Topolobampo Lunch (Chicago)

(Topolobampo dining room)

With the closing of Ria, Topolobampo is now my favorite Chicago restaurant; during my recent trip to Chicago, it was only natural that I go there for lunch. By my count, this was my sixth meal at Topolo over the past year. All but one of these meals were for lunch (my lone dinner there, in which I had one of their tasting menus, was documented in this blog), and my relationship with the restaurant pertains more to the lunch service. Lunch at a Michelin-starred restaurant raises the issue of exactly how much is expected of them, and whether it need be representative of the restaurant as a whole—during my lunch at Blackbird, the maitre-d went so far as to say that their lunch service wasn’t an accurate picture of the restaurant.

Perhaps the best endorsement I can give to Topolobampo is that the restaurant is different at lunch yet equally rewarding. The room is brighter, patrons are dressed a bit more casual, and there is no tasting menu option. There are always a number of touristy-type diners, likely due to Rick Bayless’ media ventures and line of supermarket products. Consequently, the clientele is a bit like Alinea in that it’s not as much of a fine dining crowd; it’s clear that people view Bayless and Achatz’s ventures like tourist attractions, no different from visiting the Sears Tower, for example. However, the lunch and dinner menus share a number of similar items; this makes the lunch service a better value since a)the portions are sized similarly and b) the prices are just over half that of the dinner menu. Where the dinner service has a more identifiable special occasion feel, the lunch service blends the spectacular and the everyday in a particularly alluring manner.

I understand that there are those who criticize Topolo for sharing the building with Frontera Grill, although I have always enjoyed the layout as it projects the contrast between the two restaurants in a way that highlights the particular virtues of each; with its bright colors Frontera has a more vibrant feel, while Topolo is more serious and dramatic. The masks and sculptural art at Frontera are replaced by folk paintings at Topolo. I especially enjoy how the elite primitivism of the paintings corresponds with the feel of the cuisine, as it’s rare to see the artwork and fare synchronized to such a strong degree.

The lunch menu changes every month although a few iconic dishes never leave the menu, such as the Borrego en Mole Negro, the leg of lamb with black mole. I have enjoyed this on past visits and ordered this as a main dish; as a starter I went with Jaiba de Elote des Estilos: corn flan with Alaskan king crab, red chile esquites of pozole and fresh corn, lime mayo, epazote, and anejo cheese.

The first item to arrive was complimentary chips and guacamole, of which I forgot to take a picture. I’ve never been fond of guacamole as I find the flavor a bit lethargic, but I don’t mind their version since it includes radishes, which impart a more cutting flavor. The preparation is different from that of the dinner service, the main difference being that the lunch preparation has chips while the dinner version instead uses cucumber and (I believe) turnips.

My first course had interested me as I enjoy king crab and the corn flan was intriguing. However, the crab was rubbery and I could not even cut it with the fork that was supplied. The duo of corn was outstanding; Bayless’ cuisine always makes expressive use of vegetables, and the corn flan and toasted corn were a terrific exploration of a quintessentially Mexican ingredient, having the (unintended) effect of rendering the crab almost superfluous.

After telling the server that I had found the crab a bit overcooked, my server thoughtfully brought out an extra course as an apology: tamal with “string cheese,” tomatillo-infused salsa, and black beans. This would not have been my first choice since my main dish was to include tamal, but it was pleasant ‘comfort food.’ I also enjoyed the earthenware pot in which this was served; one of the benefits of dining at Topolo is the opportunity to consume Mexican cuisine in more aesthetically pleasing serviceware than one finds at most Mexican restaurants in this country (the dark blue water glasses hold similar appeal.)

The lamb is Bayless’ signature dish and a great value at $23. Black mole with “chilhaucle chiles and 28 other ingredients” was poured tableside to complement the lamb, tamal, black beans, and green beans. A plate of house-made tortillas completed the presentation. Bayless’ main dishes are very sauce driven, which not only appeals to my personal sensibility but also unifies the disparate components.

 

For dessert my companion and I selected Vida, Muerta, y un Tazon de Chocolate: Oaxacan chocolate cake, cinnamon nicuatole, chocolate ice cream, smoked masa foam, and cherries. This was possibly my favorite dessert all year and the impetus for writing this post. The dish drew its inspiration from a Mexican work of art; drawing from a painting reminded me of the Miro-inspired squab-dish I enjoyed at Alinea, although this was far more nuanced, if less 3-dimensional. I always enjoy dishes that manage to disguise their complexity (this was an aspect of Ria’s cuisine that I was particularly fond of) and the pristine composition belied the complex juxtaposition of chocolate preparations.

This lunch cemented Topolobampo’s standing as my favorite Chicago restaurant, and I think they offer the best lunch in the city (for my money the second-best is Naha, located across the street.) The lunch service isn’t dumbed down like other fine dining restaurants (Sixteen, for example), standing on its own without simply operating to financially assist the dinner service. While lunch is not generally as much of a special-occasion context and does not have as great a potential to ‘wow,’ the setting and cuisine achieved a rarefied degree of delectation. I exited this lunch with the same feeling I’ve had after previous visits—that Topolobampo is unlike anywhere else—which is to my mind the best compliment a restaurant can receive.

Graham Elliot (Chicago)

(Graham Elliot interior; This picture and all others taken by Rich of windyfoodie.com, my companion for this meal)

While in Chicago for a conference, I had time in my schedule for one restaurant dinner. As I wanted to try someplace new, my companion and I narrowed our choices down to Graham Elliot and Schwa; two restaurants with obnoxious chefs, one of whom is never in the kitchen, the other of whom never opens his kitchen. We wound up selecting Schwa, only to have them cancel on us the same day; as luck would have it there was same-day availability at Graham Elliot and so we decided to go there.

Eponymous owner Graham Elliot Bowles opened the restaurant in 2008. He has since expanded his empire and is rarely in the kitchen any more. This raises the issue of authorship, since while he founded the restaurant and no doubt tasted all of the dishes, he is not the one who designed the menu. In his stead, Andrew Brochu is now the executive chef; he was previously at EL Ideas (and Alinea before that), a restaurant which my companion holds in high esteem. Elliot’s absence did not bother me, and I reasoned that with his strong pedigree, Brochu was likely executing at a high level. Still, my companion phrased it well when he stated that this meal was not a reflection of the skills of Graham Elliot (the person) but instead those of Brochu.

I had held off from going to Graham Elliot since during the last 6-12 months, the restaurant has undergone continual changes in the kitchen and menu structure. I have always felt as though I would be catching the restaurant in a state of transition, and while every restaurant is always technically in a state of transition, I had felt as though they hadn’t yet established a consistent identity. Another reason why I hadn’t yet been was simply that I find the owner’s personality to be irritating; it seems as though he’s always hungry for attention and yet quite aggressive at the same time (both of these attributes were on display in the recent escapade in which he refused service to an equally irksome food critic, only to cash in on the publicity from the episode.)

