2009 is done, son! Time to pick our favorite restaurants of the year.

Roy

Big Star
Nearly the same great pastor taste of El Tizconcito but full of non-eating hipsters instead of actual people.  If you can get past the ironic Care Bear tshirts and silly faux hawks, this place will haunt your brain and render most other taquerias impotent. Must eat:  Pork Belly Taco,Taco al Pastor, Fish Tostada

San Soo Gap San
Arguably the most significant restaurant of my entire life, this place is unstoppable. I’ve had relationships begin, thrive, and end here.  There is no place I have visited more in Chicago; it is my primary argument against vegetarianism.  Must eat:  Kalbi with Bean Paste & Ribeye w/ Sesame Oil mixture

Gigio’s Pizza
In my search for authentic New York pizza, I have recently discovered a place the Ninja Turtles would be honored to eat at.  Gigios pizza might seem a little Abu Grhaib’ish at first glance.  But if you hold your nose, you will be balls deep in one of the greatest triangular slices in Chicago.  If you are squeamish, do yourself a favor and get it delivered.   Must eat:  A big ass slice of whatever.

Sun Wah BBQ
Peking. Duck. Motherfuckers.  With imported bao in lieu of bullshit moo shu wrappers, this place is perfect for fat asses with great taste who are also on a budget.  For less than the price of a glass of water at Japonae, you can get a fuck-your-face delicious three course meal of madness.  We haven’t yet reviewed Sun Wah, for it’s nearly impossible to represent perfection in words.  This place is just getting better and better.   Must eat:  Peking Duck, but opt for duck pan fried noodles over rice on course 3.

Glenn’s Diner
It ain’t all about the seafood or the all you can eat crablegs.   This place runs it with amazing breakfasts and a meatloaf sandwich that inspired me to start cooking on my own.  Rarely do restaurants have such depth in their menu.  If you visit, don’t fuck around . . opt for the potato pancake.  Must eat:  Clam Chowder (thick as spackle) & Meatloaf Sandwich on rye.

***

John

Great Lake Pizza
How to enjoy Great Lake Pizza (or how to spend four hours on a pizza dinner):
1) Put name on list, walk to In Fine Spirits and drink firkin (one and a half hours)
2) Receive cell phone notification that table will be ready, purchase wine next door (15 minutes)
3) Take tiny table in one of the city’s best eating atmospheres, drink bottle of wine, ogle other people’s pizzas like Roman Polanski at a Girl Scout meeting (1 hour)
4) The best pizzas you’ll ever eat are delivered to your table, put the pizzas inside you (1 hour)

Mixteco Grill
Still batting a thousand. I’ve eaten Mixteco a bargeload of times and still no misses. They may not be designers (Who in Christ’s name would choose that awning and dress the waiters in those baby-shit yellow button-up shirts?) but I’d trust them to wood grill John Goodman’s chins if they put them on the menu.

Bluebird
The food here is top notch, but I’m also including Bluebird because of what it is: a casual place my girlfriend and I can go to at 11 PM to drink good wine and beer and eat olives, charcuterie, cheese, and jamon iberico. It’s like being in Spain, but without all the attractive older women in knee high boots.

The Publican
Essentially a high end country kitchen with oysters and good beer, the Publican does everything the way I like it. Their menu is my Penthouse letters . Geuze in mussels! Ham, bread, and butter! A huge bowl of rilletes! Daily pickles! I have to bring a book bag to carry in front of me when I get up to leave this place.

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d.

Great Lake Pizza
I typically skip the carb portion of a meal; I DEVOUR the crust at Great Lake like I’m a displaced Lost Boy at Kakuma Refugee Camp.  These kats don’t even answer the phone anymore…and I dont give a fuck…I’ll walk.  Yall know they sell takeaway muhfuckin PULLED PORK?

Huaraches Dona Chio
After an all night drunk, I am fortunate enough to be able to stumble three blocks into a Underground Dungeon of Serendipity.  THE CURE: Jamon y huevos mixed in with a bowl of the best guacamole in town, all washed down with a jug of Jamaica (hibiscus juice).  Fools who say that “time” is the only way to sober up have not reached this level of enlightenment.

