Vera

As of this past Thursday, another Cubs season has begun, starting off much like it ended last year; that is, with a loss. Of course, team management has made no secret of the fact that they expect many more losses to follow before October mercifully comes around as the latest rebuilding project progresses. Unfortunately, that reality doesn't render it easier to watch, made painfully evident while Mrs. Hackknife and I shivered in the upper deck on Opening Day during the Cubbies' late-inning collapse. Still, our numb fingers and toes were a small price to pay for the opportunity to stop by a new place for dinner on the way home. Vera (1023 W. Lake St.) is a wine bar that also happens to feature unbelievably-good Spanish cuisine in the form of tapas (small plates). For those of you rolling your eyes and thinking that tapas is a trend that passed by around 5 years ago, you probably haven't tried what's on the menu here. Chef Mark Mendez and his wife Elizabeth have assembled a fairly simple but formidable offering of Spanish dishes that stand up against any other tapas bar in town.

The chef has stated that his philosophy is to basically let the top-quality ingredients he uses shine through with minimal intervention on his part. We saw this firsthand with our initial set of plates - plump anchovies topped with pickled garlic and celery leaves, warm crusty bread with three kinds of butter (garlic, chicken skin, and lemon/salt/pepper) plus Spanish olive oil, and a wonderful cheese plate (see photo above) with manchego, Bayley Hazen Blue, and pata cabra. Accompanying each cheese was a special garnish carefully orchestrated to enhance its respective flavor, namely almonds and honey for the manchego, pickled olives for the blue, and candied blood orange for the pata cabra. It was these small details that really seemed to make the food sing.

While waiting for our meat course to arrive (more on that a little later), the missus and I decided we'd need a bit more nosh to ensure that we didn't go home hungry, so we order another seafood plate and a vegetable. We chose a fish (not sure exactly what kind) prepared "escabeche"-style, which is apparently a common preparation of proteins in Spain where the outside is seared crispy, then the fish is marinated with vinegar, herbs, and spices and served either cold or at room temperature. Our delicious fish came topped with pickled celery pieces (if you're detecting a pattern here, you're right - Chef Mendez really likes to use pickled items in his dishes), with the bright acidity of the vinegar in the celery and the marinade cutting the richness of the fatty fish. For our vegetable selection, we opted for the fried artichoke pieces dressed in a mixture of Idiazabal cheese and beer garlic vinaigrette. This plate was also amazing and was quickly devoured.

Last, but not least, came our selected meat course. Given the emphasis on Spanish cuisine, I assumed that the "Iberico secreto" was just another type of imported ham; however, when our server brought it to the table, she explained that this so-called secret cut of the famous Iberico pig (you know, the one that only eats acorns) is almost more like a skirt steak in flavor and texture (both of these are also sometimes referred to as the "butcher's cut" since in the past it was the piece of meat that the butchers took home for themselves, their customers unaware that it was so tasty). Reading up on this a bit more after the fact, I'm not even sure if anyone else in Chicago is offering this dish - apparently, it's rare due to the difficulty in correctly removing it from the pig (it's nestled between the shoulders, ribs, and fatback) to get the right balance of protein and fat. Our piece arrived sizzling and sliced against the grain like a platter of fajita meat, garnished with a nice spring blend of fava bean puree and pea shoots. Had I not known that it was pork, I might have been fooled into thinking it was beef. No matter what you call it, I can attest that it's actually quite good (keep the secret on the qt, though, will you please?).

Given that Vera's primarily a wine bar, they obviously have a great selection of Spanish wines to accompany the great food. We got to try a txakolina (a very dry and bracingly tart white wine from the Basque region of Spain) and a manzanilla sherry (pale and dry), both of which paired very well with our dishes. Our experience would have been 5-star across the board if not for some lapses in service - although our waitress was very knowledgeable about the food and drinks, she inexplicably disappeared from our table for long stretches, seeming to prefer extended conversation with other customers to helping us out when we needed it. Regardless, the food at Vera is outstanding enough that we'll be back again (hopefully soon), Cubs loss or no Cubs loss...

