Hot Diggity Doug

When you think of Chicago, dogs come to mind. And I don't mean my 5 pound attack dog, Rusty. I'm talking about a Vienna beef dog on a steamed poppy seed bun with yellow mustard, bright green relish, a dill pickle, tomatoes, celery salt, chopped onion and sport peppers (small pickled peppers from the cayenne family). I'd never had one before, and I thought the best time to do a hot dog taste test was when my friend Kari finally came to visit. Kari loves meat. Particularly encased meat. She is hot dog crazy.

So on a sunny Monday in April, Kari came in to go to the Cubs opening day game (thanks for the tickets Dick Starmann!! Who gives away their opening day tickets??? True generosity.). After a beer at the Red Ivy, Kari and I headed into Wrigley to glory in our awesome seats. After the first pitch was thrown, however, we headed through the tunnel in search of a dog.

First, we went to the "Chicago Dogs" stand. Apparently a favorite of R.G. Starmann, this dog was a little lackluster to us. They didn't have all of the toppings, and the dog hadn't seen the grill for long enough, in my opinion. After scoping out ALL the other stands in the ballpark, we decided to try a "Footlong Dog" for round two. In fairness, the footlong dogs didn't have the right bun, and offered a number of additional toppings (Jackie loves sauerkraut) that don't a Chicago-dog make. There is no chili involved. Round two was surprisingly delicious. May have been the Old Style.

Now nothing quite compares to a dog in the ballpark, but Kari and I both felt that we hadn't experienced the real thing. After some careful research on good dog joints in Chicago (Wiener Circle and Superdawg also made the top five), we decided to have lunch at Hot Doug's (The self-proclaimed "Sausage Superstore and Encased Meat Emporium") the next day.

Hot Doug's is kind of legendary around these parts. I first heard about the place from my friend Dan, who swears by Doug's dogs. I was told to anticipate an hour's wait, but a great lunch. Kari and I arrived at noon, and found quick parking (this place is in the middle of nowhere!) and a surprisingly short line. We were at the counter in less than 10 minutes.

Doug, who takes everyone's order himself, has about 10 dogs and sausages that are on the menu every day and a dozen more specials. When we got up to the counter (after posing for a pic with Doug) Kari got "The Marty Allen" ... a Thuringer dog (Hello der beef, pork and garlic) with spicy mustard and a dill pickle. I got "The Dog" (A Chicago-style dog with all the trimmings). We also split one of the specials...a Weisswurst with spicy mustard, kraut, and shredded horseradish-cheddar cheese. All were ordered "a little burnt". Mmmm. A side of hand-cut fries rounded out our gluttony.

We sat at a tiny table with our bounty before us. Now I should mention, I usually don't like hot dogs unless they have so much crap on top that you don't even know you're eating a dog. The only dogs I have ever really enjoyed were from Yesterdog in Grand Rapids (get the killer dog...it's not on the menu, but you won't be disappointed. It is literally towering with crap on top. Heaven.)

Doug's dogs won me over. Perfectly grilled so that the skin was toasty, but not split open yet, these dogs were super flavorful. The bun was warm and didn't disintegrate like the ones at the ballpark the day before. The toppings were fresh and added in good proportion. The french fries were double fried and extra crispy. The photo above is Kari's pic of the feast before we dug in (she strangely photographed all our dogs during her visit).

Kari and I even checked out Doug and noted his lack of wedding ring. I think she could really love a man who runs a hot dog empire. This place was so good that I even bought a T-shirt. Really? Yes, I did.

So after 3 hot dogs in 2 days, I finally feel qualified to weigh in on Chicago's most famous namesake food. I'm in. Thank you Doug, and bring on the sport peppers.

I Have a New Favorite...

Kids, we have a new winner. Last night I had my best meal in Chicago. Here goes.

At the risk of sounding amazingly pretentious, I'm kinda sick of tasting menus. Somebody just give me a whole meal of food please? Well, ask and you shall receive. In an adorable brownstone on Ontario sits a quaint little french restaurant called Les Nomades. This place used to be a blueblood private club, and was assumed by the current proprietor (a charming lady named Mary Beth, who greets each guest as they arrive) in the early 1990s. The chef has been updated, but the place has consistently gotten high accolade. Strangely, it sits next to a lackluster Japanese place, a low-end nail salon, and a suspicious piano bar.

