Some Things I Ate In Chicago

I was in Chicago last week. I’m by no means an authority on Chicago’s food scene, but I can say without any doubt that it has a bright, vibrant one that anyone, even a jaded native New Yorker, would be happy to live with. And oh, the hot dogs! And the tacos.

What is there left to say about Wieners Circle? I’ve written about my love of the Chicago dog before, and I am happy to report that our torrid affair continues. In New York you can get a passable example at the Shake Shack, though the last few times I felt the quality of their dog was slipping (still a stellar burger though). The Shack uses Vienna dogs and buns, and all the right toppings are there, but it’s not the same. On top of that, they’re now calling it a “Shack-cago Dog,” groan. That only made this dog from the Wieners Circle taste better. The uncomfortable verging on racist interplay between the staff and patrons still doesn’t sit right with me–and I think it makes for some leeriness on the part of locals when you mention the Wieners Circle–but their char dog with everything on it is still top notch. Obligatory chocolate shake joke, hah!

Speaking of hot dogs, and places that have been written about to no end: I finally made it to Hot Doug’s! The line there is long. It seems worse than the Shake Shack, especially if you take into account that Doug closes at 4pm and doesn’t open at all on Sundays. But the line at Hot Doug’s moves slowly by necessity; if they took orders much faster, they’d be unable to offer people seats, and pandemonium would ensue. I may be against the sort of line malarkey I encountered at Longman and Eagle, but I am down to stand in line for a few hours if it means eating something that is widely hailed as the pinnacle of sausage–Doug prefers the term “encased meats,” of course. But I’d rather keep the wait to a minimum, so I went to Hot Doug’s at 11am, just after they opened. We waited in line for about 20-30 minutes.

Doug takes everyone’s order, and helped me settle on one Chicago dog with everything on it (here this means sauteed onions instead of raw and no sport peppers, no complaints), a Thuringer dog (pork, beef and garlic, something I’d never heard of but is my new favorite) and a bison dog with horseradish cheddar and mustard (nothing to write home about, plus, something about cheddar cheese on a dog is unappealing to me). You may ask yourself: how much better can a hot dog get than Wieners Circle? After all, we are talking about a lowly hot dog. Well, first of all, don’t you EVER talk down to hot dogs in my presence. You hear me? It’s a food fit for a king, you ingrate. And second of all, it can get way, way better as you will find at Hot Doug’s. The hot dog was perfectly grilled (you can get it boiled if you want, which I understand is more authentic, but also more YUCK), and the toppings were next level. Yes, the same toppings give or take, but just fresher, more vibrant, perfect. That hot dog on the sign at Wieners Circle? That’s what Doug’s dog looks like IN REAL LIFE. Certainly worth the wait. Worth a longer wait, in fact, than I had to endure.

What I didn’t expect was Hot Doug’s low key vibe. For a place that inspires such maniacal raves, Hot Doug’s is not just casual, but decidedly down to earth. The menu runs the gamut from corn dogs to some kind of foie gras dog creation, but no matter what you want, Doug is there to take your order, and the food stands up to the hype.

The gastropub scene is alive and well in Chicago, and this Longman and Eagle in Logan Square is a fine example. We arrived and had a drink (and an order of duck rillettes, really tasty) at the bar while we waited for a table. Once we were sat* we shared a grilled baby octopus salad with an eye opening brown butter (“What IS that?!”) and an order of grilled pork cheek. All three of those small plates were delicious, and made the wild boar sloppy joe that we ordered completely unnecessary. That’s not to say it wasn’t also a delight–rich but not overly fatty. We returned there again a few nights later and tried the buffalo frogs legs (served with a potent blue cheese dip and celery/carrot sticks, pictured above). Longman and Eagle is a perfect place to sit at the bar, have a drink, and order a few snacks, which is exactly what I like to do when I’m on vacation. This place also gets points for having dishes to satisfy both adventurous and more picky eaters.

One thing I was super excited to do in Chicago was see 40 Whacks at the Annoyance Theater. My friend Irene directed the show, a musical about the life of Lizzie Borden. It is as insane as it sounds, but also funny, oddly compelling, and downright silly at times though always 100% factually accurate. It also includes a tribute to the work of Kurt Weil. I implore everyone in Chicago: go see this show! It plays every Friday at the Annoyance, up through the beginning of October. TIckets here. Buy them!

