I’d had this idea swimming around in my head for a while. I’m wasn't entirely sure where it came from at first, but for some reason I wanted to make really delicious hamburgers, cooked in a skillet and then set ablaze in a display of alcoholic pyrotechnics.I’d been thinking about this and thinking about this for weeks when it finally dawned on me where this spark of inspiration had come from: an episode of Good Eats titled “Tender is the Loin” in which Alton discusses the buying, butchering, and preparation of beef loin. The final flourish in this episode is the production of steak au poivre, a French dish that is as elegant as it is simple. This would be my jumping off point.
The creation of my dish was rooted in the steak’s: a filet cut of the tenderloin, crusted with crushed black peppercorns, and seared in a buttery skillet. Once the steaks are cooked the pan is deglazed with a flambé of brandy and enriched with heavy cream. Once the brandy cream pan sauce has thickened and reduced the steaks are returned to pan and tossed in the cream before serving.
So simple, but so delicious looking. I’ve honestly watched that episode a dozen times or so and every time I see it I want to find the nearest all night grocery store, grab the few ingredients needed and whip up a couple late night steaks. The fact there are no all night liquor stores within hours of me is all that’s kept this from happening. And of course I’d kind of forgotten about this idea for a while, being away from cable and all, but this idea was reignited recently when I purchased a bottle of Christian Brothers brandy a few weeks ago to make sangria (http://whatweeatislaughable.blogspot.com/2010/07/south-of-border-con-el-castigador-del.html).
The stars were starting to align and I began concocting a menu in my head. The centerpiece would be burgers cooked in the vein of steak au poivre, but what would come with? Well, what goes best with burgers always and forever? The ketchup to its mustard? The peanut butter to its jelly? The Tango to its Cash? The Harley Davidson to its Marlboro Man? Fries, natch. But these were going to be “fancy” burgers so I needed "fancy" fries, too, or rather pommes frites. Keeping things in this bullshit bistro vein I decided to concoct some interesting sauces for the fries as well, a homemade garlic aioli and a spicy cheese sauce. Now I just needed someone to share all this with, so I invited some of the best company I know: Nicole.
The menu set I scanned the kitchen and made a shopping list, thankfully my family keeps a relatively well stocked kitchen and I only needed a few items. A short trip to the store later and I was ready. Feel free to play the home version with these recipes:
Fancy-pants Steak Au Poivre Burgers:Ingredients:
Equal quantities of ground chuck and sirloin equaling at least ½ pound
Salt (preferably Kosher)
Whole peppercorns (at least a teaspoon)
Butter
Olive oil
1/3 cup brandy or Cognac plus 1 teaspoon (reserved)
Heavy cream
How-to:
Mix both the chuck and sirloin until they are well combined then form them into ¼ pound patties (about 3¾” diameter and ½” thick if you don’t have a kitchen scale). Liberally salt both sides with the kosher salt. Coarsely crush the peppercorns, I smashed them between a heavy, cast iron skillet and a cutting board, then press both sides of the burger into the crushed pepper ensuring a complete and even crust on all sides. If you are ready to cook allow the burgers to rest, otherwise refrigerate, but allow between half and hour and an hour for the burgers to rest at room temperature before cooking. When ready to cook combine the butter and olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat and allow them to melt and combine until they shimmer. Once the oil/butter combo is ready carefully place burgers into the skillet. Allow them time to sear the surface before flipping. Flip once and continue cooking. Cook until desired doneness is achieved, between 145* F and 160* F for medium-rare or medium, respectively. Remove burgers from pan and place on a plate tented with foil to rest. Drain any remaining fat or juices but do not scrape the pan. Carefully pour the 1/3 cup of brandy into the pan and ignite with a long match or grill lighter (if you are cooking on a gas stove turn off gas before attempting this). Allow the brandy to flame until it puts itself out. Pour in the heavy cream and stir the mixture, scraping all the tasty charred bits off the bottom of the pan. Allow the brandy/cream mixture to come to a boil and slightly reduce until it coats the back of a spoon. Season with salt and pepper to taste and stir in the reserved brandy. Replace the burgers in the pan and coat with the sauce. Serve.
Next were the pommes frites. I’ve been somewhat obsessed with making and eating the perfect fry since reading Jeffery Steingarten’s Vogue article about the finest points of making fries (apparently the secret ingredient is horse lard!) and was excited to try it at home. Since I was going to have a lot of other cooking going on I opted for a variation of a Joel Robuchon recipe I’d read about. Where a lot of recipes for frites have you double fry the potatoes, first at a lower temp to cook the insides then at a higher to crisp the outside, this recipe boasted the ability to do both with the minimum of work.
Super Simple Pommes Frites:Ingredients:
1¼ - 1½ pounds of good Idaho boiling potatoes
1 quart peanut oil
Salt
How To:
Cut your potatoes into strips about 3/8” square, making sure they are all as even as possible. Pat dry then place potato strips in a large pot, at least 4” deep and 10” wide. Pour in oil to just cover potatoes and attach fry thermometer to side of pot making sure it is not touching the bottom. Heat pot and contents on high. Around 200* F the oil will begin to gently bubble. Continue to cook and heat until the oil reaches 350* F. Once the oil reaches 350* turn off heat and scoop fries onto a draining rig. Season with salt just before serving.
Delicious, crispy fries are a thing of beauty, certainly, but even the best fries need some accoutrement as they are, after all, just potatoes. Taking a nod from the Belgians, the originators of the fried potato thank you very much, I decided aioli would be a nice dipping sauce. And since this meal had one foot planted firmly in European cuisine and another in American diner culture, I figured this whole thing needed a little cheese, too.
