Chicago's International Culinary Representation

Sunset in Negril, I’m in Chicago

Posted on 5 May 2013 by Gino

When I turned 40, some friends had taken me to an Afghani restaurant for my birthday dinner. I had been to the Afghani restaurant — Kabul House — for the very first blog post to Chicago Alphabet Soup and I was a few notches past anxious for returning. The food was something delicious and with it having been the first time ever indulging any Afghani cuisine, it was tastefully exotic. Having the dinner celebration at the restaurant and loving the dining experience as much as I did the first visit, I had made plans to return for a few future excursions. Much to my disappointment, the restaurant had closed its doors. While Chicago and the neighbouring suburbs may have Afghani communities, there were no other dining establishments to showcase their food talents. Recently I discovered that the restaurant had a new location in the small downtown section of Skokie, Illinois. And just a block away was another gem that I never would have thought would dot the landscape of Skokie — De-Jred Fine Jamaican Cuisine at 4901 Oakton Street. Skokie is not known for having a Caribbean community, so I was fascinated to find something reflective of my culture.

Jamaican Beef Pattie

The inside of De-Jred is spacious, with plenty of tables and booths. Upon entering, find a seat and prepare yourself for some authentic food from the island of Jamaica. I arrived just as the doors had opened, so I had my pick of seats. Knowing that I was going to capture impressions of what I was going to eat, I sat near the window for natural light to my photographs. The server approached with menu, a hearty welcome, and I had a few minutes to see what was on the bill of fare. It took very little time, as I saw something I was accustomed to eating as a kid. After placing my order and briefly talking with the owner/manager/cook about Jamaica, Toronto, and where there is a concentration of other Jamaicans in Chicago and surrounding suburbs, it was time to feed the monster.

Kola Champagne

Rice and Peas

One should never go to a Jamaican restaurant and leave without ordering a beef pattie. Actually, it is mandatory that you order a beef pattie unless you are a vegetarian. Talk about true Jamaican representation. I have had Jamaican beef patties at countless Jamaican restaurants and walk-up counters, most of which had a hint of beef filling and a lot of air between the crusts. At De-Jred Fine Jamaican Cuisine, the patties are stuffed with beef filling and spicy the way I like them. They were so much like what I remember from Jamaica proper and the cast of Jamaican restaurants in Toronto to the point that I ordered some for take-away.

Callaloo

Being that I was in the mood for something reminiscent of my younger days, I had saltfish and ackee. Although you can eat it at any time of the day, it was a breakfast staple that made pancakes, waffles, scrambled eggs, and that other Stepford fare distasteful. There were even a few bones in the saltfish. With the saltfish and ackee, there were plantains and some steamed cabbage with carrots. I was a rather happy man after the first scoop of everything. And when I got a scoop of the rice and peas, I had mentally gone to Sheffield, Jamaica, and was sitting at my grandmother’s kitchen table handling business and washing it all down with some june plum juice. Well, I didn’t have any june plum juice. I had Kola Champagne instead, and that still was a big hit. Also, with the saltfish and ackee dish I had callaloo. In American-speak, think greens. Accented with stewed tomatoes and seasoned just right, I made them vanish, the food magician that I am. What would have really shot me to the moon would have been if I had some fried bammy with the meal. I would have stepped outside, counted from ten to one, and skyrocketed straight out into space.

Saltfish and Ackee, Cabbage and Carrots

Had I not been in a reflective mood about my fortieth birthday, I never would have searched to see if Kabul House had a resurgence. It was fortunate that I was thinking of the Afghani restaurant because having discovered its new location, I also found out that there was a Jamaican restaurant within walking distance of it. De-Jred Fine Jamaican Cuisine may be one of those spots that you pass without noticing it. But if you are in the area and your nose detects the smell of something from that beautiful island in the Atlantic Ocean, open the doors to some of the best Jamaican food in the Chicago area. Be prepared for a dish or two of all the good things.

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Midweek Escape to Italy

Posted on 3 May 2013 by Gino

So, my cell phone rings while I am still at work and it is one of my great friends. There is the inquiry as to what I was doing after work, to which I answered that I was sitting at my desk — well past 5:00 PM — pondering what to eat. Food consumes — no pun intended — my free thoughts. What to eat? Where to eat? Do I drive there, walk, or take public transit to get the food source? Should it be quick or a dining experience where I can sit still and really enjoy my meal? My friend’s call snapped me out of my waffling at least such that I could think of a general location. There was a certain Italian restaurant where she and I had gone last summer. And talk about clarity, there was no case of introducing other options along with the Italian restaurant. It was off to 116 N. Oak Park Avenue in Oak Brook for a midweek escape to Il Vicolo.

Gnarly Head

The temperatures were moderate enough that we wondered if there would be seating available outside. Once we arrived and there was a bit more bite in the wind than before we left our respective job locations — she coming from Oak Brook Terrace and me coming from downtown Chicago — it dawned on us that temperatures are not consistently warm until the last week of June. Nevertheless, we had a window seat and imagined the warmth of the sun as we watched pedestrians’ pass by with clattering teeth.

Olive Oil, Parmesan Cheese, Pepper

Usually whenever my friend and I would catch up for dinner, we would never have wine or a “loaded” beverage during “school nights.” We reserve libations for weekends when we don’t have to worry about sleeping through the ringing of the morning alarm. However, I was in one of my “just bring it” moods and opted for some wine. In past posts I have mentioned that I have no wine snobbery. What I said to the server was that I’d relay what I like for possible dinner courses and she could surprise me with an accompanying wine accordingly. After my friend and I had given our requests, the server said that there would be a red wine that we both should try. And, so there was a bottle of Gnarly Head, a Pinot Noir, brought to the table. There was a quick pour, a swishing around in the glass, a tasting, and a nod of approval, and then the glasses were filled. Bravo.

Tortino Di Melanzane

With a basket of complimentary bread, fresh olive oil, parmesan cheese, and cracked black pepper, we enjoyed homemade Italian bread. One of the things about being serious with baking, I can tell when bread is fresh and when it has been purchased from a grocer or bakery. This bread came from the oven at Il Vicolo. That says something for authenticity and our devouring it was testament to our approval of not having perfectly prepared Sunbeam or Wonder bread put in front of us. For a salad, we started with a grilled calamari salad that left us not wanting fried calamari ever again. Don’t get me wrong, as there are some restaurants where the fried calamari has been the absolute best. However, tender grilled calamari and baby octopus in a very light lemon garlic and olive oil served over a mixed green salad were fantastic. Next time I return to Il Vicolo, I will inquire as to whether they use fresh vegetables because the salad had the kind of flavour that pops, much like what I have had any time I have gone to the country where pesticides and growth enhancers are not used on the crops.

