Chicago

Last weekend found me gallivanting all over Chicago. I had never been to this Midwestern city and admittedly knew little about it. Because I was there for Lollapalooza, I still know pretty much nothing, which I regret, but I did learn a few things:

1. It’s a foodie town! I thought that it would be along the lines of Boston, which isn’t a foodie city at all, but people really love to eat and have a lot of pride in their local delicacies.
2. They have better hot dogs than New York (it pains me to write this, even with last night’s Gray’s Papaya still churning in my stomach)
3. Deep dish pizza is to pizza what the chimichanga is to Mexican food. In other words, if you’re in the mood for pizza you’re not in the mood for deep dish because it’s its own entity entirely. And New York pizza is 100000000% better in the pizza category. I truly feel triumphed for having discovered this firsthand.
4. I really, really, really hate their accent
5. EVERYONE WEARS CARGO SHORTS
6. Bratwurst is a most fantastic snack
7. Their 2-team baseball rivalry is just like Yankees vs Mets and I completely appreciate that

So, all in all, Chicago is a very beautiful city, larger and with more culture than I expected. Being lakeside definitely adds to the charm of the city. That being said, I spent most of my time there in a Myers Rum induced haze dancing to various bands and eating a lot of bratwurst in the middle of Grant Park (which is lovely, by the way).

A bit more on the food I ate. Chicago-style hot dogs are truly the best in the world, which I know is a bold claim. First of all, they use their own type of dogs, called “Vienna Beef”. I wasn’t sure if this was a company (there is a logo), or a style, or what and no Chicagoan I asked could tell me so I took the obvious next step and Wikipediaed it. I expected it to be somewhat along the lines of what Hebrew National or Sabrett or Nathan’s is, and I was mostly right. It is a local company but also is THE company for Chicago-style hot dogs, which made sense because the logo is prominently displayed wherever hot dogs are sold. It was the best tasting dog I’ve ever had. So, you have the Vienna Beef dog, sweet pickle nuclear green relish, diced tomatoes, chopped onions, a pickle (in the bun! Amazing), mustard; all in a poppy seed bun. It tasted divine and in ways reminded me of a Vietnamese banh mi sandwich. I had mine at a nice little joint on the Diversey stop on the “El” Red Line called “Hoagie Hut” which will forever remain in my conscious as the birthplace of one of my favorite food experiences. Thank you Hoagie Hut.

Next stop: deep dish pizza. Ok. I was equally excited to try this as I was the hot dog. Our friend, a native, took us to Lou Malnati’s, which is a famous pizzeria and his favorite in the city. I split a plain cheese pizza (they don’t call them pies….AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH WHERE AM I?!?!?) with my friend and dug in. Deep dish pizza has a deep (duh), thick and buttery crust. The cheese is on the bottom with thick, lumpy tomato sauce on top with some parmigiana sprinkled on top. I’m conflicted. I know it’s a huge source of pride for Chicagoans and I know Lou Malnati’s is super famous but……it just wasn’t that good. It wasn’t BAD, but it wasn’t pizza, that’s for sure. I remember remarking that my ancestors were rolling in their graves watching me eat it. It was good enough despite the sauce being too sweet and I would definitely eat it again and enjoy it immensely but….it didn’t blow me away. It wasn’t Vienna Beef. It’s the type of meal where you’re like “oh, I’m totally in the mood for deep dish pizza” and thus has a very specific quality to it but in no way if you want pizza do you want deep dish. They’re not the same thing and if people want to make it so well then, fine, New York murders it. But on its own, it’s a unique local specialty and definitely worth having. I feel better having got that off my chest.

I regret not having time to try other distinctly Chicago things and especially not trying to go to one of their finer restaurants (there are many, and they are great) so maybe one day I’ll find myself back in the Second City specifically for that reason. Until then, I will be sublimely enjoying my thin crust pizza pies and myriad Neapolitan pizzas, reveling in the knowledge that I know for sure that my city has the best pizza. I will devour Gray’s Papaya while thinking of Vienna Beef the way one thinks of Javier Bardem during a one night stand. But Chicago, kudos, you proved me wrong on many levels and that alone is reason to make it back there.