Garlic Aioli and Spicy Cheese Sauce:Aioli Ingredients:
3 cloves garlic
1 large egg
1 tablespoon fresh squeezed lemon juice
½ teaspoon salt
Black pepper to taste
Fresh chopped parsley (optional)
½ cup olive oil
What to do with it all:
In a food processor, blender, or mixing bowl combine all ingredients except the oil. Once the rest of the ingredients are well combined, slowly drizzle in the oil until a thick, uniform texture is achieved. Refrigerate until ready to serve.
Cheese Sauce Ingredients:
¼ cup butter (1/2 stick)
¼ cup flour
1½ cups milk
8oz. shredded cheese
Salt and pepper to taste
Cayenne pepper (optional)
½ Jalapeno seeded, de-ribbed, and minced extra fine (optional)
Do it:
In a medium sauce pan over medium heat melt the butter. If you’re using the jalapeno now would be a good time to add it, allowing its oils to infuse the butter and everything else that will be added to sauce. Once the butter is melted whisk in the flour and keep stirring. This is called rue and is the base of this and countless other sauces. Keep stirring the rue until in takes on a nutty brown color (it’s actually ready as soon as all the flour is incorporated into the butter, but needs to be cooked longer to toast out the taste of the flour). Once the rue is cooked mix in the milk a little at a time, keeping it constantly moving. After all the milk has been incorporated stir in small handfuls of cheese a bit at a time. It’s tempting to add it all at once but that will create a lumpy mess not smooth, cheesy goodness. Once all the cheese is mixed in taste the sauce and season with salt, pepper, and cayenne to taste.
Notes and Adjustments:
One small adjustment I made to burgers was the addition of a few veggies. I decided that just the burger and cream sauce on a bun would be too simple. After the burgers were done cooking I placed a quarter of a chopped onion in the renderings with a little extra butter. I let these cook for a few minutes until they started to take some color at the edges. Once they started to caramelize I added several chopped mushrooms to the pan as well and let them sauté. Once the mushrooms were just shy of being done I added the brandy for the flambé, allowing them both to continue cooking and take in some of the brandy.
I somehow got all the timing right on these and everything finished more or less at the same time. Taste wise everything was fine, but there were a few things I thought could’ve been better. First, the buns. I originally wanted these served on a sweeter roll of some sort, like a brioche or challah, unfortunately I could find no such rolls, the whole wheat rolls I had were fine, just not what I had intended. The burgers were, to my taste, a little over done, in the medium-well range, but I didn’t trust my instincts and instead went by thermometer. I also forgot that burgers, thought flat when they begin to cook will seize slightly and form a more meatball-like shape. This is combated by making a slight indentation in the center of the meat just prior to cooking; if the burgers are pinched right they will even out perfectly during cooking. The aioli recipe, courtesy of Emeril, was a little thinner than I had hopped. I chalk this up in part to the use of smaller eggs from a local farm instead of the giant dino-eggs from the grocery store. I’d maybe use a more neutral flavored oil than the extra virgin I had, too. While delicious, the extra virgin almost overpowered the garlic. Almost. Despite minor consistency issues it was a wholly delicious side, rich and fatty and garlicky and lemony. A great summer sauce, a solid base for a salad dressing, and likely a great egg topper; and I’m not really a fan of mayos. The cheese sauce was the only thing that turned out as expected, maybe a little less spicy than I hoped, but the flavor and consistency were great. It just made a lot. Like a lot, a lot. Luckily it was delicious. The fries were the big stumbling block. I’m not sure how much credence I put into this simplified version of the recipe. The fries seemed to cook too fast and were overly browned when I pulled them around 330* F. Maybe it was the stovetop, maybe I didn’t have the thermometer placed correctly, maybe this recipe is too good to be true. Probably a little of all three. The fries did, however, taste pretty great, with a nice crispy outside and a soft, flakey inside. I will admit that my knife skills, especially when it comes to potatoes, is lacking so if I am to continue practicing the dark arts of the fryer I’m going to invest in a fry slicer.
We washed all this down with a few beers, Corsendonk brown ale and Henniger pilsner. The Henniger is a crisp, refreshing, easy drinking German lager. It tastes exactly like the phrase “German lager” would suggest, but not as bitter as most, with a very subtle citrusy finish. The Corsendonk, an abbey brown ale, was at a different end of the spectrum from the Henninger. Its dark brown color and yeasty/malty taste bore aftertastes of robust fruits and artisianal breads. While the former was an excellent counterpoint to the rich, fatty repast we enjoyed, the Corsendonk was a wonderful, robust complement.
I’m pretty proud of how all this turned out, despite a few minor hiccups. But I didn’t burn the house down setting the brandy ablaze and I didn’t start a grease fire either. I didn’t burn myself, cut myself, or touch my eye after chopping the jalapeno. I feel totally confident in repeating the performance with few to no goofs. So, anyone want dinner?