Grilled Calamari and Salad

The dining experience got into full swing with a tortino de melanzane. We all have had eggplant parmesan and have friends who swear that they, their mother, or their grandmother prepares the best eggplant parmesan ever. Whatever. You can have it. Give me tortino de melanzane. The baked eggplant was neither mushy nor crunchy. Goldilocks would even agree that it was just right. The mozzarella was not piled on so high that it introduced a choke factor. The tomato sauce was moderately chunky the way Ragu wished that jarred foolishness they sell was chunky. Again, full of flavour without the feel of salt on the tongue. And they included one of my all-time favourite highlights of cilantro. Now I was understanding fully why the Gnarly Head was the wine of choice per the server. The oak flavour was all the spice needed to complete the marriage with the meal. Listen to me sounding like a real food critic. Ha!

Penne Arrabbiata

Italian cuisine may be known for a good mix of herbs and spices in the dishes, yet most dishes are not spicy. You don’t turn red in the cheeks after forking your meal into your mouth. Well, some people have mild constitutions and anything other than just salt has them screaming and putting on a show. I have been gaining weight slowly over the past few months, so I keep carbohydrates in my diet. Hence, I had pasta and this time I had a spicy penne arrabbiata. My first exposure to penne arrabbiata was with the purchase of a bag of it from Trader Joe’s. I was surprised that something frozen could taste so blooming delicious because food from the frozen section is saturated with ingredients that people use for trick words in spelling bees. Then after having penne arrabbiata at some Italian restaurants, it became a source of addiction. Well, the same can be said for the pasta dish at Il Vicolo. It was spicier than what I have had anywhere else, but that made it all the more appetizing to me because I love fire with my flavour. Each bite was bliss and rather than drowning the penne in the sauce, the sauce was more like an accent. Outstanding!

Nocciola

By now my camera was starting to do its own thing. Buttons were inoperable, which really made it horrible for me being able to set the focus point for my compositions. Even resetting the white balance to account for the sunlight gone down was impossible. Sure, I should have been in the moment rather than photographing my food. But how else can I present impressions of my dining experiences to make you want to dash out to the restaurant? It would have been so unfair for me to leave out such appetizing photos. Alas, I could only muster so much and I put the camera away and made a note to myself to trash it when I got home. I have three other digital cameras that work without giving me grief. The cheap one I used for these shots was disposable. My friend had ordered pappardelle gamberi e funghi. I don’t particularly like to have my friends wait for me to finish snapping away with my camera because ticking off close to a hundred shots per dish could mean having fork up lukewarm food. So, I missed capturing her dish of tasty homemade flat pasta with shrimp and mushrooms in a fresh tomato and basil sauce. This is one dish that I have yet to have all to myself and I must return to for that very purpose, per my friend’s recommendation.

Chocolate Lava Cake

We wrapped up with coffee and dessert. The coffee had a robust flavour, yet it required very little sweetener. And there were the desserts. Instead of the ubiquitous plate of tiramisu or cannoli, my friend had chocolate lava cake and I had nocciola. The chocolate lava cake, which had a preparation time of eight minutes, apparently was a big hit with my friend. Then again, the last time she had cake was earlier in April for her birthday, thankful that Easter had passed and sampling a dolce was not a frowned-upon option. I had it before and agreed with her expressions that indicated it was a worthy dessert. The nocciola was certainly real gelato. You can’t buy that flavour in the frozen dairy section of your local market. You just can’t.

On weekends, Il Vicolo has a tendency to fill up quickly. Once you have had any of their dishes or interacted with the wait staff, you understand why. The prices of the dishes are far from exorbitant. Of all the times going, I have not had a dining experience that resulted in me leaving dissatisfied. If anything, I always make plans for a return visit. If you go on the weekends and for the evening courses, make a reservation. Trust me when I say that you will not want to stand around watching plates boasting flavours and aromas that cause drooling. You will want to work your knife and fork on some morsel without delay. As for me, I do believe a midweek escape to Il Vicolo is in order for the near future.

Chicago Restaurant Reviews

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Everything You Wanted to Know

Posted on 19 April 2013 by Gino

Everything you wanted to know about Gino but was afraid to ask may sound cliché. Many differ, but it really is not a bad idea to know a little something about a critic, especially one penning a public blog that impresses upon the reading audience to patron a certain establishment. A small snippet in an “about” paragraph won’t suffice. Most times before I got to restaurants, I will read reviews on sites like Urbanspoon and Yelp. Rarely am I shocked by what I stumble across. And when I read other reviews written by those to trash restaurants and any other establishments, I wonder how those individuals find so much time to be bitter over little or nothing. What are their motivators? Everyone gives five stars and there is one person slamming the restaurant, having found a strand of hair in his or her food. Glowing recommendations from a long list of patrons and one person seemingly see a spider descending from the ceiling and no one else can corroborate the story. Reviews exuding bliss and there is the one angry reviewer who waxes a calamity, even after announcing showing up at the restaurant with a tribe — party of 10 or more — fifteen minutes before closing. In whose Disney does any of that make sense?

Spicy Squid

When I started Chicago Alphabet Soup, it was for fun more than it was for anything else. I was merely a scientist that loved to eat. However, I realized that penning Chicago Alphabet Soup to be a Yellow Pages listing of restaurants was going to be exhaustive and verbose. There are countless web sites and even the Yellow Pages that list restaurants, what’s good about them, and what’s not so good about them. I could add no value to that existing formula. When a friend had given the suggestion to review restaurants alphabetically by ethnicity, I thought that was a cool idea, one that no one had done. It would be a scavenger hunt, a culinary discovery. And with me working in an environment where I was constantly exposed to people from all over the world, it also gave me a stockpile of restaurants that I could offer to them when they wanted to dine at an establishment that “reminded them of home.” Trust me when I say that having gone to a good number of ethnic restaurants and recommending them to visiting scientists got me on A-lists. That was good for my career without “rubbing shoulders” for advance.