Pasta with Fried Peppers and Bread Crumbs

This recipe had been in my backlog folder for quite some time (since last March, to be exact). I finally got around to giving it a spin last week. Truth be told, the main reason I was excited was the opportunity to get rid of most of the dried guajillo peppers that have been hanging out in the pantry since I bought them for my Mexican pork dish (I think that one was cooked up last May). Anyway, there was a tiny bit of advanced prep involved, namely the use of a food processor to make bread crumbs from toasted country bread (I did this step the day before). All other aspects of the recipe came together quickly. When the time came to eat up, all of us here in the Commissary (Mrs. Hackknife, the progeny, and myself) were once again a little underwhelmed, which makes it the 3rd consecutive pasta dish that failed to hit the mark (apparently, I'm on something of a lousy streak at the moment). The toasted guajillos didn't really add much of anything to the final product, except a touch of heat and a touch of bitterness. I will say that the leftovers improved with a little age, especially when pouring some of the anchovy-infused oil from the tin on it for a flavor boost (i.e., see last pasta recipe). I think I may be taking a break from new pasta recipes for a little while...

Old Fashioned Donuts/Hienie's Shrimp House

We've had an unusually early and warm spring in the Midwest so far this year. When the weather gets like this following the doldrums of winter, I often get the urge to explore areas of the city that are normally away from my typical routes, especially if there are hidden food gems to discover. It was one of these urges and some unexpected free time on a sunny Thursday morning recently that led me to the Roseland neighborhood of the city to find some allegedly-superior donuts, vouched for by no less of an authority than Uberchef Grant Achatz, who last year declared the apple fritters at Old Fashioned Donuts (11248 S. Michigan Ave.) the best he'd ever eaten. Other than a stray Internet post here or there, OFD seems to be operating largely under the local foodie radar - I suspect this is mostly due to its location. Now, I was vaguely aware that Roseland had a reputation for being one of the more downtrodden areas of town, but, being a Northsider by birth, that was about the extent of my prior knowledge. Both my wife and my mother-in-law gave me the same reaction when I told them I had gone there to get donuts, which was "you did NOT go to Roseland, did you? That's the most dangerous neighborhood in the city!". As it turns out, they weren't entirely correct - according to relevant crime statistics, it's actually only the 2nd most dangerous neighborhood (behind Englewood). Had I known this ahead of time, I might have reconsidered my options, but it's probably for the best that I forged ahead in pure ignorance.

Anyway, this was my state of mind as I exited I-57 and headed eastbound on 111th Street towards the golden fried prizes of my destination. At first, everything appeared to be fine - there were lots of small, tidy houses, some a little rough around the edges, but nothing much of note. When I turned the corner to go south on Michigan, however, I had the sudden impression that I'd been transported to the Bronx. Although many of the historic old buildings on this strip (which was once the main commercial hub) have survived, most seemed like they had seen their heyday around 1950 (indeed, the neighborhood was at one point a vibrant part of the city). A number of shady-looking characters milled about on the sidewalks, hanging out in front of what were now discount clothing shops and mini-marts. It was in one of these worn historic buildings (possibly part of Gately's Peoples Store, an old department store that my mother-in-law told me they frequently visited when she was younger) that I found OFD, in a simple, undecorated, whitewashed room with a few tables, sharing space with a hamburger stand. As far as the patrons that were present, I was clearly in the racial minority, but no one seemed to pay much notice, and I got in line to place my order. I knew I had to get an apple fritter, which were only about $2.80 a piece, and I also opted for a half-dozen donuts: 3 glazed, 2 chocolate, and 1 orange-frosted. All told, I spent less than $10 and left with 2 large bags of goodies and enough spare change to pacify the panhandler that approached me as I returned outside.

I was still planning to have lunch (it was around 11:30), so I only sneaked a couple of bites in the car to see how everything tasted while they were still warm out of the fryer. First up was the glazed donut. Wow! All it took was one piece for me to recognize that this was not your average bakery item. The dough was yeasty, fresh, and sweet, with the perfect amount of glaze and a little bit of grease soaked in like a sponge. The chocolate donut wasn't bad (I still prefer Zettlmeier's in Tinley) and I'd definitely recommend the orange-frosted variety, but the apple fritter was pure, off-the-charts blisstonia.