Post Script:
I had a fair amount of the aioli left after dinner, after discussing its future uses with Nicole, we determined that it would make an “egg-celent” topping on eggs. So, for dinner last night I poached two eggs—pretty well for my first try at it, too, I may add—and split an English muffin. Before popping the muffin halves in the toaster I sprinkled them with a chiffonade of fresh basil and some asiago cheese. When the eggs were solid enough to scoop from their water bath I placed them on the two toasty muffins with their toasty cheese and warm, fragrant basil. I poured about a tablespoon and a half of the aioli—which has married and mellowed over the last few days and is amazing now—over the eggs, seasoned with a little salt and pepper, and tucked in. Sha-Zam! Tender, yolky eggs; rich, garlicky, fatty aioli; toasty, nutty cheese; just the right hint of the basil in the background, and all those crackling good nooks and crannies golden brown in the middle, just slightly charred on the edges. Perfection. A wonderful dinner with some medium dry white wine or a Hoegaarden, or an amazing brunch with a mimosa or two. The only thing I would add to this if I had it around would be a few thin slices of prosciutto under the egg and/or pancetta fried crisp and sprinkled over the top. Or keep it veggie with a big slab of fresh heirloom tomato!
It started with granolas and Grape-Nuts, but after comparing nutritional information on those boxes with others in their neighborhoods, I soon realized that I could be doing so much better. My first real foray into this not-even-remotely deviant lifestyle was a box of General Mills’ Original Fiber One. With an extremely low calorie count (60), 0 grams of sugar, and high fiber content (14 grams/57%) per ½ cup serving, surly this had to be one of the least appealing foodstuffs in the world. Surprise, surprise it’s not. In fact it’s actually quite good. With a firm, crunchy texture and subtle sweetness without sugar, Fiber One is an enjoyable bowl in the morning. It’s not going to win the most exciting cereal of the year award anytime soon, a good, strong wheaty flavor is about all it as to offer, but contrary to popular opinion this cereal is infinitely better than the box it comes in.
No, that dubious distinction goes to Kellogg’s All-Bran, the epitome of bad tasting, unappealing health cereal. Where Fiber One resembles those crispy lo-mein noodles that accompany Chinese soups, All-Bran looks like a mix of twigs and dried bugs. It has a bland, sodden taste I’m sure is similar to chewing on raw stalks of wheat. And it becomes soggy almost instantly when milk of any origin is added. And nutritionally it doesn’t quite stack up. All-Bran matches Fiber One’s 60 calorie count, but contains 6 grams of sugar, compared to none, and only 10 grams (40%) dietary fiber. An all around loser and surely root of all jokes made at the expense of other healthy cereals.
But, the All-Bran line isn’t without a saving grace. Last week when my neighborhood grocery store was out of that wonderful manna, Fiber One, I discovered All-Bran’s Bran Buds. Crispy little bits of bran, All-Bran’s Buds have an interesting texture and appearance that rests somewhere between Rice-Krispies and Grape-Nuts. Not as naturally sweet as Fiber One, but flavorful enough to leave patriarch All-Bran in the dust, Bran Buds became a welcome substitute; especially when I considered the 13 grams (51%) of fiber and 70 calories per serving.
As good as some of these twigs and buds are, there’s a lack of variety in both flavor and texture after a few boxes of these breakfast goodies. The ever changing stock of Kashi cereals in the aisle always seemed appealing, despite their hippie overtones, so I compared some side panels and began the taste tests. My first choice was Kashi Vive in the Toasted Graham and Vanilla flavor. With a calorie count in the low hundreds, a fiber content around 10 grams, the promise of “probiotics for healthy digestion,” and the possibility of some outside flavoring I was willing to give it a shot. Vive is comprised of three components: Fiber One-like bran sticks, broad flakes, and little Kix-esque bits. The whole mélange has a pleasing toasty taste, though little discernable vanilla, and stays pleasantly toothsome in milk. A wholly enjoyable bowl and I’m sure a good bridge ceral between the regular world and the healthy… were it not for the fact that it was recently discontinued by Kashi. Boo-urns.
With Kashi Vive seemingly gone forever I had to branch out. Kashi offers so many options that surely one must satisfy mouth and stomach in a similar fashion. But what? Kashi’s GOLEAN seems to be a popular choice as it takes up a good portion of shelf space and seems to be one of their more heavily advertised products. The GOLEAN Crunch with toasted bits of graham, wheaty puffs, and bran twigs is a lightly sweet, crunchy mix, with my only complaint aimed at the toasted graham bits which become soggy very quickly and are so small that they become lost in the mix of the other components. I’ve also been experimenting with Kasha’s Good Friends cereal in its original formulation as I try to abstain from raisins. A similar ménage of cereal bits and pieces Good Friends combines granola clusters, flakes, and those wheaty puffs that come to mine whenever I hear the word “Kashi.” While Good Friends loses to GOLEAN in the taste department, it kills in the texture field by remaining crisp throughout the bowl; even the flakes.
As a side dish we whipped up some “perfect oven sweet potato fries.” I’ve tried similar recipes to this before but this time they actually turned out the way I hoped they would. We started with 2 medium-large sized sweet potatoes which I skinned and chopped into even sized pieces. Or at least as even as I could. I then arranged the potato bits on a cookie sheet and drizzled olive oil over them and tossed to coat all sides. Once they were sufficiently coated I seasoned them with salt and pepper. All set and ready to go I placed them in an oven pre-heated to 450. The baked for 15 minutes the first time before being removed, flipped and baked again for about seven minutes. The recipe called for a 15 then ten minute term in the oven, but after the first 15 things were well on their way so we shortened the second cook time to prevent total charification. The finished product was slightly overdone in a few spots but basically yielded fries that were crisp and toasty on the outside, soft and sweet on the inside. About as good as they get without a deep fryer. We served these with sriracha and a sauce of Nicole’s invention made from sour cream, cinnamon, and brown sugar. Sweet and spicy with that excellent acrid funk from the sour cream, this was the perfect dip for these fried beauties.
