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Chicago-eh. Ballo

445 N. Dearborn St.
Chicago IL
USA
Tel: +1-312-832-7700

Date of Last Visit: Thursday, October 26, 2006

The Victims: Too many to mention.

The Damage: A lot!

The Background: We wanted to take a bunch of people out to someplace fun. Ballo came recommended as just that. Oh  boy, what a let down! (Sorry for spoiling the plot so soon! Blame Ballo, not me.)

Ballo is a loud Italian place. Very loud. And I'm a low talker. At one point, they cranked the music up so loud that the water glasses vibrated on the table. Not very relaxing. The menu is pizzas, pastas, and salads, and then there are also some "secondi" meat dishes. The clientele is older and most likely divorced. (Ouch! Did I just write that? I am evil.)

We Ate: We nibbled on a bit plate of antipasti that was supposedly for two, but easily fed eight. And we barely made a dent. And I'm glad I didn't double up on the fried calamari because that bowl of calamari had to have weighed five pounds. It was delicious, but the tomato sauce was all the way over on the other side of the table and well, with the gluttonously HUGE platter weighing five pounds, nobody wanted to pass it around. Sadness.

And We Drank: I was totally bummed about the wine list. There were maybe two bottles of red less than $50 a bottle. And nobody wants to order the cheapest bottle. I kinda felt ripped off. I believe in good values. There were none to be had.

And Then We Ate Some More: Flora's bowl of pasta was bigger than her. It could have easily fed a family of six and a very hungry dog. My eggplant parmiagiana was seriously an ENTIRE eggplant. Yes, an entire eggplant. And it was lukewarm. Uggh. I like eggplant, but not a huge slab of not-so-warm eggplant.

The Service: Our server kept calling me "doll." This was cute at first. But just at first.

The Verdict: Pricey wine, overly loud music, cold food, an overly familiar server...eh. I felt like an terrible glutton, and an uncomfortable one at that. Pass.

Chicagolicious: De Cero

814 West Randolph Street
Chicago IL 60607
USA
Tel: +1 312 455 8114

Date of Last Visit: Wednesday, October 25th

The Victim: Niculie

The Damage: $25 each, USD. Yes, we ate like kings for roughly 25 quid. (I basically factor the Bush Factor at $2 per gbp. It's probably more like $1.87 per gbp, but I don't carry a calculator.)

The Background: We'd been up since 3:30 a.m. London time Wednesday "morning." That's 9:30 p.m. Chicago time--Tuesday evening. We'd slept two or three hours on an eight-hour plane ride, landed in Chicago at 10:30 a.m., worked all day, and were, frankly speaking, exhausted. And very very hungry.

Renee recommended De Cero, a new place on Randolph Street--Restaurant Row in Chicago. We made the trek over, laptops and all, to a very, very dark dark restaurant with what seemed like endless rows of very tall chairs. You can see the chairs on the Web site in the photo on the right. There was no entranceway. I would never want to go here on a very cold Friday night because there's probably nowhere to wait except on top of people who are eating.

Drinks and Starters: We were shown our table and quickly placed margarita orders and an order for chips and salsa. The chips were GREAT, although hard to see in the darkness. And the green salsa was DELICIOUS (at least, I think it was green). I don't know what was in it, but boy was it good. We selected the hibiscus margaritas because they sounded pretty. Well, they arrived with what looked like dead flowers in them. Black, dead flowers. Yuk. I regretted my decision and wished for a simple on-the-rocks-with-salt. Bummer.

The Tacos: We each ordered a couple of tacos at $3 or $4 each.  I went for skirt steak--delicious--chipotle chicken--good--and al pastor (pork)--good. And I ordered a side of pinto beans, one of my fave dishes in the entire world. Most people find refried beans a little gross, but NOT ME. (Did anyone else noticed that Taco Bell totally reduced the size of their Pintos and Cheese side a couple of years ago?) The De Cero pintos were heavenly. They had bacon in the them. I was sad that I was staying in a hotel and could not bring the rest home with me.

The Service: We delighted in the never-ending free tap water with ice. And the server who stopped by every so often to see how things were. Efficient and friendly. Good stuff.

The Verdict: Turn the lights up a notch! I'd go back, but would probably order differently. There are more delicious tacos to be had!

Nice Brunch: The Ambassador

55 Exmouth Market
EC1R 4QL
Tel: 020-7837 0009

Date of Last Visit: Sunday, 22 October 2006

The Victims: Al, Michael, Trudie

The Background: A while back, I read this review in The Independent about The Ambassador and I have been dying to go ever since. That, combined with being shut out of every gastro in EC1 and N1 for Sunday lunch led to the ultimate fulfilment of my long-held desire. The day had finally arrived.

