Occasionally I eat someplace that inspires me to want to share the experience with the world, and Custom House is one of those retaurants.
For anyone who loves Chicago history, one of the most exciting periods occurred right after the Great Chicago Fire, when the Custom House Levee District flourished. If ever a neighborhood was devoted to pure pleasure, the Levee was it, filled with saloons, brothels, and gaming houses, home to the genesis of the classic pay-for-votes politics, and an oasis of sin and sensual pleasures. The higher class bordellos were as famous for the quality of their food and wine as they were for the charms of their girls, and the area we now know as Printer’s Row spent a glorious thirty-five years reigning as the place to experience carnal delights of every sort.
Chef/Owner Shawn McClain, winner of the James Beard Best Chef –Midwest Award and a chef who had nothing to prove to this city after the success of SPRING and GREEN ZEBRA, has managed to meld three of Chicago’s most famous attributes. As the epicenter of the American meat industry, Chicago’s stockyards made us Sandburg’s ‘hog butcher to the world’. Era’s like the heyday of the Levee District gave the city the reputation of a city of outlaws, wild characters, and excitement. And events like the Columbian Exposition and World’s Fair marked Chicago as a place of innovation, artistry and progress. So it should be no surprise that a local chef has taken the concept of a traditional steak house, and with a combination of classic technical skill and broad artistic vision, has transformed it into a place that both honors its origins and explodes preconceptions…and done it in the heart of what used to be the infamous Levee District.
The open room at Custom House, with tall ceilings and wide windows erases the idea of the dark paneled rooms one usually expects when one thinks of a steak house. A wall of stone, softened by light fabric on the chairs, and simple elegant lighting is warm and welcoming. Starters are an embarrassment of riches, and deciding between them is a Herculean task. After consulting with our server, we choose the Quail, Smoked Rainbow Trout, and the special of the evening, a Goat Leg Tart.
The quail, simply roasted and served with a caramel balsamic reduction and a cippoline onion beignet, is perfect. The skin crisp and well seasoned, the meat cooked medium, highlighting the mellow gaminess of the tiny bird, a hint of sweet savoriness from the light drizzle of sauce. And the ‘onion beignet’ is quite simply the best onion ring either of us has ever tasted. Frankly, I’d like a basket of them and some barbeque sauce to dip them in. (Which is something I’d never actually request, but a girl can dream.) The tart, a layer of pastry topped with caramelized onion, braised goat leg and baby leeks, is well executed, the meat deeply flavored, the onions sweet. We both wished the pastry was crisper to balance the softness of the toppings, but ultimately it was still a successful dish flavor-wise. But both of these were eclipsed by the Smoked Trout, a light salad with slivers of radish and celery-bacon vinaigrette, served on a cauliflower panna cotta. It is a dish neither of us would have ordered, but for the recommendation of our server, and it was by far the favorite. Served with buttery brioche toast sticks, it is the kind of dish that makes you smile with its inventiveness. The creamy cauliflower panna cotta, much more subtle than we had anticipated, is the ideal foil for the trout, smoked in-house, tender and flavorful. We have the 2006 Tavel Rose with all three, and the crisp clean wine with hints of strawberry is great with all three dishes.
For entrees, being a steak house, some beef was in order, and the Australian raised New York Strip with bone marrow butter and roasted cippoline onions did not disappoint. The steak, aged 80 days, rivals any you will find at more traditional places, with the rich bone marrow butter putting it right over the top. We were leaning towards the halibut, but our now clearly psychic server insisted on the sturgeon, and once again her advice was impeccable. The fish, served in a light morel mushroom broth, was tender and mild, a fish neither of us had tasted before and would definitely order again. Sides are designed to share, but making up your mind will be tough! We tasted a decadent oxtail risotto, which, when paired with the sturgeon became an inspired surf and turf. Creamed spinach, which actually tasted of spinach and not just cream, was enriched with parmesan bread crumbs and tiny cubes of fried celery root. Asparagus became a meal in itself, wrapped in prosciutto and anointed with black truffle. But the hands-down favorite, again a recommendation from our server-cum-guru, was the Pommes Anna, thinly sliced potatoes layered with ricotta and house-smoked bacon. My giddy companion referred to it as potatoes au gratin on crack. And yes, you will crave more the minute the plate is empty. And my mother would disown me if I didn’t tell you to order the Bulghur Wheat, which is her favorite thing on the menu! With this feast, the 2005 D & S Proprietary Red, a gloriously chewy California wine with tones of blackcurrant and chocolate, smoothed the edges.
