West Egg Wonderful

Savvy holiday shoppers know the place to go for the best breakfast on the Miracle Mile is West Egg. Located a few blocks off Chicago's Michigan Avenue, West Egg is one of those breakfast places that just makes you happy.

Having worked seven years in the restaurant industry, watching the machinery of West Egg is pure joy for me. It's one of those extremely busy breakfast places that gets a ton of people in and out fast, runs like clockwork, and is remarkably clean and polite for the high traffic it supports.

Breakfast diners like this are models of efficiency that make me long for those restaurant days when the people you worked with knew what move each other were going to make next and just flowed together like a single unit. Throw in some cozy restaurant charm and an actual u-shape diner bar and you've got the potential for breakfast heaven.

For anyone who's not worked in the restaurant industry (seems like most of America anymore) West Egg offers terrific, fast service and positively delicious breakfasts. I tested them all three mornings I was in Chicago and not a single one was a disappointment.

I started on the first day with a standard restaurant test. I like to order either a restaurant's signature dish or their simplest dish. In the case of a breakfast place, that's poached eggs (though almost no one offers them anymore) or sunny-side-up. These are simple eggs that can be fantastic given proper treatment or awful if they're just dished to you as an after-thought (eh... sunny-side up? f' this guy.)

I can report my poached eggs were both hot and lovingly treated; while not the best I've ever had (poached egg fans know what i'm talking about... the poached egg with a warm, creamy yoke , about the consistency of room temperature corn syrup) they were still pretty outstanding. The english muffins and tomato wheels served with most egg dishes at West Egg were a perfect match. I also had some perfectly cooked bacon (thick cut that's cooked to just below crisp, so it's that melange of crumbly and chewy), and french toast. God damn the french toast was good. Almost meaty and hearty.

The next day I found my sunny-side-up eggs to be equally delightful.

True to form (and I find this to be true at all great breakfast places, I wonder why?) the coffee was sub-par. I'll never understand why that is, but the most fantastic breakfast places are serving that awful bunn-coffee-maker-coffee that's either burnt to hell or tastes like the machine hasn't been cleaned since the Eisenhower administration. Thankfully, the food at a place like West Egg is simply so fantastic, you dump some cream in and really don't care.

A last item and this is the wonderful cherry on the sundae of this place... The orange juice was fresh squeezed. On a bracingly cold day in early December, West Egg kept me satisfyingly warm all day.

The Only Chicago Style Pizza I've Ever Liked

I've tried to like Chicago-style pizza for a long time, but I gotta be honest, the whole concept seems just awful to me. Though I know people who are, I'm not a dry texture person. The thought of acres of this cornbread crust and then boatloads of cheese... it's not only abhorrent to my personal palette (and an overly trendy menu item), but it also seems like a recipe for constipation. Not good.

The last time I tried Chicago style pizza was about six years ago rushing between flights in O'Hare. I was famished. I reasoned "if I'm ever gonna like Chicago-style, it's gonna be now." Ick. It was terrible.

Fast forward to tonight. I'm at a conference in Chicago with someone from work who knows the Chicago restaurant and bar scene much better than myself and he recommends we hit Pizzeria Uno for that very thing. Keeping to myself the above experiences, I indicate that I trust him and we head out for the original location of the original Pizzeria Uno.

We arrive early and get right in. The atmosphere is charming, small, and clearly well-worn. The staff is wonderful, and i'll get right to the point.

The pizza was fantastic. We had the Numero Uno - a wonderful everything-on-it pizza with these ENORMOUS sliced off HUNKS of sausage... dear god it was fantastic. It was so wonderful, I have a new "flavor-word" to describe this pizza: it tasted... sausagy. You heard it here first, if any other foodies or food critics are readin' this, that's my f'in' word - back off.

The cheese was pleasingly light; to me the bane of most attempts at Chicago-style is to create this glacier of cheese that adds an unnecessary heaviness to an already substantial dish.

