Our Place Shanghai Tea Garden

141 East 55th Street between Third and Lexington
212/753.3900
$365 for eleven, with drinks, without tip
♥ ♥

It was a challenge to organize the Dr.’s second birthday celebration with his married friends but they all showed up for brunch with their children at Our Place. (Part one was at Le Bernardin and tapas with wine at Jadis the night before.) Once all the Bugaboos and BabyBjörns were all set aside, we sat down and enjoyed the dishes selected for us by the kitchen staff. We all started with a mixed plate of appetizers: a vegetable and shrimp egg roll, two soupy buns and two shrimp shumais. Then they passed around the main dishes: beef, chicken, baby bok choy and mushrooms, all in semi-sweet brown sauce.

They gave me the impression that they were extremely busy on weekends because they called twice to confirm my reservation for twelve people. We walked in at noon but we didn’t start eating until at least 1pm and we still had the space towards the back to ourselves. I appreciated that we were never given attitude even though it took us all three hours to eat and pay the bill, babies crying and all. Go to any of the restaurants in Chinatown for a more down-to-earth meal without the orchids, but stay in midtown if you want an English-speaking waitstaff with plenty of patience.

Where to eat in Chicago: Maxwell Street

Anna picked us up from our hotel and drove us to Maxwell Street where a few avenues are blocked every Sunday to set up a market and food fair. It was hard to find parking but as soon as we started walking around, we couldn’t help but feel like we were in another country. I’ve always liked visiting markets whenever I’m traveling, and in Chicago, Maxwell Street is the place to be if you need duct tape, electric cords, Mexican beads, Guadalupe posters, tomatillos, peppers and of course, tacos and tamales. The sight and the different smells were intoxicating. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was the perfect day to be bargaining for a Lucha Libre mask.

I tried not to eat too many tacos from one stand lest I miss out on the other offerings down the block. From the first stand, we had chorizo tacos. They were deliciously salty with mad cilantro and lime juice. They were the beginning of a beautiful afternoon.

Then we moved on to the next where I had lengua, or tongue. It was so soft and the green salsa kept it juicy.

The next stand only sold beef tacos. The beef had been stewing in some thick sauce, so the meat fell apart at every bite. It was a delicious mess.

I had the squash blossom taco next, but it was too funky to finish. I think it had been sitting in the bowl for a while so it didn’t taste fresh, but the pork barbeque taco was pretty good.

We also picked up a glass of the crushed iced lime juice from another stand. About an hour later, we were very full and happy, but I still bought a pork tamale to take with me to the airport. For the love of tacos, we missed our scheduled flight.

Where to eat in Chicago: Alinea

I just returned from my third trip to Chicago and I think I’ve got the city down pat. Three years ago, the Dr. and I made it to the Art Institute, the Shedd Aquarium and the MoCA. Last December, we visited the Chicago Cultural Center and ate Persian, Colombian, Japanese, Mexican and Scandinavian. We also had some awesome hotdogs at Hot Doug’s and a really memorable meal at Charlie Trotter’s.

This year, four of us from work went all out at Alinea, most recently named the number one restaurant by Gourmet magazine. Like for every other restaurant I’ve visited, I booked our table before my airline tickets. To simply say that the food was good is an understatement.

Tyler used the word “delicate” and even “fragile” to describe our experience. I need a very special dictionary to define my reaction to each dish that was served–all twelve courses–but even if I had one, I would still have a hard time picking the perfect adjectives.

They called this the hot potato-cold potato because of the two ways the potato is served. A black truffle tops the potato and cubes of parmesan decorate the stick. This was matched with H. Billot Grand Cru Brut Rosé from Ambonnay, France.

Our server had to hold the bowl for me while I took the photograph because the fork was too heavy for the bowl to stand on its own. One small mouthful of the yellowtail brought out the taste of the radish, coriander and poppyseed combined.

The next course was trout roe with cucumber, coconut and bonito matched with Bodegas Naia “Naiades” Verdejo from Rueda, Spain but unfortunately, I don’t have a photo of that.

The matsutake mushroom with mango, peanut and yuzu glass came in a glass and our servers spilled its contents on our plates. It was matched with Gerovassiliou Malagousia from Epanomi, Greece.

Next was the rabbit with cider, roasted garlic and smell of burning oak leaves–probably the coolest thing ever. I’ve had rabbit before but the Chef Grant Achatz way was served covered with a glass filled with smoke. The server lifted the glass to let the smoke escape and we were presented with a piece of rabbit with an earthy smell.

Actually, the peach with smoked paprika and carrot might have been cooler than the rabbit. It was called an explosion. It was served in a small glass and we had to drink it like a shot. The golf ball-sized shell broke oh-so-delicately in our mouths and exploded with the contents inside.

Short rib with ribboned beets, geléed cranberry and campari matched with Cabanon Bonarda “Boisee” from Oltrepò Pavese, Italy. Short rib with beets? Sure. But ribboned beets? Who thinks about stuff like that? The dish was just another example of the crazy kind of genius behind the food.

There was a reason for the rosemary sprigs on our table after all besides a weird centerpiece. Before the dishes were served, they rearranged them to face toward us. When the sizzling platforms were served with the lamb searing on top, the smoke engulfed the rosemary and created that smell we’re all familiar with. The lamb came with date and mastic and matched with Prats & Symington “Chryseia” from Douro, Portugal.