Jarritos: Piña

Looking back on when I wrote my first few reviews for Chicago Alphabet Soup, I was not serious into photography. I did not take my camera for the first three restaurant outings. Later I bought a point-and-click that did what I needed. Then when I started travelling the world more, I had purchased an expensive digital camera. One expensive digital camera turned into two expensive digital cameras. And then there were three and a few years later there were four. Shamefully, I had all that pricey equipment and used them in automatic mode only. Well, that had to change. So, I took some photography classes at Chicago Photography Centre and learned how to use the cameras as professionals do. I still have ways to go, though. The quality of my photos improved afterwards and then there was a marriage of food and photography. Imagine a hobby feeding into your love of eating. Believe it or not, the high-end cameras have been a boon for conversation when I have gone to many cafe shops, Ma and Pop restaurants, and small eateries. Someone working at the restaurants has had or still has a great appreciation for photography and it becomes a springboard for comfortably talking about how the restaurant got started, how long it has been in business, and for those who are new to America is was an way to segue into what it’s like being an immigrant to the States and starting a restaurant business. Even if it’s not restaurant staff, another patron may feel at ease engaging conversation about use of a high-end camera for capturing food rather than using my cell phone. So, it is more than just dining. It’s a passport for branching out culturally.

Chocolate Mousse Cake

Several years ago when my doctor had told me that my cholesterol and blood pressure were high, ethnic food became one of the ways I worked to bring both down without heavy medication. I immediately took pork, fried food, greasy food, and heavily salted food out of my diet. One other thing I did was stop eating as though pushing back from the table was not an option. I lived for cuisines from the Mediterranean, North Africa, India, and Thailand. And I sought out anything from countries along coasts where seafood was a main staple. My cholesterol went from bad to good without any medication and my blood pressure dropped with the assistance of some medication. My energy level increase, as I worked out and began running two miles every morning, now up to five miles every morning. At the same time, I developed a refined palate — and embarrassing to say, some snobbery with what I prefer to eat. That is not to say that I do not receive recommendations from friends and family who think that because they love to stuff food in their jaws, they know what I like on my plate. I honestly cannot say that most of them know any better.

Coffee and Cream

Now, while Chicago Alphabet Soup may look like cake, I devote extensive time to the photos and to the writing. It would be too easy to look up menus on the web and ghost write. Although I am nowhere close to being a professional photographer, I have a haughtiness about the photos that I want displayed on the blog. Often I am asked who does the writing and the photography for Chicago Alphabet Soup. Surprises fly about when I respond that it is all me. Everyone sees the final set of photos per review that I will have selected, polished, and posted to accommodate the text. What you may not know is that I may have captured on the average of 700 photos. Out of that, there will be perhaps 5-7 that I will include in my reviews. Yes, that is a lot and after editing the photos to create what I think would be “magazine ready,” there is still penning the reviews that I edit and edit and sometimes edit again after I have posted the blog entry. Every review has to be story. Having read other foodie blogs, composing culinary prose was a better option for making me become your friend giving you advice. I appreciate my friends’ advice more than I do random passers-by. Oh, let me put that in context. There are friends whose palates are refined like mine whose recommendations I trust. So, through my stories, I become your old chum, you pal who gets a kick out of sampling something tasty. Remember, as a scientist, I function as a left brain person, always analytical and a lover of numbers. Through Chicago Alphabet Soup, I get to flex the right side of my brain, putting the creative part of me into action. And it does not hurt that I eat some of the most outstanding food while at it. Let’s face it. While New York City may be touted as having some of the best high-end restaurant, truth is Chicago boasts the best all around.

Gino Williams, Blogger

Chicago Alphabet Soup long ceased to be a listing of restaurants only. It has pretty much become my way of showcasing myself as an individual with many layers and multiple dimensions. Chicago has been touted as a city that is severely segregated. For and individual whose life is a bit insular, it is easy to view Chicago in that way. There are indeed well-defined ethnic communities in the city proper. But when people move to Chicago from a country where they are most comfortable engaging others who are like them, they will move to neighbourhoods to dwell among those who remind them of home. My family did that, so I understand the concept of seeking out those who are “like you.” Then again, there are those like me who cross boundaries to explore what is outside of our comfort zone. Food became my impetus for exploration beyond my four block radius. My camera became my lens into other cultures. And Chicago Alphabet Soup became my diary. In it you will find a chronicle of my culinary travels. And through that you will find that I, Gino Williams, am more than just a mock food critic with an eye for photographing food in a captivating manner. Welcome to my world. Won’t you join me?

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Start, Fin

Posted on 13 April 2013 by Gino

Fin

When some of my university classmates who were from Chicago used to say that there are people who have lived here all of their lives and have not gone to all part of the city, I thought it was a far-reaching statement. After a few weekends of passing through several parts of the North Side where I live, I am often finding myself gasping at thinking I have discovered some unchartered section of Chicago. Then a little later I drive through another section of the North Side that has quaint little boutiques and cafes, never thinking that I would find anything down a residential street aside from houses and apartments. And would you believe that a few blocks east of the my doctor’s office is a Japanese sushi bar that I never knew existed? I mean, I have only been going to that doctor’s location for over ten years.

Miso Yaki Soup

House Salad

Chicago’s Ravenswood neighbourhood boasts a lot of swanky boutique eateries. However, most of them are along Montrose, Irving Park, and Damen. However, if you find yourself going down side streets to avoid traffic congestion, you may wonder upon a cafe, coffee shop, bakery, or boutique that you would not otherwise see. This was the case with me going East instead of West from my doctor’s office and suddenly eyeing Fin Sushi Bar at 1742 W. Wilson Avenue. What I had mistaken for a closed business was indeed a restaurant establishment that was open for business. Well, I had to try it out.

With plenty of windows, lots of light, and everything having straight lines throughout the restaurant, there is a spacious ambiance about it. There isn’t the Stanley Kubrick effect or Zen garden feel that you find in most sushi lounges. I went on a Sunday afternoon when the restaurant was practically empty. The host seemed politely dismissive and the server had a Stepford demeanor. Once the camera came out, that all changed, though.

Miso yaki soup. House salad. Thai iced tea. Dragon roll. Spider roll.