The main course came courtesy of a recipe Nicole found in Self magazine. Pork burgers seasoned with thyme and sage, topped with spinach, chive “mayo,” and apple slaw sounded great on paper, seemed easy enough, too, but could we pull it off at home? Totally. Everything was easy to find and assemble, but the results were far beyond anything we expected.
Next stop on this balmy Saturday evening was the Bottom Lounge for yet another birthday celebration. The walk to West Lake, near North Ogden, was relatively quick and Bottom Lounge, as well as Mark’s birthday area, was well stocked with patrons and well wishers. While waiting for a much desired seat I forged my way to the bar and eventually got the attention of the bartender. I placed my order and coughed up only to watch her deposit my change directly into the tip jar. What. The. Fuck! In no time or place or world or ever is this an even remotely acceptable practice. I was gladly going to tip her when she brought my change, it was, essentially hers, but to just take it? To assume that it was hers? It’s tantamount to theft, albeit petty, but theft is theft. For the rest of the night I opted to not order beers from the bar, lord knows what else might’ve been stolen from me, and ordered instead from our waitress and the lady selling beers out of a large bin upstairs, but we’ll get to that. Once we found some stools to park our weary bodies in we ordered some food from Bottom Lounge’s small menu. Julie and Nicole decided to share a grilled cheese sandwich and some fries, I got some pita and hummus. Despite the hurried atmosphere in the bar our food arrived quickly. Unfortunately it wasn’t fantastic. My pita was soft and tender, a plus, but the hummus was overly lemony, with citrus obliterating any of the nuttiness of the chick peas, creaminess of the tahini, or any trace of herb or spice, while the cucumbers that arrived in the basket were lifeless and limp. The bite I had of Nicole’s grilled cheese half was filled with bland, soggy bread and chemically cheese. The only bright spot was the fries. Perfectly fried and seasoned with garlic and parmesan it gave me hope that at lease one person in the Bottom Lounge kitchen knew what they were doing. With a little food in us we were able to try to enjoy our company, but it was difficult due to the throngs of people in the bar. This was due in part to its proximity to the festival as well as the fact that it was hosting the big post-Pitchfork concert which was a rare Cap’n Jazz reunion. All these factors considered it was still just too crowded, so we decided to get some air on Bottom Lounge’s rooftop patio. On our way out we stopped a bought a round from a lady sitting on a stool in front of what must surely have been an animal watering trough full of ice selling beers and trading Pitchfork drink tickets for shots, not a bad idea. Out on the patio things weren’t much better, instead of being surrounded on all sides in the air conditioned bar, we were surrounded and back in the evening heat. Despite the crowd we were able to enjoy a little fresh air and a stunning view of the city skyline. When we’d had enough we wandered back down to the first floor bar and bid farewell to the birthday boy.
The night was young yet and while we were walking back to Shortie’s we decided to take a brief detour to meet her and Maureen at the High Dive. What began as something I thought to be a reasonable walk turned what felt like an epic hike across this city, however this might have just been my exhaustion talking. When we arrived we discovered no Saturday drink specials to match Thursday’s and grabbed a round of bourbon and gingerales. Seeking rest our weary feet again we sat down with Mo and Shorite and a few others when suddenly food arrived. Shortie had ordered some of High Dive’s chicken wings and a basket of fries. Once again, the fries were beautifully executed, crisp outsides and flakey delicious centers, perfectly fried by someone who knows their way around a frymatic. The wings on the other hand were… interesting. I was told that High Dive Starts their wings by par-frying them then tossing them in sauce and finishing them on the grill for that smokey char and some sexy grill lines. The resulting meat is tasty, fried fattiness, smoked grilly-ness, and tangy sauciness. But the multi stage cooking process, especially something as dry as the grill, wrung most of the moisture from the already dry wings. Good flavor and bad texture do not great wings make. The bright side to this, however, was the triumphant, albeit somewhat misplaced, side sauce. A soy and wasabi mayo came with the wings and, when I dipped a fry in, revealed itself to be wonderfully rich and perfectly salty with just the right amount of tingle in the sinus from the wasabi. Like the man said: “Two out of three ain’t bad.”
