This early in the growing year, everything at the market really is green: spinach, green garlic, sprouts, ferns, sorrel, asparagus. This transfers into the excitement of everyone there. Met with smiles, I quickly and frivolously collected the last of what little morels were left, and I heard from my shoulder: “God will strike you down if you buy the last of them.” Springtime might be the only greedy time at the market as customers rush to get a taste of such wild delicacies. I offered her half of the lot, but she just swooned of the bags she use to collect as a girl. I walked away with the morsels bouncing in a little bag and my soft grin.

Even with millennia of agricultural tradition and modern technology, we still have to let the morels, the ramps, the ferns run wild. Let them find the perfect fallen tree to grow from in the soggy spring sun. There are still secrets of the landscape and we can praise the alchemist foragers, rush to their bounty, and prod them for their tricks.

As the Brown line moves Northwest of the city, it comes down from its elevated platform to meet passengers at ground level. Just beyond the Western stop it bisects a quiet row of storefronts and houses with much more the feel of a small town than a sprawling metropolis.  The presence of the tracks, the intentional detail of the Ravenswood houses, and the proximity of the river make this spot a special secret among the bricks and trees of the Chicago neighborhoods.

A wooden sign for Pizza Art Cafe hangs a few doors down from the station, round and rustic like its namesake. Bosnian-born owner Jasmin Bekto uses his 800 degree wood-burning oven to combine his ideas of Balkan ingredients with recipe and cooking experience gained in Italian pizzerias. 

The bread from this oven is Bekto’s real art. Using traditional European recipes, alternating between olive oil and lard, flatbreads and pitas lay the foundation to highlight thought-out ingredient combinations that never seem weird or ostentatious. 

As my friend and I sat down to a white tablecloth, I immediately noticed the planked wooden ceiling and the heat of the oven I swear I could feel radiating through the wall. Being a well-equiped BYO, the table came with a pre-stocked wine key, a bottle of mineral water, and a server immediately responsive to the bottle of Champagne that followed us in with appropriate glasseware and a bucket of ice (even if the flutes were plastic). 

The pita crustini with olive oil and mozzarella highlighting roasted garlic and anchovies exemplified Betko’s flavor combinations, which provide simple layers of fresh ingredients that do not compete. The white bean soup was so tasty: hearty with a bit a smokiness from the house smoked beef. Capricciossa is one of almost 20 pizzas offered, which are a great size for one and are only $10-$13. Ham, mushroom, artichoke, green olive, and a whole egg covered this pizza, the name of which means whimsical and unpredictable. The ham and olives gave just enough brine to season the cheese and egg, which formed a decadent pool in the center. And the Henriot was a perfect treat throughout. 

The value of Bekta’s rustic flavors and the comfort of the wood, warmth, and neighborhood make Pizza Art Cafe a star in its seemingly small town setting.

From the tree-lined west 200 block of Huron St, Graham Elliot is lit like a jack-o-lantern. A warm orange glow and a pot of simmering spiced cider draw guests inside. On the walls, infinite autumn is created with mini pumpkins and mirrors as an artistic extension of the Chef’s platings. 

White truffle oil and parmesan was the popcorn of the night, as we started with musically-named cocktails incorporating classic spirits and unique liqueurs with fresh fruit and herbs. ‘London Calling’ is a refreshing apertif with Hendrick’s gin, ginger water, apple syrup, and cucumber soda, which paired nicely with the oyster flight. As we looked at the rest of the menu, we were informed that the food is organized to enable anyone to create a personalized tasting menu from the five simple categories: cold, hot, sea, land, and sweet. 

Chef’s Bowles’ seemingly unusual creations started to wield their culinary power when the foie app landed. Foie gras: luxurious product for the elite, right, with toast and quince paste. How about rice krispies treats. Like frosting, the foie mousse was piped right on top of the treat, the sweetness of which blended seamlessly with the richness of the meat. Cut that with tart from a cranberry compote and the tang from yoghurt sorbet and a signature Graham Elliot Bowles’ dish is revealed.

Sommelier Scott Norman (Aliena, Powerhouse) introduced us to a pretty cool wine from Puglia using the Malvasia Nera varietal. This wine, with flavors of fruit jam, gravel, and chocolate, was chosen to accompany the larger plates, all of which had deep, robust flavors. 

At the point my monkfish wellington arrived, I couldn’t help thinking about the game in which photos of heads, torsos, and legs are swapped to create bizarre and humorous combinations. I thought the Chef had played that trick on this dish: truffle, lentil, carrot, and pastry accompanied not by beef but by a fish. It totally worked! The wine as well. And the fish was cooked perfectly.

We ordered our sweets: molten carrot cake, deconstructed Snickers, and apple dumplings, and I had a little time to think about the culinary concept being presented at Graham Elliot. We don’t live in a ‘classic’ world. Sometimes dinner is from 7-Eleven. Rice krispies treats are damn good. And maybe Chef Bowles created a perfect embodiment of current society with his now famous ‘foie-lypops’: foie gras and pop rocks. We, as a culture, are still connected to past traditions, but we have created some pretty awesome things that are just plain fun. And Graham Elliot reassures us that it is OK to enjoy both.

The indie coffee roaster and retailer Intelligentsia is undeniably setting the standard in the coffee industry not only in Chicagoland, but now also in LA and New York. Their mission to bring single origin coffees from organic, ethical growers around the world is echoed by a simple sentence on the back of all of their coffee bags: “Great coffee is not the result of chance.” By buying from the source and local, small-batch roasting, Doug Zell and his Intellegentsia crew have set themselves far above anything one can find at the grocery store or the machine of Starbucks. 