As one can see from the photograph at the top, the interior is expansive and tables are spaced at the requisite distance for a restaurant with strong Michelin aspirations. Unfortunately, there was little of the stimulation that one usually gets from a Michelin-starred dining room, even if our four-top was comfortable and afforded us plenty of space to spread out. The space felt cold and the mix of wood and brick was a bit bland for my taste. The only color was supplied by the backs of the chairs, but the lime green—the kind of green one often finds at places trying to advertise their eco-friendliness—did not harmonize with the rest of the environs. The restaurant does seem to place great emphasis on plants (the website advertises the hand-blown terrarium centerpieces that grace each table) although I found that the wildlife motif was drowned out by the industrial warehouse feel. Given this atmosphere, I would not say that the ambiance positively informed the experience.

There are 3 menu options: a la carte, tasting (8 courses) and repertoire (13 courses.) The price differential was a bit strange, as the 8 course was $95 and the 13 course was $145. This meant that the 13-course option cost more per course than the 8 course—odd since a) none of the five extra courses were savory ones and b) the price per course typically decreases (and rarely increases) with longer menus. We had actually planned to order the repertoire menu but it was different from the one listed online; most notably, the duck course had been taken off the menu and so we chose the 8-course option.

The meal began in an unusual way as it forwent a proper amuse bouche, although the first course was sized like one—I liked this as it made the opening bite more organically related to the rest of the meal. The first offering was titled “oyster,” comprised of oyster leaf, oyster cream, mignonette gel, and black pepper. There was strong acidity to this dish (likely due to the mignonette gel), setting the tone for the rest of the meal.

We were next gifted with the second course from the longer menu, titled “ramp: flour, cream, melon.” In the saucer were ramps, flour, and melon, into which we were instructed to pour a small pitcher of a cream-based sauce. While I’m not opposed to involving the diner in a hands-on way in certain contexts (i.e. Alinea), this seemed like an overly mundane task and didn’t add any novelty. Overall, it was a refreshing dish although its creamy flavor made it virtually interchangeable with the oyster course.

The following dish was another vegetable preparation, named “tomato: cucumber, soy, pepper.” The plating, with a number of edible flowers, reflected the garden appearance that one finds at a number of restaurants now. This involved a trio of tomatoes; I especially enjoyed the thick preparation, which was topped with black pepper. There was also a cucumber puree and an acidic yuzu component. It is always interesting how a restaurant can be identified through its plating style; I found this to be a good example of the Graham Elliot aesthetic, with an abstract appearance that recalls Charlie Trotter’s, only more 3-dimensional and sculptural.

Moving on to the protein preparations, our next course was “pork: mango, lily, coriander.” The pork belly was seared and paired with chicharrones, mango cream, mango gel, and coriander. I usually find mango to be overly sweet, but the chicharrones did an admirable job of countering this. One can see in the photo that there was a good deal of yellow color in the plating, which, combined with the flowers (a recurring visual motif throughout the meal) established a tropical appearance that—while perhaps a nod to the terrarium centerpiece—was strange in the context of an old warehouse. Due to the factory environment, I don’t think that the atmosphere really coheres with the aesthetic of the cuisine.

Our next dish was a pasta course, “risotto: artichoke, basil, truffle.” Having consumed too many heavy risotto dishes in the past, I usually stray far from risotto (and other pasta for that matter) although this managed to be relatively light due to its small portion size and I found it to be an outstanding preparation. The artichoke and truffle were quite appealing, although the basil was a bit aggressive in this context and served no purpose beyond supplying some color.

We were next brought an intermezzo, which was a bit of a surprise this early in the meal. It consisted of sesame cream, powdered black olive, pickled cherry, chocolate, and herb. According to the recent review in the Chicago Tribune, this preparation was intended to invoke the appearance of the terrarium centerpiece, although this was neither self-evident nor mentioned by the server. The pastry chef is now Bryce Caron, who was formerly the pastry chef at Blackbird. I remember enjoying Caron’s desserts from my meal at Blackbird; this was equally well-executed, although I still feel that the pronounced chocolate flavors were a bit much. It’s now common to see savory flavors infiltrating dessert preparations, but this went the other way around and I don’t think chocolate works well in an intermezzo course.

Our fish course was “halibut: squash, dill, potato.” One can see the sculptural abstraction of Elliot’s style: a large portion of halibut was sous-vided in butter and paired with mashed potatoes, squash blossom, and a strong dill flavor that still resonates with me as the dominant flavor from the meal. I had high expectations for this dish as I love halibut, but it was a disaster. I don’t understand the rationale behind sous-viding in butter, and the inherent flavor of the fish was completely overwhelmed by the fat. The dill was similarly overwhelming and I also found the potatoes to be too heavy in conjunction with the fish.

The red meat dish was “beef: chive, tarragon, thyme.” It was topped with finely chopped sweet onions. The steak was described as a domestic Wagyu filet, although when I asked about the supplier, no exact answer was given and we were told that they use a blend from several suppliers—curiously, this was the exact answer that Tru gave in response to their domestic Wagyu sourcing. I enjoy lean meats and so for me this was a terrific preparation, but there was very little of the marbling one would expect from Wagyu and in this regard, one has to wonder whether they are only using Wagyu beef for the novelty of its title.

The next offering was another extra course gifted from the kitchen, titled “cheese: blackberry, almond, ash.” This was a composed cheese course that deconstructed a traditional cheese course; the cheese tasted like pecorino, paired with almond crackers and blackberry compote. We both enjoyed this preparation and I felt that the execution and conception were more precise than that of the savory dishes.

Our next dish was described by the server as being a favorite; titled “plum: sassafras, white chocolate, celery,” there was candied plum, plum sorbet, root beer financier, white chocolate, and celery; I was a bit blown away by this preparation, especially since I don’t consider plum among my favorite fruits. The plum/root beer/white chocolate amalgam offered a terrific mix of flavors and textures.

Our final course was “chocolate: apricot, coconut, chilies”—dark chocolate ganache accompanied by chilies, charred apricot, and coconut sorbet. This preparation actually sounded fairly tame after the last two desserts and so I was shocked when this wound up being the most aggressive dish of the evening. While the chocolate/chile combination is not uncommon, the kitchen had not removed the seeds and the result was unpleasant and made for a horrible final course.

The mignardises were a soy/blueberry pate de fruit and a rice/sesame/chocolate candy; both were tasty and refreshing in light of the chocolate dish.