After three days of hard eating and hard partying we were starting to feel the wear and tear, so a little extra sleeping in was in store. Eventually rousing from our slumber, Nicole and I set out on a search for brunch. We originally planned on meeting some friends at a restaurant, but were cut short when they texted us letting us know that said restaurant no longer serves breakfast. Bummer. Undaunted and across the street from our second choice spot we crossed the street and put our names on the wait list for Earwax. This oddly named, carnival side-show themed eatery was busy enough for a Sunday morning but we were seated quickly. We parsed the menu while sipping some of their delicious, fresh brewed coffee. One of the better cups I had on this outing, Earwax boasts a strong, full bodied joe with smokey aftertastes, and a pleasantly bitter twang. A little cream and just a touch of sugar and it was just about the best thing a body can drink first thing in the morning. Earwax’s menu is smallish, but strong, with plenty of great sandwiches and breakfast served all day. Being a dyed-in-the-wool breakfast aficionado I was all over their bevy of choices finally selecting their breakfast burrito. Nicole was also feeling the burrito vibe and ordered the barbequed seitan burrito. Earwax’s menu skews towards the veggie/healthy end of the spectrum and, in fact, the menu reminded a bit of Cleveland’s own Tommy’s. Anyways, food arrived in good time despite the fact that they were constantly busy and we tucked in. My burrito was massive, filled with scrambled eggs, cheddar, refried beans and avocado. With a side of potatoes, salsa, and sour cream, this was a champ-worthy breakfast for sure. The eggs were perfectly cooked, light and fluffy, but firm enough to stay in place while eating. The beans and cheese added some meatiness and body to the wrap, but the avocados were oddly scattered. I’d eaten about a quarter before I found even a hint of green and then bam, a huge pocket, my only real complaint with my breakfast and it’s a minor one. The potatoes were well seasoned and beautifully fried and extra tasty with some hot sauce mixed with the sour cream and salsa. Come to think of it that mixture was a bit of alright on the burrito, too. Nicole’s “barbequed” seitan burrito was pretty tasty as well, but Earwax seems to be playing pretty loose with the term “barbeque.” In my mind barbeque means one of three things: (1) meat that’s cooked low and slow in order to enhance texture and flavor, (2) more loosely, anything that’s been cooked on a grill, or (3) something with barbeque sauce on it. Earwax’s burrito fell into none of these categories. The seitan had more of a southwest/Mexican flavor; the beans and rice inside certainly backed this up, as did the chips, salsa, and sour cream that accompanied her brunch. While I am wasting too much time on the semantics of nomenclature here, I am not saying it wasn’t delicious which it was, just improperly marked.
With some serious gut fuel to get us through the last day of the festival we made a short detour to Shortie’s before heading to the park as we had been soaked in a sudden downpour on the way to brunch. Dryly attired and amply sun screened we wandered over to the park. We arrived in time to catch a portion of Lightning Bolt’s set. Unfortunately the Brians’ blown-out sonic extremism didn’t translate from skuzzy house show to massive P.A. A lot of Gibson’s calculated racket was translated into a bland din post-mixing board, and all but one of Chippendale’s drums and cymbals were making any sort of impact. Surfer Blood and St. Vincent, on the other hand, sounded perfectly crisp and clear. Vincent especially shone on the middle stage combining her perfectly crafted pop with live guitar shredding and noisy, arrhythmic breakdowns that, as if by magic, reshaped into her shimmery, esoteric jamz. After the long, dreary, dancehall pastiche of Major Lazer, we forged our way into the fray to snag a decent locale for the impending Pavement-ing. Just a few yards right of the main stage sound booth and about 100 from the stage we felt pretty confident in our vantage. After a thoroughly rousing performance from Out Kast’s Big Boi, a couple Heineken Lights—the surprisingly drinkable sponsor beer at Pitchfork this year, not fantastic, but as easy drinking as any other major brand light beer— and soft pretzels with tangy beer cheese from the Berghoff food stand—totally awesome!—it was Pavement time. The band took the stage in a properly shambolic way that brought to mind Bevis and Butthead’s infamous Pavement jab that these guys aren’t trying hard enough. The power quintet ripped their way through an excellent set of mid-album rockers and a few slow jamz, reaching back to Slanted and Enchanted just twice—“Two States” and “Fame Throwa”—with “Spit on a Stranger” the only representative of Terror Twilight. But the set list mattered little as I would’ve been happy to hear them play Wowee Zowee b-sides for the hour.
We and the other thousands of lucky souls trudged out of the park and towards some destination or another. Ours was the quest for a bus and food. Packed like sardines in what I’m sure was a safety violation of some sort on the blue line, we headed back towards Bucktown and Ukranian Village in the hopes of scoring pizza and beer from Piece Pizzeria and Brewery. But our dreams were dashed upon arrival when we were informed that the kitchen was closed. The pizza place next door had recently been cleaned out, presumably by throngs of hungry concert goers, so we moved on to plan “C.” Appropriate since our third option was Cleo’s. A ten minute walk brought us to our destination and a large table where we tried our best to devour all the cheese in the joint. Cheese cubes and fried mac’n’cheese appetizers were the opening salvo followed by a full cheese blitzkrieg. There were pizzas of all flavor and stripe, a few quesadillas, and, of course, cheese burgers. Nicole and I kept things simple with a pepperoni pizza and some fried cheddar cheese cubes. The cubes were excellent--how could battered, fried cheese not be--and the pizza was, well, pizza. Homemade dough, a zesty tomato sauce, good cheese, and a healthy sprinkle of pepperoni; all well executed and delicious, but nothing terribly new or mind blowing. Other dining companions were a little more adventurous, the buffalo chicken pizza smelled amazing and the bite or two I had from the barbeque chicken quesadilla was excellent. The real food winner of the night, however, was the bacon bleu pizza. Homemade dough again served as the base, but instead of regular tomato sauce Cleo’s subs in a tangier, heavily herbed tomato sauce. The whole thing is then covered in bacon and smothered in sweet, funky bleu cheese. I only had a small piece, but wow. Wow.
