Chicago Gluttons - Chicago Restaurant Review & Obsession

So how fresh can fresh get? I guess it would have to be on some “only Jesus touched this shit and now I am eating it.” Of course, with farmers markets becoming all the rage these days, spots like Mado in Wicker Park/Bucktown are not falling too far from the tree. The owners call themselves, “green market dorks” and everyday, a chalkboard details farms which they will utilize for the evenings plates.

Even The Hambugler gets down wit dat fresh shit.

Keeping with the minimalist theme, Mado’s dining room is bare as a Alberqurque trailerpark commune. But the Mado team gets er done with scatterings of abstract realism oil paintings prolly created by some hipster named Wes (who also happens to play in a respectable streetfest indie band). The place only sits approximately 60 patrons, so there is a quaint/homey feel created by soft track lighting and exposed brick. Micheal Jackson’s “Don’t Stop (Till You Get Enough)” played softly on the Aiwa mini-stero somewhere behind the bar.

Seats please. We order antipasti and seafood delicatessen:

The smoked steelhead trout featuring beets and sorrel was redonkulous. Flavor profiles and the combination of savory and sweet took this dish intergalactic. The chef got Copernicus on us, bringing various elements of the stellar spectra on IKEA dinner plates.

Going green, we took bunny-nibbles off the snap peas and pea tendrils with lemon and mint. This dish was fresher than Crazy Legs and the Rock Steady Crew. The lemon and mint added sharpness to the uncooked peas. Who wants veggies that sag like Phil Michelson’s man titties? Not me. Simple and clean crunchiness resonated throughout.

Oh, you thought I forget that swine. Cured swine. Nah shunn. Europeans call this gourmet sausage; I call it a well seasoned meat stick. Sodium nitrate, HOLLER.

The main courses were lamb with braised swiss chard and California white sea bass with pea puree arugula and chillies. The lamb was fatty and succulent as a Southside White Sox fan. For da bass, it was all about the chillies; a perfect compliment to the pea puree. After consuming these two dishes, my belly was bewildered by this type of nutritional gluttony. Expedient signals were sent to the rest of my body that it was time break my structure back down to its normal peasant status.

I told my belly to fall back; gots to get that dessert on:

Yessir. Chocolate panna cotta with fresh cherries and almonds. This shit was so rich and gluttonous, I wanted go out and buy a Dollarmation.

Mado did have its faults: there wasn’t an ice bucket for our white wine, the fish was a bit raw, and I ordered the rosemary roasted potatoes not the creamy polenta, but we sure as hell ate the hellouttit when it arrived erroneously.

Don’t forget your brown bag of various liquor, cuz this spot is BYO for the time being.

Mado works on the food philosophy that “the restaurant has an Italian grandmother with distant relatives from Spain, North Africa and southern France.” The dishes won’t blow your top off, but if these green chefs decide to get all Ag wit it and slap some vegans around, this could def become Chi-City’s new fresher than fresh.

What is the secret to great Vietnamese Beef Noodle soup, it’s the broth brother. Soup Base, soup base, soup base! Imagine if you will, a small Asian lady on a step stool hovering over a cauldron of beef broth stirring occasionally the shanks of beef and bones filled with flavorful marrow. She is cackling all the way as she knows that this powerful potion will seduce anyone in contact. Ok, so all false imagery aside, there are small Asian ladies running the joint, but I am sure they are not chained to stirring a caldron for the delicious meals served at Le’s Pho.

I am a frequent visitor of this joint and am a firm believer that the soup base makes the best pho. I usually start with a specialty drink before I start my order. The drink depends on the time of day, in the morning I will go for a Vietnamese ice coffee made from Café Du Monde chickory coffee. The strength of this drip coffee results in instant laxative, guaranteed to keep you regular for the next week. Fuck the fiber, reach for a Vietnamese Ice coffee. But I am off on a tangent, since the day in question, it was the afternoon and I order my favorite beverage on a hot day, Limeade. No not lemonade, yes limeade. A mix of fresh lime juice, soda water, and sugar for some reason is the elixir for any hot Chicago Day.

My next step in my ritual is to order an appetizer to lay a base for all the soup I will be drinking. On this occasion, I order Vietnamese rice patties topped with ground shrimp and scallions, served with a fish sauce for dipping. Grab, roll, and dip, insert into mouth and repeat. Although most of you will instinctively go for ordering the spring rolls or the imperial rolls, add this dish into your ordering arsenal, and if you don’t like it, go back to your Americanized safe list of ethnic appetizers.

The main attraction is the beef noodle soup, aka Pho, the bowl in question is more specifically call a Dac Biet in Vietnamese, which I think translates into special, or it could stand for you can Biet on this, because that shit is good. I usually order a large bowl of Dac Biet with the flank state on the side. Yes a pile of thinly slice beef served on a plate always makes my carnivorous caveman taste buds salivate. Make sure you place that beef in your soup while it is still piping hot, do not overcook your beef, but let it cook enough to add some extra flavor to your soup base. It is also import to add some bean sprouts and have your dipping sauces ready. Hosin sauce and Siracha combo is always a winner.

Slurp it up like nobody’s business, trust me no one is watching.

Every time I read a review about Tweet, I think about overrated egg shack - Le Peep. For some reason my brain can’t accept that they are both independent, unrelated restaurants (aside from the onomatopoeia.) Because of this misunderstanding, I missed out on what I will definitively say is

The Motherfuckin’ Best Weekday Breakfast in the Edgewater / Andersonville area.