This was certainly an interesting meal—while some of the preparations were outstanding, a couple of the dishes—notably, the halibut and the chocolate—were offensively poor-tasting. One of the issues involved in evaluating this meal is that there is no indication that either of these two preparations was prepared differently from its intent. Our server, in fact, asserted that it was not uncommon to sous-vide fish in butter, which seems almost unfathomable to me. Despite the two misfires, the other courses held explosive flavor and novel ingredient pairings; while it’s a testament to their ability that they can create so much flavor, they seem to have an issue with ‘flavor management.’

The restaurant obviously has aspirations for multiple Michelin Stars; however, I think one of the obstacles it runs into is that the owner’s clownish personality (which pervades the restaurant’s identity despite his physical absence from the kitchen) precludes the requisite tenor of precision exhibited by more highly acclaimed restaurants. While I enjoyed the meal, I didn’t find the concepts or execution as appealing as Moto or Alinea. It will be interesting to see whether the elite roster of talent they have assembled can manage their ability in a more polished way.

Vie (Western Springs, IL)

 

(Left: Vie Exterior; Right: Vie Dining Room)

Paul Virant has made a name for himself through his dedication to canning and preserving—his particular contributions in this area are recorded in his cookbook The Preservation Kitchen, which was released earlier this spring. In addition to Vie, his Michelin-starred restaurant in Western Springs, he also has a newer role as the executive chef of Perennial Virant in Lincoln Park. As I had a graduation ceremony earlier in the day, Hyde Park was very congested; dining in the suburbs was therefore quite appealing and I made reservations at Vie with my father for Saturday, June 9.

As one can see from the picture at the top, the restaurant’s exterior is quite understated. The narrow entrance belies just how large the restaurant is—the labyrinthine interior has several small rooms, each decorated with steel-colored chairs and black-and-white photographs on the walls. The small rooms make the space a bit less cohesive although it also makes them more intimate than if there were only one large room. Although the steel tones suggest a cold décor, this was not actually the case since the enthusiasm of the servers established a jovial tone.

The menu was quite large and slightly different from the one listed online. Virant chooses to really foreground his purveyors and there was an amusing “Vie Menu Glossary” at the bottom that detailed some of the ingredients and different farms, all from the Midwest—it was very apparent that Virant doesn’t think in terms of “American” cuisine so much as “Midwestern” cuisine. Most amusing was the glossary description for Q7 (the beef supplier), a farm in Marengo, IL that is “run by old school ranchers on horseback.” There were seven starters, three soup/salad preparations, and seven main dishes. Not listed in detail are 2 tasting menu options, a 5 course and an 8 course; that the tasting menus are not emphasized strongly suggests that Virant probably isn’t focusing on acquiring a second Michelin star. I’m not sure how much of his clientele comes from the city, but it’s likely that making the menu more tasting menu-centric (as Graham Elliot has done recently) would lose him a good percentage of his suburban client base. I also wonder whether a tasting menu focus just isn’t in line with Virant’s sensibility; his new venture, Perennial Virant, is more casual and doesn’t have a tasting menu option. It’s notable that he partnered with the Boka group for Perennial Virant, since the Boka group of restaurants (Boka, Girl and the Goat, Perennial Virant, GT Fish and Oyster, and Balena) epitomizes the upscale-casual pulse of Chicago dining right now—a sensibility that doesn’t necessarily cohere with Michelin’s predilection for more overtly fine dining cuisine. At any rate, our server was very effusive in making recommendations and it was clear that she knew the menu quite well. I settled on the quail as a starter and (per the server’s recommendation) the chicken as a main course, while my dad ordered Vie’s famous burger.

The bread service was somewhat amusing; the bread man wielded a large basket but there was only one offering, a mild-flavored sourdough that was useful for soaking up the sauces in the courses to follow. Unfortunately, the butter was unremarkable and it was a supermarket variety. This was a bit disappointing; given that Virant devotes a chapter of his cookbook to “Jams, Marmalades, Conserves, and Butters,” he really misses out on an opportunity to showcase his skills in this area.

Thankfully, the amuse bouche was more representative of Virant’s skills in pickling and canning: pickled ramp with egg salad. This was pretty intense for an opening bite and it was a great match for my own acidic palette.

While the service was very gregarious, it was a bit less polished than at other Michelin-starred restaurants. The pacing early in the meal was too fast and my first course actually arrived before I’d consumed the amuse bouche. All minor service issues, however, were recuperated by the effusiveness of our server, whose folksy charm made the timing errors much less jarring than in a more upscale, scripted setting. In this sense I was reminded of my 9-course meal at Boka last fall–a similar experience in that my friendly server was passionately committed to providing a great experience, yet there still existed minor errors in description, table setting, etc. In both cases, it didn’t seem as though the servers were careless but rather that they didn’t know any better. I will say, though, that I was glad that we decided against the tasting menu option as I think the endeavor would be a bit daunting for the staff.

The quail was quite large and more or less big enough for a main course. It was prepared with bacon-braised spring onions, black walnuts, Worchestershire vinaigrette, and watercress, and the vinaigrette involved a good deal of Dijon mustard. We both enjoyed the mix of smokiness and acidity and I found this preparation compared favorably to the wood-grilled quail preparation at Fore Street (Portland, ME), which incorporates a fruitier blend of flavors. Virant’s plating style is informed by the bountiful portion size, with the food piled high and a bit cluttered. While it wasn’t especially elegant, there was evident intentionality behind the composition.

After a very short wait, our main courses arrived. The chicken preparation was a half-bird and with its accompaniments it reproduced the colossal proportions of the quail. I was compelled to order it not only because it came recommended by the server but also since it was paired with roasted morel mushrooms, a favorite mushroom variant of mine. Other ingredients included wood-grilled lettuces, pickled beets, roasted chicken jus, and caraway onion puree. This dish reproduced the smoky/acidic dichotomy of the quail preparation, but as this was an a la carte experience I wasn’t attempting to build a wide-ranging trajectory of flavors. Besides, a large percentage of menu items (even the seafood ones) involved this flavor contrast, which seems to be a foundation for Virant’s culinary style.

My father’s burger (sourced from the Midwestern cowboys at Q7 Ranch) was aged for 21 days and topped with Wisconsin cheddar and bacon. There was also wood-grilled asparagus, hard-cooked egg, and caper vinaigrette. Although I didn’t try it, my dad was very enthusiastic about the burger and he especially enjoyed the caper vinaigrette, which was infused with truffle oil. The asparagus was also terrific and the hard-cooked egg was prepared with a vinaigrette that recalled some of the flavors from the amuse bouche. Certainly, the asparagus-egg combination held the balance between smoky/acidic of earlier dishes and nicely integrated the burger dish within the menu. I was curious about whether the kitchen would be able to assimilate the burger within its menu or whether it would just feel like a cursory gesture toward neighborhood patrons, but it was clear that a good deal of thought had gone into it and that ordering the burger still provides a representative “Vie experience.” This was nice to see from a Michelin restaurant and a notable contrast from my lunch at Blackbird last fall, in which the maitre’d inexcusably used the burger on the menu as evidence that the lunch service at Blackbird is not really indicative of the restaurant’s true capabilities.

