Gluttons on the radio Thursday morning (04/15) at 10 AM. Outside the Loop Radio on WLUW 88.7.

Segment will be archived after it airs. Check it!

UPDATE: archived here.

Shine

For reals, thanks for showing your support, Chicago.  Now go forth and spread the gluttonous word!

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Next muhfucka who asks me if I decided to open my own soul food restaurant is gonna get to know my dull blade called Sammy Three Cuts.

For serious, go ahead and do a Google search for Dee’s Place.  Experiencing internet browsing malaise?  Let me get that for you.  Other than the industry stalwarts, Metromix, Centerstage, and Time Out Chicago, you aint gonna find shit about this new soul food, live blues/jazz spot.  One can tell that a restaurant is in it’s infancy when Yelp only has 5 reviews posted up.  On top of all that, Dee’s Place doesn’t have a website.  And that’s because they just don’t give a fuck.  10 years in the making, Dee’s plan is to let mouths spread the good word.

Wicker Park natives deserved a soul food joint such as this.  The reality is that although soul food dishes are relatively familiar kitchen fare for most, a majority still fail miserably when attempting to replicate these items at home.  Think about it.  When was the last time you successfully cooked collard greens & ham hock, stewed black eyed peas & country ham, candied yams, deep fried catfish, slow cooked pork ribs, baked decent cornbread or fried hush puppies?  The answer is very likely never.  I am excluding those who’ve hijacked grandma’s tub of lard that was stored under the kitchen sink.

What is it about soul food that makes it so gotdamn good and why are the recipes so coveted?

Well, during the antebellum period, it was illegal in many states for African slaves to read or write, so food recipes were passed on orally.  On top of that, many recipes were prepared with spontaneity; the use of a measuring cup was considered a cardinal sin.  Finally, the ingredients for soul food feature discarded selections of meat that were kicked down by the slave master: pigs feet, chitterlings, and ham hock are alien items to most, but the flavors that are created by these exotic cuts are at the essence of what we call the deliciousness.

At Dee’s Place there is no exception to this rule.  I might as well been Mike Tyson asking to eat Dee’s infant child when I made the mistake of requesting clarification from Rayland on the type of BBQ sauce used on the rib plate.  In this business, recipes are more important than the cook preparing them.  And that’s real talk, people.

I’m not even going to make an attempt at explaining the menu.  Remembering what apps, meat, and sides are available and then choosing the combination that will get you the most mileage was more intricate than Asian nail art.  Since you cant find the menu anywhere online, Chicago Gluttons got you sussed:

We started with Stone Sublimely Self-Righteous Ale and the catfish nuggets appetizer.  The seasoned breading surrounding the white fish (which I have to assume is perch, because they wouldn’t say nathen) is the kinda shit that will bring Kaczynski back.  Add a bit a Trappy’s hot sauce and let the goodness ride out, homie.

With plate one, Dee reminded us of the plantation life, featuring fatty pork ribs, fried chicken, mac-n-cheese, collard greens and cornbread.  My slave brethren would have been honored by my attempt at eating like a field negro from the 1700′s.  I multitasked this shit…seizing ribs in one hand and chicken in the other; working flesh down to the bone.  Best believe the chicken was perfectly fried and oozed juices like an abscess.  Tender ribs were seared and smothered in a sweet sauce that had my lower lip sloppy.

Fuck the wet-naps.  I used a hunk of cornbread to wipe up.

The collards were slow cooked to alleviate bitterness and kept the greens firm.  Noodles in the mac-and-cheese congealed with the cheddar and jack cheeses like Cagney & Lacey.

And with plate two, Dee took us back to the West Indies with heat and sweet, offering up jerk chicken, candied yams, jambalaya rice, and cornbread.  No bumbaclot/rasclot/gutclot present.  Ras Marley was talking about Chicago Gluttons krew when he came up with the lyrics, “them belly full, but we hungry.”  Bob know we be killing plates, son.  “A pot to cook, but the food not ‘nough.” I KNOW, BOB; we ate all that shit while you was rolling up that spliff.

And then there was the bread pudding.  Instantly sprung.  I don’t recall being this aroused since I saw the Halley Berry sex scene in Monsters Ball.  “Bread Pudding…YOU MAKE ME FEEL GOOD!”  Tech geeks, get the fuck out of the iPad line and spend your money on something that actually makes sense.

Vanilla pudding, bread, and like 6 sticks of butter.  This is what God wanted for us.  Dee’s got her bread pudding trained to swallow those who talk shit whole, so for real, just don’t do it.

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Basking under unseasonably pleasant March temps, a thick contingent developed on a creaky front porch deep within Albany Park.  A couple heads pulled out American Spirits and resh as we got lifted by the anticipation of it all.  Inside, the living room was knee deep in construction, but the naked frames added a crude beauty.  A soft glow emitted from the candle centerpieces while hard bop notes bellowed from Coltrane’s saxophone.  High heels vibrated through hardwood while the chatter grew.  A kat in the corner poured Grey Goose into his tumbler with a heavy hand; corks on Sierra Nevada’s 30th Anniversary Ale popped off like gunshots.

