Every diner has their one bugaboo. Sometimes, it doesn't matter how overrated or overpriced an item is, you just get it. I have a soft spot for alfredo. One friend will order rice rolls (RICE!). And my sister will order crabcakes. I put on my crotchety old man pants every time I look at a menu and there is a $15 crabcake. Singular. This time I felt a little better about it, as they were crawfish--which aren't exactly flying around Chicago kitchens--and this was Big Jones. But still, I was a little nervous when two dainty little snickerdoodles masquerading as crawfish fritters showed up on the plate.
But these were greaselessly fried, thick with meat, and jumped up with an aggressive seasoning that I loved. I almost wished there was a giant $15 puck I could order. Almost.
Less successful were some beignets. Which were overshadowed by the Grand Lux Cafe. It's not a good sign when chain restaurants got you. But then again, who doesn't love McDonalds? And the tete de cochon is a bit of a trip. Gelatinous and uncompromising, something more to be respected than enjoyed. Some stone ground mustard and pickled red onions aren't interesting enough to rectify the dish.
The eggs benedict comes on a popover. Not a fluffy cloud of a popover, but something a little bit more sad and mashed down. Thankfully, there are poached eggs spilling their thick golden yolks over salty ham and a hollandaise that is inexplicably southern.
I liked Big Jones. I did not love it. Perhaps it might just require swimming from their shallows and into the deep end.
3/5 stars
Friday, November 2, 2012
Andy's Thai Kitchen: Dinner Review
I hate Thai food. Or at least, what I am pretty sure is not Thai food. One of the biggest disservices inflicted upon the food scene is the way your grungy ethnic spots refuse to translate, sell, or even offer "secret" (read: what owners would actually eat) menus. This disservice is perpetuated by the people who refuse to try to find and eat those foods, even when a menu like Andy's finally comes around: a veritable eye strain encapsulated in a few pages that have more characters than a Matrix screen scroll. That reference seems dated.
So I was excited to eat the fermented pork sausage, the raw shrimp, the strange and weird delights that I was hoping would rise beyond the bad stir fry people believe is East Asian food. Unfortunately, my dining companions were less than interested in such things. The more accessible choices certainly aren't bad. Garlic pork ribs are fan-friendly, though they are a little drier than I'd hope, and they come in such a dainty portion that you can't enjoy that sweet pig-out comfort of ribs on a cold Chicago night. Boat noodles also come with a reasonably fine broth, nicely tempered though nothing exceptionally deep. A friend passes off the beefballs (non-testical division) to me; she finds the spongy texture off-putting. The other orders garlic noodles with a few pieces of shrimp. When I ask him later what he thinks of Andy's, he quickly dismisses the food as unexceptional yet inoffensive, and priced a few bucks higher than your average Thai place.
I disagree. Andy's to me was a clear cut above the average Thai take-out place. And what's setting it apart certainly aren't the decor (contemporary, crowded, a little bit bland, and a whole lot more welcoming than most Asian joints) or the service (shared menus at first, an hour wait for food, no apologies or explanations). I ate the crispy on choy, and unlike a few Chicago reviewers whose opinions I greatly respect, it was not one of the best dishes in Chicago. But that didn't make it an ambitious, gaudy, mess of a dish that I was always entertained eating. Crackly tempura-fried mostaccioli-like tubes of water spinach dumped among curls of shrimp and over-dry bits of ground chicken meat. I wish someone would find a way to make ground meat compelling and flavorful without smashing it into a sausage. The sauce was bright and kicky and aggressive, though it lacked some of the deep and soulful funk that I was looking for. But oh, did it come close.
I think that's where the heart of much Thai food comes from. Soul. Funk. To borrow a word, I don't quite know: stank. What numerous restaurants lack these days is personality. Andy's is not the restaurant I would marry. But parts of it are interesting, compelling, ambitious, and once in a while, worth ignoring the wait.
2.5/5 stars
So I was excited to eat the fermented pork sausage, the raw shrimp, the strange and weird delights that I was hoping would rise beyond the bad stir fry people believe is East Asian food. Unfortunately, my dining companions were less than interested in such things. The more accessible choices certainly aren't bad. Garlic pork ribs are fan-friendly, though they are a little drier than I'd hope, and they come in such a dainty portion that you can't enjoy that sweet pig-out comfort of ribs on a cold Chicago night. Boat noodles also come with a reasonably fine broth, nicely tempered though nothing exceptionally deep. A friend passes off the beefballs (non-testical division) to me; she finds the spongy texture off-putting. The other orders garlic noodles with a few pieces of shrimp. When I ask him later what he thinks of Andy's, he quickly dismisses the food as unexceptional yet inoffensive, and priced a few bucks higher than your average Thai place.
I disagree. Andy's to me was a clear cut above the average Thai take-out place. And what's setting it apart certainly aren't the decor (contemporary, crowded, a little bit bland, and a whole lot more welcoming than most Asian joints) or the service (shared menus at first, an hour wait for food, no apologies or explanations). I ate the crispy on choy, and unlike a few Chicago reviewers whose opinions I greatly respect, it was not one of the best dishes in Chicago. But that didn't make it an ambitious, gaudy, mess of a dish that I was always entertained eating. Crackly tempura-fried mostaccioli-like tubes of water spinach dumped among curls of shrimp and over-dry bits of ground chicken meat. I wish someone would find a way to make ground meat compelling and flavorful without smashing it into a sausage. The sauce was bright and kicky and aggressive, though it lacked some of the deep and soulful funk that I was looking for. But oh, did it come close.
I think that's where the heart of much Thai food comes from. Soul. Funk. To borrow a word, I don't quite know: stank. What numerous restaurants lack these days is personality. Andy's is not the restaurant I would marry. But parts of it are interesting, compelling, ambitious, and once in a while, worth ignoring the wait.
2.5/5 stars
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