For dessert, I asked the waitress to select one order of whichever dessert she liked best. In a nice gesture, she sent out an additional complementary dessert, and one of the desserts had a nice message in reference to my graduation. I didn’t take home a copy of the dessert menu and the one online is not up to date, so I don’t know the specifics of either dessert. The one below had two main components: a chocolate pot de crème and a profiterole with local cherries; unfortunately, the two parts never really harmonized. The profiterole/cherry combination was pleasant but I had hoped for a darker chocolate in the pot de crème and it was fairly one-note in flavor.

The other dessert fared much better—it was a sort of deconstructed strawberry shortcake, and the whipped cream was punctuated with chocolate.  The sorbet was terrific, filled with chunks of strawberry. Although the chocolate used for the cream in this dessert was not dissimilar to that used in the pot de crème, this was much better harmonized and a case study in how much better the same ingredient is when integrated productively.

The mignardise offering was an intense strawberry pate de fruit.

Vie is well-known for being one of the leading farm-to-table restaurants in the country, yet this meal revealed how farm-to-table is not really a specific cuisine so much as a rubric through which to explore the particular ingredients from different regions. In this manner, farm-to-table also facilitates the displacement of the label of “American” cuisine. Although they are all technically American, the farm-to-table cuisine at Vie is very different from the southern flavors at Husk and McCrady’s, or the New England ones at Maine restaurants like Fore Street or Arrows. For example, where Vie serves walleye pike, McCrady’s prepares triggerfish and Fore Street cooks Casco Bay cod. While I don’t think Vie engages as discursively with other cuisines as McCrady’s or Arrows, Vie certainly showcases an interesting application of Midwestern ingredients.

I think it’s also important to note that a farm-to-table restaurant isn’t just a window onto the  ”soul” of its particular region since this denies the individuality of the chef. For example, I have read certain writers claim that Sean Brock (chef/owner of McCrady’s and Husk) is revitalizing the soul of Southern cooking, which seems to me to disproportionately privilege the region and deny the particular sensibility of the chef. Chef Virant’s affinity for pickling and grilling makes his style unique, and in this regard Virant is not revealing the personality of the Midwest so much as offering his interpretation of Midwestern ingredients. In this manner, I think an appropriate definition of farm-to-table cuisine is that it’s a discursive interaction between the sensibility of a particular chef and the ingredients of a particular region. Although it probably won’t attract more attention from Michelin unless it focuses more exclusively on its tasting menu, Virant makes expressive use of regional fare and Vie is a valuable contribution to the dialogue centering on farm-to-table cuisine.

Sixteen

 

(Sixteen Dining Room; Both Pictures Taken by Rich of windyfoodie.com)

Sixteen takes its name from its 16^th-floor location in the Trump Hotel in Chicago. Similar to other Chicago hotel restaurants, such as those in the Four Seasons and the Park Hyatt, there has been recent turnover. Last year, Executive Chef Frank Brunacci left and the restaurant lost its Michelin Star. Unlike the others, however, Sixteen has not changed its fine-dining concept. The new Executive Chef, Thomas Lents, was previously Chef de Cuisine at Joel Robuchon in Las Vegas. There are actually a good deal of Robuchon alumni in Chicago—most notably, Matthew Kirkley of L2O and Anthony Martin of Tru. Interestingly, despite his pedigree Chef Lents distances himself somewhat from French cuisine. From a recent interview with chicagofoodies.com:

The thing is, I’m not running a French restaurant. It’s a modern restaurant utilizing modern technology. I mean, I’m an American. I grew up in the Midwest. I’m taking French technique and bringing that level of precision and drive to American cooking, not reproducing French cuisine.

It’s interesting that Lents is so regionally focused since the hotel and restaurant don’t seem to have cultivated a strong relationship with the Chicago community. Although the chef has given a couple of interviews, the restaurant has not been reviewed by any of the local press and there are very few recent reviews on sites like Yelp or Chowhound. The dining room is obviously posh and offers a great view of Lake Michigan and the Chicago skyline from its 16th-floor perch, but I felt it was more of a tourist’s view than one that resident Chicagoans would return to on a consistent basis. It is perhaps for this reason that similarly-priced restaurants like Tru or Graham Elliot seem to be better embraced by local residents. Otherwise, the dining room is very dramatic and the chandelier nicely unifies the space.

Upon arrival, we were seated at a large 4-top in the center of the dining room. There was an a la carte option, a chef’s tasting and an extended tasting. We chose the chef’s tasting, which had a very unusual structure: 2 starters, 1 main course, and 2 desserts. This placed a good deal of pressure on the main course and forced one to choose between meat and fish (lamb loin or Dover sole.) My companion and I each selected the Dover sole, and I was curious to see how it would compare with the terrific version I’d had at Ria a month prior. One awkward aspect of the menu is that the amuse bouche, palate cleanser, and mignardise are all listed on the menu; not only does this make one feel as though they are paying for ‘little extras’ that are traditionally presented as bonuses, but it makes the experience feel all the more scripted and unsurprising.

As a canapé we were given gruyere gougeres filled with prosciutto bianco—a terrific bite that was creative yet avoided the sloppiness of the liquid ones offered at Michael in Winnetka.

The amuse bouche was a radish salad with apple-yuzu foam. The foam bubbled upward and smoke emanated from the container. As one can see, the presentation was quite unusual and was served in a strange container. I generally enjoy citrus foams and this was no exception, although the yuzu completely overwhelmed the apple to the point that we couldn’t taste it. Our inspired server introduced the dish with a reference to Macbeth, saying that the serving vessel reminded him of the witches’ cauldron from the opening scene of Shakespeare’s play. This was probably the most unusual description I’ve ever heard, though I’m not sure this was a good thing–we couldn’t figure out how invoking witches and cauldrons would make a dish more appetizing. I wonder whether the story was a gesture toward Alinea, Next, and Moto, which also supplement the generic ingredient descriptions with additional “material.” What was unusual about his story, though, was that he appeared very sincere in telling it, much different from the smug delivery of Alinea or Next. The problem was that—unlike Moto—the reference clearly had no relation with the dish’s conception, and it just seemed like the server was imposing his own story material into a context that simply didn’t support it, breaking from the narrative of the meal established by the kitchen.

The bread service was robust although they don’t make any of the varieties in-house (as my companion noted, they are very talented at shopping for their bread.) Each of the six offerings were outstanding, though, especially the ciabbata and the bacon bread. They also don’t make the butter (sourced from Oberweiss) although it was terrific as well.

