.  Delicious, but more more coconutty than peary.  C liked her margarita--but who doesn't?  However, at least they seem to make them from scratch, not from the overly sweet & sour mix.

C went with the "Tacos N Tequila," three simple tacos (they have several varieties, including lamb barbacoa, pibil pork and ancho-mayo-rubbed halibut) accompanied by red jalepeno salsa and a shot of infused tequila (in her case, it definitely had vanilla and something floral in it).  I got the "Tinga Poblano," two grilled, chipotle-marinated chicken breast halves (boneless and skinless, not my favorite) over a poblano-potato-chorizo cake with avocado crema and queso fresco, accompanied by their homemade corn tortialls.  WOW it was good, even if I could only get through 1 chicken breast and 3 small tortillas. C liked her tacos, though the heat factor of the salsa was a bit much. 

Their homemade tortillas were the star for me--I grew up on flour tortialls and am a newcomer to more authentic corn, thanks to the 1/2 breed A's influence =)  Using them to scoop up the avocado crema and errant bits of chorizo...man, was that fun.  The chicken was an afterthought--but I put leftovers to good use....as you shall see soon.

Verdict?  GO, especially if, like me, you like tequila. 

Food Confessional

What didn't we eat this weekend?

Started the Fourth of July party on Thursday, hosting an old friend and sissypants for a bbq.  Some Great Lakes witbier and Brooklyn Brewery lager did well to keep us cool on a hot summer evening while the grill worked on smoked chicken sausages, sweet italian sausages, a packet of spicy chipotle potatoes, and shucked sweet corn.  All of which was less than necessary, seeing how we had all commenced to gorge ourselves on chili-cheese dip supplied by sissy and her BF (hormel chili and velveeta: the highest form of dining possible).

Friday we did the gorging at A's parents' house out in the suburbs--hummus, guacamole, cheese, salami, chicago dogs and some incredible spinach/garlic chicken sausages from Caputo's...followed by GIGANTIC strawberry floats in blue glasses, a nice red-white-n-blue way to start the weekend.

Saturday, friends from the burbs came into the city for palomas, a bocce game, and then a bar food feast...Sunday's eating was less epic.  I bet you could say we ate a normal amount of food that day (although we likely consumed an abnormal amount of beer...)  Wait. I take that back.  We went to Piece and split a medium red pie with sausage, spinach and mushrooms.  We did manage to take 4 slices home, so I suppose that could be labeled as restraint.  The people around us seemed to be as much in favor of bingeing as we were--we saw two tables of two normal-sized people order two larges--and a large pizza at piece is roughly the size of a car tire.  It actually made me feel a bit lighter.

Monday, monday....beached it up, welcoming teh day with an ice cream cone before heading to a new diner for breakfasty lunch.  Continued chowing on leftovers all day, some leftover pizza, and watermelon (we've eaten 1/2 a watermelon in 3 days).  It has become disgusting how much food and beer is no longer here because of us.

Moving on....tried to start the day off a little better today.  Got up early, went for a run with pups, then packed a big salad for lunch. After exercise (or, more honestly, anytime) I must have carbs at breakfast, so I breakfasted on the last hard-boiled egg and some leftover potatoes.  Sorta healthy (not a bagel!) but not the whole-grain english muffins I bought, either. At least I was using up some leftovers....

Clutch

The nice weather, sunshine and ass-kicking I got at the gym yesterday zapped all my motivation to cook--but ignited my  desire for a few drinks on a cool outdoor patio somewhere.

Clutch (no website--really?), a relatively new bar/grill in the neighborhood, fit the bill.  A former gas station or car wash or something engine-related, Clutch keeps the car-theme going through the menu (starters are "first gear," etc.).  Corny as hell, but the ambiance is cool (tons of art, paintings, photos, vintage signs, etc. all over the space; big patio overlooking a nice people-watching stretch of sidewalk) and the food is good--not great, not really "special," but good.