Perry St. / Minetta Tavern

I went to Perry St. for restaurant week, had their house-made mozzarella and tomatoes, peekytoe crab salad, (their take on) fried chicken and molten chocolate cake. The cake was standard- I mean, I’ve never met a molten chocolate cake I didn’t like (same thing with presents) but the rest of the meal was quite outstanding. The chicken was incredibly creative- there were elements of thai chili and lemongrass in the crispy skin and the meat itself was extremely moist. There was a great lemon butter sauce on the side, as well as a side of corn kernels which were sweet and surprisingly satisfying for just being….corn. The appetizers were great as well- the mozz was superb and the crab salad was an amalgam of crab, sweet peas, mango, and something crunchy. All ingredients were fresh and beautifully displayed. In my opinion, it was a steal at $35.

And finally, I went to Minetta Tavern, which is conveniently located directly around the corner from me on Macdougal between Bleecker & West 3rd. It was a pure, unadulterated, ravenous, animalistic experience. There were no DeNiro or Madonna sightings- but I was too enraptured and high off of the excellent food I was eating to notice, even if they had been there. The service was impeccable. The bartenders were cute (omg) and their libations: flowing. Like wine! I had two of their signature cocktails: one a curious mix of a dark & stormy and hard cider (if you went to college with me- you will understand how fantastic this is to me) and the other a ginger cocktail. For an appetizer, I had their roasted bone marrow which comes in the form of two enormous bones cut in half, roasted, and a side of a shallot and pork confit. Holy shit! The waiter accurately described it as “the richest, beefiest butter you’ve ever had”. I couldn’t have said it better myself. I had never had bone marrow before, but I am a convert. Should you ever see it on a menu, ORDER IT.

After that, my entrée arrived. The most fantastic New York strip I’ve ever eaten. An aged, enormous, perfectly charred slice of heaven, cooked medium-rare, not garnished in the least. It tasted so fantastic I literally moaning throughout the entire meal to the point where the waiter looked over at me and laughed. As a side, I had the potatoes Anna, which is an au gratin kind of dish that was equally superb. For dessert, I had the chocolate soufflé which tops the list of any and all I’ve ever had (the list is long). As an aperitif, at the suggestion of my dear father, I had absinthe which truly put me over the edge, to the point where Milan and I (who came to Minetta as well) walked to BROOKLYN from the village. We brown bagged it with a Delerium Tremens on the way, had a Beer Lao and a lychee martini upon arrival in Williamsburg, and took the L back. We were literally giddy and giggling the entire 2 hour walk; that’s how fantastic this food was.

The cocktails:

Gin Blossom miller's gin, st. germain elderflower liqueur, aperol, fresh grapefruit

Stormy Cider goslings black seal rum, fresh apple cider, chinese five spice infusion, fresh lemon

Frank Bruni’s description of the beef at Minetta:

But were you prepared for a côte de boeuf like Minetta’s, a sublime hunk of glorious meat that you dream about hours later, pine for the next day and extol in a manner so rapturous and nonstop that friends begin to worry less about your cholesterol than about your sanity?

No, Frank. I was not prepared.

Taverna Kyclades

The subject of Greek lore on Long Island for much of my formative years, Astoria loomed in the distance like a giant, lamb juice oozing, tzaziki-laden gyro I had yet to devour. I always knew Astoria was there, and had wanted to go, but it just never happened. Until now!

For those of you who don’t know, Astoria is located below the Triborough bridge, by Long Island City, in the borough of my birth. It’s home to the largest Greek population outside of Greece and has been touted as the go-to for the best and most authentic Greek cuisine this side of the Atlantic. My dear friend Kristin has been shacking up in this Queens neighborhood for the past month, waiting until she can move into her new East Village apartment (hollaaaa). At the first mention of Astoria, Kristin and I immediately had the same thought: Greek night. Obviously.