Feeling sufficiently refueled those of us that didn’t have to work the next morning, or simply didn’t care, walked across the street to the Map Room. Map Room is one of my favorite Chicago watering holes. The walls are covered with, you guessed it, maps; maps of all types, variety, and age, as well as numerous shelves of National Geographic. The beer selection is ample as it is impressive, more than two dozen draughts, a huge bottle list, and a hand pumped, casked beer. The selection leans towards the fruitier, more malty Belgian beers and domestic sympathizers, but there’s plenty of room for hops in the Map Room rotation, too. I opted for the hand pulled Arcadia IPA and received and imperial pint, 20oz, of hoppy, smooth beer goodness. Not as bitter or robust as say a Sierra Nevada or its ilk, the Arcadia variation had a nutty, brown color and at times was reminiscent of New Castle. At least when it first hits the tongue, the after taste is pure IPA citrus/pine goodness. Hand pulling from the cask gives the beer a smoother mouth feel, not as carbonated as a bottled or traditionally drafted beer, the beer engine makes for a creamy texture which is fantastic, but creates a strange disconnect between taste and texture when drinking hand pulled IPAs. Nicole’s choice was the Bear Republic Hop Rod Rye. Dark and hoppy the Hop Rod tastes of IPA when if first goes in, but has a wonderful dry, spicy finish from the rye with which it is made. And at 8% ABV it packs a pretty good kick. After round one we discussed another and decided that we were on vacation, damnit, and we would drink beer all night if we so chose. And we did! Round two found me with a Boulder Beer Company Cold Hop English Style Ale. Golden, wheaty in color this interesting brew boasts a great floral nose and some serious fruity flavors followed by a great hoppy sting and an oddly buttery/fatty aftertaste and mouth feel. Delicious and refreshing, like a more complex variation on Boddington’s Pub Ale. Nicole, perhaps at the recommendation of the beer list, Chose the Goldbräu by Stiegl, due to it being “perfect for warmer weather.” A light, crisp German lager this would be an ideal beer to sip before, during, and/or after mowing the lawn or most any other summer activity. Refreshing to max and served in one of the coolest pilsners I’ve ever seen. The one curious aspect of this otherwise simple beer was the aftertaste. While we both agreed it was quite literally corny, Nicole felt it tasted of Fritos while I thought it was more along the lines of corn tortillas. Tasty but odd. Our cravings for late night food and drink well sated we departed the Map Room at last call and staggered back to Shortie’s one last time.
It was a bittersweet morning when we woke on Monday. On one hand glad to be headed for home, on the other sad to leave so many wonderful people and places behind. We packed up our, now very sweaty, belongings and loaded up the car. But the six hour drive ahead of us demanded a solid farewell brunch. After a little debate over where to eat and what may or may not be open on a Monday afternoon we decided on late-night Lakeview beacon, the Pick Me Up Café. Just a few blocks stumbling distance from MLB’s most iconic stadium, the Pick Me Up is a 24 hour espresso bar and diner serving up a variety of traditional diner fare with veggie and vegan twists—if you find yourself in Lakeview in need of some serious late night munchables I can’t recommend the veggie chili and vegan, that’s right, mac’n’cheeze! We drifted the few blocks from Bucktown to Lakeview with Nicole offering her one-woman tour of Chicago along the way and found an amazing, albeit expensive, parking spot in front of our diner. We seated ourselves at a table decorated with images of the Sesame Street crew made from food. For starters I grabbed a huge mug of PMU’s excellent coffee. Strong, flavorful, scorching hot, this cuppa was a fitting farewell to all the great coffee that can be had in Chi-tonw (
With the crossword mostly completed, our third of forth cuppa polished off, stomachs well plied we got some gas and water before getting back on the road. The drive home on a Monday afternoon was also pretty easy, a little more traffic than a late Wednesday evening, but no traffic jams or long lines on the expressway, just smooth sailing. We stopped a few times for coffee and other pit stops, but basically made it home without issue. Road weary and famished upon our arrival we bandied around some dinner ideas, the short walk to Aladdin’s at Surrey and Cedar was a front runner before settling on an overlooked gem in Cleveland’s ever expanding food crown: Richie Chan’s. Located just west of the Cedar/Lee intersection, Chan’s is easy to miss with all the glitz and glamour just up the road, but it shouldn’t be missed. Primarily a carry out, there are a few tables available, Chan’s is run by a middle aged couple we’ve dubbed “Mr. and Mrs. Chan.” She takes the orders then barks them at him, he cooks them up, she packs them and dishes out the goods. While the menu at Richie Chan’s appears at first/second/hundredth glance to be pretty standard, the food is vastly superior to almost any I’ve ever had, save for maybe a few meals in New York’s Chinatown and the always surprising Yangtze on Chardon’s square. Chan’s General Tso’s Chicken is unlike any I’ve ever had, sweet, spicy, and loaded with ginger. Their wonton soup should be the standard to which all others are held, buttery, meaty broth, delicate wontons, and sumptuous roast pork; it’s a rare visit that we don’t leave without a quart. And the egg rolls are not to be missed, crisp and fresh tasting in both veggie and shrimp incarnations. My order that night, and my “usual” is the cashew pork. Loaded with carrots, peas, corn, and mushrooms and peppered with savory thin sliced pork it is utterly simple and wildly delicious on its own but doesn’t mind being perked up with some spicy mustard or sriracha. Nicole scored some veggie lo mein which was so straight forward and compact that it belied its simple intrinsic deliciousness; also excellent with a few dashes of the spicy stuff.