The biggest surprise of all was the crust. I don't know how they did it, but they kept a cornmeal crust loaded down with meat and toppings remarkably light and even a little crispy (in fact, maybe it was the juxaposition of those two things that helped make the crust seem even more delicate). What a joy.

So good deal. I like Chicago-style pizza. From the one and only Pizzeria Uno.

Back to Fado

Ok, so remember that other Fado post? When I said if i ever go back there I'll get the bread pudding?

I did tonight and it was fantastic. A big cube of very moist bread pudding with apples and raisins, a side of whipped cream and orange slices, and topped with walnut ice cream. What's not to like?

My only regret? I just had to have some, but having come from P.F. Chang's, I'd had quite a meal already so only had a few bites. Thankfully, it was enough to say, it was wonderful!

PF Chang's Nails It

Yeah, I know, it's Chinese, it's a chain, fine. Whatever. Call me a hayseed. But P.F. Chang's is pullin' off some great Chinese food and doin' it in a fun setting not far off the Miracle Mile in Chicago. We've become so accustomed to Chinese food in America, it's become uninteresting to us- it's like Starbucks. I'm the first person to say that most Chinese food I've had isn't significantly different between any place I've had it. And while there are some places that arguably serve some of the worst Chinese I've ever had (like the lone Chinese restaurant in my hometown) there are those doing something really special.

P.F. Chang's claim to fame seems to be keepin' it simple. They do the basic Chinese dish flawlessly. The spring rolls are impeccably crisp, the mu shu delightfully tangy-salty (but not too much of either), and the chicken lettuce wraps are perfectly cooked - tiny pieces of chicken that are just done, not over-cooked. The Chang's Spicy Chicken ... so delightful; the most delicate coating of crisp tempura over perfectly cooked chicken (no powder-dry white meat here) and a thin, sweet Sichuan that is as spritefully herbal in its to the nose as it is spicy to the tongue. Each piece is like a delicately scented flower on a hot June day.

So sure, chain, yes. Fine. But what a delightful chain, and for those who travel, a sure bet for something good in many destinations.

Fado Fun & Food

Had a great dinner at Fado in Chicago tonight. Sure, yes, I know it's a chain, but they do a great job, not only at the food, but also creating the atmosphere of a warm neighborhood pub. A lot of it might have had to do with the good nature of Chicagoans and their genuine friendliness.

Being a pub, I had to get myself a pint and was pleasantly surprised to see that no matter what beer was ordered, it was served in the 'official' glass appropriate to that brew. For dinner I had traditional fish and chips. These were WELL worth noting. For starters, they carry a condiment little known in much of the states called 'Chef's Sauce' that is sort of like a thick version of malt vinegar. But the beautiful pieces of cod were the stars of the show; light and meaty, but most notably tender and not a bit greasy. It was like two pieces of battered heaven.

My only regret is that the restaurant had a pleasant, but bustling in flux of people just as the meal was nearing the end and I thought it best to pass on the dessert I was dreaming of: harvest bread pudding.

I'm here for a conference and if I make it back there, I won't leave without the bread pudding.

Best bites,
James

Rhubarb Pie

Often considered spring fare, there's little that can compete with a slice of homemade rhubarb pie in late summer. I just had some this morning that a very good friend made, served with good vanilla ice cream and fresh-brewed coffee.

While considered rustic by the uninitiated, rhubarb is the quintessential fruit filling for pie for several reasons.

Rhubarb is available throughout the growing season to gardeners who keep it watered. Fresh Ingredients = Pie Heaven.

Rhubarb has huge reserves of natural pectin. This makes for perfect slices of pie that not only hold together marvelously when cut (a rarity for fruit fillings) but have a special lip-smacking mouth feel that only natural pectins can provide, reducing the need for other thickeners. That naturally, juicy-thick texture is the 'mmmm' part of 'mmmmm-MM!'