The first substantial course was sangria-poached foie gras. Our server informed us that the foie gras is sourced from an exclusive purveyor who only sells to Chef Lents, Joel Robuchon, and Alain Ducasse (apparently, Lents had established this connection during his time at Robuchon). The liver is paired with almond brioche, white asparagus panna cotta, and citrus emulsion. This was possibly my favorite foie gras preparation; the sangria supplied depth while the foie gras held a great mix of savory/sweet.

Our second course was listed as “Minted English Pea Soup,” and it was served with spring onion foam and rabbit confit. The picture on the left shows the spring onion foam, and the one on the right shows the completed presentation, after the soup and rabbit were poured tableside. The execution was terrific; the soup was smooth and refreshing and the rabbit was the perfect complement to the light, spring flavors of the peas and onion. Still, I felt this was sized too small for the second course of a 5-course tasting menu; it really wasn’t significantly larger than the foie-gras/black truffle amuse bouche at Ria, and  miniscule in comparison with soup courses that I’ve had in 5-course tastings at Topolobampo and McCrady’s.

Progressing to the main dish, the Dover sole arrived pre-filleted and plated alongside petite spring vegetables, preserved lemon, osetra caviar, and a warm carrot and ginger nage. The sauce was poured tableside and unfortunately our server ran out of sauce midway through, resulting in a moderate delay. This was only a minor inconvenience although it definitely made the presentation fall short of the drama of Ria’s tableside Dover sole presentation. Our server supplemented the description with a confusing story, likening the ratio of fish to vegetables to a motif from Gulliver’s Travels. This wasn’t an especially pleasing story—who wants to be told that the portion size is tiny?—and I took the opportunity to ask whether he had devised the story or whether it had formed the basis for the chef’s inspiration. He informed us that he often goes out to eat and is bored by the plate descriptions, so he tries to incorporate some of his personal creativity. I appreciate his honest response and he was a very likeable, earnest fellow, but again it felt as though he were imposing his own narrative where it didn’t belong. Thankfully, he got the hint and we didn’t receive any more stories during the rest of the meal.

Unfortunately, my companion and I agreed that the portion size of the Dover sole was simply too small—roughly half the size of that from Ria. The fish was impeccably executed; however, the accompaniments and the sauce weren’t rich enough and the dish felt too “light.” There was almost no caviar and it was indiscernible to the palate (and indistinguishable in the picture.) When our server asked us for our impressions, we gave him our input concerning the caviar and small portion size. Given that this was the only main course of the meal, it was hard to consume without feeling like it was building up to something heavier. Similar to the English pea soup, the flavors were crisp and smooth, but as a main dish I think there needed to be a heavier sauce. This launched my companion and I into an extended discussion of execution errors versus conceptual errors; the fish was flawlessly prepared, but I find it almost unfathomable that the chef could conceive of it as a fitting centerpiece to the meal. I would have been blown away by the dish if it was followed by a heavy meat course, but it was shouldering a burden that it couldn’t handle. I’m curious what Michelin will make of a situation like this; the fish itself is definitely worthy of multiple Michelin stars, but its awkward context within the meal suggests to me that the chef is not able to conceptualize a proper tasting menu at the level of multi-starred restaurants. Perhaps the grand tasting menu doesn’t exhibit this problem, but it seems like a glaring error in judgment that the chef wouldn’t incorporate any heavier flavors. Tasting menus really privilege the chef’s conceptual acumen—the ability to construct a coherent and exciting narrative—and in this regard I was more disappointed than if there had simply been minor execution errors within a compelling menu progression.

Beginning the pastry section of the menu was a composed cheese course consisting of Dante, a sheep cheese from Cowgirl Creamery in Wisconsin. It was accompanied by apricot mostarda, carrot salad, drops of basil, and caraway rye toast. While the portion size was somewhat small, I enjoyed all of the flavors. It nicely incorporated the carrot flavor from the previous course, while the apricot imparted sweeter flavor that transitioned us to the pastry section of the menu. My companion noted that the plating was very “Trotter-esque” and this composition was certainly more abstract than the highly manicured preparations from earlier courses. It’s worth noting that Chef Lents is not in charge of pastry; the pastry chef is instead Sarah Kosikowski, who has been with the restaurant a few years.

As a pre-dessert, we were given “Citrus Almond Cake,” with rhubarb compote and crème fraiche. This would have been more compelling if the almond was actually integrated into the cake, but instead it was in a tuille form and the cake was basically a lemon pound cake. While it was pleasant-tasting, the lack of integration made it taste precisely like the sum of its parts.

Our dessert was a Gianduja Chocolate Cremeaux with cocoa nib ice cream, peanut butter feuilletine crunch, and nutella powder, and it was outstanding. Unlike the pre-dessert, all of the components harmonized seamlessly, and the well-manicured composition tied it in with the aesthetics of the savory courses. One puzzling aspect of this dessert was the size, which was enormous and not much smaller than the Dover sole. Given that this dessert was incredible the ample portion was not a problem, but the ratio of portion sizes from one course to the next does make me wonder whether the chef has adequately visualized the dining experience in its entirety.

At this point, we had expected the mignardise service, but were instead gifted with a very large cheese plate compliments of the kitchen. Our server had taken note of our earlier comment that the fish course had seemed underportioned and thoughtfully provided us with this nice addendum to the meal. There were six generously-portioned cheeses, and I especially enjoyed the Tomme Chevre Aydius and the Two Sisters Isabella Gouda. The accompaniments (in the middle row of the picture) were also terrific: pickled beets, Armagnac cubes, and a raisin-almond cake. There was also a jar of apricot mostarda and not shown in the picture was a bread basket that included baguette, miniature raisin scones, and parmesan flatbread crisps. There is certainly no faulting the waitstaff’s hospitality—not only was the cheese plate a nice gesture, but they were each listed in the take-home menu provided at the end of the meal.

Our meal finished with a pleasant, textbook mignardise selection: canele (I had two), orange meringue, pate de fruit, and a caramel. While leaving, there was also a take-home gift of chocolate cookies.

Sixteen offers a very comfortable and overtly luxurious experience. I do wonder whether the glamorous dining room and hotel setting have segregated it from the Chicago dining public—a possible explanation for the strange absence of reviews from the local press. Given the setting, I think Sixteen is probably in dialogue at least as much with out-of-town vacationers as Chicagoans. Architecture and ambience are influential in organizing emotional response and sensory perceptions, and while I actually enjoy the décor, the postcard view has a defamiliarizing effect that made me feel estranged from the city environs.