When the meal started, I was a bit wary. The waiter, came over with the amuse bouche (a delicious cauliflower soup with white truffle foam and gruyere gougeres...cheese puffs for you and me). He set it down, without any fanfare and said, "Here's some cauliflower soup." Now, I'm kind of particular, but there was clearly more on my plate than soup. For the price of your tip, do me the grand gesture of telling me what you've brought me. Super annoying. So, in typical Jackie fashion, I called the guy back over to the table, and asked if he would tell me more about the dish he had just served me. He pointed to a leaf on the left side of my plate and said, "There are some microgreens." No shit, Sherlock. Don't screw with me. The roll of my eyes finally got his attention, and after that, he did a much better job. Amazing how one lackluster staff member can come close to wrecking a perfectly good meal. So glad that things turned around, because if this phenomenal food had been detracted by a guy with bad hair, I would have been super mad.

Back to the food. I started with a sampling of five house-made pates. Have I mentioned how much I love pate? The squab liver was the best one. Then on to an asparagus salad with a perfectly poached egg, coated in crispy breadcrumbs, topped with jamon serrano and shaved Parmesan cheese. If you've read my earlier posts, you know how I feel about beautifully cooked eggs, not to mention Iberian ham.

But here is where it gets exceptional. The chef went off the menu that night and served me the most delicious Dover sole I have ever had. If there is Dover sole on a menu, I can't NOT order it. This little guy was deboned in the kitchen and served with a lobster cognac sauce and morel mushrooms. It was utterly perfect. I didn't even want to talk to anyone because I wanted to remember the flavors. I could eat it every day. Which, in summary, makes it my best bite in Chicago so far.

I finished the meal with a cheese course (some really interesting artisanal selections), a light and pretty apple tart, and a glass of Madeira. Perfection.

I can't afford to come back to this place (it unexpectedly broke the bank), but I wish I could. Save it for special occasions, and come on Thursdays, when I understand you can BYOB (despite their lengthy wine list...this has to be a mistake, right?). AMAZING food, right in my 'hood. Who knew?

Here's the Beef

Ever since I arrived in Chicago, I've been told to forget the dogs and pizza. While tried and true windy-city favorites, the real star in this town is the Italian Beef. Considering the press these sloppy sandwiches have been getting on the travel channel and Food Network, I'm guessing that was good advice. So after my last round of chemo starvation, I was finally ready to dive into to the thinly-sliced goodness that is Mr. Beef. (A sidenote here. There is a city-wide rivalry between Mr. Beef and Al's Italian Beef for the best sandwiches. My brother told me Mr. Beef was the best. My brother knows sandwiches. So that's that.

For those of you unfamiliar with this novelty, an Italian beef sandwich is very thinly sliced roasted beef, which has been marinating in jus, loaded onto a soft Italian bun. You can order it sweet (sweet bell peppers), hot (hot peppers and "giardiniera"...spicy, pickled, celery-based, root vegetable goodness), and/or wet (quite literally doused in the jus after the sandwich is assembled, but before wrapping it up). Purists, stop here. Others add cheese or other veggies.

On Monday I headed up to the counter. I assumed, as with many cult sandwich shops, that I would be ridiculed for not knowing the proper way to order. The beef gods aligned, however, and the the nice kid behind the counter schooled me in all that is Mr. Beef. Mine was hot and sweet with provolone. No "juicy" for me...not a fan of soggy bread, but I hear that I may have been short sighted. Add in some cheese fries and a tall fountain drink (much needed after my twelve block preemptive workout walk), and you have a little piece of heaven.

FYI, they also sell other stuff here too, but why? When I was in there, I heard a woman order a chicken sandwich with ketchup. You're at Mr. Beef. Why are you here? Go home now.

At around $10 for lunch, this may be the best money I've spent in the city so far. The bread was perfect. The beef, fresh and spicy. The giardiniera was perfectly tangy and not too hot...don't miss this part even if you're scared of the concept. The drink was cold. And the sleeper winner? The most perfectly crispy skinny fries. Real surprise fan favorite. The cheese sauce was of the canned variety, but with all the other hits, I'll take one miss. Word to the wise...don't wear anything you love. I easily went through more than a dozen napkins with this beast.