Thai Iced Tea

Dragon Roll

The miso yaki soup was nice, more for a milder palate than I had expected. The menu had listed the soup as being spicy. Even with jalapeno in it, the taste was lacking to the point of bland. With brocoli, carrots, and green beans in it, the soup seemed like an experiment than an experience. The house salad was visually stunning, blooming with vibrant reds, purples, and greens. The ginger dressing was more of a hint. You knew that it was there because the menu said so, but it wasn’t there. The few slices of strawberry and the radish shreds reminded me of a salad I had at a sushi bar in Oak Park, Illinois. I reminisced. Where things started to make sense in terms of the flavours being so faint was with the inclusion of Thai dishes. Yes, I had a Thai iced tea, but I had an “Aha!” moment. Granted the iced tea was a major bonus, there was now the fact that I faced as it related to Fin Sushi Bar being a Pan-Asian restaurant more than a Japanese sushi bar only. There was a brief flash of what I thought were Thai dishes (e.g., pad thai, spicy basil, and pad see ew). I guess if other restaurants are pandering to a Pan-Asian want and you can’t beat them, then join them.

Spider Roll

Where it really clicked that Fin Sushi Bar was more of a neighbourhood restaurant was with the sushi. Beautiful in presentation, no doubt about it, but everything was all sixes and nines with the taste. The dragon roll was excessively saccharine and the spider roll simply had me questioning what was wrong with my sense of taste. The texture of both felt like the chewy sensation you get from pre-packaged sushi or from letting fresh sushi sit in the refrigerator overnight. With with the whole experience at Fin Sushi Bar, all I could do was hum.

For those with a milder palate, Fin Sushi Bar may be a great entry into trying sushi, maki rolls, and even dabbling in some Thai cuisine without going to any of the nearby Thai restaurants. The service was decent. Still I could not put my finger on the atmosphere of stiffness and distance. The lack of flavour in the dishes really left me quizzical. Then again, in that particular neighbourhood, I imagine those who have a tendency to put on a performance if anything spicy makes them red in the face are the more frequent customers. I doubt the restaurant wants to offend those patrons. Perhaps I will have to give them a chance in a year or two. In the meantime, I started at Fin Sushi Bar. I finished elsewhere.

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Gino in the Sky With Food

Posted on 9 April 2013 by Gino

Lulu’s

The Beatles may have made the song “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds” famous. The first phase of my birthday celebration had a case of “Gino in the Sky With Good Food.” I cannot even get around to saying that I would put that to any music, let alone script a full set of lyrics to sing to it. What I can say is that celebrating my birthday this year has been an absolute blast and as I can become drunk on food, there were a few moments of food bliss that had me in my mood for wanting to perform. It may be the stiff Brit in me that said, “Just revel in all the good food you’re eating this week. Don’t embarrass yourself, as you know you flush rather easily.

I had to go to Evanston to get a camera from a friend. I had let him borrow it so that he could photograph a pretty-pretty for a portfolio. While in the neighbourhood, a few other friends had told me that I should meet them at Lulu’s. At 804 Davis Street in the middle of downtown Evanston, we got a table and was ready for action.

Ginger Ale Lemonade

Lulu’s is one of those restaurants that presents itself as an Asian-fusion eatery. You peruse the menu and start to think that perhaps it falls more in line with Pan-Asian. There is also the mention of dim sum, so one could think that maybe there is all Chinese fare. It’s a bird. It’s a plane. It’s food. I am all for cultural blending, but please let the culinary part of that marriage not suffer. Lulu’s obliged by not being an agent of “horror” dining.

I started with a ginger ale lemonade. From the menu, it looked like a drink I would be okay with. The server said that it was intense and she accentuated the word “intense” with a pithy growl. There was no way I was going to turn down something that brings about that much expression. After the first sip, I understood why. Wow! You could taste the ginger. I’m not talking the fizzy, bubbly stuff that makes you belch when you turn up a can of Schwepp’s ginger ale. A blend of ginger ale and lemonade sounds almost “too experimental,” but it works incredibly well as a mixed drink here. There is no alcohol in it and that was fine. However, this drink should be mandatory serving when the temperatures in Chicago reach the point of equatorial.

Curried Squash Soup

In the like manner that I exhibit when I go to restaurants now, I was in the mood for a degustation. The premise of the restaurant was dim sum, so there would be a little of something, not the American style dining where you practically beg for a pillow after dinner so that you can lie down. For my first course, I had the curried squash soup.

Mama’s little baby loves curry, curry
Mama’s little baby loves curry squash soup

Let me start by saying that anyone who has a complaint about Lulu’s, for any reason, should have a bowl of that soup and take a breath. Each sip, or slurp as it concerned me, brought about the dumb smile I wear when I’m experiencing food rapture. You could taste a hint of the curry without feeling as though the chef had poured a tablespoon of it on your tongue. It may have been cinnamon, allspice, or nutmeg that made the whole bowl burst with flavour. One thing I will say is that none of it was disappointing. None of it, I say.

Potato Croquettes

When my second course came, which were four potato croquettes, I was feeling a bit excited by the third bite. I remembered having potatoes smothered in melted cheddar cheese at a Spanish tapas restaurant several years ago. That was actually the first time I really did have a cigarette after dinner. If it weren’t so frosty this evening and if I were indeed a smoker, I would have paused for a moment to go outside and puff away on a Marlboro. Not drowned in cheddar cheese, but rather topped with a spicy mayonnaise, I simply could not force myself to take itsy-bitsy bites and be okay with it. Partaking of those potato croquettes was nothing more than an experiment in trying to maintain your composure. I moaned out loud and then covered it up by coughing. Yes, I need therapy; I know that. But you don’t understand. Potatoes are supposed to be bland, salted at most. Those croquettes were wicked delicious.

Coconut Shrimp and Cole Slaw

A few months ago, I was visiting a friend who let me bake a cake in her kitchen. Well, the cake was for her anyway. Anyway, she ordered delivery from Lulu’s. One of the dishes that I had requested was coconut shrimp because I wanted to be in a tropical mood to take my mind off the fact that snow and sleet were falling fast outside. I was nonplussed, disappointed, horrified, petrified, and morbidly bitter. Okay, so that is a bit exaggerated, but I was almost in tears because the delivery was a mess. Fast forward to my latest in-house dining experience and there sitting before me is a plate of coconut shrimp and a dollop of cole slaw. Note to readers: Do not get the coconut shrimp as delivery. Get a table and order it for in-house dining. You will shoot straight to the moon. The coconut shrimp were plump, exploding with flavour. The batter was nothing like the saccharine B-chef gotcha that I had as a delivery item. It was all about joy on a plate. I was so in love.