And there was a fragrance…an omnipresent, delicious odor which effortlessly oozed its way through Koreatown.  Braised pork, thyme, and beef stock melded together to form a cypher for the senses.  When I made it to the kitchen, I stumbled upon the organized chaos of two men nestled inside madness; effortlessly working in harmonious tandem. The goal: cook the living shit out of six courses and bust every gut in the process.

Yall know what this is.

With the passing of the winter season, a Chicago Gluttons dining club tradition experiences revivification.  The Deliciousness VII.  In typical gluttony fashion, this annual affair is like none other.  A feast that will steal your life away faster than a Toyota Camery.  Imagine Sunday Dinner and add some Black Sabbath to it.  Year after year, chefs Mike Regan and John Honkala continue to cook aggressively and without inhibition.  Couple these gentlemen with front of the house support from Heather Clark, and just call it easy street.

After a toast of gin to build appetite and enhance digestion, we unfolded napkins and clutched cutlery.  We live to consume; and nobody does it better than this bunch of kids.  So heed while we go Undercover Boss on yall, giving you a sneak peak of true, unadulterated blue collar dining.

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Gilt Bar is real talk, peoples.  Realer than a 3rd mortgage.  Realer than a drunk krew of community organizers.  Realer than ole boy who hacked into Baracks and B. Spears Twitter accounts.  Realer than the HIV+, son.

Have you all seen this menu?  How are we not fucking with this place?  I’ll commit 1st-4th degree murder for this deliciousness.  Lemme get that roasted bone marrow and red onion jam on toast.  And them Anson Mills heirloom white grits w/ local white cheddar.  Oh, and I’ll holler hard at those Kennebec Frites…I like my shits Kennebec’ed.  While at it, add some Maple & bourbon glazed red wattle pork and the coal fired beef rib eye.  Hook my plate up, waiter!  And never forget my balls.

Ya heard? Thats the oven roasted, hand cut pork meatballs with brown butter and thyme.  As Roy say, we’ll race you to the grave with this one cuz we’ll be ordering multiple plates of this.  We’ll consume so heavy, ball sweat will be inevitable.

Props to Kidltamae and the CG Flickr Pool for bringing the heat .  Our sweaty dreams will be happily be disturbed from here on out.

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I love Breakfast. I will have breakfast at anytime of the day, anywhere, and in most circumstances, cooked by anyone.  From greasy spoons after the bar, to champagne brunches on Sunday, breakfast is everyone’s friend.  Bongo Room lies somewhere between the two poles of greasy spoon and white table cloth brunch, but they do not disappoint. I cheer them on their pursuit of breakfast bliss, but in reflection I wish I was forewarned about the things that make this place great in my mind.  This place can be a double edge sword for all you non-gluttons. So three words of wisdom I will try to impart:

#1 The Portions are Big

Call your congressmen and senators; I need them to pass that health care reform bill soon. Cause if I am going to continue eating breakfast items bigger than my head on a regular basis, I am pretty sure I need someone to pay for my coronary bypass. On first glance, the portions appeared to be bigger than the already large Chicago style plate sizes. If breakfast is the most important meal of the day you sure get a whole lot of it at Bongo Room. McDonalds might have a big breakfast, but Bongo Room’s portions are breakfast on steroids a la Barry Bonds circa 1980’s versus 2000.

#2 The food is rich and delicious

If a hearty portion is all that gets you out to place then I believe you should be sold, but this aint no IHOP. Even if you can handle the gluttonous portions sizes, the catch deuce deuce here is that these creative dishes are rich and fucking tasty as hell, so you can’t stop eating.  Three times I put my fork down and waved the white napkin of surrender.  And three times I went back for another bite.  Bongo Room takes pride in a crafted menu that you just can’t pass up. I ordered the apple Carmel pancakes with vanilla crème. Three huge monsters of pancakes, flapjacks, stackers, whatever the fuck you want to call it…I call it delicious.  It had me mopping up like a porn star during the money shot.

Then Cranberry French Toast with brown butter and some sort of crème fresh.  They had the balls to top an already decadent slice of egg batter French toast with more butter, cream, and brown sugar. This has to be applauded in any dining circle. Their slogan has to be: Bongo Room “We aim to kill you by lunchtime!”

#3 The Itis

The itis goes by many names, the it is characterized by heavy eyelids, a general lackadaisical apathy toward motion and is and always accompanied by a full stomach.  Don’t think you can eat here and have an semblance of productivity anytime soon; definitely give yourself a few hours of cushion. My itis took me on 3 hour trip consiting of TV with pre and post nap.

These warnings are by no means to detour you from getting into the breakfast nirvana that is available at Bong Room, this is just a cautionary tale of the aftermath it may create if not forewarned.  Eat well and get gorging.

Breakfast