I’ve had rare squab before and once we had to return it and asked the kitchen to cook it for a few more minutes. This squab was soft, almost buttery. If it weren’t for that offal-like taste, you would have guessed it was a nice beef steak. This was squab with huckleberry, sorrel and long peppercorn. The Bilancia “Hawke’s Bay” Syrah from New Zealand was a good match. And then the desserts started to come:

Concord grape, frozen and chewy. This was cooked in PolyScience’s AntiGriddle, a patent pending “cooking” surface that freezes almost anything because of its ability to achieve temperatures below -50ºF.

Chestnut with Blis maple syrup eaten with a small metal matchstick.

Crabapple with cheddar, eucalyptus and olive oil matched with Muller-Catoir Haardter Mandelring Scheurebe Spatlese from Pfalz. I love desserts like this: tart enough to cleanse the palate and not overwhelmingly sweet.

Chocolate with bergamot, cassia and figs matched with De Bartoli “Bukkuram” Moscato Passito di Pantelleria from Italy. Alas, I’m not a big fan of chocolate overload but I appreciated this dish as much as the entire table; I just couldn’t finish it.

Caramel with meyer lemon and tempura served in what looked like one those head massagers I found in Barcelona. A burning cinnamon stick protruding on top was lit like a birthday candle.

The service was attentive yet more relaxed that at The French Laundry. While we waited for our table to be set up, we were served complimentary champagne downstairs past the doors which opened with a wave of your hand. Upstairs, the dark wood and warm lighting made us feel like we were in someone’s apartment–someone rich, someone with taste, someone we knew!

The waiters and servers in their Ermenegildo Zegna suits were so comfortable telling us about the courses even though each dish got more ridiculous (in a good way, of course). They laughed with us but also answered all our questions. Are the dishes made especially for the restaurant? (Some are retail but the more sculpture-like serviceware are created by Crucial Detail.) How do you freeze grape? (AntiGriddle.) May I go to the bathroom? (It’s best to wait because the next course is coming up and it takes about twelve minutes to burn the leaves.) We didn’t know what to expect with each course. They could have told us anything and we would have followed like obedient guests. (We will now blindfold you while you eat. Sure!)

The sommelier’s skills came through with his incredible pairings. Sure, French, Spanish and Italian wines are a given, but Greek? I would have never picked that on my own. He opened our palate to different kinds of wines which made us appreciate the style of cooking that the chef was trying to get across.

Alinea is at 1723 North Halsted in Chicago, Illinois. Call 312/867.0110 a month ahead to make reservations.

Gari

370 Columbus Avenue off 78th Street
212/362.4816
$130 for two, with three drinks, with tip

I was craving sushi but did not want to go home too late, so I looked for a sushi place around the upper west side. I found Gari on Columbus Avenue with all its Frank Bruni and Food & Wine writeups on the window and I thought, this could be promising. Because we walked in without a reservation, we weren’t able to sit at the bar. I love ordering the omakase only if I can talk to the sushi chef so that I can watch what’s he’s doing. For ten pieces at about $65 (about $75 if you also want sashimi), I opted for the sushi-by-piece instead. This is my only problem with Gari: the price. We started with the octopus ceviche but I only counted four slivers of octopus in my glass bowl; that comes out about $3 a sliver. I ordered the shrimp and crab rolls because it included woodear mushrooms. I needed to take the rolls apart to look for the mushrooms. I know it’s du jour to be all minimalist, but I’m hungry!

The sushi was pretty good. We ordered our usual favorites: fatty tuna, yellowtail, mackerel, smelt roe with quail egg, fluke and shad. The $14 roll of uni, though, was questionnable. It was fresh but it looked like it was whipped so they ended up looking like melted Kraft cheese. Was this a Zen presentation or was it to save on the uni? The damage with two Sapporos and a glass of Prosecco? $130 for two people. I went home and all I wanted was fried chicken. Next time, I’ll stay in midtown and go back to Sushiden.

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You’ll spend less money at Sushiden

Radishes, Japanese Turnips, Delfino, Coriander Root

During a recent visit to the farmers’ market, there was an abundant choice of root vegetables. I had this conversation with Cameron before where we had to draw on the office whiteboard what we thought were radishes and turnips. Filipino radishes are long and thick like white carrots, while American ones are the size of pink golf balls. Filipino turnips are bulb-looking things with a tough light brown peel, while the American version sometimes has a pink shade to it. Then there are the parsnips that don’t even exist in Filipino vocabulary but look more like our radishes. Cameron now thinks Filipinos are just weird. It gets all convoluted. I’m sure the terminology is interchangable, but a trip to the farmers’ market sure was a nice lesson.

These were called radishes even though they were the size of small thumbs–the shape is Filipino, the color American. They definitely tasted more like the American radishes with that sharp bite at the end. A jig of really good balsamic vinegar can balance out that kick. Chop them in small pieces and they make a good substitute for pretzels when you’re drinking beer.

These were called Japanese turnips, with a smooth peel, and sweet, fleshy meat inside. I liked eating these raw and they matched well with some spicy arugula.

And then I got these two things because I couldn’t stop myself from smelling them. I find it curious when people tell me they hate cilantro in their food, but then don’t mind ordering an Indian dish sprinkled with coriander seeds. Not too many people know they’re the same; I just know the cookbooks I’ve purchased in Europe always refer to them as coriander, while American markets always use cilantro on labels. The leaves of the bunch I bought looked like frisée. They’re called delfino, a more aromatic cilantro version.