Desserts were a rich warm toffee date cake, a tasting of three ice creams (white coffee, balsamic caramel, and triple chocolate) and a mini lemon bundt cake. All delicious, with the exception of the balsamic caramel ice cream, which, though we were looking forward to it, had a strange and unwelcome aftertaste.
Custom House is the sort of place you can return to again and again, the menu changes daily. And without question, let the exceedingly knowledgeable waitstaff influence your dining and drinking decisions, they will introduce you to some amazing new flavors.
Bonus of the week: One thing about food, there are trends, some enduring (Caesar salad in some form is still on menus highbrow and casual alike), some not (when was your last fondue party?). And certain ingredients come in and out of vogue like hemlines. But sometimes you find something that on first taste you know will become a staple of your kitchen. And for me, that new ingredient is Grains of Paradise. An African spice, which is similar to a pepper, but more closely related to cardamom, is my new go-to pal in the kitchen. I’m not a huge fan of black pepper, finding it often too bitter or its heat too powerful for the style of cooking I prefer. But this glorious spice, without the overpowering heat, and with both floral and citrus tones, highlights everything it touches. Salads are heightened, meats are enhanced, and even more surprising, fruits like pineapple and strawberries are taken to a whole new place with just a light grinding. Available at Whole Foods, or online at http://www.worldspice.com/ , it is the kind of flavor that will uplift the everyday, and inspire you to experiment. Use it wherever you would use black pepper to start, and then let your imagination lead you. And just to prove that I am as cutting edge as I think I am, Sam Adams Summer Ale proudly lists Grains of Paradise as an ingredient. I might have to have one now. And if you find the perfect recipe for it, be sure to post it on the message board for the rest of us.
Yours in good taste.
Stacey
Showing posts with label chicago. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chicago. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
Flying the Friendless Skies
Okay, so I've recently become a neophyte road warrior.
My work has suddenly begun to require a tremendous amount of business travel, which I’ve never really experienced before. This seemed like a totally cool thing to be doing, and totally worth the purchase of an amazing new suitcase (Travelpro platinum 5 series 22 inch expandable suiter, thank you very much, and a suitcase I love so much I would date it...)
I don't even mind the frequent delays that accompany the travel, after all, even the best traveler can't control the weather. Plus I joined the Admiral’s Club, so delays aren’t so bad and if things need to get reworked the staff is really helpful and I don’t have to wait in lines.
However, it recently struck me that as individuals, WE have total control over our behavior when we travel. The behavior we indulge in when we are in the privacy of our own homes is one thing. The things our friends and family decide to put up with from us, that is their choice. But when in public, let me just say, behaving like a raging asshat actually impacts the world around us.
Take a recent trip. When I arrived at O'Hare, I found that my flight was delayed over 2 hours. I headed for the Admiral's Club in hopes of a quiet place to plug in my laptop and get some work done while waiting for the flight. I found a lovely location, a circle of chairs with an open outlet, and only one other traveler, quietly working away. I plugged in. Connected to the internet. Got to work. When a woman came by to offer drinks we ordered a matching pair of Diet Cokes, and made eye contact. Smiles. We know what the deal is. Aren't we lucky to have a nice place to wait out the weather?
Then they descended. A group of eight, talking loudly in what I think was Russian, pushing aside our suitcases, gesturing for us to move our belongings out of their way, and plopping themselves down all around us, even moving over other chairs from another area. The conversation got louder and louder, cocktails arrived, raucous laughter.
It should be noted that the club has private rooms available for meetings and gatherings, not near the hardworking quiet folks.
I left. I was way outnumbered and trying to be Zen.