You can see it in the photo above. For one thing, it's HUGE - almost the size of a dinner plate. In spite of its state fair size, all of the elements contained within combined to create an almost transcendental eating experience: the tart apple, the crunchy pecans, the rich glaze, the browned and crisped dough. There was no doubt in my mind that this fritter-to-end-all-fritters was worth not only the death-inducing calories, but also the drive to unsavory locales. Should word get out to the foodie population at large about OFD's offerings, there may well be an economic Renaissance yet in Roseland.


The second part of my voyage took me to a nearby neighborhood with a slightly better reputation, the more-industrial South Deering just a mile or two further east (see photo above). It was here that I'd find Hienie's Shrimp House (10359 S. Torrance Ave.), an old fried chicken, fried shrimp, and pizza joint recently chronicled in the Chicago Tribune by food writer Kevin Pang. The focus of the article was the well-known hot sauce that Hienie's serves with its fried food and chicken wings. Apparently, most people who frequent the place simply refer to it as "Hienie's hot sauce", even though they don't actually make it there (that distinction belongs to a bulk foods producer). The sauce comes in two varieties (hot and mild), has a sharp mustard flavor not commonly encountered with other hot sauces, and arrives with your order glowing an unnatural shade of reddish-orange that didn't carry over well to my photograph below.


I opted for the mild sauce to accompany my entrees, which were a fried chicken breast, fried shrimp, and fried perch. Fries came with both the chicken and the seafood (yes, I could have lived with one set of fries), plus a cup of not-bad cole slaw and a nearly inedible roll that I tossed aside after a desultory nibble. I spend the next 15 minutes enjoying the majority of my food while watching a parade of mostly blue-collar workers (garbage men, police officers, transit employees, construction workers in fluorescent vests, etc.) come in to get their fix. I have to say that I liked the shrimp best, much better than what I got last October at Goose Island Shrimp, for example - it was nicely breaded, not greasy, and went well with the mild sauce. I also would get the fried chicken again, although I wouldn't go so far as to proclaim it the best in town as some other people have. The perch and fries were both so-so, improved by the addition of the zingy sauce. Speaking of the sauce, I wouldn't mind having a little back at the Commissary; however, it's somewhat difficult to find. The manufacturer doesn't appear to sell it to retail outlets and Hienie's gets it by the industrial gallon jug (which I believe they'll let you buy in a pinch). At some point, I plan on visiting the other Hienie's location (it happens to be in nearby Orland Park) to see if I can purchase less than a jug; if so, come by and I'll share some with you...

Creole Spiced Salmon

I've found another version of salmon to add to the Commissary menu list, this one featuring a spicy rub and sides of basmati rice/greens dressed in oil and vinegar. The salmon recipe comes from Chef James Boyce at the Commerce Kitchen in Hunstville, AL and is ridiculously easy to make. There were a few spices called for in the rub (namely smoked paprika and garlic powder) that I had to track down, but otherwise, the ingredients are straightforward. Since Mrs. Hackknife was traveling and the progeny are not big salmon eaters, I ended up buying only about 1.25 lb. of fish instead of the 2 lb. listed in the recipe. Unfortunately, I forgot to adjust the amount of seasoning down to compensate for the smaller weight; as a result, the spice crust atop each piece of salmon was a little, shall we say, robust. Next time, I'll be more careful to use less rub if necessary (I suspect I could also reduce the amount of salt - 2 Tbsp, which is a lot - without anyone noticing). The recipe includes extra spice blend that you can refrigerate and use on other meats (I'm thinking pork, chicken, and other fish types, like tilapia). Note that my basmati rice needed about double the cooking time (around 35 minutes) instead of the 18 minutes cited, but the final product is very tasty: rich rice grains with a little texture to them from being toasted in butter prior to steaming.