The execution at Sixteen is quite good and I would be shocked if Chef Lents didn’t earn a Michelin star. In fact, if one judged each dish in isolation than the cuisine is probably worthy of multiple stars. That said, the meal’s structure placed undue emphasis on the main course, and instead of a proper centerpiece it felt more like a gaping hole in the center of an otherwise intriguing meal. The ratio of portion sizes was also rather awkward; not only was the Dover sole too small but the dessert was quite massive. I’m not sure whether other tables received the same portion size (it’s possible that we received an a la carte portion rather than the tasting one) but the chocolate dessert resonated as though a giant weight had been dropped on an otherwise feather-light meal. Still, between the high-quality of the cooking technique and the earnest wait staff, there is much to recommend with the restaurant—Chef Lents just needs to arrive at a more coherent menu progression capable of showcasing his technique.

L2O (January 2012)

(L2O Dining Room; Taken from Restaurant’s Facebook Page)

L2O is a seafood-centered fine dining restaurant that was founded in 2009. The name refers to the initial of the initial executive chef, Laurent Gras. Under Gras, the restaurant received great acclaim and earned 3 Michelin stars. Immediately after the Michelin designation, Chef Gras quit over a dispute with his chef de cuisine, allegedly over the shabu shabu dish. The chef de cuisine was then promoted to executive chef. However, under Gras’ replacement, the restaurant received a demotion from 3 stars to 1 star. The chef was promptly fired, and a new chef took over in November. Although the restaurant has received considerable acclaim throughout its short existence, it also exudes a sense of turmoil and conflict—an off-putting dynamic that contrasts with the serene ambience of the dining room. The Michelin demotion made it somewhat difficult to know which restaurants with which to compare it—L2O is priced similarly with Charlie Trotter’s and Ria, which each have 2 stars. However, the restaurant is also similar to Everest and TRU in that all are part of the Lettuce Entertain You empire. With those comparisons in mind, I embarked on the experience with an open mind toward accepting the restaurant on its own terms.

Arriving 15 minutes late for my reservation, I apologetically told my dining companion, Rich, that I would order whichever menu format he desired. L2O offers 3 formats: a four-course prix-fixe, a seven-course seasonal tasting menu, and a seven-course singular menu that is unchanging and includes more traditional proteins such as beef and scallops. We went for the more adventurous seasonal tasting and supplemented our order by sharing the shabu shabu dish from the prix-fixe menu. I felt it was strange that the shabu shabu (the restaurant’s signature dish under Chef Gras and the dish for which he left) was relegated to the margins of the prix-fixe menu, since that is the dish that is presumably most anticipated by customers.

As a canapé course, we were first presented with a trio of spherical “fruits of the sea” served on a branch-like vessel similar to the branch structure in the photo at the top of this write-up (picture taken from restaurant’s Facebook photos). The “fruits” were cucumber, cantaloupe/foie gras, and honeydew; they were rich and refreshing but difficult to fully appreciate since they were quite slippery and really should have been consumed with a utensil.

The amuse bouche for the evening was a miniature, 2-bite lobster roll. The texture was surprising since the lobster meat was somewhat chewy while the roll was very soft; I think that the meat came from the knuckle. While this dish was very enjoyable given my love for lobster, I would have preferred if the meat was softer and from the claw with the bun perhaps toasted to provide a chewy texture.

Following the amuse, we were visited by the bread man, who offered six different varieties. L2O takes great pride in their bread program, offering baguette, rye, croissant, semolina, brioche, and a chorizo-filled roll. I most enjoyed the baguette, a relatively textbook offering elevated by the exquisite salted butter that was offered. I had high hopes for the chorizo-filled roll but the meat did not have the smoky depth of flavor associated with chorizo, instead tasting more like standard-issue salami from the supermarket. At any rate, while the baguette was quite enjoyable, none of the offerings were particularly memorable, and I found myself longing for the bread offerings I had enjoyed just one week earlier at Arrows in Ogunquit, ME.

The first proper course was an ahi tuna tartare wrapped in avocado and topped with Kaluga caviar (shown below—this photo and all others were taken from the L2O Facebook site). Tuna tartare is something of an ersatz classic. Therefore, I appreciated the defamiliarization of L2O’s offering—as one can see from the photo, the presentation was highly original. Not especially fond of avocado normally, I really enjoyed the interaction between the fatty tuna and the fatty avocado—very rich. The addition of the caviar was superb, and one of my favorite uses of it that I have had.

The second course consisted of lobster bisque: claw meat accompanied by apples and calvados with the broth of the bisque poured tableside. I found this to be one of the weakest courses of the evening (though it had some competition in this regard), although I appreciated the use of claw meat as I prefer it over the knuckle used in the lobster roll earlier. The course should not have been titled bisque as there was no cream. The broth depended on the calvados in order to impart richness. However, the liquor completely overwhelmed the lobster and apples. I can only imagine that the Calvados had aged longer than the chef expected—it tasted almost rancid.

Transitioning to the more savory portion of the menu, the third proper course consisted of a confit of ocean trout, accompanied by pigeon, carrot stuffed with cabbage, and a pigeon consommé. This course was arguably my favorite of the evening. It was similar to my memorable salmon dish from Topolobampo last fall—pieces of thick yet barely-cooked fish covered by broth. The clash between the cold fish and the hot broth was especially memorable. Given that trout is not normally one of my favorite fishes, I never would have ordered this dish a la carte; the benefit of the tasting menu format is that it challenges one to confront their personal prejudices. Of course, the specific placement of the trout dish on the menu also effects taste—my expectations were low following the bisque, and the efficacy of the broth was enhanced following the disappointing Calvados-spiked broth of the bisque. The importance of course placement demonstrates the manner in which reception of a restaurant meal is governed by a structure of narrative causality.

Representing the only meat course of the menu, the fourth course was titled “Tripes a la mode de caen.” Having never encountered tripe in a French context, I was surprised to see it paired with carrot, bacon, and a Normandy cider accompaniment. I took one sip of the cider but found it completely overwhelming and similar to spiced rum. However, the “solid” component of the course was satisying, although the flavor of the components was uniformly smoky when bereft of the bitterness of the cider.

Presented as the centerpiece of the tasting menu, the final savory course of the tasting menu was bouillabaisse (shown below, taken from the L2O website.) I appreciate the food runner’s attempt to inject a sense of drama into the tasting menu by calling it the “centerpiece” but I do not feel that the dish earned the title. The bouillabaisse was too structurally similar to the trout dish, and the lobster bisque had also held a brothy consistency. For a “centerpiece dish” I feel that a large filet of fish should have been used, similar to the Dover sole at Ria. The presentation was very classical, with Mediterranean fish (loup de mer, daurade), as well as razor clams, fennel, and tomato confit. I felt that the broth was not rich enough, and indeed we corroborated that there was no discernible taste of saffron in the broth. I do feel that the combination of tomato and saffron has become somewhat ubiquitous on restaurant menus, although the dish was lacking in explosive flavor. The broth was really no different from tomato soup. Apparently, the captain had been eavesdropping on our conversation, since when he cleared our plates he inexplicably made a sarcastic comment. This was very unnerving, and I certainly did not appreciate the feeling that I was being censored and could not speak my mind. We were not loud or obnoxious in our discussion and certainly warranted more compassionate service.