The Arrival: I was 5 minutes early. Even when I try to be late, I'm on time!!! I was met at the door by a very nice gentleman who let me pick my table, and also let me borrow a newspaper. I enjoyed a very good coffee and an article on binge drinking while I waited on my compatriots. Nice touch: there was kiddie stuff on the newspaper table.

The Drinks: The wine list was really really nice. Thoughtful. I had something from Alsace, because that's apparently where my maternal grandfather is from. Resolution: Be better about remembering the wine that I drink. Anyhow, the by-the-glass-options were great. Al had a new world red and we were content inside on a rainy rainy day. The only thing that could have made it better was music.

The Tap Water Test: A jug! A whole jug. Passed.

The Mains: Well Michael and Trudie finally arrived and our orders were placed. I had the fish stew, Al the lamb (much praised by our server), Michael the sausage sandwich, and Trudie the salmon. Michael won--that sausage sandwich looked really good. The bread was toasted to perfection. It was gorgeous. I had my camera but I am still uneasy about this taking-pictures-of-other-people's-food thing. You must trust me on this one. How lovely it was, all in it's sausage-y wonderfulness. Perfection. My fish stew was not so much a stew as some mussels and some salmon and some white fish (halibut? I am not certain.) in a tiny bit of carrot soup. Oh, and some carrots. It was nice. Very modern. But on such a drizzly day, I would have loved something more warm and comforting.

The Decor: No frills. Honestly, it was not very exciting. But maybe that's the point.

The Service: Really nice. Really friendly. They have good people.

The Ladies': God this country takes the term "water closet" way too seriously.

The Verdict: I did like it. I didn't dislike it. The wine list was great, and my food was really good. But I don't think I would rush to go back or overly recommend it to friends.  I wanted to like it more.

My Fave Five

These are my five favorite places to eat in London, if you so care.

1. The Providores
2. Vinoteca
3. The Princess
4. Kulu Kulu
5. Crazy Homies

Expensivo Indian: Zaika

1 Kensington High Street
London W8 5SF
Tel: 020 7795 6533

Date of Last Visit: Friday, October 21 2006

The Victims: K & A and A's mom

The Damage: 50 quid. Ack!

The Damage: A's mom was in town from Denver, on a whirlwind trip of the British Isles. I missed them earlier at Borough--the office on a Saturday, unfortunately!--so I caught up with them at Zaika.

Now Zaika, from what I understand, used to have a Michelin star. Atmosphere wise, I can see it. It's a pretty dark and romantic place. (I get the sense it's also one of those "You can only have the table for two hours" types of places.) If someone took me here on a date, I'd be impressed.

The Cocktail: I was there right on time, if not a little early, as is my thing. I sat alone at the bar, learning about the cocktails from the (somewhat affected) bartender. He sold me on the French martini. Note I am not a martini drinker, but he convinced me. It was like iced tea. I liked it.

The Service: A number of different people, all from different places. (i.e., not necessarily all from the general vicinity of India.) Nice enough, particularly the guy who described every dish to us.

The Starters: We went with the Zaika platter and the cheese platter.  These are both supposed to be for one person, but I honestly thing they could be easily split by two if not three. There was salmon, duck sausage, a goat's cheese samosa, and something else that escapes me. On the cheese platter, there was some paneer (yum) and some stilton cheese balls (Bobby Rubino's anyone?) But then there was the delicious chickpea tower...the menu online notes it's made up of the following:
Potato and asparagus 'tikki', chickpeas laced with tamarind chutney, sweetened yoghurt & 'garam' flour vermicelli, topped with crispy artichoke. Well, I didn't see much potato, but it sure was delicious.

The Mains: I went with the "TIKHI MACHLI / Spicy sea-bass Pan fried spice marinated sea-bass with 'Dosa Aloo'-crushed potatoes tempered with lentil and mustard seeds served with 'Sambhar' sauce." It was really good. But £17 of good? Of that, I am not sure. K&A got the butter chicken and it looked really nice, but I do wonder if it's any better than my local curry shop, which is so absolutely fantastic. A's mom got the Lamb Roganjash, and while it did look lovely, my local curry shop is just so wonderful that I don't know if the atmosphere is worth the premium?

Drama: I pulled apart my nan a little too forcibly and threw my water glass across the table at K and down to the floor, where it shattered into a hundred million pieces. Good grief.

Tea: I went with the indian tea and it was lovely, and they gave me some little petit fours, which were a nice touch.

The Verdict: You will leave here happy but poor and with a new appreciation of your local curry shop.

Get Me Out of Here: Fig & Olive

151 Upper St
N1 1RA
Tel: 020 7354 2605

Date of Last Visit: Saturday, September 23rd, 2006 (Yes, a belated posting. I wrote it, but didn't post it. Apologies.)

The Victim: My fellow “Strong”--you may know it as Long—Islander (NY, USA), Stacey

The Damage: Unknown! Stacey paid.

Counterbalance: 5K, or 3.2 miles!