Rhubarb is both very tart and sweet without the usually accompaniment of high-astringency. This means that expert pie-makers (like my friend) can tune their filling to the exact tart / sweet ratio they want. She tuned the filling to just to the edge of tartness making it pair perfectly with ice cream. Incidentally, that perfect sweet-tartness in your mouth is the 'MM!' part of 'mmmmm-MM!'

Wonderful as this is, it would all be for naught without a good crust. It was my great fortune to have been served rhubarb pie with a crust beyond compare. Golden, flaky, tender, toasty-buttery, flawlessly rolled, and perfectly done throughout - the bottom was just as deliciously firm and flavorful as the top. It simply does not get better than this.

One of my rules for life is 'Never turn down a piece of pie' and how doubly-cursed one would be to turn down home-baked rhubarb pie & ice cream at the height of summer when it's as good as this. Find some if you can; otherwise, eat your heart out.

Best bites,
James

Happy 4th of July!

Sylvia's Coffee Cafe

I had the pleasure of lunch at Sylvia's Coffee Cafe in Mt. Vernon today. Sylvia's is connected to an antique store in the same building and the charm of it spills over into the experience.

The tables and chairs inside are antique themselves, charming, and quite sturdy. It was such a lovely day though, we sat outdoors on the back deck. Our location overlooked a well-kept cottage garden. Our waitress was a charming woman from the British Isles who complimented the relaxing appeal of the cafe.

I ordered a panini with a cup of garden vegetable soup. I was pleasantly surprised to find Sylvia's offers healthy choices along with their sandwiches like fresh carrots and other vegetables. Our entrees arrived on pressed glass relish trays and my iced tea in a familiar, crackly looking glass; it really reminded one of having lunch at Grandma's house.

The soup stole the show: broccoli pieces cooked in chicken stock, then pulsed once in food processor. To this mixture was added soft, sweet carrot chunks and green beans cooked in the same stock. It was served with a lightly-buttery, grilled rye crostini that was a perfect match.

Sylvia's makes all their own baked goods and the panini's were on excellent bread as well. For dessert, I had a mountainous piece of carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, served on a gold-rimmed antique dessert plate. We also bought some of the dozen kinds of traditional Scottish shortbread sold there on our way out.

The whole meal was one of comfort and relaxation. There was nothing particularly fancy in either the decor or what we were served, but the experience was first rate. I think H.J. Heinz summed it up well: "To do a common thing uncommonly well brings success."

Best bites,
James

Simple Pleasures of the Picnic

Not simply eating outside, a picnic is about tasty, portable food in a relaxing location. We'd been thinking about this simple get-away for a long time, longer than this season and how nice it would be to have a picnic. We packed our picnic basket, a family heirloom of my wife's grandmother, with simple dishes: deviled eggs made from this week's leftover hard-boileds, a pressed sandwich (bit of a flop), and homemade strawberry pie.

The eggs were an understated delight and probably could have easily carried the day on their own; no sandwich needed. I’d mention at this point, I’d never had a deviled egg until about five years ago. I am incapable of eating traditional potato salad (just can’t choke it down) and I thought they would be just like it. I had such fun making them, I think they might be a regular item anytime we’ve got the leftovers again.

The sandwich was a disappointment. Unable to find the bread I was looking for, I had to settle for a rustic semolina loaf that I normally adore, but which wouldn’t press down for anything. Added to this, I accidentally picked up a peppered brie instead of plain and this wasn’t to our liking either. The marinated sweet red peppers, double-smoked ham, goat cheese, and oregano were nice, but the big failing - too much bread. It looks pretty, but it’s not tasty. We picked out the middles to eat and moved on to the key item of the day: Fresh Strawberry Pie.

There’s not much needs describing. Light, sweet, juicy, and refreshing, the ripe June berries in the pie perfectly matched the kind of late June day we rarely get the Midwest: low humidity, 70s, and a light breeze. While we’d not been able to get our act together for a picnic for years, we lucked out with a stunningly perfect day.