Now I know all you M.Henry fanatics are getting your tempeh panties in a bunch, take a sniff of patchouli and answer this question. Can you get Benedict on a Tuesday afternoon at M.Henry? Can you name one place in Andersonville / Edgewater that has hollandaise sauce . . . on a weekday? If you know of one, lmk and I will eat my words (as well as the hollandaise.)

Crab Cake Benedict – Notice the extra pool of dipping hollandaise.

This picture is scratch and sniff, go ahead try it.

Florentine. Hold my ankles so I can go lawnmower style on this shit.

But it isn’t just Benedict availability that makes this The Motherfuckin’ Best Breakfast in Edgewater / Andersonville, Tweet excels because:

* The menu is big, real big. You aren’t going to order everything in 3 visits. (M.Henry, where you at? You’ve had the same menu since you opened . .I can recite the thing for crying out loud!)

* The location is crazy. The area is lively to say the least and you got Argyle st. Head right around the corner and stop in to La Patisserie P. Buy $3 worth of curry chicken buns. You’ll thank me at lunchtime.

* The specials. If you want to keep me coming you gotta keep it fresh. These aren’t just some bullshit omelet with an extra ingredient (m.what?) we’re talking things like the dankest Corn Arepas, the silliest Country Benedict . . you know breakfast that you aren’t going to make at home.

Country Benedict – For all you red state motherfuckas.

Corn Arepas – Seriously, it’s as delicious as it looks.

Side car of Chorizo & Beans with the Arepas. Invest in Tucks Medicated Pads.

The List Contd:

* The bad ass wait staff. After visit two, we were regulars and treated to complimentary delicious fruit cups and sweet cake. Our server, Theodoro (Ted) is quite possibly the nicest server in Illinois.

* Outdoor Seating. Though this is limited, it exists and if you are a weekday breakfast person like us, then it shouldn’t be a problem.

* The god damn grilled cheese, my current favorite food item in the world.

“Wait a second! A grilled cheese? What did you join a sorority? Show some taste! You’re half Dominican for Christ’s sake!”

I know, I know. Similar to the time I saw UFOs, convincing the people around me of this is going to be a hard sell. (true story on the ufo btw, scary shit.)

Anyway, I first saw the grilled cheese when I was eating the Florentine pictured below. A 5 year old girl was eating it and it looked enormous in her nasty little hands. I kept glancing up at the sandwich like I was checking out the hot girl in 8^th grade. Finally, as if the 5 year old knew I was envious, she said, “This is a damn good grilled cheese mom!” (I love Chicago.)

That clinched it. I was getting that sandwich. It was the smartest decision of my entire life.

Ready to meet Cheesus Christ? Order the Grilled Cheese Sandwich – on Texas Toast – if you have the balls.

Yall know bout those Big Johnson tees. About 15 years ago, all the heads who didn’t buy Senor Frogs or Hypercolor gear rocked this dumb shit. Regardless of the fact that it was slightly entertaining; it was just a guy who boasted a big dick and was able to get away with anything because of it. Thing is, this skinny ass douchebag probably DIDN’T have a big johnson. I think the time is ripe for Andersonville’s three week old Contemporary Southern Coastal Cuisine dine house Big Jones and ya boy Johnson to pull they pants down. Don’t be claiming southern if you ain’t gonna do it proper.

First thing I noticed was that the joint was too clean…where was the sweaty, fat black cook named Lester? What about Grandmama with stank breath and rollers in her hair? The buss-boy was some hipster with a Ryan Seacrest-like fauxhawk who scowled at us when we said hello.

For appetizers we got the Pulled Pork Grit Cakes (Niman Ranch pork shoulder, crispy grit cakes, Cakalack sauce & slaw) and Crab Salad Deviled Eggs (Lump blue crab, deviled eggs and chow-chow with Johnny Cakes and a light vinaigrette).

Both were fantastic “contemporary” interpretations of Saturday Night Fish Fry classics, but from here, we rolled expediently down the cow pasture into a pig pin shit storm.

No. We didn’t get the baby back ribs or the pork chop special. This was our opportunity to test Big Jones’ endowment and see how far their southern creativity could reach. So we got the Etouffee z’ Herbs (Crimini & shiitake mushrooms, gumbo roux, eggplant and greens on Louisiana popcorn rice) and then the Brunswick Stew (Braised rabbit loin in a delicate gravy with crisp bacon, corn and butter beans).

Now, Ive had plenty of Etouffee and I know its supposed to be smokey, but that doent mean that is supposed to be as bland as white folks kool-aid. My grandfather made a killa Brunswick stew, so I’m a tough critic. And although the meats were juicy and tender, the “stew” portion of the plate was a simple afterthought. It’s Brunswick STEW not Brunswick Stew. I wanted to doggie bag both these dishes, take them back to the nest and apply excruciating amounts of salt and hot sauce.

And then it was time for the night cap: Hot Toddy and Mississippi Mud Pie.

Well, lets just say that our server was not very cooperative. In fact, he was a dickneck. When we asked for honey-a key ingredient in toddy-the dood had the audacity to bring out SIMPLE SYRUP. Daaaang mang. Don’t Big Jones serve brunch? And isn’t honey a main condiment in brunch (i.e. buttermilk biscuits and honey)? Just take the “southern” out of your name if you ain’t got some honey at the servers station. Simply redonkulous.

The pie was aiight, but took 20 minutes to be brought out to the table and I’d swear it was some Cosco out-the-box shit. And when it finally arrived, it arrived partially burnt. The oven must have been on broil instead of warm.

So pull those draws down Big Jones, and let me see what you’re really packin, cuz a majority of your food preparation and service certainly didn’t leave me with no love jones.