Then a stroke of huge luck. Despite being number 22 on the standby list for an earlier flight, I got on, second to last. There was still an overhead space big enough for my suitcase. The seat was a middle one, not the best thing for my size 20 tush, but other than that, I was grateful. We got delayed another half an hour on the tarmac due to the catering truck not arriving on time. Because those itsy bitsy microscopic bags containing four pretzels the size of my earlobe are so necessary for air travel, or someone might feel neglected!
But eventually we were wheels up. And for the next two hours there were many lessons I wish I could have taught my fellow travelers.
LESSONS FOR HAPPY TRAVELERS
#1 I'm sure those papers are full of information that should not be shared with strangers. Let me recommend that you put them in your briefcase for safekeeping and take them home. Purchase a shredder, light the scraps on fire, immolate them to your hearts content. However, when you sit directly behind me and RIP PAPER INTO LITTLE BITS FOR 27 MINUTES WITHOUT STOPPING, it, um, is the weensiest bit irritating.
#2 Children are a little miracle. And I know from my friends with wee ones that sometimes in the least convenient moments, they get overtired, or scared, or their ears pop and they are in pain that doesn't make sense to them. I may have made a very personal choice not to have any children myself, but I have sort-of nieces and nephews (by choice, not by blood) and a 3 year old goddaughter I dote upon, so I am not a total idiot about the ways of the bitty ones. So when the little darlings on my plane begin to get inconsolable, I try very hard not to think of them roasting in a slow oven with a rosemary orange glaze. But when your child says "mommy, mommy, mommy..." over and over again at least 48,000 times, for the love of god ANSWER HIM. Do not sit and talk to your traveling companion as if you are completely unaware of his need for your attention.
This is where I PLEAD with airlines....I will happily pay an upcharge for childless flights. I'm not saying, I’m just saying…
#3 I appreciate that the second we land we are allowed to turn on our cell phones. As I had a car service coming to pick me up and my flight arrived three hours late, I absolutely made a QUICK CALL to let them know I had landed. I did not, however, have a fifteen minute conversation at the top of my voice about what Kimmy did at the AEPi party, and how totally smashed I was, and like, how excited I am to be coming home for the weekend. Nobody on flight 368 cares that you are a drunken ho who is totally flunking Sociology.
#4 When the flight attendants ask you to remain seated and stay out of the overhead bins until we arrive at the gate, and this will apparently come as a surprise to many, they G-ddammed mean it! You just sat for 3 hours, three more minutes is going to kill you?
#5 Bodyslamming the little old lady sitting on the aisle to wrest your rollabord out of the overhead so that you can wedge your ass in the face of the person next to you for ten minutes while waiting for the plane to disembark is just plain rude, and your mother would be ashamed of you. She raised you better than that.
#6 If you needed to stow your luggage further back than your seat due to the fullness of the flight, please wait until the plane is clear before heading back to fetch it. Swimming like a salmon upstream through the rest of us is likely to get you kneecapped.
#7 If you do not plan on taking the complimentary airline magazine or Skymall catalog with you, please note that it is not a good place to store your used gum. The seat pocket in front of you is actually not related to a wastebasket at all, and the patron coming after you is not so interested in your leftover kleenex or empty beef jerky packages. Stuffing such savory items way down into the pocket instead of just HANDING THEM TO THE ATTENDANT WITH THE GARBAGE BAG is just flipping lazy and gross.
#8 Just ask Martha Stewart. Bathing. With soap. Its a good thing.
#9 Flight attendants are in fact well-trained professionals in a high pressure service industry who have nearly 200 people to take care of. They even occasionally have to get everyone out onto the wings in the middle of the freaking Hudson, for chrissakes! They are not your personal slaves, punching bags, nor are they paid nearly enough to be treated like crap. They did not get together in a coven to conjure up a storm over O'Hare for the amusement of making your life difficult. They did not cancel your flight, lose your luggage, or fill up business class preventing your upgrade from going through. Their universe does not, in fact, revolve around you, and when you speak to them in a disrespectful manner, they do, in fact, gather in the galley and talk about your ugly green suit and bad comb-over, and assume, like the rest of us forced to listen to your pompous vitriol, that you are compensating for a very VERY small penis. Hypothetically.