Goosefoot

I have often commented that I regret only having one digestive tract with which to enjoy the multitudes of culinary treats that our modern world has to offer. This lament is compounded by the fact that I didn't get on the foodie bandwagon in earnest until really the last five years, which makes me wonder exactly how many calories I wasted on Hamburger Helper prior to my conversion. Anyway, I find myself getting a bit reflective like this as I've now just this past week crossed the threshold from the you're-still-relatively-young 30s into the you're-definitely-middle-aged-now 40s, more determined than ever to make the most of my finite stomach capacity. Fortunately, the place I chose for my milestone birthday dinner was well-deserving of the honor. Goosefoot, named after a family of plants (which includes swiss chard and quinoa) with leaves that resemble the walking appendages of said waterfowl, opened in late 2011 on a quiet stretch of Lawrence Avenue between the north branch of the Chicago River and Western Avenue (an area more accustomed to homey ethnic eateries such as the Croatian joint down the block). Chef Chris Nugent and his wife designed every aspect of the restaurant's decor and menu, drawing from his experience at Les Nomades (one of the last bastions of traditional French cuisine in the city) to create an elegant-yet-relaxed menu that marries precise French techniques to innovative presentations of seasonal ingredients (think Charlie Trotter's with less Asian influence, or, better yet, El Ideas with a touch more subtlety). A vein of environmental ethos runs through the whole production, from the herbs and greens that the Nugents grow at home in their garden for the restaurant to the menu printed on wildflower seed paper (as tempting as it is to plant my souvenir of the evening, given my lack of skill in the yard, I'd probably just grow more menus).

The premises don't have a liquor license, so Mrs. Hackknife and I brought our own wine to enjoy during the meal (I selected a Louis Jadot Beaune Therons 2009 red Burgundy, young, light, and versatile for lots of different courses). We arrived to a tranquil and mostly empty restaurant at 6:30 (it didn't stay that way as nearly every table was full by the time we left a few hours later) and we were greeted with a tasty amuse bouche of golden beet topped with a dollop of whipped goat cheese, with a tiny, rich cheese puff on the side. The first listed course on our biodegradable menu was a seared scallop placed in a pool of curry and lobster sauce, garnished with a puree of hubbard squash, a small cloud of licorice root foam, and a dusting of Parmesan powder, the flavors of which were all perfectly balanced. This was followed by a surprisingly large bowl of amazing chestnut soup infused with white alba mushrooms and truffle essence, topped by a sizable (almost too sizable) puff of smoke foam. Although the foam seemed a bit extraneous to me (and brought to mind the Next el Bulli smoke foam course that also wasn't a favorite), the soup was fantastic, probably the best example of its kind that we've had in the past year (I guess chestnut soup must be a trend in fine dining circles these days).

Moving onward, we were given a small fillet of loup de mer (European sea bass), perfectly crisped on the outside and served atop a mixture of tapioca pearls and Meyer lemon (reminiscent of something that Thomas Keller might do) with a smear of sunchoke puree.



The garnish of orange, yellow, and green foliage (from the house garden, I assume) seen in the photo above appeared in various arrangements throughout the meal, attempting to establish a common visual link between plates (not sure if that was necessary - too obvious?). With the food tasting as good as it did, window dressing clearly wasn't needed, as further evidenced by the fowl course, a delicious roasted quail paired with spiced beluga lentils, jellied ginger cubes, spheres of pickled "compressed" apple, parsnip puree, and droplets of mustard vinaigrette. Mrs. Hackknife promptly put a baggie of the apple spheres on her Christmas wish list. The beef course (fillet of Angus beef with cumin/shallot jus served with goosefoot greens, truffle powder, and various forms of heirloom carrots, one of which looked like a quail egg yolk) was just as succulent and artfully presented.



After a palate-cleansing shot of pomegranate juice mixed with citrus-infused olive oil, a cheese course consisting of delectable Pleasant Ridge Reserve cheese shavings (voted best American cheese in 2010) atop a celery-truffle caponata puree with almond marscapone and what I later determined to be a tapioca cracker supporting the whole shebang arrived at the table.