They take the time to make some things from scratch (which, seriously, all restaurants worth their salt--ba dum BING!--should be doing...anyone can order food-service, pre-made snacks and deep fry them.  i don't need a restaurant to charge a premium for their ability to lower a basket into hot oil).  Last time we went I got the skewered chicken appetizer (plenty of food for a main, if you don't need a starch) that came with two house-made sauces:  a shallot salsa blanca (ok, rather flavorless) and some jalepeno-lime-goodness, spicy, creamy, herby, intense sauce that the server insisted had no cream in it.  How that is concocted, I don't know, but I want to bathe in it.

Getting back to the point, it's the little things like this that make Clutch a little more than just a standard bar/grill to me.  Their fish tacos are sauteed tilapia with wine, garlic and herbs, not generic fried whitefish patties (although i might have liked a more imaginative topping than shredded iceberg--spicy cabbage slaw?); the chicken wrap had a nice balsamic glaze thing going on; their salsa has a hell of a kick to it.  The draft beer list isn't that exciting (and Oberon at $6 a pint strikes me as a little high...but the $2 PBR pints made up for it), but the table next to us was drinking Costa Rica's Imperial, so their bottle list might have more interesting choices. 

I don't want to over-talk this place though--nothing on the menu is especially interesting or exciting, and the menu is pretty small, and I'm so sick of the same old bar appetizers (wings, nachos, skins, cheese fries) that there is a lot of potential here that they aren't capitalizing on.  I believe they are capable of doing a lot more, a lot better.  And service can be slooow...but if you're lazing away an afternoon or evening enjoying the weather and the view, I don't really mind. 

Worth a stop, and worth choosing over Twisted Spoke across the street (whose food has been WILDLY inconsistent lately, and whose service borders on nonexistent), at least once to try for yourself.

Oggi Trattoria

So my big plans to cook dinner last night were derailed when A mentioned a desire to go out to dinner. Suddenly, cooking was the furthest thing from my head. Out to dinner? Count me in!

Oggi Trattoria (1378 W. Grand Ave.) is a family-style Italian restaurant where we held our small engagement dinner. It's not a fancy place, but what it lacks in overpriced finery it makes up for in charm, friendliness, and the biggest portions of homemade red-sauce delights you can find anywhere nearby. That and their $6 bottle (yes, bottle) of house wine special makes it an easy sell for this wine- and food-aholic.

The food at Oggi isn't "revelatory" or "exotic" or any bizarre adjective freely applied to food nowadays. It's just good--simple and hearty, and plentiful to boot. We split an order of stuffed shells, three gigantic pasta boats filled with ricotta and spinach and topped with red sauce, mozzerella, and a sprinkling of parsley. I like that they manage to taste "light"--not healthy, but as in the opposite of heavy. Most Italian red-sauce joints can swing towards the heavy, greasy, dull side by drenching everything in thick cream sauce and layers of cheese. They keep it simple(r) at Oggi, from what I can tell in the two times I've been there.

The "extra-thin" pizza we split beats a lot of the neighborhood pizza joints, hands down. The crust is crisp, rather than chewy--due to olive oil in the crust, maybe? I'm not enough of a baker to be able to tell these things. Maybe a bit too much sauce, but light on the cheese (which I like) and full of great sausage--maybe from the Italian deli down the road? Definitely tasted a step above food service sausage.

A wasn't a fan of the canned mushrooms, but using canned mushrooms over fresh or sauteed seems to be right for this place, and I don't know if I'd want it another way. They're not about being gourmets or breaking new ground here, just about feeding people the food that defines most people's idea of "Italian." Or something like that. I want to say Oggi is like a sterotypical Italian restaurant that does everything right--without stereotypical being a bad thing. It's what Olive Garden could never be--a genuine place where you feel like, if not your Italian grandmother, somebody pretty nice, easygoing and sincere is cooking for you at home.