#10 Your elbows. Belong. Somewhere relatively related to YOUR BODY. If they wander over near my breast one more time, I'm going to introduce my own little elbow to your balls.
#11 Friendly conversation on a plane is fine. I have met some lovely people on a flight, including one guy who I actually went on a couple dates with. But, I am not interested in becoming a cog in your pyramid scheme, purchasing life insurance from you, or hearing about the gumbo you ate last night. And when I have my laptop open and my headphones on, it is a sign, subtle though it may be, that I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO YOU. Poking me in the arm and making me take out one earphone to hear that you hope your luggage made it on board is only going to make me cranky
ONE FLIGHT. On ONE plane, this is the behavior I witnessed, the irritations I was subjected to. But surely that can’t be normal?
Except, it, um, totally is.
Flight after flight, I become enraged, incensed, who are all these idiots and why are they always going where I am going? I hate that I have become the woman who eyes the passengers in the terminal and begins to mentally categorize them. “You with Bluetooth smoking in your ear, you’ll be the one who is rude to the flight attendant. You with the poncho, you’ll be the one at the end of my row who has to get up four times to pee during a two hour flight. You over there, with the baby, you will be the death of us all.” I find myself making snap judgments, based on looks, and what saddens me ever more than my own prejudices, is how often I am right.
Not that there aren’t the occasional good moments.
On one flight from New York to Chicago there was a young man of about five or six who was about as ill behaved a child as I have ever seen. Screaming at the top of his lungs, refusing to listen to his parents, making a racket of gargantuan proportions for nearly half the flight. I must have heard the phrase “I hate you!” bellowed at his parents about twenty times. At one point a man behind me said quietly but audibly, “I will pay anyone fifty bucks to punch that kid in the throat.”
Not trying to be funny. Just a sort of an exasperated general offer to the universe. I genuinely believe that if someone had, in fact, punched the kid in the throat, every one of us would have paid them fifty bucks, and the hero would have been able to afford business class next time.
Finally off the plane and waiting at the baggage claim, I happened to be standing next to the monster’s mother. She looked weary. Damien the Devilspawn was off somewhere with his father. And then a very kindly woman in a denim skirt and hand-knit sweater approached her. Her salt and pepper hair was in a low messy bun, and she looked as if she should smell of cookies. She smiled at the mother, tilted her head and said, in a voice full of compassion and deep personal understanding
“So, your son. He is autistic?”
The mother snapped her head up, eyes like daggers, mouth pursed into a tight line. Through clenched teeth, she replied
“No, he isn’t.”
The kindly stranger visibly jumped, muttered some apologies, and backed away, her entire response and body language screaming out ‘oh, sorry, so its just bad parenting then, didn’t mean to pry!’
I think it shows tremendous restraint that I moved to the other side of the carousel before laughing so hard I nearly passed a stone.
But I do think it is an interesting way to begin to address some of these behaviors. I am thinking very seriously of simply using this tactic on people who cannot behave appropriately. I’ll put on my sweetest most compassionate voice and just approach them and say
“So, you’re autistic, huh?”
I wish for you all an aisle seat with an empty middle seat, first bag off the carousel, and a cab driver who knows how to get to your hotel.
My work has suddenly begun to require a tremendous amount of business travel, which I’ve never really experienced before. This seemed like a totally cool thing to be doing, and totally worth the purchase of an amazing new suitcase (Travelpro platinum 5 series 22 inch expandable suiter, thank you very much, and a suitcase I love so much I would date it...)
I don't even mind the frequent delays that accompany the travel, after all, even the best traveler can't control the weather. Plus I joined the Admiral’s Club, so delays aren’t so bad and if things need to get reworked the staff is really helpful and I don’t have to wait in lines.
However, it recently struck me that as individuals, WE have total control over our behavior when we travel. The behavior we indulge in when we are in the privacy of our own homes is one thing. The things our friends and family decide to put up with from us, that is their choice. But when in public, let me just say, behaving like a raging asshat actually impacts the world around us.