Sun Wah BBQ
If you can’t duck it, fuck it. Juicy, tender dark meat encased by a crispy glazed skin=unadulterated duckfuckery.  Puree this shit and feed it to babies and I assure you we will achieve World Peace.

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Al

Appetizer Course
Wagu Steak Tartare (Volo) spicy, sweet, with sesame cracker
This is your litmus test for how hardcore you are on the carnivore scale. This dish will straight up punch you in the mouth.

Salad Course
Mirugai (Hama Matsu) – Thinly slice sashimi style geoduck topped with a Korean spice vinagrette.
Referred to  in some circles as giant sea dong but more commonly known as geoduck. Hama Matsu does it right, with precision slicing and an accent sauce to  bring out the sweetness of the Mirugai.

Soup Course
Bun Bo Hue (Le’s Pho) - Rice Vermicelli Soup with Spicy Beef.
Pho is for rookies. Who hasn’t had that? You need some true shit in your belly, especially in the winter. This noodle soup will make you sweat.

Entree
Borrego En Mole Negro (Mixteco) wood-grilled rack of lamb with Oaxacan black mole served with garlic mashed potatoes.
Mole. Mole. Mole. I am sure they have someone’s mom in the back tending to a cauldron of this authentic mole. I would fucking slather this shit over anything and eat. P.S. I cried at the end of the plate after licking it clean.

Dessert Course
Cannoli (Paticceria Natalina) - fried pastry dough, filled with a sweet, creamy filling
Best cannoli in Chicago hands down. I have eaten three in one sitting and am not proud of it, but it is totally worth it. Stop judging me!!!!

Things We've Eaten

Its been 20K Leagues since CG has doled out shine for those who share in gluttony.  This week, we suss belly with the real from KidItamae who gets blasted by authentic, raw flavors like nappy doo under hot comb.

Gluttony Haiku:

Annihilated duck legs with battery by

black mole enticing pussy vocals.

Unfasten button on William Rasts.

Banana leaf wrapped duck leg tamal doused with rustic black mole; celery root slaw with pickled rajas, crunchy almonds and queso añejo.

$9.25.  Chilam Balam.  Culinarily Ph.D thyself.

Culinary Centerfolds banana leaf wrapped duck leg tamal, Chicago Gluttons, chilam balam

It’s December in Chicago, which means temperatures are dipping lower than Patrick Swayze’s white blood cell count. Time to get out your soups spoons, gluttons. Roy already pushed matzo ball. I’m gonna talk tom yum koong. Specifically, the tom yum at Opart Thai on Western, where they make soup so good I’d eat it if they served it out of Moises Alou’s cupped hands.

The soup, served in a sterno-heated, donut-shaped cauldron, is a drool-inducing flavor bomb. Snappy shrimp and big ass straw mushrooms float with lemon grass, cilantro, and thai peppers in a broth that’s more addictive than black tar heroin. Slightly oily, slightly gingery, freshly spicy, a bit of citrus acid, this broth is a combination on par with the great French sauces of the culinary world. All other Thai joints are rendered useless once this soup is consumed. Put this soup in a lineup with the city’s other tom yums and it’ll look like a Smurf farted on an Ansel Adams photo. Opart’s tom yum is the Crayola 64 Pack w/ sharpener. Everyone else’s is hand-me-down colored pencils.  I’ve never met a soup I liked better.

Tom yum koong--you better ask somebody!

Opart does not fuck around. Order this soup extra spicy and expect to shit your pants the next day. Chicago Gluttons has proof of this. One of ours asked the waiter to “bring the pain,” an order which the kitchen gladly obliged. The soup, typically a beautiful yellow-orange hue, came out looking like Satan washed his hands in it. Shit was deeeep red. To avoid being overly graphic, let’s just say that someone jettisoned a pair of underpants the next day. It was a very spicy soup.

Next time someone orders the tom yum this way, I want to see this ticket hanging in the kitchen.

Things We've Eaten, You Have to Fucking Try This

Whiskey. Tacos. Tostadas. Shakes.  In Chicago, Big Star is now as synonymous to Tex-Mex as Dulcelandia is to Chicano Candy-land.

