Chicago Gluttons - Chicago Restaurant Review & Obsession

Last Friday, the krew got together for a food and brew orgy at Hopleaf Bar.

What is it about Hopleaf that makes the place as packed as a Liberian Refugee Camp on a Tuesday night? Well, even though we live in a beer lover’s town (home of the Chubbie Cubby baseball fan), Hopleaf’s only real competition is The Map Room. But when food is thrown into the equation, unfortunately The Map Room gets a saddening “whaa whaa…you lose” sound effect (that is, unless you count bar popcorn as a major staple).

Lets get fed.

Three dishes slapped me right upside the head. First, the Pork’n'Beans.

This dish is straight to the point. Whole chunks of swine, white beans and a bit of vegetable (watercress or endive?) in a sweet sauce. A bowl of this could feed entire developing nations. I suggest a liquid that will contrast the sweetness/spice and something which is not going to force your stomach to blow beans/meat through your belly button. The Three Floyd’s Gumballhead (also pictured above) definitely took gold with the diners.

Now two dishes on the menu, when mentioned, drew the “bonkers” face from our server. Like the simple thought of eating the dish spawned some orgasmic memory. Mama didnt raise no fool, so we ordered them up. These were the Pork Chop…DAMN!!! (picture coming soon) and the Pan-Seared Salmon (below).

I know what you’re thinking. Yes, it looks like a clusterfuck on a plate and you cant really tell where the fish starts and the mayhem stops. But trust me, the the savory chive cakes and meshed well with the crunchiness of the fish. Pan-searing lent texture and locked in flavor. Then the Chef splashed the dish with some sort of sweet reduction to liven the taste-buds. Finally, a dollop of mashed potato on top…why the fuck not? This item is just on the summer menu, so you best make it snappy.

…can’t wait til October when the Pork Belly makes its reappearance like genital warts.

• Name: Hopleaf
• Where: 5148 N Clark St Chicago, IL 60640
•  Phone Number: (773) 334-9851

Whas Good? El Barco Mariscos, shuun!

On the barrio side of Ashland there is a place where Chicagoans can actually get dope seafood and avert puking something that looks like New England Clam Chowder the next day.

This place is fresh (both definitions apply). Bustling and lively.

The waitresses wear tube tops to reveal family recipes. Creepy dead fish hang over you and stare with beady eyes. On the far wall is a display case of at least 300 bottles of different Tiquilas. Telemundo and horrible Mexico City Pop feud for your attention while you dine.

Me and ole girl that I used to be having sex with visited this place awhile back as she is a Wicker Park native. In date mode, we are quick to hit the alcohol and get loud with our family from south of the border. El Barco does the classic bucket o beers…If you are a patron, please don’t be that Bobo who comes in asking for Rogue Dead Guy Ale or Fat Tire. Get the Dos Equis or Corona, dummy. In fact, each table has enough limes to cover Cuba’s Mojito addiction well into the next century.

We started lite and get a plate of smelts:

What the hell is a smelt? Well, its actually a sad excuse for fish. Pop these things in your mouth like you’re Orvel Redenbacher. Oh, don’t forget the Achiote sauce or one of the 20 flavors of “mucho caliente” hot sauce, cuz these fry daddies taste just like the North American lakes in which they originated.

We also select the fish tacos (shes a pescatarian) and ceviche which are both winners in my book. But the Creme de la creme was this bastard:

Our server, Rosalita, said, “no mas pescada para dos personas.” I said eff it, were getting the Red Snapper damnit. So we ended up ordering a fish for 4. I spent significant time in developing countries, so I have this obsession to fish with the head still intact.

The snapper poked fun at me…daring me to be a man. I slap a napkin on bib style and clock in. The flavor in this daddy gave me mental images of swimming naked with schools of other snapper around a shipwreck. After 30 minutes I retreated, weak from my seaman’s journey. Soon, Rosalita came offering us a doggy bag and I swear that I heard the fish say, “fuck you.”

• Name: El Barco
• Where: 1035 N Ashland Ave Chicago, IL 60622
•  Phone Number: (773) 486-6850

Nuff said right?

Hey maine, there is a reason they call our Nation’s Capitol “The Dirty District.” After a brief jaunt from the Windy-C to see my parents in Washington, I took a 3am detour to one of the most famous restaurants in the U.S. of A…Ben’s Chili Bowl. The place has been frequented by Coogie sweater wearin Bill Cosby, big lipped Chris Tucker, and punk ass G. Dubs’ Bush Jr. and Sr.

I dig the decor of this place. Minimalist and straight grimey. Bruddas walk around in skull caps and doo rags to keep they waves tight. Miguel smokes discount cigarettes by the back do and watches tables get dirty.

My sister told me she wont go here any more as gentrification has swallowed the neighborhood whole…James Beard calls the spot, “American’s Classic.” Ben would proally say, “ni**a please.” Call it reverse racism, I suppose.

That’s enough about the history…lets get to the food. Ben’s is known for its “half-smokes” which is a cheaper, more gully take on the Vienna sausages we see in Chi-Tizz. I quickly order up a two half smokes with chili, cheese, mustard and hella onions (this is actually the ONLY way you should order them) to sop up the evenings vodka sodas. The dog is split in half and then grilled to the color of a Colombian mamacita. Ima give this beast a 6 outta 10. The meat was on point, but it needed some sport peppers or something…brudda needs spice; I guess I’m jaded. Nevertheless…the cheese sauce was bubonic and made me feel like I could rob three banks.

At the end of it all, I wash the dog down with some dank ass purple stuff that blew away K-Mart’s shit. Maybe I should have gone kamikaze and mixed all four flavors. Really dough, what the hell is that brown stuff cuz we all know it aint Iced Tea or Apple Juice!