Take a recent trip. When I arrived at O'Hare, I found that my flight was delayed over 2 hours. I headed for the Admiral's Club in hopes of a quiet place to plug in my laptop and get some work done while waiting for the flight. I found a lovely location, a circle of chairs with an open outlet, and only one other traveler, quietly working away. I plugged in. Connected to the internet. Got to work. When a woman came by to offer drinks we ordered a matching pair of Diet Cokes, and made eye contact. Smiles. We know what the deal is. Aren't we lucky to have a nice place to wait out the weather?
Then they descended. A group of eight, talking loudly in what I think was Russian, pushing aside our suitcases, gesturing for us to move our belongings out of their way, and plopping themselves down all around us, even moving over other chairs from another area. The conversation got louder and louder, cocktails arrived, raucous laughter.
It should be noted that the club has private rooms available for meetings and gatherings, not near the hardworking quiet folks.
I left. I was way outnumbered and trying to be Zen.
Then a stroke of huge luck. Despite being number 22 on the standby list for an earlier flight, I got on, second to last. There was still an overhead space big enough for my suitcase. The seat was a middle one, not the best thing for my size 20 tush, but other than that, I was grateful. We got delayed another half an hour on the tarmac due to the catering truck not arriving on time. Because those itsy bitsy microscopic bags containing four pretzels the size of my earlobe are so necessary for air travel, or someone might feel neglected!
But eventually we were wheels up. And for the next two hours there were many lessons I wish I could have taught my fellow travelers.
LESSONS FOR HAPPY TRAVELERS
#1 I'm sure those papers are full of information that should not be shared with strangers. Let me recommend that you put them in your briefcase for safekeeping and take them home. Purchase a shredder, light the scraps on fire, immolate them to your hearts content. However, when you sit directly behind me and RIP PAPER INTO LITTLE BITS FOR 27 MINUTES WITHOUT STOPPING, it, um, is the weensiest bit irritating.
#2 Children are a little miracle. And I know from my friends with wee ones that sometimes in the least convenient moments, they get overtired, or scared, or their ears pop and they are in pain that doesn't make sense to them. I may have made a very personal choice not to have any children myself, but I have sort-of nieces and nephews (by choice, not by blood) and a 3 year old goddaughter I dote upon, so I am not a total idiot about the ways of the bitty ones. So when the little darlings on my plane begin to get inconsolable, I try very hard not to think of them roasting in a slow oven with a rosemary orange glaze. But when your child says "mommy, mommy, mommy..." over and over again at least 48,000 times, for the love of god ANSWER HIM. Do not sit and talk to your traveling companion as if you are completely unaware of his need for your attention.
This is where I PLEAD with airlines....I will happily pay an upcharge for childless flights. I'm not saying, I’m just saying…
#3 I appreciate that the second we land we are allowed to turn on our cell phones. As I had a car service coming to pick me up and my flight arrived three hours late, I absolutely made a QUICK CALL to let them know I had landed. I did not, however, have a fifteen minute conversation at the top of my voice about what Kimmy did at the AEPi party, and how totally smashed I was, and like, how excited I am to be coming home for the weekend. Nobody on flight 368 cares that you are a drunken ho who is totally flunking Sociology.
#4 When the flight attendants ask you to remain seated and stay out of the overhead bins until we arrive at the gate, and this will apparently come as a surprise to many, they G-ddammed mean it! You just sat for 3 hours, three more minutes is going to kill you?
#5 Bodyslamming the little old lady sitting on the aisle to wrest your rollabord out of the overhead so that you can wedge your ass in the face of the person next to you for ten minutes while waiting for the plane to disembark is just plain rude, and your mother would be ashamed of you. She raised you better than that.
#6 If you needed to stow your luggage further back than your seat due to the fullness of the flight, please wait until the plane is clear before heading back to fetch it. Swimming like a salmon upstream through the rest of us is likely to get you kneecapped.
#7 If you do not plan on taking the complimentary airline magazine or Skymall catalog with you, please note that it is not a good place to store your used gum. The seat pocket in front of you is actually not related to a wastebasket at all, and the patron coming after you is not so interested in your leftover kleenex or empty beef jerky packages. Stuffing such savory items way down into the pocket instead of just HANDING THEM TO THE ATTENDANT WITH THE GARBAGE BAG is just flipping lazy and gross.