Wonton Wonton Sundae

This was a pre-celebratory birthday dinner for me, which meant that there would be dessert. I am well past the age of being okay with someone singing “Happy Birthday” to me at a restaurant because it always smacks of a free dessert after the meal. Again, I get embarrassed very easily and part of that is because my parents were not advocates of free meals, soup kitchen mentality as Ma Williams called it. I must admit that I can be selective if I think the free meal is worthy and I have indulged some without my conscience beating me up over it. As to the pre-birthday dessert at Lulu’s, an Instagram photo I posted to my Facebook wall sent one of my friends into a tailspin. Three fist-sized scoops of ice cream — vanilla, coconut, and banana chocolate chip — sat atop a fried wonton that had been coated with sugar and cinnamon. Another large fried wonton doctored up like the one under the ice cream towered on the plate. All of it was drizzled with chocolate, caramel, and confectioner’s sugar, and my friend was out in orbit. The people at the table across from where we were sitting told me to stop heaving such heavy sighs. When I told them to get their own, it was our turn to tell them to keep it quiet. Oh my God!!!

Lulu’s is a quaint little restaurant and seems to fill up rapidly, especially immediately after work. The service can be slightly off-putting, as you could find yourself waiting a while before any of the servers get untangled from running rampant through the restaurant. When a server does approach your table, you get an attentive member of the wait staff. If it is a rather busy evening, it may be a good idea to be concise with your order. The scene in “When Harry Met Sally” may be hilarious when watching that movie, but applying that technique of complexity to your ordering at Lulu’s could result in a botched order and you’re then penning an unsavoury review on Yelp. But if you are like me, you will get your Pan-Asian/fusion/dim sum/élan and everything will be quite okay in the land. Hmm. I think I need to return for the third phase of my month-long birthday celebration. Lulu’s now!!!

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I Am 45

Posted on 7 April 2013 by Gino

The Williams Smile

On 5 April 2013, at 1:15 PM, I officially turned 45. As a mathematician I tend to be more exact with things than necessary. When I turned 30, I was too busy planning the celebratory birthday party to realize that I had reached a third decade in my life. By the time I turned 40, family had a huge birthday party for me and it was just another day. Now that I am 45, it occurred to me that the next big birthday for me will be 46, not 50 as some would say. Truth be told, I look forward to each year with more excitement than the previous years.

As I get older I am aware of more things that are pertinent in my Disney.

There are things I am not supposed to have. And I’m okay with that.
There are places I am not supposed to go. And I’m okay with that.
There are people I am not supposed to have messing up my happiness. I am ecstatic over that.
Time goes by faster now than it did when I was a kid. Summer break used to last forever.
I am ~~with~~ the person who makes me happy. Note the strikethrough. That alone shaves 20 years off my face.
Smiling removes wrinkles naturally. To think that people pay for Botox injections and nip-tucks.
I am aware of the passage of time, as there isn’t enough time to eat all that I’d like to eat.
Food is my lover and anyone who thinks otherwise should be fitted for a straight jacket. (Being careful so my high school crush doesn’t read this statement.)

Instead of a huge party with dozens of people milling around and me not getting a chance to sit and talk with any of them at great length, I opted for more personal celebratory gatherings with friends, family, and my high school crush who kept teasing me with the promise of baking me an Italian cream cake. I started the morning meeting some friends for breakfast. With it being my birthday, they wanted me to be “in the moment,” which meant we were not doing anything with an ethnic leaning to have me switch into blogger mode. That didn’t mean I should leave my camera at home. So, into the bag went the camera and out the door I dashed to Marmalade at 1969 W. Montrose Avenue in the Ravenswood neighbourhood of Chicago. I was in blogger mode and that was inevitable. Super service, contrary to some disturbing reviews I’ve come across, and I will chalk that up to us getting to the restaurant at 7:00 in the morning when everything was new and patrons with bitterness, indecisiveness, and wants for vicious reviews had not poured in.

Cafe au lait. Eggs scrambled well with cream cheese. Cubano French toast.

Cafe Au Lait

The cafe au lait was not bitter, not in the least. I drank it without any sugar and said silently, “Intelligentia, you have competition.” By the second cup, I was saying, “Intelligentia what?” Nothing spectacular about cream cheese in my eggs, as that is a staple for my desired preparation of eggs. Where I wanted to stand up and sing “Gino Marmalade,” was with the Cubano French toast. I would gladly have enjoyed a petite mort after the first bite of the French toast in guava marmalade with a cream anglaise, topped with strawberries, guava, and granola. The lyrics would have been something like:

Gitchi, gitchi, ya ya da da da
Gitchi, gitchi, ya ya here
Mocha chocolata ya ya
Hungry Gino Marmalade

Scrambled Eggs

The prices for the menu items are reasonable. The service was outstanding. The food was so yum-inspiring that I could have sung an aria. Whatever gripes reviewers on Yelp have with Marmalade, I will return and I will have to make it a point to fight the urge to stand up and launch into the following lyrics:

Voulez-vous manger avec moi ce jour?
Voulez-vous manger avec moi?
Voulez-vouz manger avec moi cest jour?
Voulez-vous manger avec moi?

Cubano French Toast

For lunch, I met with two friends I had worked with when I was driving off the map to the wonderful West Suburbs. We met at Wok’n Fire at 1576 W. Lake Street in Addison, Illinois. It’s the usual big-box atmosphere like what you get at Pei Wei Asian Diner and at PF Chang. But the aromas made the restaurant smell less of a buffet cafeteria and more like some good food was being prepared in the kitchen. After laughter about how the company had become a revolving door and joking about how some people manage to get promotions although they take vacation time in impromptu, unscheduled fashion, it was time for food. Per recommendation from one of my friends, I ordered Schezuan tilapia. Served with brown rice, spinach, and in a Schezuan sauce with red peppers, onions, broccoli, and mushrooms, lunch had a wow factor that left me weak in the knees. I had to drive back into the city and doing it behind the wheel of a manual shift after such a fantastic lunch, I was glad to get home and take a nap in advance of dinner. But before my siesta, I had a long chat with Ma Williams who boasted about how proud she was of me and how she’s glad I have been taking care of myself and some other mushy stuff that indicates I was never a disappointment. Not many mothers can say that and we Williams offsprings became high-end. And then she asked me if I had made use of the cake pans she sent to me for my birthday gift. Ma Williams always gets me the birthday gifts that make me smile.

Schezuan Tilapia

Now, let me just say that I slept so good during the afternoon that I had thought I slept a bit too long. There was no way that I wanted to miss my birthday dinner. Sure, I can go to Marion Street Cheese Market at 100 S. Marion Street in Oak Park, Illinois, at any time. But for a proper celebration, and I knew I wouldn’t be disappointed, it was necessary for me to get up and be ready to head out for a worthwhile meal.