We kicked things off right in Chicago by visiting one of the most esteemed culinary outposts in a city crammed to the gills with good eats: Hot Doug’s. Hot Doug’s Sausage Superstore and Encased Meat Emporium has been a dream food destination of mine for several years now, ever since Justin began extolling the merits of their countless varieties of house made sausages. In fact I’d heard so much about how great Hot Doug’s was that I, briefly, began to doubt weather it could be that good. Any doubt I had was obliterated when we arrived and took our places in line. I understand that on some days, especially Fridays and Saturdays when fries cooked in the culinary gold known as duck fat are on the menu, the wait for some encased meat can reach the two-hour mark, but we made it out of the heat and into the a/c in about half an hour. Not a bad wait, all things considered. But the wait was the easy part. Once we were inside I had to figure out what I wanted to eat. I’d been thinking about this moment for so long I felt like Ralphy when he finally gets to see Santa in A Christmas Story. I was blanking! Here I was about to face Doug himself and I had no idea what I was even doing there! I took a few deep breaths and asked Nicole what she would be having while I took a more composed glance at the menus. At first I was focused mainly on the special menu which features items like the Foie Gras and Sauternes Duck Sausage with Truffle Aioli, Foie Gras Mousse, and Fleur de Sel, or a “Damn Spicy” pork sausage with Chipotle Dijonnaise and Habenero Jack Cheese called the Atomic Bomb. Where else in the world could you ever hope to find sausages so esoterically designed and lovingly created? Surely they must be mine! But then there was the standard menu chock full of simpler, but no less delicious sounding, encased meat fare. The Keira Knightly Fire Dog and Salma Hayek andouille sausage each sounded appealing for a variety of reasons. As did the Elvis, a smoked Polish sausage and maybe the only Elvis referencing food item in the world that does not feature peanut butter and banana. The Marty Allen, beef, pork and garlic was tempting for sure, so was the Pete Shelley if for no other reason than a veggie dog in a self-described “Encased Meat Emporium” has to be something worth trying once. In the end I think I chose wisely, opting for: The Paul Kelly: a beer soaked bratwurst that is grilled and split bilaterally. I had it topped with tangy mustard and caramelized onions. As well as the smoked and spicy alligator sausage topped with shrimp remoulade and fontina cheese.
Having gorged on Hot Doug’s as a late afternoon lunch Nicole and I returned to Shorties, our unofficial Chicago flop-house, for a little post meal r’n’r. We napped and lounged for a few hours before rinsing off the day’s heat and the previous night’s car ride in preparation for Maureen’s birthday extravaganza. According to Mo, on her last visit to Cleveland, the only time she eats Mexican is on her birthday so I guess it was kind of an honor to be there for this annual occasion. The site of this fiesta was Jose’s, a modest BYOB spot on North Winchester in Chicago’s Ukrainian Village neighborhood. We were told to come prepared so just about every other person in attendance had a bottle of tequila tagging along for the meal as Jose’s will make you a margarita if you bring the hard stuff. We were handed a few Tecate’s on our arrival and ordered a pair of margaritas while settling in with some chips and salsa. The chips were delicious and more than likely homemade, and the salsa had a fres, spicy kick. Things were off to a good start. We put in a few table wide orders for appetizers, a couple plates of guacamole and some queso fundido loaded with roasted Mexican peppers, all excellent. I guess at this point I should come clean on the fact that I was still stuffed from Hot Doug’s and the idea of eating more, even that manna from the gods that is Mexican, seemed like a reasonably to terribly bad idea. But I thought I should at least have something other than chips and dips so when the waiter came around I selected one barbacoa and one al patstor taco. Actually, I originally picked those two meats to fill some soft and tender tamales, but the menu fails to mention that tamales are only available on the weekends, boo-urns. So I checked the taco box on my order instead and waited very patiently to see what kind of room I had left in my food vault. In turned out there was just enough for these two excellent specimens. The barbacoa was tender and beefy with a little spice, a little onion, and a healthy handful of cilantro. The al pastor was porky and delicious but a little over done. While the charred bits on the edges added some great smokey flavor to my “Mexican gyro” the inside was a tad dry. The onion/cilantro/salsa on top helped this matter immensely. The rest of the food on the table looked delicious and huge, so I felt less guilty about not ordering something I probably wouldn’t have finished more than a third of, plus I was still running on Doug’s and gator so I didn’t need much anyways.
Having plied ourselves with Mexican goodies and a handful of margaritas we moved the party just around the block to the High Dive. Located on West Chicago Avenue, between Winchester and Wolcott, the High Dive is an understated little bar with a handful of 4-6 person high-tops, several expansive booths, and a gorgeous bar that is either an antique or a very reasonable facsimile. Every one ordered a round and we toasted Maureen again. Not knowing what the High Dive had to offer I watched another partygoers order that Champagne of Beers and followed suit, just moments before noticing the weekly specials posted way above the bar. Thursday night at the High Dive is $4 Absolut drinks, if only I’d seen that sooner! I contentedly sipped my High Life before switching to the 3 Floyds IPA they had on tap, and what a world of difference! 3 Floyds’ IPA is a strong entry into the category, full of aromatic and bitter hops that lend it that floral bouquet and citrusy aftertaste sought after in most IPAs, rank it right in there with Sierra Nevada for a excellent and fully competent IPA, yardsticks to measure all others against. From there on out I was Moscow Mules for the rest of the night, the sumptuous blend of ginger ale, vodka, and lime is perfectly refreshing on a hot summer night after a long day of eating heavily. I should also note in here that while at High Dive I chanced to try a few swigs of a friend’s New Castle Summer Ale. Tasting somewhere between regular New Castle and a watery IPA, New Castle’s summer ale is tasteless and alternately bland sweet, soggy, and bitter. Avoid this beer at all costs.