#8 Just ask Martha Stewart. Bathing. With soap. Its a good thing.
#9 Flight attendants are in fact well-trained professionals in a high pressure service industry who have nearly 200 people to take care of. They even occasionally have to get everyone out onto the wings in the middle of the freaking Hudson, for chrissakes! They are not your personal slaves, punching bags, nor are they paid nearly enough to be treated like crap. They did not get together in a coven to conjure up a storm over O'Hare for the amusement of making your life difficult. They did not cancel your flight, lose your luggage, or fill up business class preventing your upgrade from going through. Their universe does not, in fact, revolve around you, and when you speak to them in a disrespectful manner, they do, in fact, gather in the galley and talk about your ugly green suit and bad comb-over, and assume, like the rest of us forced to listen to your pompous vitriol, that you are compensating for a very VERY small penis. Hypothetically.
#10 Your elbows. Belong. Somewhere relatively related to YOUR BODY. If they wander over near my breast one more time, I'm going to introduce my own little elbow to your balls.
#11 Friendly conversation on a plane is fine. I have met some lovely people on a flight, including one guy who I actually went on a couple dates with. But, I am not interested in becoming a cog in your pyramid scheme, purchasing life insurance from you, or hearing about the gumbo you ate last night. And when I have my laptop open and my headphones on, it is a sign, subtle though it may be, that I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO YOU. Poking me in the arm and making me take out one earphone to hear that you hope your luggage made it on board is only going to make me cranky
ONE FLIGHT. On ONE plane, this is the behavior I witnessed, the irritations I was subjected to. But surely that can’t be normal?
Except, it, um, totally is.
Flight after flight, I become enraged, incensed, who are all these idiots and why are they always going where I am going? I hate that I have become the woman who eyes the passengers in the terminal and begins to mentally categorize them. “You with Bluetooth smoking in your ear, you’ll be the one who is rude to the flight attendant. You with the poncho, you’ll be the one at the end of my row who has to get up four times to pee during a two hour flight. You over there, with the baby, you will be the death of us all.” I find myself making snap judgments, based on looks, and what saddens me ever more than my own prejudices, is how often I am right.
Not that there aren’t the occasional good moments.
On one flight from New York to Chicago there was a young man of about five or six who was about as ill behaved a child as I have ever seen. Screaming at the top of his lungs, refusing to listen to his parents, making a racket of gargantuan proportions for nearly half the flight. I must have heard the phrase “I hate you!” bellowed at his parents about twenty times. At one point a man behind me said quietly but audibly, “I will pay anyone fifty bucks to punch that kid in the throat.”
Not trying to be funny. Just a sort of an exasperated general offer to the universe. I genuinely believe that if someone had, in fact, punched the kid in the throat, every one of us would have paid them fifty bucks, and the hero would have been able to afford business class next time.
Finally off the plane and waiting at the baggage claim, I happened to be standing next to the monster’s mother. She looked weary. Damien the Devilspawn was off somewhere with his father. And then a very kindly woman in a denim skirt and hand-knit sweater approached her. Her salt and pepper hair was in a low messy bun, and she looked as if she should smell of cookies. She smiled at the mother, tilted her head and said, in a voice full of compassion and deep personal understanding
“So, your son. He is autistic?”
The mother snapped her head up, eyes like daggers, mouth pursed into a tight line. Through clenched teeth, she replied
“No, he isn’t.”
The kindly stranger visibly jumped, muttered some apologies, and backed away, her entire response and body language screaming out ‘oh, sorry, so its just bad parenting then, didn’t mean to pry!’
I think it shows tremendous restraint that I moved to the other side of the carousel before laughing so hard I nearly passed a stone.
But I do think it is an interesting way to begin to address some of these behaviors. I am thinking very seriously of simply using this tactic on people who cannot behave appropriately. I’ll put on my sweetest most compassionate voice and just approach them and say
“So, you’re autistic, huh?”
I wish for you all an aisle seat with an empty middle seat, first bag off the carousel, and a cab driver who knows how to get to your hotel.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)