Picnics are like little favors to ourselves. We’re going to eat a meal anyway, we can keep it simple and still make it special by where we choose to have it and the spirit with which it’s taken. The best part of today’s picnic rivaled even the pie; taking time for the sole purpose of relaxation.

As we lay back on our blanket, looking up at the kaleidoscope of maple leaves, thinking of the meal we had, the satisfied drowsiness we were half-heartedly fighting, I thought how it was only a short time ago we humans considered ourselves ‘indoor’ creatures. Maybe this was the way we were meant spend our time; certainly, it was easy to imagine we might be pre-wired to enjoy such repasts.

Maybe picnics aren’t get-aways after all. Maybe they’re get-backs. Getting back, at least for a bit, a pace of life that’s more human and more humane.

Best bites,
James

Templeton Rye

Aficionados of liquor know rye whiskey is making a comeback. After decades of only a few brands to select from (only one in my area – Jim Beam’s rye product), rye whiskeys have come back as if through a time machine. Before prohibition in the U.S., rye was a common grain used to make whiskey and many farmers grew it for distillers. But when prohibition hit, there was little market for it, so many farmers switched to other grains.

Everything Old is New Again
Those keen on rye today have may have heard the story of a little distillery that ran during prohibition in the small town of Templeton, Iowa. Templeton ran rye for many speak-easies in Chicago. It’s rumored Templeton made the best rye in the Midwest: Al Capone’s favorite as well. Decades later, along comes the Templeton Rye company, back in Templeton, Iowa, claiming to make it from the same recipe that Al drank so long ago; a small batch rye with serious character.

And it’s true.

Visit Templeton’s website and you’ll see not only the history of this fine beverage, but the actual salt-of-the-earth folks who made, ran, and drank Templeton Rye back in the day. Rye-drinkers needn't worry if Templeton is banking on its storied history alone; the quality is truly fine.

Never Had Rye?
When describing the taste of rye, I’ve often referred to it as spicy, the way white pepper is spicy and with a little bit of a nutty flavor, maybe vanilla. (The first time I shared a bottle of Jim Beam rye with a non-rye drinker, they described the flavor as ‘ass.’ Tasting it now that good ryes have returned, they weren’t far off.)

The best way I could describe Templeton Rye to folks who haven't tried rye is “imagine the flavor of Jack Daniels, but lighter. And now imagine that it’s actually good.” Templeton adds floral and understated smoky, caramel notes to the mix making a really enjoyable beverage on the rocks with just a splash of water.

As I write this, I’m enjoying my first taste of a commemorative small batch made for Templeton Iowa’s quasquicentennial celebration. It’s a lighter color and missing some of the floral, definitely different. I’m glad to get to try a taste, but I’m equality glad it came in small bottle. It’s hard for me to tell if it’s really different or just a different batch. I’m looking forward to another of the usual batch I’d enjoyed so much the first time.

Best bites,
James

Martini Outreach Program

Maybe it's Midwestern politesse, maybe it’s having tended bar for almost seven years in a past life, but I find it hard to send a bad drink back. Worse than this is risking a bad martini. With the advent of every damn cocktail getting the ‘tini’ smacked onto the end of its name (even saw a ‘cosomopolitini’… what the devil... It’s a cosmopolitan), the martini is dying a slow death in some districts. I can’t get a good martini at a bar any more. Typical problems:

Bruised ice
The martini has been shaken so hard, it’s full of ice chips (severely bruised ice). I know this must seem like a ‘refreshing’ way to serve a martini, but it makes a bad martini that waters down quickly and is distracting to drink. I can only hope these bartenders' violent up-and-down motions have no carry over into romantic pursuits.

If a martini must go in a shaker, it should be held horizontal and rocked like a new born infant so that the gin flows back and forth (40 times) over the ice like a stream over smooth river stones. Your pour will be crystal clear and ice cold; no ice chips.

