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Dining

Friday, January 29, 2010

If You’re Ever in Cedar Rapids, Iowa …

I have to admit that when I heard the forecast for snow, rain, and a wintery mix, I was hoping for something along the lines of chicory, frisee, and perhaps some curly endive. But sleet and ice be damned, we had a great time launching a new project in Cedar Rapids, and we had a couple of terrific dinners as well. If you’re ever in the area, check out Zins, which I am told is the new “it” place downtown. The dining room is warm and inviting--the kind of place that can feel both romantic and gregarious, depending on your company that night. And framed on the main wall is a shroud from the flood--a tablecloth upon which the impression of plates and place settings has seeped in indelibly as the restauranteurs quickly abandoned the building for safe and dry. Thank goodness for the restaurant’s resurrection.

Small plates, their specialty, a sort of international tapas approach. We shared classic pommes frites, meatloaf, tasso ham pizza, gnocchi, greek lamb burgers, as well as some salads and soups meant for one. The place was so great we went back a second night and ordered what we didn’t have the evening before. Next time we’re there, I’m going to try to score the semi-private table with a window into the kitchen.

And for great coffee and homemade pastries, check out Brewed Awakenings, a nifty little place on First Avenue. It’s the kind of place that makes you heartsick for the coffeehouse around the corner where they know your name and your drink-of-choice and are always glad to see you. Places like Zins and Brewed Awakenings ... are the next best thing to being home. 

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Otom

One of the dangers of living in Andersonville is that--with so many good places a stroll away--venturing back into the city for a meal becomes more a burden than a pleasure. This, coupled with the fact that both Honey P. and I hate having to shout to hear each other in crowded, of-the-moment noisy restaurants, has made for very few nights out.

Yet and still, I accepted a dinner invitation to Otom Restaurant last week, and I’m so glad I did.

Otom is located in Fulton Market--the meat-packing district of the city and an area I remember well from my childhood. Back in the 70s my father was an accountant for Swift Premium, and I recall visiting him on Saturdays in his office above one of the warehouses. I also remember coming in the early morning with my mother, who would buy fresh fish and seafood from the local vendors. It’s a trendy part of town these days, but one block too far in the wrong direction would bring someone out of the trendy strip and into dark, labyrinthine, and menacing.

The dining room is narrow, well decorated, and like most hip, hot restaurants, designed more for a lot of ambient buzz than quiet dining. The food is spectacular. Let me praise specifically their burger (best sweet potato fries I’ve ever had), the oyster and pork belly, the octopus, and the radicchio salad. I plan to drag Honey P. there someday ... on a weeknight ... early ... and hopefully often.

Otom Restaurant
951 W. Fulton Market
Chicago, Illinois 60607
p.312.491.5804
f. 312.491.3366

Saturday, May 17, 2008

I Heart Camden and the Hartstone Inn Hearts Us All

I think it was C.S. Lewis who said that an experience is only fully realized when it’s remembered. I believe that the experience becomes sweeter when it’s revisited. Camden, Maine, 2008. We arrived late on Friday night for 48 hours of relaxation and peace and lobster. It’s good to be back!

Honey P. and I came here a couple of years ago--when work brought us both back at the same time to the area, we decided to return to one of the towns that made us long for retirement somewhere on the East Coast where honey grew up and where I’d like the chance to grow older. Wanting to be in the heart of town, we chose the Hartstone Inn (41 Elm Street, 800.788.4823), a lovely place with several choices of rooms and suites, as well what is arguably the best restaurant in town.

Saturday morning started with breakfast at the inn (ricotta flan, birdseed pancakes, and a delightful patty of chicken sausage, the recipe of which is in Michael Salmon’s Hartstone Inn Cookbook). Then, a walk about town in the grey and drizzle. We finished the Saturday Times puzzle in the Camden deli, shopped some more, and lunched on fried clams and shrimp at the Seafront restaurant. Then, back to our suite for digestion time, sequential massages with Clay-of-the-iron-grip, an afternoon perambulation in the better-late-than-never sunshine, and dinner.

Now, we’ve stayed in a number of B&Bs in our day, but none has been as welcoming and genuine and cozy as the Hartstone. The owners Mary Jo and Michael and all of the innkeepers created a marvelous experience for us--from leopard-print robes and the ultra-plush king-sized bed in our room to the spa treatments that they arranged on our behalf to the first dry martinis they served to us in their orchid-filled parlor to the creamy chocolate souffle that capped our lovely five-course dinner ... all fantastic stuff. Honey P. and I have fantasized about our move to Vermont--particularly, our weekends spent wandering around small towns and staying at country inns. In the best of all possible worlds, we’ll find ourselves back here many times again. 

Friday, May 16, 2008

555, Portland ME

Six fifty-five at Five-Fifty-Five. Friday night, Portland, Maine. Sometimes being in the wrong place at the wrong time can end in the right stuff.