Flight of cheeses — Dante, l’amuse gouda, and sharp cheddar. Sunchoke arancini. Quiche. Salad. Flight of wine. Pot de creme.

The flight of cheeses came with candied walnuts, toasted almonds, a flavourful jam, wafers, and bread. So perfect and we worked our teeth on the items that begged for us to continue. Yep, we even paused conversation so we could concentrate. The sunchoke arancini was several stops past the last exit to wonderful. Ingredients of hazelnut chimichurri, sunchoke puree, sunflower sprouts, and lemon made for a vegetarian’s plate of happiness. We smiled through each bite. The quiche was of the kind that the meekest person would clobber a corn-fed Indiana football player senselessly if the football player were to mess with the mild person’s quiche. We’re talking about a quiche with Sarvecchio paremesan, caramelized onions, and parsnip puree served with braised spinach. You simply will not stop making comment about how delicious it is after each bite. Oh, and let me not forget to add that we each had flights of wine. Liquid bliss! For me, I told the server to bring a flight, any flight. It didn’t matter. I didn’t care. It was my birthday and he did not disappoint — three reds, two from France and one from Chile. The flight paired well with everything. The dessert was a pot de creme — chocolate hazelnut pudding topped with a baked meringue. There is a special corner in hell for me after working that pot de creme with exaggerated facial expressions, the homemade butter cookies, and a cup of coffee that was made from a fine bean. As we teetered out of the restaurant, it was rather apparent why we all return there so much. And people who don’t like that assessment are sitting back saying, “I know better places.” I can only shake my head and say, “Umpf, umpf, umpf. Tell me anything.”

Quiche

Sunchoke Arancini

Pot de Creme and Butter Cookies

As a kid, I used to think that people in their 40′s were old. I am quite amazed at how my perspective has changed since, rather considerable if I may add. When I look in the mirror and the only things that can possibly give my age away are my balding head and the grey in my beard, I realize that I can shave and those indicators go away as well. When I think about how I had furrows in my brow and pessimism in my eyes during my twenties, none to be seen in my physical appearance now, it feels nice announcing my age. Because then I can watch the show when people start to actively debate me and call me a liar who wants to be older than he really is. And I smile, yet again removing any potential wrinkles.

Hello, my name is Gino Williams and I am 45 years old. Oh, and I am a food addict.

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Loving the Whole Brazilian Food Experience

Posted on 6 April 2013 by Gino

When you have lived in Chicago, Illinois, for eighteen years, there are a few things that you do not take for granted. The traffic is not easy on those of us who drive manual shift cars. You really do not need a car living in the city proper. People go on red and stop on green. The temperatures do not warm up until mid to late June, albeit there will be a few days of teasingly warm temperatures between February and May. It’s the latter that makes me hanker for being able to split my time between Chicago during the warmer months and Brazil during the rest of the year. I can dream, though. And I can also go to one of several Brazilian restaurants in the city when I need something to put me in the mind of being in a warmer climate like that of Brazil. And on a certain frosty evening after work, I met up with a friend in Chicago’s Lakeview at Brazilian Bowl at 3204 N. Broadway. Well, since I can’t get to Brazil the way I would like, the alternative is accepting the fact that a bit of Brazil has come to Chicago.

Brazilian Bowl is a relatively small cafe that has a few high tables and a lot of character as far as the Lakeview scene goes. I had gone twice in 2012 shortly after the cafe had opened. They were still in the throes of finding their place. Many kinks had to be ironed out and with crowds pouring it, I am sure they were biting down really hard while having to entertain long lines of customers heaving exaggerated sighs. Much has settled since and it was time to return for another sampling of something traditional. For me, I ordered a Brazilian lemonade, a coxinha, and a feijoada. My friend ordered a steak bowl and a flan.

Japanese do it well. Mongolians do it well. Koreans do it incredibly well. Now, it is apparent that Brazilians do it equally well. The steak bowl is not just some concoction thrown into a bowl as though someone is coming up with their own version of goulash. My friend had commented briefly that it was doing the trick and after seeing that he had polished the whole dish off with very little conversation, I was not going to argue with his assessment. Steak, corn, carrots, mushrooms, cheese, and rice joined forces to do their wicked bidding on his taste buds and he smiled. And I knew there certainly was no denying that the flan he had bought was worthy of the comment, “Oh, wow, ‘this’ is really, really good.” The steak bowl and the flan will be two items that I will have to be certain to add to my list when I return.

As for me, I had ordered two of the more well-known traditional dishes — coxinha and feijoada. The coxinha was a huge tear drop pastry filled with chicken, corn, and some spices that went over very well. This falls more in line with street food, such that you can walk around with it and eat it from your hands, no utensils required. The feijoada was a bowl of rice, black beans, sausage, ham hocks, and greens mineira style was worthy. After a few scoops of the feijoada, it was quite clear that Brazilian Bowl is the second Brazilian cafe in Chicago to prepare the dish the way that I remember from my trip to Salvador Bahia. There was a lot more authenticity in the flavouring than what I have had in some small Brazilian cafes scattered throughout the United States. The Brazilian lemonade was, hands-down, the real thing. It’s not a failed attempt and fancy packaging. Only at Taste of Brasil have I had it authentically and now Brazilian Bowl matches the wow in the flavour exactly. The balance of tart and sweetness as well as the creamy consistency tell it all.

There are two other Brazilian restaurants in Chicago that I love to frequent — Taste of Brasil and Sabor Express. After the most recent visit to Brazilian Bowl and seeing that they have settled into a fantastic routine, I now can say that there is a third Brazilian cafe that I will frequent. I love the big box eateries like Fogo de Chão, Texas de Brazil, Sal y Carvao, Brazzaz, and the like, but there are times when you want something that puts you in the streets and along the beaches where the flavours reach out to you and tempt you to try what’s being prepared for your culinary delight. Hmm. Maybe sticking it out through the cold temperatures in Chicago isn’t so bad. Yes, I can dream of being in Brazil where it’s warm. Some delicious food from Brazilian Bowl will help me have clearer visions when I do start to dream.