But the food story here was that Irene directed me to Ba Le for a quick, cheap bite before the show. Ba Le had everything a great banh mi shop does: a ton of options, all super cheap ($3-4), fresh baked bread, and shrimp summer rolls for me to impulsively add to my order. My sandwich, lemongrass pork sausage, was great, and Ana had a roast pork one that was also good (sorry, no pictures of this one. it looked like a banh mi). They were on par with what we’ve got in Chinatown here in NYC, but Ba Le has one huge leg up: they’re also an ad-hoc banh mi grocery store. In the refrigerated case in the store, they sell all of the elements of a classic banh mi: pork roll, vietnamese pate, ham, and items I didn’t recognize and don’t know how to pronounce but probably still want in my stomach. If I lived in Chicago I would definitely go here to get the fixings for my own banh mi party.

The food highlight of this trip was certainly Birrieria Zaragoza. While I was in Chicago I met up with Blake and Nick of the Paupered Chef, who contribute the daily Dinner Tonight column to Serious Eats. They post a different recipe each day of the work week. Each day! I can barely stay on top of eating some appetizers once a week. Anyway. Nick let me know that he was going to a place in the south side that roasts whole pieces of goat, and did I want to come? Oh, I wanted to come. Nick and his wife Abby, plus their friend Lucas, picked me and Ana up and we drove down to the South Side for some birria, or roasted goat.

When we walked into Zaragoza, there was a family dining at each table. Good sign. Since the main dining room was at capacity, they led us through an apartment building hallway to a second room that looked like it was for weddings and private parties. If I ever get married I am having my wedding party here. We ordered three plates of birria and some Jarritos and Mexican Cokes and waited.

Our waiter returned with another fellow and a sheet pan full of goat meat. Succulent, falling off the bone, charred and crispy in places and so soft in others that we cut it with spoons. It was not at all gamey, and sitting in the most delicious gravy. Oh, this gravy. There are no words.  The homemade tortillas were great, and the simple preparation–self service tacos with lime wedges, onions, cilantro, dried chiles and a hot, thin salsa–was perfect.  If you can get down there, go.

There was other stuff, too.  Big Star in Wicker Park is a great bar with cheap, good tacos.  Good al pastor, great beans, everything here was tasty (though I wasn’t crazy about the pickled onions).  And my last hurrah, en route to the airport, was a lunch at Rick Bayless’ Frontera Grill.  This place lives up to every inch of its staggering hype.  It’s a mexican restaurant, but it’s a nice mexican restaurant.  It’s more Union Square Cafe than San Loco.  The ceviche trio–calamari and shrimp, hawaiian sunfish, and tuna–was great.  But the duck carnitas enchiladas in a deep, black mole was eye opening to say the least.  Worth every penny.

Chicago’s a great food town, with the best hot dogs in the world and an almost top secret Mexican food world. I’m sure I’ll be back in not too long.

*Is there a term for when a restaurant tells people a longer wait time than is accurate just for the sake of maintaining the allure of the line? When we arrived at Longman and Eagle, we were told 30 minutes for a two top, despite the fact that there were a number of them in the front room alone (a trip to the mens’ room revealed even more in the back). We waited at the bar for the projected 30 minutes and heard nothing–not a problem in and of itself, especially with a pint of Bell’s Oberon and a plate of duck rillettes. When I went to check with the hostess about our table 30 minutes later–at this point there were still numerous free two tops–she was able to seat us right away, inside OR outside. It wouldn’t be the first time a restaurant moved slowly or held tables falsely with the aim of cultivating the buzz of the wait. “I hear you have to wait forever there to get a table,” etc. I’m not saying that all restaurants with a wait are guilty of this. But I do think Longman was (the rest of the service was fast, efficient, and friendly, even when I asked for a sample of the Olde Style). So what do we call this? Someone needs to coin it, unless they have already and I didn’t get the memo. Line faking? Mislining? It should be noted that the rest of the service at L&E was perfectly fine.