Bartender is unaware of what 'dry' means
An order for a 'dry' or 'very dry' or 'painfully dry' martini arrives as a chilled glass of vermouth. The new bartender assumes “It’s dry vermouth in a martini… he must want a lot of it.” Fair enough, I made the same mistake in my early days of tending bar.

Bartender is, sadly... *sigh* unaware of what a martini is
This may seem like small pet peeve, but it's an important one. A bartender should never ask what kind of martini I want.

They may ask what gin I prefer, or if I’d like an olive or a twist (for god’s sake, don’t ask me what kind of twist… martinis are not served with lime or orange twists, and they’re not served with wedges of any kind) or a cocktail onion (of course, that's a gibson when you add the onion, not a martini; but I'm willing to allow it, especially if you decide to have some olives along with it - heck, you're approaching a pretty decent salad at that point).

But a martini is a martini.

There is no vodka martini, though I know this statement does harm to some sensibilities. There’s certainly no appletini, chocolatini, passionfruitatini, cheddartini, liver-and-onion-tini or other ‘tini’ out there. These are cocktails and they have a very respectable history all their own; there’s no need to glom onto the martini.

All this being said, some time ago I decided to stop being part of the problem. By not ordering martinis, in my own small way, I’m ensuring martini tribal knowledge is not being passed on to a new generation of bartenders. To this end, I’ve formed:

The Martini Outreach Program
Reaching Out to Martinis in Our Community

Wanna join the program? Follow these practices when working with martinis in your community:

1. Bad martinis are respectfully sent back with diplomatic and kind explanations of the problem.
2. Gentle and discrete conversation helps new bartenders correct embarrassing mistakes and save face doing it (want a really bad drink? Be a dick.)
3. Good martinis are lauded with smiles, verbal gesticulations, and excellent tips. Don't miss that last item, true-believers. That last part about the tips is key to keepin' good martinis being made at your favorite watering hole.

If you’ve been putting up with bad martinis, or worse, avoiding ordering martinis because of bad experiences, join the cause! Help your local bartenders revive an American tradition.

Best bites,
James

English Beer Tasting Night

I'm a beer novice. Heck, I'm not really a beer guy; I'll start right there. I can tell I like lagers better than ales, and brightly hoppy ones at that. Beyond this... I'm operating in the dark.

Luckily there was an English beer tasting at our local liquor store, Benz, this evening. If you're ever in town, it's a fun visit, even if they're not doing a tasting. Too many fun things to buy. I was even more fortunate to have a good friend of mine there who knows beer, especially English beers with me. He lead me through each, ensuring I tasted those beverages that were lighter first so as not to overwhelm my palate too soon.

Top Picks
As a newbie, these were my fav pics of the evening. I can't read my own writing later and have trouble remembering what the label looks like when I can read what I wrote, so I take pictures of the labels I like with my cell phone. That way I can find them by sight later.

Tetley's
This is an extremely light ale. Almost tastes like nothing at all at first blush, but if you let the tastes develop in your mouth, there's a woodsy, kind of mushroomy autumn quality to the beer that's really enjoyable. I'd almost call this an iced tea of beers. Not necessarily what you think of with beer, but an interesting and enjoyable extreme end of the taste range.



OSB Bitter Ale
Nice hoppy bite, almost like a lager, but darker and smoother. Good hot summer day beer.






Meantime Porter
I'd never had a porter and I still couldn't tell you exactly what one was, but this was a very satisfying beer. Almost like you're eating something, but not terribly filling the way some beers like this can be. Very malty, chocolatey (without being cloying), nutty, coffee-tasting reddish ale; it really had rich, calm flavor. Great autumn and winter beer.

Samuel Smith's Oatmeal Ale
I don't think I could pick a favorite between this one and the Meantime above. This was a beer that tasted great from the start and grew on me more as I drank it. Smooth, toasty, probably the favorite beer of my English beer friend, I came to enjoy it very much as well. I seriously tasted what I can only describe as a bacon flavor in this brew and a fantastic one at that. My friend thought I was crazy. I'm the novice; he's probably right.


