CHICAGO RESTAURANTS (part two)
It’s awfully posh at Avenues. Our corner table seems remote, comfortably so, a world apart from every other table in the hushed dining room. A very proper man rolls a cart containing bottles of chilled Champagne to our table, then explains, in detail, the virtues of each. As he delivers the kicker comment to a good half the descriptions, he shakes his head in a reverent, rather shivery motion and notes “how privileged, how extremely honored” Avenues is to be able to make this or that bubbly available to its diners. By the glass, no less! (We order a much lower-priced whole-bottle sparkler for our party of six.)
But Graham Elliot Bowles is one accomplished chef and we enjoy our butter-poached lobster, Casco Bay cod, with its side of brandade, bison short ribs and something called a brioche “twinkie.” Well, to be sure, one of us scored a “twinkie” with his deconstructed Caesar, then the rest of us clamored for twinkies of our own. Avenues never says no to a diner, I gather.
We’d had more of the same focused, all-pro service the night before at Tru, the kingdom of chefs Rick Tramonto (savory) and Gale Gand (sweet). Here, there were “faux” gras (Chicago has a ban on foie gras, so butter-whipped chicken livers suffice – and deliciously), chestnut tagliolini, prawns with green curry, Moroccan-tweaked king salmon and beef short ribs with white figs. Everything comes dolled up, including the room, which is elegant and stately and sports some serious art. Unfortunately, I sat facing a truly ugly piece that looked a bit like a bumble-bee-colored Ikea cast-off. Actually, we all got a charge out of the thing.
At Blackbird, which is crowded, noisy and deliberately under-decorated, we were stymied by the food: “Myrtlewood aged cow’s milk cheese salad with roasted quince, fennel, kumquats, mache and hazelnut oil” was boring, with bare snips of the listed accents and a soul-less cheese. Though our primary server was professional and exceptionally kind, the only element on any plate we came away enjoying was a fried rabbit leg. Weird. Chef Paul Kahan has a big-time rep.
These were some high-priced eats, Avenues, Tru and Blackbird. I liked Avenues and Tru, but couldn’t proclaim a love affair with either. But on the plane ride home, I kept thinking about the smoked shrimp I’d had at Calumet Fisheries Inc., a takeout shack way, way, way south – “95th Street at the Bridge,” as they say on the no-frills menu. Smoked shrimp, smoked trout, smoked chubs. Kickin’.
P.S. Some of you want to know if I had pizza in Chicago. Of course. Friends who live in the Windy City brought me to Spacca Napoli on the north side of town. Don’t get on a plane, all you Anthony Mangieri disciples; Spacca Napoli has nothing on our beloved mecca, now in the East Village. Una Pizza Napoletana still reigns as No. 1.
Cheers,
Andy
3.18.07
But Graham Elliot Bowles is one accomplished chef and we enjoy our butter-poached lobster, Casco Bay cod, with its side of brandade, bison short ribs and something called a brioche “twinkie.” Well, to be sure, one of us scored a “twinkie” with his deconstructed Caesar, then the rest of us clamored for twinkies of our own. Avenues never says no to a diner, I gather.
We’d had more of the same focused, all-pro service the night before at Tru, the kingdom of chefs Rick Tramonto (savory) and Gale Gand (sweet). Here, there were “faux” gras (Chicago has a ban on foie gras, so butter-whipped chicken livers suffice – and deliciously), chestnut tagliolini, prawns with green curry, Moroccan-tweaked king salmon and beef short ribs with white figs. Everything comes dolled up, including the room, which is elegant and stately and sports some serious art. Unfortunately, I sat facing a truly ugly piece that looked a bit like a bumble-bee-colored Ikea cast-off. Actually, we all got a charge out of the thing.
At Blackbird, which is crowded, noisy and deliberately under-decorated, we were stymied by the food: “Myrtlewood aged cow’s milk cheese salad with roasted quince, fennel, kumquats, mache and hazelnut oil” was boring, with bare snips of the listed accents and a soul-less cheese. Though our primary server was professional and exceptionally kind, the only element on any plate we came away enjoying was a fried rabbit leg. Weird. Chef Paul Kahan has a big-time rep.
These were some high-priced eats, Avenues, Tru and Blackbird. I liked Avenues and Tru, but couldn’t proclaim a love affair with either. But on the plane ride home, I kept thinking about the smoked shrimp I’d had at Calumet Fisheries Inc., a takeout shack way, way, way south – “95th Street at the Bridge,” as they say on the no-frills menu. Smoked shrimp, smoked trout, smoked chubs. Kickin’.
P.S. Some of you want to know if I had pizza in Chicago. Of course. Friends who live in the Windy City brought me to Spacca Napoli on the north side of town. Don’t get on a plane, all you Anthony Mangieri disciples; Spacca Napoli has nothing on our beloved mecca, now in the East Village. Una Pizza Napoletana still reigns as No. 1.
Cheers,
Andy
3.18.07
posted by Andrea Clurfeld at 5:53 PM
1 Comments:
What do you consider the best pizza left here in Monmouth County now that UPN has left Point?
Two categories - regular boardwalk standard "by the slice" - Rizzo's, in Ocean Township, nee Seaview Square, Friday's discounted slices and pies make everyone smile - plus his staff has been there for ages - they have the ratio of cheese to sauce to crust down...
Gourmet, in Galloway Twp, by Atlantic City has excellent pies with gourmet toppings...
Of course, Front St. Trattoria is the gold standard for anything gourmet pizzawise in these parts - choose crust / toppings and pray that 20 minutes goes quickly!
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