With a splash of beer to revive body and soul we were ready to eat. Small Bar offers a brief but solid menu of bar standards: burgers, sandwiches, assorted sides and snacks. Nothing wild and crazy, just good food that tastes better with beer and possibly sports. Having been told to by most everyone I’d encountered the night before, I ordered the pulled pork nachos. For breakfast. Well, brunch I guess given the timing of our meal, but it seemed an odd choice for my first meal of the day. While I got my own order, Shortie and our dining companion Adam opted to split theirs. When they finally arrived I could see why. The nachos arrived in a bowl most restaurants would use to serve a family style pasta dish with a pile of crisp, delicious tortilla chips piled high above the rim. On top was a mound of steamy hot barbequed pork, several generous handfuls of cheese, and a healthy dollop of sour cream. It was big, but I was hungry. Before diving in mouth first I needed to test the waters and so took a healthy bite of nothing but pork. It was good, real good. Slow cooked beautifully, although not smoked, and slathered in a sweet barbeque sauce, a tasty counterpoint to the spicy pork that makes up the Pig Destoyer, Led Zeppelin, and pulled pork fries over at Kuma’s Corner. Kuma’s sauce is a bright, bold, and daring dressing, while Small Bar’s is unctuous and inviting. Coupled with zesty jack and cheddar and supplemented with daubs of sour cream, Small Bar’s pulled pork nachos are a great way to start a long day of outdoor music festival attending. Continuing the theme of appetizer-for-brunch Nicole ordered some of Small Bar’s other infamous app: fried cheese curds. Dipped in a stout based batter and fried, these cheddar curds are as hearty and fun as any mozzarella stick, with the bonus of that sharp cheddar zing. The tangy honey mustard dipping sauce that accompanies the curds was excellent, but I found a few dots of sriracha to be just as tasty an accompaniment.
More than well fed, we departed Small Bar so that Nicole and Shortie could get hair cuts from their favorite trimmer and I roamed the streets of Chicago in search of danger. And by danger I mean comic shops, book stores, and record retailers. My first stop at Brainstorm, a comic book shop and video rental spot that boasts a respectable selection of both despite its limited retail space; I picked up a copy of Doom Patrol volume 2: The Painting That Ate Paris. From there I wandered down the street checking out the local stores as I wandered. When I came to Gallery Café I couldn’t help but venture in. For coffee lovers the world round freshly and expertly roasted beans are a must. Cleveland’s Phoenix Coffee has its own roaster in the city, as does Bowling Green’s Grounds for Thought. But Gallery takes this demand for freshness one step further and roasts their beans on site as they need them, while you might smell more like the inside of a coffee pot after a few minutes in Gallery than you might at other cafés, the funk is well worth it as this is some of the finest coffee I’ve ever sipped. With the mercury speeding ever northward in Chicago I opted for Gallery’s iced coffee. Rich and bold with a splash of cream for color and a reduction in acidity, this was exactly the thing I needed to survive such a heat wave with such a full stomach. My last stop, I never did make it to Reckless, was Quimby’s. One of the finest bookstores in the world, specializing in all the weird and eccentric books other stores tuck away or simply refuse to stock. This is an excellent spot to find everything from the newest graphic novels to local and national `zines to The Anarchist’s Cookbook. There’s a whole section dedicated to the printed materials from and related to McSweeney’s, the art books have their own graffiti subsection, and they proudly sell “gay smut,” their words not mine, in the front section of the store; no beaded curtains or hushed whispers for something behind the counter. I perused their aisles for a long time but was ultimately overcome by choices; I wanted it all, but I got none.
I was soon whisked away for an afternoon of rock’n’roll fun at Pitchfork where I managed to digest away all the pork and chips while enjoying the abrasive post-everything jamz of Liars, the comedy melt-down of Michael Showalter, and the competent execution of Modest Mouse. But all this loud music and a few beers had left me feeling mighty hungry. Post fest we boarded a blue-line bus and made for that beacon of late-night Mexican goodness: Arturo’s. A perennial Chicago favorite of mine, I was introduced to Arturo’s by Nicole on our first visit to the city last September. We’ve been many times since and I knew what I wanted before we even got there. Arturo’s was busy when we arrived but we managed to find two tables to accommodate our eight hungry companions. A double check of the menu showed that they did indeed still serve tacos both barbacoa and al pastor. The quesadilla was not on the menu, but it never is. I overhead some rumbling concerning the al pastor come from our sister table and was struck by a cold sweat. Might I not be able to have my al pastor? Was the spit layered with slabs of seasoned pork and slowly roasted as it spins, like a Mexican gyro, really scraped bare? When the waitress came to take our order my worst fears were confirmed. Yes, they have no al pastor. I scrambled over the menu again looking for a replacement. There is no real replacement for a good taco al pastor, but I decided on a taco carnitas. Spiced, slow cooked pork shoulder that is shredded and tossed in a hot pan for crispy edges and soft, savory centers. Arturo’s does it right and the taco carnitas was excellent. As was the barbacoa, natch, both are served in homemade corn tortillas and garnished simply with a sprinkle of raw onion and cilantro. Arturo’s quesadilla is simplicity and deliciousness defined. Just two of their fantastic corn tortillas filled with soft, white Mexican cheese (queso blanco? Chihuahua? Oaxaca?) and grilled until melty. The perfect late night pick-me-up, Arturo’s gave us the strength for a night cap across the street at the Green Eye Lounge. Dark and loud like a bar should be, the Green Eye Lounge on West Homer seemed a perfect final destination on this long first day of the fest. We sipped a few PBRs while check out the place and its clientele and noticed that from Sunday to Thursday Green Eye offers $5 bourbon and PBR boilermakers, an excellent deal if I do say so myself. Well fed, well beer’d, and all kinds of tired we made for home base to rest up for another long day of fun.