Admittedly, my genuine knowledge of Greek food was limited to gyros and souvlaki and baklava. All completely delicious foods in their own right, but clearly I was missing something. I had heard that “real” Greek food was healthy, flavorful, fresh and intoxicating. I enjoy a good souvlaki from time to time (to time to time…), but rarely is it a life-changing experience, nor is it healthy. Enter seafood. And fresh ingredients. And cigarettes, ouzo, and fried cheese. These are a few of my favorite things?!

As some of you may recall, I am new to the seafood game. Although I will never, ever eat lettuce, these days I can be seen slamming clams and scallops with the best of them, and I do. The highly recommended restaurant we went to was called Taverna Kyclades, on Ditmars Avenue. We arrived around 9:30 on a Monday night and there was still at least a 30 minute wait. After heading to a nearby bar, returning, and being seated at a prime corner table on the outside patio, we were perusing the menu and making our selections.

Kristin and I split a bottle of Greek white wine that had a hint of pine resin in it. It was bitter and strange- I literally had flashbacks to my younger years when I would eat pine needles off the Christmas tree (whatever)- but paired extremely well with the seafood we ended up ordering. The four of us settled on a greek salad, grilled octopus and saganaki (fried cheese) for appetizers. Not being a salad eater, I merked some of the feta off of the giant blocks they served and got down on some fresh bread and olive oil. The saganaki was divine; not too heavy, only lightly fried, oozing with olive oil. It went extremely well with the other standout appetizer: the octopus. Being half guini myself, I am no stranger to calamari but I have never had octopus that was a) not calamari and b) not fried. I expected it to be rubbery and awkward, instead it was tender beyond words, juicy and had an incredibly fresh flavor, brought out by the olive oil. Formerly scared of tentacles, I found myself going back for seconds, thirds and fourths. Great success.

For our entrees, we decided on a chicken kebab (I insisted on some meat at the table) and the “Kyclades special”: a seafood platter with pan-fried clams stuffed with crab meat, lobster tail, crab-stuffed jumbo shrimp, scallops, and a filet of sole. As side dishes, we ordered swiss chard, lemon potatoes and rice. It was an incredible amount of food for four girls that just OD’d a little on appetizers, but we tackled it in full force. I had a little of everything and a lot of scallops. The seafood was fresh and cooked exactly as it should have been; everything was moist, tender and seasoned perfectly with olive oil, sea salt and lemon. The beauty of Greek seafood, I’ve realized, is in the ingredients. There is no need for heavy marinades or elaborate seasoning because as long as the food is fresh and in optimal condition, you need little to bring out its outstanding flavor. Knowing this, and knowing how to properly apply seemingly rudimentary garnishes such as olive oil and sea salt, is the trick to mastering this kind of cooking. The result is delicious food where simplicity is king.

Dessert was galaktoboureko, a pastry made of custard and filo dough. Even though I had turned into a stuffed pig by that point, I couldn’t resist digging in as I will eat anything wrapped in filo, so I did. It was not memorable, but a nice, sweet ending to the meal. I decided that the most fabulous digestif of all time, Ouzo, was in order, and ordered a few shots of it. Ouzo is not much different from sambuca, absinthe or any other anisette but it packs the same punch and sits beautifully after a full meal. I was full, drunk and essentially: in heaven. Greek heaven. Visions of Zeus and white columns and scantily clad Spartan soldiers danced through my head. We left, taking note that the clientele was mostly Greek speaking, and trekked back to 30th ave so this little one could make the long march back to the Village. Astoria is an incredible juxtaposition of what it means to be Greek-American- in that these people are fully American, with their brick row houses, tacky metal railings and tiled walkways; yet also fully Greek. Men lounged in the sidewalk cafes, each with their own pack of cigarettes sipping on three-tiered coffes, speaking the native tongue and dipping pitas. One could easily be forgiven for thinking you were indeed in Europe, but a look beneath the surface reveals a much more complex identity. Astoria, I think I love you and all of your fish. And that middle-aged Greek hottie sitting at the table next to me….Good God.


click photos to enlarge