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Ride of the Foodies, Scandinavian Style

Posted on 23 March 2013 by Gino

With the weather warming up a bit, albeit a tease, getting out of bed earlier on the weekends has become easier. That means I have been able to start indulging the most important meal of the day — breakfast. It often starts off with a slice of cake and a tall glass of milk. If not cake, then there is some kind of croissant filled with apples, cream cheese, or chocolate, and milk to wash it all down. I guess I should provide a little more context and state that I have those lovely treats for my weekday breakfast delights while packed on the subway heading into downtown for work. But Saturdays come and I get to enjoy breakfast the right way — at some restaurant with my feet planted under a table, a plate of happiness in front of me, and a book in the hand that is not wielding a fork or spoon.

For a few weeks, I had been to Pannenkoeken Cafe for some of the best German breakfasts I have had on this side of the Atlantic Ocean. Today I wanted to expand my European repertoire. While browsing the web, I had found a Scandinavian restaurant in the Andersonville neighbourhood of Chicago. I was aware of a small Swedish concentration in the area and a little west of Andersonville, but to find something Scandinavian-specific was a bonus. Queue soundbite of “Ride of the Valkyries,” and me driving down Clark Street in my Volkswagen Jetta, windows down, sun roof back, slow motion, wind blowing through my hair. Now queue sound of needle being taken off the record a bit too hastily. It’s too cold to have windows down in the car and I have not even a bit of fuzz on my head, as I shaved it all off. However, I did drive to 5236 N. Clark Street to Svea Restaurant for some proper food action.

Because really good ethnic restaurants and cafes fill with patrons quickly, I was at the restaurant as soon as the doors opened at 7:00 AM. With a warm welcome from the waitress/cashier and from the cook, I got a seat at the window and checked the options. A cup of hot coffee warmed up the body a little, not that I was completely frozen, since I had parked across the street. After some discussion about the way the weather and temperatures had been waffling, I ordered a Viking breakfast. On one plate came scrambled eggs that I got with cream cheese, Swedish hashbrowns, rye toast, and sausage. At the table was a happy me. I could have had a plate of the scrambled eggs with cream cheese alone. There may have been some salt in it, but not of the dosage my tongue detects at places like International House of Pancakes, Golden Nugget, or Original Pancake House. The hashbrowns were not the crunchy, shredded horror bites that many breakfast shops serve. These seasoned potato cubes screamed, “Keep eating me.” I keep forgetting that Europeans are not big on frying everything imaginable, so I snapped back to reality when I noticed the sausages were boiled. They reminded me of large Vienna sausages — without salt and the aftertaste. Then there were thin Swedish pancakes with lingonberry jam. These were not the substantial American style pancakes that put you to sleep after devouring half of the stack. Think of crepes that had been cooked on a griddle. I worked my knife and fork on the two pancakes to completion and did not experience food comatose immediately afterwards. And truth be told, the lingonberry jam was perfect to the point where there really was no need for syrup. After I was done, I commented to the waitress that all I needed was a red beard, for I had gobbled all of that food like a true Viking warrior. She responded that I had indeed enjoyed my little feast like a Viking that was celebrating from having performed well in battle.

Truly Svea Restaurant is an outstanding cafe for some authentic Scandinavian and Swedish food. I noted that there were lunch items and dinner items. Being only able to speak to the breakfast options, I would recommend it highly, especially for those who like hearty breakfasts during Chicago’s cold months. Svea Restaurant has a cash-only policy, so go to the ATM in advance, get some cash, and drive over to 5236 N. Clark Street for a brekkie fit for a Viking. If you have a CD player or even an MP3 player, be sure to queue “Ride of the Valkyries” while on your way to the restaurant. Trust me, you will understand.

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Isn’t It Pleasant?

Posted on 10 March 2013 by Gino

A few months ago a great friend from Dallas sent a note to me via Facebook about a British public house in Chicago. As I only received a link to the website, I imagined that the restaurant had caught my friend’s attention after being featured in an article or on a show. Turns out that this particular eatery had been featured on a segment of Check Please! Well, well, well. The manager of any restaurant in the Chicago metropolitan area on the verge of a swift death should beg, plead, snivel, make promises, and put on performances to get on Check Please! for a revitalization of its business. But Pleasant House Bakery at 964 W. 31st Street is relatively new and a feature segment on Check Please! would no doubt make it skyrocket. Tucked in the middle of the Bridgeport neighbourhood, which is undergoing a change due to gentrification, this eatery/bakery does a fantastic job of leaving those of us with British grounding and British leanings missing that little old isle.

A staple on the menu is the royal pie. In America, there are customary pot pies that can be large and hearty, with fillings much like stews. Royal pies are smaller and less filling. Therefore, you enjoy the pie without falling prey to food comatose thereafter. I started with a steak and ale pie, which is definitely a must-have on the isle and off the isle. Because my diet is primarily pecatarian, meat is not something I indulge every time the whim strikes a note with me. Steak and ale has steak in it, of course, and Pleasant House Bakery uses all-natural beef instead of meat riddled with additives, growth products, and other non-organic not-so-goods. Also added are slices of carrots in a gravy made of an ale that you can actually taste. No, to all the alcoholics and those who have recently turned twenty-one, you will not get drunk from the ale in the royal pie. I had spuds as an accompanying side order with a red wine gravy. And these spuds, or rather potatoes, were not made from powder. There was no from-the-box aftertaste to give them away.

I should have stopped at the steak and ale pie. No, I just had to have the chicken balti pie. I had to have more meat. I had to give in to the delectable taste and succumb to my addiction. The chicken balti pie was absolutely incredible, in all caps. Again, there is the pie with a flaky and rather flavourful crust, nothing like the Swanson’s frozen treats from the local market. Just like the steak and ale pie, the chicken balti pie’s crust was like that of a pastry. Think a more solid, yet fresh, croissant. All-natural chicken, not the danger chickens that have been enhanced for quick distribution, in fresh-ground curry spices with tomato and Nigella seeds completed the wonderful pie that I polished off with flourish. To add a hint of Indian dining to the mix, there was some coriander chutney that I had for dipping. Wow. Again, I had spuds with the red wine gravy, and I also had English peas buttered with mint. There was a break in the clouds and a ray of light shined upon my table, illuminating the glass of ginger soda — oh how I love home-made ginger soda — that I drank in between heavy sighs of food bliss.