We were supposed to be having Thai foot massages. Yes, I had run a 5K that morning (good for me!), and having done most of my running on stationary treadmills as of late, the five kilometres on pavement had my shins a-screaming. I mentioned this in passing to Stacey later that afternoon, and she promptly took me to her local Thai foot massage parlour. Yes, you read that correctly. Said parlour was also offering 20% off if you had an appointment. So we dropped in, made appointments for 45 minutes later, and went in search of sustenance.

We dropped into Fig and Olive, which looks lovely from the street. The windows are full of all sorts of gorgeous tarts and chocolates. Behind the desserts, you’ll spy trays of fresh string beans, chickpeas, feta…all sorts of beauteous cold salads.

As soon as I sat down, I knew F&O was a mistake. There were plenty of wait staff, but they were wandering aimlessly, making needless trips from the front of the narrow restaurant to the back, front to back, front to back, stopping everywhere but where we were. Foot massage appointment in jeopardy!!! We finally grabbed one meanderers eye, and he took our order: carrot soup for Stacey, cold salad plate for me. As it was a salad BUFFET, I asked if I should help myself. Our meanderer explained he would make the plate up for me. How nice, I thought. How gentlemanly even.

Alas—there is something so very wonderful about the Ponderosa. You can serve yourself; you do not need to watch the staff wander here, wander there, wander everywhere but where they need to be. You do not need to watch the lonely string beans grow colder by the minute so far away from you on the other side of the room. You can just eat.

Eons later, our food arrived. It was okay. But its arrival was timed not-so-nicely with our foot massages. We ate. We paid. We ran. We let strange people touch our feet, and we were safe in the knowledge that we would never go back to Fig & Olive again.

The Verdict: Don't.

Exmouth Market Market

Just got back from Exmouth Market Market, the new food market over on well, Exmouth Market. It's so sad and lonely. It's sad. It really is. On the bright side, however, I scored a Brindisa Chorizo sandwich in no time! There was one ready on the grill, and two waiting to be cooked. What a change from the Borough Market queues!

If I were in charge of Exmouth Market Market, I'd do this in these first few weeks and months to boost attendance and revenues (assuming those are their goals, aside from the presumed regeneration of a neighborhood and perhaps even strengthening of community via local involvement):

1. Live music. Who doesn't love a steel drum band? Or, if I may be so bold, I highly suggest The Always Drinking Marching Band. Saw them in Lisbon and they rocked! OK, that might be far-fetched. There must be some local musicians?

2. Get the local restaurants involved. Why is there no table outside of Metcalf? Moro? The Ambassador? (Perhaps this is telling in itself.) What if they each offered one very special and attractively priced item?

3. Balloons for kids. Something for kids. Like a clown. But not a scary clown. Something that encourages mom and dad to pack up the kids and come over to buy some cheese and a cake or three.

4. Get a famous person to do a cooking demonstration or four. Or book signings. (Is there a local bookshop? I can't remember.) OR--just make sure there are a few celebrity sightings there.

5. Move the tables. Is it me or are they way to crammed up against Sofra and the Indian place?

6. Get the people from the lovely Greenwich Market who make the delicious and cheap noodles to set up shop.

Anyhow, these are just the lowly thoughts of a Capitalist pig who likes to eat. Ignore me. See you tomorrow at Islington Farmer's Market!

Sunday Hang Out: Island Queen

87 Noel Rd
London N1 8HD
Tel: 020 7704 7631

Date of Last Visit: Sunday, October 8th, 2006

The Victims: Ben, Gerry, Kristi, Anna, Natalie, Roper

The Damage: Beer money

Hello Sunday.

Sunday, Sunday. It was time for bookclub. This month was Orson Scott Card and Enders' Game. I loved Enders' Game. I loved Island Queen too. I loved in the way you love a neighborhood pub on a sunshiney day where you don't have to work. Although no one really pays any attention to you at the bar, they're out of Friuili (sp?), and there's no music on, it's okay. Really, it's okay.

Luckily for us, the upstairs was empty and the sun was coming through the windows just so. We drank our beer, ate our bread and olives, and got some culture.

The Verdict: No complaints.

Wow: Bacchus

177 Hoxton Street
N1 6PJ
Tel: 0871 223 7275

Date of Last Visit: Saturday, October 7 2006

The Victims: Bryan, Stacey, John

The Damage: 55 gbp per person, and worth every penny

More to come later, but I had to post "Wow" before having my coffee. Bacchus was incredible.  

The Background
Bryan, 4:27 p.m.: Up for an interesting culinary experience tonight?
Me, 4:52 p.m.: Am feeling lame and tired. What did you have in mind?
Bryan, 4:55 p.m.:  There is a new restaurant in Hoxton called Bacchus that we are going to try.