Best bites,
James

Bacony Bliss

If yesterday was a disapporkment, then this evening was bacony bliss. Blessed with bacon from my brother (a life-long pork producer on a family farm) we partook of one of summer's great tradeoffs - the BLT. Summer is hot, overly bright for office cave-dwellers like myself, and definitely humid in Iowa. As one sister put it eloquently, "summer in Iowa is all about wet underwear."

But summer offers the key ingredient to the BLT available no other time... the locally grown, vine-ripened tomato. To avoid a stampede and general civil unrest, I will not reveal where these tomatoes were gathered, but will only say, they are the real deal. They smell intoxicatingly musky and offer a fruity firmness that cannot be duplicated by hot-house cultivars, valiant though their efforts are.

We matched those tomatoes with slowly-seared, crisp bacon, from my brother’s farm. His bacon is processed by a small town, Iowa locker, smoked gently, and sliced thick.

In my youth, these sandwiches were standard weekly issue starting with the first tomatoes in mid-July through early September. It’s hard to believe now, but I can remember days when I cringed at the thought of another Sunday evening with BLTs. This evening, those scents of smokiness mingled with the rosy, floral fruit flavors of a beefsteak tomato brought back memories of a simpler time in life.

Sentimentality washes aside with the mouth-feel presented by the snap of bacon against the juice from a fresh, ripe tomato as it floods through crunchy toast. There’s nothing quite like the mingling “stuff” that drips to the plate from a BLT as you eat it: some divine nectar formed of the salad dressing, salted pork, fresh black pepper, and tangy tomato that simply begs to be dipped into with edges of the crisply toasted bread or slurped off the plate in a fit of unrefined pleasure. Great BLTs, like corn-on-the-cob, barbequed ribs, or oysters-on-the-halfshell, tap into that primal ‘foodness’ of the communal feast or even further, if we would admit, to some animal joy of being consumed with their consumption.

While the BLT is a humble American sandwich found throughout the country, tonight was a reminder that the Midwest offers provincial delights often overlooked. Our faire is not unlike that of rural Mediterranean and western European cuisines for which we foodies are eagerly profess fondness. Simple dishes with fresh ingredients have long been the purveyance of Provence, Normandy, the coastlines of Italy & Greece. We correctly laud those traditions; let’s not miss the tasty stuff right under our noses either.

Best bites,
James

Disapporkment

So, I stumbled across this nice-looking section of pork loin at Gary's Family Foods, 7am Sunday morning; a quarter inch rind of fat across the entire top, something you rarely see in stores here, despite being in the heartland and near to some of the best pork that can be raised. I was determined to slow roast it on a charcoal grill for Sunday evening.

I did this and served with some German mustard and other condiments; it seemed good, not great, but good. A little disappointing in that respect...

As I’m cleaning up after, I cut up into slices to bag for work and I cut a little 'bonus piece' that I wolfed down without any condiments... and oy, there it was: the taste of manure. Not a metaphor, manure. It tastes like a hog confinement house. Nearly threw it away right there, but needed something for lunch.

This is not the fault of Gary's (mentioned above) or any purveyor of meats in particular. We've accepted this sort of pork in the US for so long, as a culture, we simply don't know anything different. Economies of scale have made 'ok' pork or 'less-than-ok' pork the norm, especially when smoked or heavily seasoned.

Tasting last night's loin today, it's dropped much of that nasty flavor for the slow smoke from the grill, but there's that tiny after-taste. The premium pork I knew growing up comes from small and local farmers; don’t look for it in your big box grocery stores, except from small grower consortium brands like Niman Ranch.

Once you get a taste of a premium pork product, you'll be hard pressed to enjoy anything else. The meat is tender with a clean, fresh, savory flavor; the fat on the other hand, is so wonderful (think: lobster meets candy) you will eventually adopt the habit to cut it off first so you can have a small piece of it with every bite.

Best bites,
James