Paul Kahan (Blackbird, Publican, Avec + dickEverest of James Beard nominations) is back on the grindilla.  Once again, teaming up with ole boys Terry Alexander and Donnie Madia to continue the discipleship of straightforward dining dissemination for the masses.  As imagined, the krew focuses on quality ingredients and plates of goodness.  Everything else seems like its just a fucking waste of time to the Big Star team: wall decoration, seating assignments, debit cards, and website were all afterthoughts here.

The booze drew me in like white on rice. 

I ordered a Single Barrel Four Roses whiskey, poured neat-n-shit and panned the crowd for bar stools to open up.  Then I took a couple investment banker alcoholic style gulps to warm my bones and prepare my appetite for the blast.

CAUTION: Racial Swinestists. They don't even spell slurs right.

I noticed that there was a service window that peered into the kitchen and I jumped on the opportunity to get a glimpse of the lab.  My biggest question: are there actually Mexicans in the kitchen at Big Star?  At first glance, it looked like they were.  I mean…they were brown.  However, I do get my Costa Ricans or Colombians jammed up.  It all became clear when they went over to the pork spit and began shaving meat into corn tortillas.  Yup, Mexican fah sho.  That kind slicing technique can’t be taught at Kendall College.

Back to the dining.  We started with the frijoles because that shit came out first.

I was immediately impressed with freshness of the frijoles charros.  I don’t give a fuck if you’re in Bhutan or Lithuania, 9 times outta 10, a solid recipe starts with tomato, onion and garlic.  Flavors of soil and sun emitted from the bowl.  I could taste the blood, sweat and tears with every bite.  I swear to God that Micheal Jackson wrote “Earth Song” for this cup of beans.

Mike...taking one for the beans.

As the third glass of bourbon flowed into my veins, food began to hurricane in like a Katrina Part II, fueled by poor black folks and jazz music.  With the double tostadas, I really couldn’t see where the food stopped and the plate began.  I was honestly afraid of what might happen when I stuck my hand in…but fuck, daddys gotta eat.

The wood grilled chicken thigh, chayote, black beans and poblano cream melded well, creating multiple layers of flavor profile.  The coriander and red onion went DEEP, but I had my sexing situation sussed out for the evening, so no worries there.  Then it was on to the pescado which consisted of wood grilled basa, cucumber, onion, radish, cabbage and avocado.  Both of these dishes were complimented by the extra thin, deep fried, fresh corn tostadas and, of course, my full glass of bourbon.

And hole the hell up for a minute (needle slides off wax).  How did I not know about this bourbon and Mexican food thing?  Bakersfield, speak the fuck up!!!  Its Limp City over here.  I mean, I feel deflated like Teen Wolf when he would change back to Scott Howard.

The swamp is a frightening place.

The Mexican Liberation continued.

As yall know, we Chicago Gluttons stay close to our 3rd World, indigenous roots and fucks with the pork and lamb heavy.  As more food arrived, I pulled a Tiger Woods, cheating my way around the bar to get bites offa everyone’s plate.  I grabbed some salsa from the red topped squeeze bottle and clocked in.

I began my journey with the braised lamb shoulder.  The thinly sliced radish paired surprisingly well with the powerful marinade of the meat.  Then I hit the braised pork belly, which was supported by tomato guajillo sauce, cilantro and queso fresco.  The char on the pork created a caramelized skin that you see on most Guatemalan village boys.

While tasty, the poblano taco was a consolation prize to get to the finish.  The taco flavor was monotone due to a lack of roastiness from the pepper.  I will say, however, that it was hotter than the new Beyonce/Alicia Keys collabo.

The breadwinner was the taco al pastor with spit roasted pork shoulder, grilled pineapple, onion and cilantro.  The savory/sweet contrast was executed perfectly.  Damn the Health Care debate, lets get a “daily consumption of tacos al pastor” bill written into U.S. law…when obesity gets out of hand, we’ll just force more people to audition for The Biggest Loser.

After one last glass of W.L. Weller House Selected Single Barrel and the perfect level of marinated meats up in my belly, we stumbled out into the brisk night swearing that our next visit would be only hours away.  At CG, we shy from frugality, but we aint got no James Cameron Avatar type duckets either.  Big Star’s fare, just like Mexican street food, is for the people.  And just like Paul Kahan & Co. would tell you, food made with any other purpose is just a fucking waste of time.

