March 10

Crab Cakes, Bahn Mi and Flower Sushi?

I was shooting a story last week on crab cakes around Chicago, and returned - as I so frequently do - to a local legend: Shaw's Crab House.  They've been in business for nearly 25 years, and the crab cake recipe has rarely changed.  They like to use three types of crab: lump, backfin and claw meat, and that triumvirate really gives the finished cake a great texture.  I was a little surprised to see them add so much mustard-mayo and breadcrumbs though.  I know they always says the best crab cakes are the ones with nothing more than crab and a little binder, such as egg; in the case of Shaw's, these extra add-ins don't seem to detract.  The pan-roasted discs are just a delight to cut into, and need nothing more than a squeeze of fresh lemon to bring out their true flavor.  Bravo Steve LaHaie!

I was sad to see My Gourmet Kitchen prepare to close its doors in West Bucktown recently.  I live nearby, and am ashamed to say I never even gave the place a try.  But in the front of the store, I noticed a sign for fresh bahn mi, the Vietnamese answer to a hero or sub sandwich.  It's a new business run by a husband-and-wife, called Bon Bon.  My first question upon entering the store was, "where's the bread from?" True to form, the answer was actually a hedge: they're buying from both Nhu Lan in Lincoln Square and Ba Le in Uptown; the problem is that they're not getting fresh, daily deliveries, and so they're freezing then reheating them.  Oy, guys, I'm not from Hue, but I'm pretty sure they don't freeze them there, and I don't think the texture of the French bread is helped by this either.  Even their fillings: some chunky barbequed pork and some ginger chicken - had to be microwaved to-order, and this also caused some textural problems.  Daikon radish, jalapeno and carrot were all fresh, crisp and perfectly cut, but if they can't that bread and the main protein thing figured out, it won't last long.  One saving grace: the Vietnamese coffee was as strong as I've had, balanced with just the right amount of condensed milk; it felt as if I was drinking it intravenously.

This Friday night I have a rather interesting story airing at 10 p.m.  It's about Japanese manga (comics) that are getting into food.  This new title, called "Oishinbo a la Carte" is about a journalist who has to learn how to make a Japanese feast for his boss in honor of the paper's 100th anniversary.  I thought: where could you take Japanese cooking classes in Chicago?  One of the places I found was at the Japanese American Service Committee, a social service agency on the city's far North side, where they have everything from senior programs to cooking classes led by extraordinary home cooks.  The woman who showed me how to make some sushi rolls also showed off a bit, with these impressive "flower" maki rolls, which were as delicious as they were beautiful.  The JASC holds classes about once a month, you can check out their schedule for more information.  Hey, if you haven't already, join the Hungry Hound Group on Facebook; we're going to start holding some "Tweet-ups" down the road, and you don't want to miss the invitation!

March 6

This Week's Rip-Offs

I was taking some heat today, for digging into a few new restaurants that have opened in the past few weeks.  Really?  I didn't know I was supposed to be a cheerleader for any restaurant, no matter how far off the mark they managed to fall.  It started on Wednesday night.  Just a few minutes after reading Heather Shouse's prescient and dead-on reviewof Tocco in Wicker Park, I headed over there to meet a friend for dinner.  The pizzas were actually better than the first time I ate there, more char on the crust and a better ratio of topping-to-crust than I remember.  The arugula had peppery bite; the buffalo mozz just the right amount of creaminess.  But that was the highlight.  Everything that followed, including the boring polenta with a weak sausage ragu, an oily, messy spaghetti carbonara and a strip steak that was bathed in vinegar and buried beneath button mushrooms had to be sent back.  The waiter's recommendation for a steak replacement: strips of steak - carpaccio-style - buried beneath those same button mushrooms, didn't fare much better.  An almond cake on the dessert menu was really an almond-flavored tiramisu: each forkful yielded a mouthful of marscarpone and artificial flavoring.  Hey, the place may look like an Alessi showroom, but the food blows, and if I want to feel like a ripped-off tourist I'll go to Il Mulino.  Maybe spend more time on the menu and teaching the staff how to cook Italian, and less time on the design of the chairs and the glass tables.  Better yet, take the whole staff on a field trip to Terragusto, to see what real Italian cooking tastes like.

Then last night, my trip to Tapas Valencia had promise.  I had heard the owners were successful in the suburbs, and in fact, they proudly display their reviews from the Daily Herald on the walls inside this South Loop newbie.  That should have been my first red flag.  Where there should have been jamon Iberico or bellota, there was simply serrano (even BaBaReeba can do better than that); where there should have been arbequina olives, there were simply large, oily orbs from Whole Foods; where there should have been a selection of aged sheep's milk and other obscure manchegos, there were mozzarella and goat.  What is this, a Mediterranean fusion restaurant?  Patatas Bravas that could have been served at a Denny's; squid that had been stuffed with an amalgam of seafood that tasted as if it came right out of the freezer; even their paellas - which require extra time to make and should be ordered ahead of time - were weak on saffron and garlic, and heavy on blandness.  I mean, how hard is it to make this dish?  Served in the proper vessel, there wasn't the slightest amount of sticky, crusty bottom, a sign that it had actually been cooking in this dish for more than 10 minutes; instead, the bits of tomatoey rice were plump like a biryani, and could have been assembled by the ladies auxillary at the local senior's day buffet in Palatine.  (Oh, by the way, that'll be $13 pp for the paella).

