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.