Late last year, I had found out that I needed to be more careful with my sugar and carbohydrate intake. So, I had taken sugar out of my diet, full stop, not quite overzealous enough to eliminate bread in the same manner. Things are better now and I will indulge a sweet every once in a while, in moderation, of course. Because I have been good, I allowed myself a bowl of trifle. You simply do not have to be fancy with custard, apples, sponge cake, and whipped cream. However, a parfait of it goes over so well, so very well, so incredibly well. Fresh? Yes. Delicious? Yes. Would I have some more? Yes, it goes without saying. While some restaurants and even some bakeries could have too much sugar in the recipe, the sweetness of the apples — that were not doused in syrup, thank God — and the lightness of the sponge cake leave you with a dessert that does not have your doctor screaming, Alas! Along with the trifle, I took a cup of coffee with thick cream that resulted in me not needing any sugar. I was completely sated after I was done.

Usually when restaurants try to include British cuisine on its menu, the attempt wows in the naming convention of certain menu items, but the output splashes. Pleasant House Bakery shines. I shall warn you that because the food is absolutely fantastic, the eatery fills up quickly. Get there early, be prepared for a wait because the establishment is small and quaint, or be okay with ordering something for take-away. Whoever started the restaurant apparently went to the United Kingdom and went to some eateries way out in the country where you indeed get some of the best royal pies there are to be had. It is also obvious in the minimalist atmosphere the restaurant exudes. I got a breeze of Cardiff, a whiff of Ipswich, a hint of New Castle on Tyne, the smiles of Peterborough. My visits to London, Bromley to be more specific, may not be all that frequent. But in the meantime, I will gladly make the dash over to Pleasant House Bakery for a taste of the old country.

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Even, A Draw, It’s a Thai

Posted on 7 March 2013 by Gino

It was one of those days with a blue sky, a gentle breeze, something that only Michael Franks could describe in the lyrics of any one of his summer songs. But there was still the remnants of melting ice on the ground. The hibernating bear in me was hungry. Well, it had only been since breakfast. Needless to say, if being on a diet to lose weight was a part of my resolution for the year, I have since reneged on it. My appetite has been rather fantastic and I blame it on working out and eating constantly to gain more weight by the end of the year. The thing is once summer arrives and I am enjoying my Normal Rockwell moments at window seats in any of the countless restaurants in Chicago, I may surpass my anticipated weight goal in advance of December. In the meantime, the gentle bear Gino seeks his next food offerings.

Last year when I was driving off the map to an assignment in the West Suburbs, I ached for some Thai food on occasion. Addison, Illinois, is not a bastion of restaurants a notch or two above fast food. During a brief visit with a friend who lives in one of the adjoining suburbs to Addison, I discovered with disappointment that two of the best Indian restaurants in the Chicago metropolitan area had closed their doors for business. Oh the shock. The horror. The fingernails on the chalkboard. There was only one other ethnic restaurant that I had stumbled upon and I quickly recalled its location. In a strip mall with stores that are quickly shutting their doors, at 74 W. Lake Street, is Thai Addison. I had a few days of lunch satisfaction at Thai Addison before I came to my senses and accepted an opportunity in downtown Chicago so that I could cut my commute down to thirty minutes, with meandering time for coffee.

During lunch, the moderately sized restaurant fills with patrons who appreciate Thai food that leaves you nodding your head with approval. With it being a Saturday evening and it also being kind in the temperatures outside, most who would have been there were probably partaking of whatever came to mind. My belly was growling, the bear in me at it, so I wasted no time selecting what I would have to stop the gastro noises. Instead of an appetizer and an entrée or a soup and an entrée, I opted for an appetizer, a soup, and an entrée. Realizing that I had driven off the map the way I did last year for my assignment, it would have been a crime for me to have indulged a light dinner and then cursing myself on the drive back into the city because of self deprivation of all the good things I could have had from the menu. So, in a manner that is very much unlike what people expect when they see me, I opened my mouth and out lept Thai, me placing my order a bit more fluently than I realized. [Must speak more Thai so that I can go to Thailand and really butcher the language.]

I started with golden purses. Forget about Louis Vuitton. Burn the Coach bag. Ditch that fake what-not you bought from the corner vender. These drops of fried wontons stuffed with crab left me with a sentiment of never wanting crab rangoon again. I savoured them. I loved them. And if the purses were stuffed with money, I would have devoured the seasoned coins and smiled just the same. So golden, so delicious, dipped in the accompanying plum sauce, they whispered to my growling belly to hush. And then a glass bowl of tom yum goong arrived for my second course. Flavourful mushrooms and plump shrimp that screamed when my teeth sank through them, I had to pick the bowl up and finish handling business. Having requested the soup to be spicy, I was thankful for the Thai iced tea I had. Wow, in all caps. There was a woodsy catch to the tea that could be dismaying to some. However, the light sweetening and the milk made for a perfect glass of tea. Now, initially, I raised my eyebrow when I saw the colouring of the soup. It was a butternut squash orange, not the clear broth that you usually get at Thai restaurants. But it was the first spoonful of wow that put the visual in perspective. Bliss. And the third dish kicked it up a notch. The panang gari gai brought to mind the panang I love at one of my favourite Thai restaurants in Chicago’s Lincoln Square neighbourhood. Unlike at the Lincoln Square restaurant where the panang comes in a clay pot, the dish is served in a ceramic bowl with complementary rice. And having it spicy was a huge bonus. The taste just danced around on my tongue. Queue me turning over the table and breaking into dance, doing jazz hands, kicks, splits, and random people dancing with me in a choreograph of food rapture. During my past lunch outings, I never had any of the curry dishes because my co-workers, all of us of the ilk that eats in a communal fashion, preferred non-curry dishes. Quite a few were Indian, so I understood. It was having the pananag at Thai Addison for the first time and finding such favour in it that it was gold to me.

When I had worked in the West Suburbs, I never really took the time to sit and enjoy my dishes. There was a constant need to rush back to the office, lest the managers spontaneously combust and blaze bright for those who wished they really would have caught on fire. Considering my appetite, the lunch portions were small, although they really weren’t. I simply had never sat still and savoured the dishes. Granted, I had ordered what was commonplace comfort Thai because lunch was always with a group, I always have to see if the curry dishes are worthy when I am solo. Pad Thai, bamee noodles, pad see ew, and the like are great. But for me, the mark of great Thai cuisine lies in the curry offerings. Fact great service and a reasonable price, like what I experienced at Thai Addison, and I am so. And as much as I hate to say it, I will gladly drive off the map to get some yummy Thai food to keep the bear smiling. Kab koon krub.

Chicago Alphabet Soup's Blog

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I Am 45

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Loving the Whole Brazilian Food Experience

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Isn’t It Pleasant?

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Even, A Draw, It’s a Thai

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