Following the disappointing dish (and service) we progressed to the shabu shabu. The ingredients combined traditional Japanese accompaniments (abalone, kampachi, dashi,) with foie gras. The elaborate presentation of the cooking pot placed on the table was very dramatic and would have made a more appropriate final savory course than the bouillabaisse. However, the  foie gras and fish were served on a bed of shaved ice, and there was (ridiculously enough) a large seashell on the plate. This was without a doubt one of the tackiest presentations I’ve ever encountered in a fine dining context. Needless to say, my companion compared this unfavorably to the shabu shabu preparation under Laurent Gras. I “cooked” the abalone and hirame in the broth for roughly ten seconds. Anticipating the abalone to be mild in taste, I was discouraged to detect a somewhat bitter taste. I actually chose to consume the foie gras without the broth as I prefer it cold. Following consumption of the protein components each of our pots were refurbished with whole wheat noodles, which were made in house. I generally abhor whole wheat noodles, although the feathery consistency nicely utilized the graininess of the wheat.

Transitioning to the desert courses, we were given an acidic sorbet that was (I believe) yuzu flavored. Resting atop the sorbet was shaved lime ice—a dark green color that is more often found in carnival sno-cones rather than in fine dining. The lime worked nicely, aggressive in a manner necessary in mediating the more muted flavor of the sorbet.

The first dessert was titled “fromage blanc, calvados caramel, brioche, apple.” The current pastry chef at L2O was formerly at Ria; I was looking forward to tasting her newest efforts, and was not disappointed. This dish resembled a trifle and was one of my favorite desserts in recent memory—it was actually very similar to the “coffee service” at Moto. The calvados tasted very boozy and actually similar to brandy—it nicely complimented the caramel and apple without overwhelming them.

The final dessert course was a praline soufflé with hazelnut anglaise. While the hazelnut flavor was intense and satisfying, I would have appreciated a thicker crust—the texture was overly soft and somewhat mushy. Moreover, soufflés are very unoriginal, and given that the soufflé has been on the menu since the restaurant’s inception, I have to believe that the soufflé’s placement on the menu has been imposed from the restaurant’s management. While I certainly enjoyed the taste of the dish, I feel that it makes the menu an unsteady mix between modernized and classical French, especially since the soufflé had fairly customary flavors. The soufflé felt like a gesture toward an already existing culturally (and culinary) prestigious dish rather than a building block in the foundation of its own culinary style.

Along with the check came two mignardises: a rum-flavored canele and a chocolate macaron. Having newly registered for a LEY card, we encountered rude service when we attempted to each present cards. The captain reprimanded us, stating that next time we should let them know beforehand when we wanted to present two separate LEY cards. His rudeness was especially egregious given that I had specifically requested separate checks, which (had they remembered to give us separate checks) would have alleviated the issue in the first place. At any rate, the customer is always right, and our request was issued politely and did not warrant rudeness.

I am glad that I visited L2O as it is an important restaurant within the Chicago dining landscape. While the price and distasteful service ensure that I will not return, the tuna, trout, and calvados/caramel dessert were satisfying. Overall, however, this was not an inspiring meal and a number of other courses—most notably, the bisque, bouillabaisse, shabu shabu and soufflé—were conservative and/or undermined the potential for originality of the menu. The continuous changes in the kitchen staff perhaps contributes to the menu’s lack of assertion. I do feel that L2O’s Michelin demotion is fair and accurate; the cuisine is superior to the majority of the Michelin 1-star restaurants, but notably inferior to Ria and Charlie Trotter’s (both of which received 2 stars) as well as Everest, which received 1 star. In a city noted for its culinary dynamism, L2O seems suspended in a state of stasis and incoherence, with notably innovative dishes undermined by other dishes that either exhibited flawed execution or seemed uninspired.

Ria

(Ria dining room: taken from Yelp)

Ria was one of the first restaurants that I dined at after arriving in Chicago this past fall. I have strong memories of that meal, not only because of the cuisine but also because of the devoted and congenial wait staff. I remember conversing with my head server over Chicago restaurants and Michelin. This was before the second edition of the Chicago Michelin red guide and she was very humble, telling me that the restaurant had only expected to be listed in the guide, let alone receive two stars. I then revisited in the winter and enjoyed the seasonal tasting, which was highlighted by two outstanding savory courses—Dover sole with calvados, and guinea hen with Madeira jus. At the conclusion of that meal, we took a kitchen tour and met with Chef Danny Grant, who discussed how he was attempting to expand the bread program and the mignardise offerings in pursuit of the third star. Given my enthusiasm and curiosity for how the restaurant has progressed since December, it was only natural that I would return with a friend following the introduction of their spring menu this past week.

Ria’s dining room—located in the Waldorf Astoria—has a grey, somewhat generic ambience. My companion described it as “a hotel dining room, nothing more,” and while this is largely true, I at least think there is an attempt to counteract the drab space through the artwork—the circular rhythms of the painting in the photo at the top do a decent job of infusing a sense of dynamism, for example.

The a la carte format is now gone and there are two options, a 4-course seasonal tasting and a 7-course chef’s tasting. Eliminating the a la carte option was prudent, not only because the portion sizes were quite small but because the tasting options are more focused. My friend and I chose the 4-course option, and went with the Dover sole for 2 (the restaurant’s specialty) as a third course.

After ordering, our head server from the December meal stopped by and we chatted for a short while; Ria certainly has a strong grasp of the difference that a warm welcome makes, and they do an amazing job of welcoming their returning diners. The sommelier, who had been gone traveling on our previous visit, introduced himself and talked at length about his general methodology. The manager, Brian, welcomed us back and stopped by our table on multiple occasions. Most interestingly, he talked at great length about the restaurant’s direction and his travels with Chef Grant. On his first visit, he delivered a canapé course of Wisconsin cheese curds, and explained how Ria is becoming even more regionally focused in its approach, capitalizing especially on Midwestern produce and foraging. It’s worth noting that both Brian and Chef Grant spent a good deal of time at North Pond, a well-regarded farm-to-table restaurant in Lincoln Park, and it’s interesting to see how Chef Grant is attempting to mediate iconic regional items within the fine dining setting and menu format.