Since when did we think all customers in the South Loop were dupes?  Since when did restaurateurs try to pull the wool over our eyes, upcharging for mediocre, inauthentic fare and calling it Spanish?  When we have access to the best products in the country, partly through companies like Solex, who make it their mission to source and supply authentic Spanish ingredients, it's an insult to all of us when a new tapas restaurant lists "tomato, mozzarella" or "goat cheese and tomato sauce" or "beef brochette" on their menus.  That's fine if it's 1986 and we're at BaBaReeba or Iberico, but in 2009, in the age of Jose Andres and Ferran Adria and the Arzaks, it's a complete disregard for all of the progress that's been made and an insult to our culinary intelligence.  Dude, if you're going to throw in the towel, at least do it in Gurnee.
  

March 1

A Week's Worth of Menu Notes

How is that one moment, it's the middle of February, and I'm off to L.A. to visit some friends from college, and the next thing you know, it's March 1st?  How is that people have the time to blog, especially if they come from homes where both parents work and their kids are older than six years old?  You know how older people always say "enjoy it now, because time really flies..." well, lately, it's more like time moves at light speed, and I better do my best to jot down what I can, because before I know it, I'm going to be applying for social security (not that there's going to be any left, mind you).  Since that trip to L.A., I've had some interesting excursions.  Let me start with a taste of New Orleans.  I was working on a story for ABC about some unique places to find tastes of the Big Easy, places you wouldn't normally expect to find it.  I included the dynamite shrimp po'boy from the Twisted Spoke in River West, where they slather Labriola French bread with butter, then sandwich a dozen or so jumbo gulf shrimp that have been marinated in hot sauce, white wine, beer and herbs, then dredged in flour and fried.  They "dress" the sandwich with crunchy cabbage, tomatoes and mayo, and it's more than one person can possibly eat.  Then we found a wealth of gulf oysters in Forest Park, a small town about 10 miles west of downtown Chicago.  When you drive by La Bella Bistecca, you think, 'oh great, another Italian steakhouse.'  But what you don't realize is that the owner spent considerable time in New Orleans, and is crazy about oysters: charbroiling them like they do at Drago's in Metarie, basting and flambeeing them with brandy, and of course serving them on the half shell, plenty of juicy liquor still intact.  This place was a pleasant surprise, especially considering the sea of mediocre cajun joints in town.

Then to L.A., land of botox and silicone.  We had killer meals at Lucques on Melrose Ave. (chef Suzanne Goin is doing for the West Coast what Paul Kahan has long done in Chicago), and a surprisingly good lunch at Spago.  Yes, Wolfgang Puck stops at every table to schmooze, as does his business partner and ex-wife, Barbara Lazeroff, but the food really lives up the hype, and the desserts are some of the best anywhere, thanks to Pastry Chef Sherry Yard, who hit us with a "shock and awe" example of sugary overload on our way out the door.  The funniest part of the meal was a celeb sighting: legendary Sidney Poitier back in a corner booth.  Funny enough, one of my friends recalled his cousin was Sidney's agent 30 years ago, and when he went over to the table to introduce himself, this fact was confirmed by the man himself.

One of the craziest, over-the-top scenes was at the SLS Hotel, home of Washington D.C.-based chef Jose Andres' latest venture - Bazaar by Jose Andres.  Thiswonderland was part art gallery, part club scene and part serious restaurant.  The menu is broken in a few sections, namely Traditional and Modern tapas, and a separate dessert section of the restaurant lets you pick things out by the piece.  It's a must-see in L.A., and as white-hot as the scene is, the food is definitely worth the trip - service was also top-notch; when I sent my pisco sour back for being too tart, the server immediately whisked it away, conferred with his mixologist, and returned to admit that he had forgotten to add simple syrup.

When I got back to town, my friend Tom Sietsema, Restaurant Critic for the Washington Post, was in town researching some new places for his "Postcard from Tom" feature he writes in the Travel section.  I told him that part of Chicago's appeal was in the 'hoods, so instead of just hitting high-profile places like The Publican (which was stellar as always) and The Bristol, I dragged him through Pilsen for those addictive pork carnitas and skins at Don Pedro; tender, steamed and roasted mole-soaked birria (baby goat) at Zaragoza; a Chicago Italian beef at Chickie's and a quick trip through Poland, via the market at Bobak's and the menu at Szalas, both near Midway airport.

Carnitas at Don Pedro               Zaragoza's Birria                Italian beef at Chickie's          A plate at Szalas

 I've got a few other highlights from this past week, and I'll be sure to let you know about them...soon.