Judge's ruling? This is worth the hype. Bring cash and an appetite. And someone to help you walk home...you'll need it.

Steamed Pork Buns anyone?

In Chicago there are about 1000 restaurants to love. In Detroit, for many years, there were about 5. One of the top spots on the D's hit parade was a great spot called Tribute. But in true Detroit fashion (despite great food and service), some genius opened this place right next door to an Amaco station in the burbs. Really? Who is the wizard who dreamed that up?

Well, the helm at Tribute was originally run by a talented young chef named Takashi Yagihashi. Born in Japan and French trained, this once James Beard Award winner for "Best Chef - Midwest" stopped in Detroit for a few years to give us a treat. When he tired of the traffic at Orchard Lake and 12 Mile, he came to Chicago to open his namesake restaurant. He has since opened another outpost at the Wynn in Las Vegas. Fancy.

Takashi is located in a charming old house in Bucktown, which seems contradictory to the trendy neighborhood surrounding it (the house was once home to Chicago Top Chef winner Stephanie Izard's former restaurant Scylla). With only a handful of seats, this place screams 'cozy". Ask for the corner table upstairs if you go...adorable.

I could give you a list of what I ate for dinner, but that is unnecessary. There is one thing you MUST eat if you go there. Steamed Pork Buns. Un. Freaking. Real. As I previously mentioned, pork belly is on every menu in Chicago right now (who can blame?) but these morsels were, hands-down, the best pig I've had in a decade. I mean it. The delicate buns were the perfect texture, the pork belly sweet and flavorful, and the lovely little sandwiches were served with the most amazing spicy japanese mustard. I could have eaten 15 of them. No, really.

Then I found out that I COULD eat 15 of them, should I choose. On Sunday afternoons, Takashi opens his kitchen for a "noodle" lunch. Not only does he offer a bevy of homemade japanese noodle dishes, he also serves up small plates of other treats, like the pork buns, for something ridiculous like $5. Go. Now.

Not only is this place quaint, but the food is good, the bartender is inventive, and Takashi prides himself on being in the kitchen all the time. If you want a first class meal, head to Bucktown. And bring me back some of that mustard. Wow.

Back to Bayless

Now let's return to the infamous Rick Bayless again for a moment. This guys is everywhere in Chicago, and now has 3 restaurants all in a row on Clark Street...high end (Topolobampo) mid-range (Frontera Grill) and walk-up (the aforementioned Xoco). I'm still trying to get in at Frontera, which (mostly) doesn't accept reservations, but is supposed to have some mean guacamole. One of my first challenges in Chicago, however, was to try and get a coveted reservation at Topolobampo. Notoriously difficult to snag, I was able to secure a table for a late Friday evening in Lent.

I mention my Catholic traditions because when I arrived, I found that there were two tasting menus available (which, you'll have noticed, I dig) but both were designed for carnivores. All you who know me, of course, can confirm that I don't let a menu limit me, particularly when there is a Top Chef Master in the house. I pleasantly asked my kind waiter if there was any chance of subbing out the meat dishes for something a good Catholic girl could nosh on during a Friday in March. I was promptly denied.

Much to me delight, the waiter returned a few moments later and asked, "Are you a friend of Rick's?" My reply, "No, but I would like to be...is he in the kitchen tonight?" Affirmative. Hot.

Not only had my waiter inquired with Mr. Bayleyss if he would consider a substitute, he offered to create a meatless tasting menu just for me. This also meant that I could cross off a goal on my life list...have a meal prepared personally by a world class chef.

The five course menu presented was fine fare. For those unfamiliar with Bayless, he is a traditional Mexican cuisine purist. No tacos here, kids. I'm talking achiote, mole, masa, and the like. Each course was flavorful, authentic, and interesting. And for abouot $70, not unfairly priced. To accompany the meal, there were interesting margaritas, and a selection of homemade fruit waters to refresh the palate...a big plus for my liver.

Now, you all know that I couldn't possibly leave this place without wiggling my way over to meet Mr. Bayless. On a shameless stalk (under the guise of a powder room jaunt) I found Rick at a table in the back of the restaurant and thanked him for a memorable meal. Maybe next time he'll ask me to sit down and give him my feedback on the spread...or maybe he'll just check out the blog...