Loop, The Loop: Downtown Chicago

A few months ago I went on a business trip to Chicago to tighten up the subtitles on a film called Sole Survivor, whose immanent debut I am anxiously awaiting. While waiting at the gate at MSP International I mused in a notebook about the hustle and bustle of Chicago. It's always been one of my favorite cities in the world and is home to some of my favorite bars like Weeds, the Skylark and the Old Town Alehouse. Despite all the time I've spent haunting the dives of Chicago, the Loop has generally eluded me. Gastronomically it's a mix of high-concept restaurants whose chefs have put a lot of time into the philosophy of food and chop shop chicken shacks and burger joints. The former is generally too expensive for me, the latter has yet to show up on my radar although I have still yet to try Rick Bayless' downtown taqueria, Xoco, which remains near the top of my list.

While working at Foundation Content in downtown, however, I spotted a fairly interesting looking place called Sayat Nova, which promised Armenian cuisine. Before I could check it out, though, I was whisked away by Maison's resident mezcal maniac, Liz Pearce, who brought me to a bartending competition featuring free Casa Nobles tequila. Needless to say, all memory of Sayat Nova went out the window. 

Several days ago, Anna and I were in Chicago for a party celebrating the engagement of two of our very dear friends. Finding ourselves hungry and with a distinct lack of free tequila, we took a walk down Michigan avenue to Sayat Nova. 

We were looking for a nice, quiet spot for dinner on a monday night and in that respect Sayat Nova delivered. We got an intimate little booth (all of their booths are in little alcoves carved into the wall) and when we arrived we were almost the only customers save for a long table of positively demure professor-types. For those of you who read this regularly, it will come as no surprise that I had to order the Armenian Sazerac which is pretty true to the original, but the rinse replaces absinthe with an Armenian anisette called arak (why they didn't just call it the Sazarak, I'm not sure) which is lighter than absinthe and gave the sazerac a nice, mellow balance. 

The food was decent, although I was expecting a more middle-eastern tinge to the food. It was very similar to Turkish cuisine: kebabs, baba ghanouj, koefta and lots of lamb. Nothing really stuck out as over-the-top amazing, though, maybe with the exception of the chicken kebabs which were seasoned and grilled to perfection. 

All in all it was a pleasant if slightly underwhelming dining experience topped with a decent cocktail and a lovely walk back to the hotel. Consider my curiosity sated.

Sayat Nova
157 E. Ohio St
Chicago, IL

The Birthday and the Boar

Well, it's happened. Another year down the drain and nothing to show for it but a few fantastic meals, some good stories to tell around the campfire, a wedding and a couple more miles on the odometer. Not bad for a ne'er-do-well such as yours truly. So what should we do to celebrate such a momentous occasion as the anniversary of my glorious introduction to this earth? Some do it with cake, some with skydiving, me, I prefer to do it the old fashioned way, with whiskey and egregious amounts of meat.

Luckily for me, my better half knows when to indulge me. No I am not referring to spending a night home alone eating microwaved hotdogs and drinking Jameson out of the bottle, my lovely and talented wife managed to secure us a table for two at that garden of Earthly delights residing in an unassuming storefront on Hennepin avenue, the Butcher and the Boar.

One thing I look to when giving my own personal snap judgement of a restaurant is their bar. A bar can give you insight into everything from the philosophy of the restaurant to the type of experience you can expect to have. Butcher and the Boar's is certainly a statement. Two tenders behind a dark wooden bar packed top to bottom with rye and bourbon divided by a fairly impressive local, craft tap line. To me this says two things. The breadth of whiskey represented evinces a desire to discover and deliver the best of this specific niche, the locally sourced brews show care for the source, the origins of what they serve. So far, color me impressed.

Then we see the menus. There are almost too many menus at Butcher and the Boar. One for the whiskey, one for the wine, one for the entrees and one for the...well, you know how it goes. It was almost difficult to manage so many menus at once, but Anna and I managed to wrangle them to the point where we were able to order a couple drinks. She ordered a sazerac and I ordered a Basil* Hayden's neat. I was nonplussed by the sazerac which seemed like lazy lip-service to a classic cocktail, however it's pretty hard to screw up high-rye bourbon in a glass which I enjoyed immensely. 

We ordered grilled oysters which were immaculately prepared, followed by fried green tomatoes and smoked olives (which included pickled caper berries and garlic) nice, delicate, smoky with a nice vinegar bite. 

The trouble with a la carte menus is that I could order sides all night long, fortunately our server prompted me to order an entree. I opted for the pork chop which I found out was actually the size of a small child. Immaculately cooked with sour cherries and pecan relish, this double-cut chop could feed an entire village of petits gourmands for several days and, indeed, lasted at our household longer than most delicious cuts of meat make it despite the best efforts of my midnight snacks and lunchtime refrigerator sorties. 

So is Butcher and the Boar worth the hype? They clearly think deeply about what they are serving and why. If they continue on this path, you can expect more great things from this shop, there are a few edges that need polishing but by-and-large the Butcher and the Boar gets my wholehearted seal of approval, not simply for catering to my specific love for earthy brown liquor and cooked meats, but for their philosophical interaction with the food and drink that they serve. Cogito ergo eo e bibo.

This picture does not do justice to how enormous that pork chop was. If I would have fought this pork chop it would have won...

*Pronounced "baw-sil" not "bay-sil" Hayden, for all of you out there in TV-Land who are keeping score, thanks to the effluvious Matt Smith for the professorial pronunciation participation.

Butcher and the Boar
1121 Hennepin Ave
Minneapolis, MN

Pastie Pastorale - Randall Bakery - Wakefield, MI

Autumn is one of my favorite seasons. The leaves turn and fall to the ground, scarves and jackets come out, Nick Drake and Tom Waits are almost always appropriate for road trips and hearty food abounds to ward off the chill in the air. Recently, Anna and I were driving through the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (whose denizens, the Yoopers, have given it the somewhat unfortunate portmanteau of "The Yoo-Pee") where we stopped in the small town of Wakefield where, at her insistence, we went to the Randall Bakery for pasties.

Yep. Pasties. Pronounced "paw-steez" not "pay-steez" the latter being what strippers use to cover their unmentionables in more prudish establishments, the former being a delicious type of meat pie perfect for a chilly October day.

A pastie is a Cornish pastry dish filled with  diced beef, onions, potatoes and rutabaga in a pastry shell that should be, "hearty enough to survive a drop down a mineshaft." In other words, ideal fortification for outdoor activity in a convenient, handheld package.

I've had pasties once or twice before. There's a food truck in Minneapolis called Potter's Pasties that does an updated version of the pastie with all kinds of different meat replacing the traditional beef (Jamaican jerk chicken, mmm) and The Anchor which is one of my favorite restaurants in Northeast Minneapolis does a pastie with pork and curry that, while good, in no way approaches their perfect fish and chips. This pastie, however, was different.

While the other pasties I've had concentrated on building a better mousetrap, Randall Bakery has been making pasties the same way for well over half a century. It's not light or flaky, it's real, hard working food. It weighs as much as a brick and sticks to your ribs, fuel to keep the fires lit. In other words, it's delicious.

If you're ever on your way east through the Upper Peninsula to spend a few days in the Porcupine mountains (and might I recommend the Escarpment trail if you do) Randall Bakery in Wakefield will have a nice, hot pastie waiting for you.

Randall Bakery
505 Sunday Lake Street

Wakefield, MI