Thus began our adventure. I did a couple of Googles on Bacchus and learned that it used to be a boozer, and that now it's offering sous-vide cuisine. If you, like me, are not familiar with this concept, let me explain with the help of our friends at Wikipedia.

Sous-vide (pronounced sue veed, French for "under vacuum"; also called cryopacking or cuisine en papillote sous vide) is a method of cooking that is intended to maintain the integrity of ingredients by heating them for an extended period of time at relatively low temperatures. Food is cooked, in some cases for well over 24 hours, in airtight plastic bags placed in hot water that is well below boiling point (approximately 60°C or 140°F).

When I was a kid, my mom swore by Seal-a-Meal. Our fridge and freezer were full of these bags of food. They came in handy because my mother would often cook enough lasagna to last for two weeks. In short, as soon as I read about sous vide, I was a believer. My mother was so ahead of her time!

As it turns out, Bryan heard about Bacchus from Dos Hermanos, they of London food blogging fame. Being the adventurous sort that Bryan is, he made a bee-line for a booking and I was kind enough to be invited along.

The Door: Oh my God, I couldn't find the door in. I mean, it looked like the door, but then again, it didn't. There was no handle or anything that I could see. I felt totally embarrassed until Bryan and Stacey and John arrived and did the exact same thing--but they even walked all the way around the outside of the restaurant. That was funny.

The Service: I arrived first and Aloisius sat me down and brought me a glass of Proseco, and then happily informed me that the glass was on the house because it was their absoltue last one. Who doesn't love something like this? (Why don't all restaurants make it a happy surprise that their guests' first drinks are complimentary? What a positive way to start the night.)

The Drinks: Bryan took control of the wine list and took Aloisius' suggested of the Spanish Gewurztraminer. It was very green and fresh. I liked it. Then again, I've rarely met a wine I didn't like. Bacchus gets HUGE points for its wine list that actually includes descriptions! I am so tired of staring at a wine list divided by country and/or color and not knowing anything past that. Tasting notes are key.

The Bread: I thought the butter was great, but I felt the bread was a little average. Maybe it was the size of the portion? Or the basic-ness of it? It was probably on purpose to put the highlight on the food, but I was starving and could have used a more interesting, bigger slice.

The Starters: We all ordered something different. I would be lying if I could tell you what they all were. I had linguine and squid ink--I think--and it was lovely and delicate. There was a moment of panic as I passed my plate around the table and everyone helped themselves! I am not good at sharing. I was very jealous of John's pile of tuna. It was delicious.

The Mains: I went for the pork and it was the best pork I've ever had. It was lovely and pink and moist. I wish I could remember everything it came with, but I was so focused on the deliciousness of the pork, all other details have faded away (helped, perhaps, by our one bottle of Spanish Gewurztraminer and our other bottle of rose Sancerre). I was jealous of Bryan's steak with mustard. I do love mustard. John had the cod and Stacey the halibut. Again, plates were passed around and I didn't taste a bit I didn't enjoy.

The Service: I need to come back to the service. Aloisius was really wonderful and personable. He brought out the chef--Nuno--to meet us. Nuno is Portguese but has spent a lot of time in the U.S. in San Fran and New York. Bryan and Nuno traded small world stories, and Nuno told us about how he made it over to London. Previously, he's worked with Jean Georges Vongerichten. The staff all pretty much introduced themselves--Peter, one of the directors, Jay (sp?) the host, and our American server. (Whose name I forget! Apologies.) They were eager to please and I can only hope that this level of personal attention doesn't get lost or become old for them at any point.

The Dessert: Again, we all ordered something different. I'm on a polenta kick at the moment, so it was polenta cake for me. Stacey had CHEESE ice cream, which was fascinating. I can't be sure I liked it, but it was intriguing for sure. All of this was accompanied by a French Tokay. Lovely.

Decor: Scandinavian. You know I'm a sucker for that. Also, I felt like I was the first person to ever use the ladies' room. And I loved the prints by Klaus Haapaniemi. I wasn't a huge fan of the brightness of the lights--I think they could be a little more mysterious and romantic with the lighting. But there are worse things.

The Verdict: Go and go again and again. 

Why I Love Whitecross Street

I love Whitecross Street. And I love it even more today because they've started their very own food market. The same folks behind Borough Market are trying to revolutionize Whitecross Street. I can't wait. OK, this means gentrification and that means my rent will go up, but I'm happy for the little guy. I can't really explain what it is about this very not exciting gritty street that I find so very appealing. But there's something to it.

Anyhow, yesterday, today, and tomorrow, there's a little food market going on on Whitecross Street. As it's conveniently located close to Cammy Nails--my every-other-Saturday-destination, now in its new fancy location--I wandered by. It was lovely. And heck, for like the first time ever, I actually brought my camera with me. See, I'm not so bad, am I? I get it from my dad; he did a lot of crime scenes in his day.