As good as this dish was (note to Chef: package those tapioca crackers and I will give you my firstborn), the desserts were even better. First up was a sort-of deconstructed pumpkin pie - a slab of soft cinderella pumpkin (yes, there is such a thing - I looked it up) resting on a bed of spice puree (containing cinnamon and nutmeg among others), paired with a sweet nougatine and coffee drops. I was then promptly blown away by the chocolate course, a masterly arrangement of chocolate mousse encased in a shell of cocoa butter and dark chocolate, then placed next to a crispy hazelnut and praline mound, sprayed with orange blossom water, and garnished with a single chocolate-dipped sea bean (which got me thinking of Noma) and a smear of mulled wine glaze (I had to restrain myself from eating the candle - it was not edible).



Perhaps the most incredible aspect of this entire experience was the cost - $90 each for the set menu and no markup for alcohol since it's BYOB. When considering that we've easily paid twice that (or more) for cuisine of comparable quality at swankier locales, I think we may have stumbled upon the best dining value in town. I guess growing older isn't so bad when you're feeling savvier than those whippersnappers downing $20 martinis and gnawing on $60 steaks at Mastro's in River North. Well done, Chef...

Two-Minute Chocolate Mug Cake

This recipe is clearly the kitchen version of a neat parlor trick. While paging through the Spring 2012 issue of Lucky Peach (David Chang's quarterly magazine focused on what can best be described as "esoteric" culinary matters), I found an article detailing the history of the now-ubiquitous chocolate lava cake. The cake's history is interesting in and of itself; however, the most intriguing item is a recipe for two-minute chocolate mug cake found at the end of the article. Surely this must be a joke, I thought - you can't possibly take simple baking ingredients and make a decent gooey chocolate cake using a coffee mug and a microwave. Of course, I had to take it upon myself to try it out just so I could be proven right. As it turns out, I was NOT right. While it may not have been the best chocolate cake I've ever eaten, it was still surprisingly good given its, well, redneck upbringing. Mrs. Hackknife concurred that this dessert belongs in the section of the Commissary cookbook "Desserts to make when you're harried and desperate" alongside the instant chocolate fondue (sugar, cream, and chocolate chips, in case you were curious).

Chang and Co. slightly edited the recipe from its first form, whose origins are murky (according to the article, it began circulating around the Internet in 2009). The only technique modification I would recommend would be mixing the batter up in a small bowl prior to placing it in the mug for microwaving (my cake ended up a little eggy in places, reminding me of French toast, I suspect due to insufficient mixing of ingredients), although that might take some of the fun out of it.

1 egg
3 T milk
3 T neutral oil
3 T flour
4 T sugar
2 T cocoa powder
pinch salt
3 T semi-sweet chocolate chips
small splash vanilla extract
1 small or medium coffee mug (microwave safe)

Add wet ingredients (including egg) to mug and mix well. Add dry ingredients and mix well again. Add chocolate chips and vanilla, mixing well once more. Put mug into a 1000-watt microwave for 2 minutes. The cake may rise over the top of the mug (don't be alarmed). Allow to cool and tip out onto a plate if desired.

Cauliflower and Anchovy Orecchiette

I found this recipe in a recent Saturday edition of the Wall Street Journal (the "Off Duty" section often features decent recipes - I've written about them many times). This particular dish caught my attention since it's the brainchild of April Bloomfield, a renowned British chef that we saw at the food fest in Grand Cayman (you may recall me mentioning her beef-and-Stilton pie demo). I just recently waxed poetically about the virtues of eating small oily fishies, so I was hoping that this version of orecchiette ("ear" in Italian, so named for their shape) would be a hit with the missus, who is quite possibly the world's foremost anchovy advocate (a title that might look a bit weird on a business card). Sadly, we found it to be underwhelming and surprisingly bland, especially for something that includes olive oil, Parmesan, caramelized red onion, garlic, and anchovies (although the last statement of the recipe urging the diner to "season to taste with salt, oil, and lots of Parmesan" should have tipped me off that maybe the base flavor would be, well, neutral). The leftovers have been a little better, more so after I threw a few more anchovies on top and drizzled the oil from the anchovy tin on it (ed. note - I've discovered that, much like nuclear energy, the use of oil infused with the essence of small oily fishes is tremendously good when used for the benefit of humanity and not for evil purposes). Perhaps the most positive lesson to glean from this experience is that I need to seek out some bottled anchovy essence (basically the Italian equivalent of Asian fish sauce) for general use in the Commissary...