Five Fifty-Five
555 Congress Street
Portland, ME 04101

The background. I’ve been in Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, and back to Maine over the last three days. Not a big feat, granted, and actually a fun series of road trips. Me, my Eagle Creek rollaboard, my macbook pro, the highway, and a Cadillac DTS to which I’d been upgraded at the Hertz counter. Honey P. had speaking engagements planned in the area on Sunday and Monday, so we decided to make a long and romantic weekend of it. I flew in early for business, with the plan of a rendezvous back in Portland on Friday.

Ten twenty-eight. Driving in from Woodstock VT, I get a call from my honey. Plane, missed. Something about showing up to the airport 15 minutes too late to check bags. Unspoken: someone took too long to get pretty and had one too many cups of coffee before heading to the world’s business airport on a Friday morning during rush hour. Standby, arranged for 1:45 p.m. CT.

Twelve twenty-two, my first beer at the brewport of the Portland airport. And fried chicken, the food of crisis.

Two-fifteen. Huzzah, seat confirmed. Reservations for Natalie’s in Camden canceled, we’ll never get there on time. Fore Street, booked until 10:00 p.m.. Arrows in Ogunquit has a table but finds my vacation attire (North Face hiking shoes and microfleece, and Tommy Bahamas khaki shorts) entirely too casual (though I disagree, I look adorable). My private food network (read, Michael, who just knows the best places to go) kicks in--minutes later, we have reservations for 555.

Four fifty-five. My back is aching and my thighs have laptop burns. Honey P. should be here in just a few minutes. Wait! Plane delayed until six.

Six twenty-three. Bag claimed, car found, we’re on our way.

Six fifty-five. Pretty, pretty place. The menu is a short staff of cream-colored papers binder-clipped to a copper tablet. The place is decorated in shades of warm brown and sleek black. On the wall above the bar hangs an award from Food & Wine magazine--the chef Steve Corry was voted best new chef in 2007. We’re early for our reservation, so we decide to sit and eat at the bar instead--a decision I’m happy with ... until I see the main dining room. The space manages to be cozy and airy. Narrow with a lofted ceiling, the room adjoins small, open kitchen where four chefs work with intense zeal. A small number of tables ring the perimeter of the second-floor seating space--lucky diners art those tables have a perfect ringside view. Sigh, back to the bar.

Seven twelve. Our martinis, as well as homemade focaccia and chive butter arrive. Fantastic. Then our appetizers: baby octopus with heirloom garbanzo beans for me, and a lobster crepe for my honey. Entrees were truffled mac & cheese and seared divers scallops with a vanilla-butter emulsion. All, fantastic. But it gets better, still. A young man comes up to us, smiles and says “My name is Ryan. I waited on you two years ago at Natalie’s in Camden, and it’s wonderful to see you two again!” Ryan moved to Portland for grad school and tells us that our restaurant selections for the next two nights can’t be beat. As Ryan leaves, honey P. and I smile at each other--our wonderful weekend has just begun.

Wednesday, March 05, 2008

Great Lake

Great Lake
1477 W. Balmoral Avenue
Chicago, Illinois 60640
773.334.9270

Wednesday night, bachelor night. Honey P. is at tenure meetings, and I’m footloose. The perfect night to try out the new restaurant in our neighborhood.

Great Lake. The shop is a cozy little storefront off of Clark, with one communal table that seats up to eight, a shelf of goodies that nearly covers one wall, and a kitchen of gleaming steel and butcher block.The name hearkens to the couple’s Midwestern roots and hints at the fact that they intend to be more than just purveyors of brilliant pizza. They intend to be grocers as well, carrying specialty items (they’ve already got Metropolis coffee, Rishi Teas, American Spoon fruit preserves, Amish Country popcorn, and Anjou Bakery crostini on their shelves).

Tonight I had my choice of four different pizzas and two kinds of Pellegrino soda.  As tempting as the smoked bacon and creme fraiche and onion and rosemary pizza sounded, I chose the tomato, fresh mozzarella, and sopressata. And a limonata. And I eat in. Nick and Lydia, the owners, talked quietly in the kitchen and planned for the spring while I kindled (tonight, Dresden Files) and dined.

The pizza was perfect. It’s nothing like the Chicago-style pizza (also good, in its own right). Nick’s creation was fresh, crispy, honest, and delicious. No surprise, given the ingredients. Their suppliers include Tomato Mountain Farm, River Valley Ranch, Salumeria Biellese, Newsom’s, and Kendall Farms.

Great Lake is open Wednesday through Saturday. Baking begins at 5:00 p.m.

Run, don’t walk, to Great Lake. The only thing more tantalizing than fantastic ... is fantastic-undiscovered.