Dinner, Lunch, Things We've Eaten big star chicago, Chicago, Chicago Gluttons, chicagoist, tex-mex

Holy shit it’s getting cold outside. It’s weather like this that makes you wonder who had the nards to settle in Chicago in the first place. I mean before gas furnaces, snuggies, and dog snuggies, how was this survivable?

Step one would probably be cutting your way into a obese tauntaun for warmth, Skywalker style.

Step two: DRINK SOUP! Some of you might be skwakin’ about “The Soup Box” others are going to call out Clam Chowder at Glenn’s. While both are great choices, I’m about to unleash the punch yourself in the face, motherload of winter busting soups. You need this and you didn’t even know it yet. Once you taste it, you’ll regret the lost time you could’ve had with it.

Matzo Ball Soup @ The Bagel . . .

Kadang:

It’s more delicious than it looks . .

The chicken broth tastes like The Colonel’s bathwater (that’s a good thing.) Perfectly salty and with a strong chicken flavor. But the Matzo Ball itself is one of the wonders of the world.
Matzo the Size of Oprah's Fist.

Neither liquid nor solid, this Matzo Ball is made of a space age material that has no mass, yet still occupies space. When stroking it with a spoon, it ribbons like high quality iced cream. If you shake it, it will tell you your fortune.

Oh yeah, did I mention that it comes with unlimited pickles? Try to imagine that (you can’t.)

How can one fit an infinite amount of pickles in a finite amount of space?

The texture is impossbly soft, like eating one of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man’s testicles (also a good thing.)

Eyes up here buddy.

Now go get a bowl of this delicious soup, or people might start thinking that you’re anti-semitic. Happy Hannukah!

You Have to Fucking Try This best matzo ball, matzo ball soup, unlimited pickles

Aaaaaannd . . we’re back.

Sorry about that little hiatus faithful readers, we were on a diet.   Now that I’ve widdled my man boobs down to a supple B-cup we can get back to business.  But wait.  I have to get something (else) off my chest.

Let me start with this video:

Get the Flash Player to see this player.

You see, before Chicago Gluttons was ChicagoGluttons.com, we had a small blogspot blog talking about delicious food on the north side.  The final post on that blog was about APART Pizza opening up it’s second branch literally steps from my apartment.  It was inspiring.  I had only had APART a few times in my life . . I knew that this was going to be life changing. . . and it was.

As time went on, the quality & service at the Edgewater location started to dwindle.  “It’s just growing pains”, I justified.  I would order every few months to see if things were back on track and was still generally disappointed with the pizza.  Maybe my standards have increased . . maybe I am just having bad luck . . I would never give up. . . you should never give up on the things that you love.

My last attempt was a few Sundays ago.  I was on my way back from the suburbs visiting my parents.  The Bears vs. Packers game was on Sunday night football and I was determined to get an ‘old school’ APART pizza . . something delicious and simple.  I had the apartment to myself, so I was ready to get nasty. I arrived at home and put on my pizza pants and hit up Grubhub.  (if you don’t know about grubhub, you had better wake the fuck up)

The game had started but I wasn’t ready.  I wasn’t going to watch a second of football without a mouthful of delicious thin crust pizza, I paused the DVR.  This was my destiny.  I deserve this.  An hour and a half later, the buzzer rang.  I paid the delivery driver + a healthy tip and ran up the stairs as if I was being chased.  I dropped the pizza box on the table and opened it up for a ‘preparation slice’.  (The slice you eat while you gather plates and choose a beverage)

To my dismay, the pizza that was delivered was not even close to what I wanted.

It was covered with shrimp and soggy with shrimp water.  It was the worst pizza in the entire world.

You couldn’t even hold a slice.  All structural integrity was compromised as the crust was soaked with shrimp / tomoato juice.  I could’ve drank it with a crazy straw.

I later called APART to tell them about the pizza and the woman on the phone sounded like a PMSing Rosie Perez.  She reluctantly offered me a free pizza coupon, but wasn’t willing to deliver a new one for the game.  I told her that I’d pass.  I ended up eating a few slices out of desperation, sans skrimp.

But when life give you lemons . . . you search for better pizza.

Stay tuned for part 2:  North Side Pizza: A New Hope.

Things We've Eaten