Indie Cafe, your Pan-Asian cooking style is sorry!
You make my bowels pour curry juice from poor preparation technique in kitchen.
Your food is not worth two dolla.
Indie Cafe, rick my barrs.
For serious, like most of you, I desperately tried to enjoy this place. I really did. After returning home from Indie, I yearned to know what I had potentially missed on the menu. I wanted to believe that the entire dining party had ordered erroneously; like hobos fresh off the Appalachian Trail, dumbfounded by hunger and hype. My research only produced dissent. I sat down at my box and extended my innanet arms like Inspector Gadget, quickly finding Justin N. “Yelping” his balls off. In his comment about Indie, he wrote, “I love this place. Great combination of Japanese and Thai food. I must admit my guilty pleasure is complimentary food. I occasionally get cravings for different types of food at the same time. (For example, Tacos and Pizza, Wings and Sushi, – Call me weird for that one).”
Really, Justin? Wings and Sushi?
And then there was Peg T.: “I love this place and the best part is that its walking distance from home!…The prices here are great and the selection is a lot bigger than I thought it would be.”
Really, fam, when did we become such trifflin ass diners? Since when was restaurant quality directly linked to home vicinity and price point? I stay right around the corner from Somerset Place, but yall aint gonna find my black ass eating creamed spinach and candied yams the dining hall.
My fact finding escapade bout made me throw up my green curry-n-coconut milk.
But it wasn’t just bout the food for me, it was the decor as well. I couldn’t get down with the paintings of Asian men donning Vaudeville feather shawls or three nekked doods interconnected, hurling themselves into a bathing pool. Even for Edgewater, the shit was disturbing. I mean, the dining room decor had to have been picked from various leftover items at a Micheal’s Arts and Crafts 90% Off Blowout Sale (sorry, coupon expired).
Tired of my rant? I aint even got to the dining sesh.
We started off our sub-par consumption escapade by waiting 10 minutes for a wine key. That’s correct…they wouldn’t even let us get our imbibe on, yall. I was about to call J.C. down from the heavens to get the evening poppin Cana Wedding styles when our server finally came over and knocked out our order in seconds.
Fortunately, the food came in like the order went out: real quick like. But, this was not a good thing. The fried pork dumplings and crab rangoon were par, but not worth the cost of a Forever stamp to mail a post card to Moms. The dumplings had a decent combination of cilantro and chili to aid in savory layering, but the sweaty ass pot sticker decapitated the these components. In all honesty, the shit was moist like douche.
The rangoon keep things moving in the same direction. The trio of cream cheese, crab and funnel cake dough was overpowering and rambunctious. I will, however, give them props for using a pimp cup.
Then we got down with the entrees, which further solidified the wild nature of all things Indie. I like things buck, but if food is going to be executed in this fashion, it better fucking taste good.
With every bite, I had gluttonous remorse. My thoughts were centered around all the delicious things that I could have been eating. I slowly came to the realization that I would never get this dining time back. It was like a lecture from Dad. It was like paying to eat in a curry horse trough.
The first entree, the Duck Panang Curry, was a suggestion from a fellow Edgewater Glutton. I admit I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, but this sauce was so fucking sugary, I felt the fillings in my teeth popping out. Oh, you think that’s soft?…Willy Wonka woulda been K.O.’d by the fragrance alone. Think Panang + Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pie filling (which will make anyone’s stomach feel hella funny).
Then it was time for the Tom Yum Kungfried rice dish with shrimp, mushroom, bell pepper, and tomato fried in a hot & sour sauce. Its really hard to jack up fried rice, but they found a way. Overcooked and unflavorful. I swear every bite had at least three fucking baby corns up in it. Blind kats with no taste buds could have prolly done better.
Then we had another interpretation of the duck curry dish that I was whining like a lil’ bitch about earlier. This time with chicken, which was dryer than a Tim Geithner speech on U.S. monetary policy.
Yet another restaurant that I can add to the long list of Chicago Thai Food Flossery. Chicago Thai sightings are as commonplace as GOONS, so why the fuck aren’t there more solid spots like Spoon Thai and Cozy Noodle? Does Indie Cafe really want to try to play me for a fool?…Covering up their lack of kitchen skills with 10 ounces of Crisco Corn Oil? Cmon nah. Wheres my cliantro, diakon, thai chili, kaffir lime, lemon grass, tum leung, etc.? I want to TASTE that shit in the bowl, gotdammit! I want so much complexity on my plate that it requires 3D glasses to comprehend. I want small morsels to pop out of my teeth three hours post-dining and make me pop a Kool-Aid smile. Basically, I just want Thai goodness and I didn’t find anything of the sort at Indie Cafe.