The second amuse bouche was a familiar one that I’ve enjoyed at each visit: smoked sablefish wrapped in a chive sheet with a pain de mie crisp and white sturgeon caviar (hidden behind the crisp in the photo). I’m not especially fond of the chive, but the smoked fish and domestic caviar held a satisfying, intense flavor.

For our third opening course, an ancillary server delivered a small plate and a spoon topped with toasted bread crumbs, dried ramp, and preserved egg yolk. Brian then made his way to our table carrying an egg carton, out of which he removed hollow egg shells filled with egg and ramp custard, basil and frisee. This was terrific and a creative use of seasonal Midwestern produce.

The last amuse bouche featured a pair of foie gras-black truffle dumplings with apple ice wine (poured tableside). I had this same amuse bouche at both of my prior meals, although duck consommé was used instead—it’s nice to see the kitchen making a seasonal modification to one of their signature opening dishes, and the temperature and flavor contrasts were terrific—one of my favorite amuse bouches at any restaurant. Altogether, the opening bites provide a microcosm for the restaurants overall project, integrating regionally grounded offerings (cheese curds, ramps) with more traditional luxury ingredients (caviar, foie gras, black truffle).

A visit by the bread man revealed that Chef Grant has in fact expanded his bread offerings. The baguette that used to represent their only option has been supplemented by brioche and raisin bread. All breads are made in house and the raisin bread was especially terrific. The butter is also my favorite anywhere—it is sourced from Wisconsin and literally glistens. Its texture is so soft as to be on the brink of dissolving, and it was replaced later in the meal.

The first official course was a terrine of foie gras and poussin, with carrot puree, beet puree, and verjus. Not shown in the picture are two slices of bread that were served as an accompaniment. The dish was sufficiently cohesive without the bread and I wasted a couple of bites trying to integrate the bread with the pate. The plating showcases the plasticity of Chef Grant’s aesthetic style, shaping the constituent ingredients in an almost architectural way. In fact, an October 2011 article in the Wall Street Journal identifies the architectural compositions of the cuisine at Ria:  describing a dessert dish, the article states that “the rich chocolate pudding with rice, banana, Maldon-salt sorbet is an homage en dessert, its horizontal lines meant to evoke Frank Lloyd Wright’s aesthetic.” While I am skeptical of the claim that the cuisine at RIA deliberately references the horizontal rhythms of Frank Lloyd Wright, the compositions at RIA are undeniably meticulous.

For the second course, we were given butter-poached Maine lobster with morel mushrooms, white and green asparagus and pastis. As someone from Maine, I have had butter-poached lobster many times, but this preparation was the best I’ve ever had—the texture was incredibly soft and the pastis added flavor depth. The composition resembles a garden, a unifying motif that ties together a high-end protein with the menu’s broader emphasis on seasonal produce. This dish demonstrated Ria’s ability to capitalize on the contrast between the highly manicured plating and the explosive flavor.

The climax of the meal, our Dover sole was filleted tableside.

 

The sole was paired with apples, hedgehog mushrooms, rapini, and a sauce normande involving calvados. This is Ria’s signature dish; even though the ingredients are not especially novel, it was another dish that utilized a dynamic contrast between the reserved plating style and the dynamic flavor. Where I’ve sometimes found the cuisine at Tru to taste less impressive than it looks, I think Ria is able to achieve the inverse, largely due to their incredible sauces. Having had the Dover sole in the same preparation used in the current chef’s tasting menu at my previous meal at Ria, I preferred this version as it benefitted from the drama of the tableside preparation.

Following the savory courses, we were presented with a cheese list. As usual, I decided against cheese although my companion selected four cheeses and I sampled the Winnimere, a very soft, cow cheese from Jasper Hill Farm in Wisconsin. During the cheese course, Brian stopped by our table and chatted about his recent trip to Paris with Chef Grant. They went to Le Bristol, Michel Rostang, and Pierre Gagnierre, and were especially impressed with Pierre Gagnierre. He said they had included it as a sort of counterpoint to the other two and that they enjoyed every course except a foie gras/oyster dish. Brian also mentioned that he is looking forward to trying the Chef’s Table at Brooklyn Fare, and he spoke fondly about Eleven Madison Park and Daniel. It was interesting to hear him speak with a sense of confidence and discursiveness concerning Ria’s relationship with other Michelin restaurants, and I couldn’t help but contrast this with my server last fall discussing how in the first Michelin guide Ria would have been satisfied with just being included in the guide. Michelin hasn’t been kind to Chicago, but Ria represents the rare example of a restaurant that seems to have really taken off following Michelin’s endorsement.

The evening’s pre-dessert was a lemongrass sorbet with passion fruit foam and mango. Although the flavors were relatively similar, there was a compelling temperature contrast between the warm foam and cold sorbet.

The official dessert was titled “Chocolate, Armagnac, Caramel, Ginger.” The sorbet is ginger-flavored, and the (hardly visible) clear thin strips contain Armagnac. Everything else involves variations of chocolate and caramel. We were cautious about this dessert because the dessert on our previous visit had been quite disappointing—a chocolate bombe filled with pumpkin, paired with kabocha squash sorbet. On the surface, this was an improvement since it utilized more contrasting textures. However, this dessert was also a disappointment since—due to its solid texture—the Armagnac wasn’t able to harmonize with the rest of the dessert. It is a shame that Stephanie Prida is not still the pastry chef–she has since moved on to L2O, and her desserts were the only aspect of my meal at L2O that I found especially compelling. At any rate, I think it’s telling that both the seasonal tasting and the chef’s tasting only include one dessert offering, and sadly, the pastry program could be what keeps Ria from getting the 3^rd Michelin star.

Following dessert, our server stopped by with a box of mignardises. Chef Grant has made good on his promise to expand the mignardise program and there were 9 offerings, the most compelling of which was the citrus-infused caramel. Along with the bill came a copy of the menu and a take-home gift of pistachio-almond financiers.

The dessert notwithstanding, this was a terrific meal and cemented Ria’s place as probably my favorite restaurant in Chicago. One of Ria’s most remarkable achievements is that it is able to avert the potential tension between the ambitious cuisine and the generic setting, creating a compelling experience without the benefit of an ambience that fully supports the cuisine. The restaurant is able to create an exciting experience through the way in which the composed plating style—while very attractive—belies the intense flavor. It is one of the most exciting restaurants in Chicago because it is able to synthesize luxury ingredients with Midwestern ones, placing them side by side with a result that tastes greater than the sum of its parts. The sense of excitement is different from the excitement that one gets at Alinea; where Alinea surprises through how different it is in every way from other restaurants, Ria surprises through how amazingly original the cuisine is within its comfortable yet generic hotel setting. Given its fast evolution, I think Ria is probably the Chicago restaurant that is most actively pursuing the 3^rd Michelin star, and it will be exciting to see whether they are rewarded this fall.