Every month, Intelligentsia showcases new selections, micro-lots, and auction lots from Africa, Central, and South America. Recently, the Cup Of Excellence Nicaragua 2nd place winner Limoncillo made an appearance in Chicago inside a red bag with that signature winged mug logo. For $35 per 8 oz. bag, the Limoncillo is most likely the prize of a coffee connoisseur (or someone like myself, very interested, unaware of the price, and forced into purchasing by social norms and the unstoppable line of morning customers at the Jackson St. store).

At home, a few friends stopping by initiated the first cupping. They graciously brought with them hot water, as my gas was not yet turned on. We stood around the French press as it brooded with the Limoncillo for the proper four minutes, and awaited the smells we previewed from the grinder. Pouring the brew into 3 mugs and a glass (I only have 3 mugs), I wanted to imitate the pictures of professional cuppings I have seen on the Intelligentsia and COE websites and bend over, hands behind my back, to meet the steaming aromas, just the coffee and my nose… Instead we opted for the couch. But the aromas were there: berries, butter, flowers, and tropical fruit. We then met the garden fully as we took our first sip: earth and veggies. A clear but not overwhelming acidity held together a very balanced and elegant mouthfeel, and all I could think about was broccoli. Broccoli and honey dew. 

Something happens when you drink a very good, very expensive beverage. Whether it is a cocktail, wine, or coffee, somewhat of a high overtakes you beyond the pure chemicals of the drink. It is almost a floating experience and for myself (often becoming the postlude of a trip to the Violet Hour) also coincides with an inclination to past eras and romanticized versions of my life. Maybe it is a placebo effect justifying one’s desire for such luxuries, or a heightened awareness brought on by concentrating completely on a purely sensual experience, or just the act of consuming something that is rare. These were the thoughts that filled my mind as my coffee cooled and I slowly floated back into my seat on the couch.

First of all the colors are different: white and Mediterranean blue at Piccolo Sogno, all culminating through the wide doors leading to the multi-tiered patio filled with cobblestone and greenery, and the brown brick enclave of Mado with its deep burgundy seats and minimalist murals hanging next to the green, always work-in-progress chalkboard menu. The teetering crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceilings at Piccolo Sogno give the first hint to the frenzied environment of rushed servers delivering an unorganized presentation of a fresh menu and a seemingly fleeting wine collection. While Mado’s simple hosting table is a guest’s first view of a corresponding menu focussed on practiced, fresh technique but lacking completeness of flavor. 

At Piccolo Sogno, my dining companion and I were met by a friendly, flustered hostess trying to decide where to put us. We sat in the main inside dining room across from the gaping patio doors, next to the bustling kitchen, with the antipasti platter beckoning us with its olives, figs, and giant cured pork leg ready to be sliced. The greeting from our server was so rushed, it was lost in the movement of the space and the enjoyment of the olive oil and balsamic vinegar preset on our table. I finally got into a glass of Torre Gaia Asprinio di Aversa from Campania and was met with beautiful bubbles, fruit, and acidity. (Italy truly blows my mind with the range of wines it encompasses: every region has its sparkling, white, red, and sweet wines which define it.) We ordered our food from our server, who, unfortunately, tried to portray his knowledge with a fake Italian accent, while I could picture him just as easily bartending in Wrigleyville. He was inevitably eclipsed by the arugula salad with ripe peaches and fresh goat cheese. The crispness of the arugula paired with the dry cream of the cheese was perfectly rounded by the sweetness of the the peaches. The healthy noise from the patio boomed as we were served our main courses: four cheese ravioli and yellow fin tuna with Sicilian vegetables and raisins. We were without wine when the food hit, which was disappointing and further compounded with unmentioned gaps in the wine list. We ended up with unexpectedly successful recommendations from our server: Santadi Monica di Sardegna (Sardinian wine, check it out) and Arnaldo Caprai Grecante, an impressively delicate and floral wine from Umbria, made from the grechetto grape. The grechetto stood up to my bold tuna dish, which highlighted the the meaty texture of the fish with the substance of squash and the sweetness of the dried fruit. All together, it tasted like an amazing bar-b-que sauce in meat and vegetable form. By the end of our entrées, we felt a little forgotten and decided to depart, but we left truly impressed with Chef Priolo’s divulgement into authentic Italian ingredients and application.

Mado is fairly new and still a BYO at this point, which is very attractive in my opinion. To not be defined by a wine list is almost liberating. We brought two bottles: a Txacholi, a white from the Spanish Basque region, and Anthos Vino Da Tavola, made from the brachetto grape usually made into a sweet, efforvescent wine, here a dry application that still had the exotic nose of the sweet wine. It was so unique and literally smelled like cranberries sprayed with Vera Wang’s Princess: candied fruit and hugely floral.  We started with wax beans, baby octopus, and a duck liver terrine. Our entrées of hanger stake and rainbow trout came promptly after. Every dish was simple in its composition but lacked in in completeness. It was as if each item was missing that something that would make it really hit. With the octopus it was acid, the terrine needed fruit, the hanger steak wanted some sort of glaze, and the trout with cherry tomatoes and fennel was missing an herb, maybe even black pepper. The true highlight was the shortbread cookies at the end: perfectly buttery, sugared, and crumbly at the slightest pressure. We wanted to order a dozen to take home. 

Both restaurants are quite new and still discovering how their ingredient-driven menus materialize into an approachable service. At Piccolo Sogno, it is how that service is organized to best accentuate the menu and the individual needs of the guests. Mado, comparatively, needs a way to highlight the obvious comprehension of classic techniques with more complete flavor profiles. Each Chef team is clearly creating a niche in current Chicago cuisine with the focus on ingredients and preparation. Even if we as glocal consumers are confused about what we want, it is exiting to know that Chefs in this city are exploring the importance of ingredients and exposing us to the freshest and most unique products available.

Arugula, Butter-poached celery, Candied pignoli, Maytag blue cheese

     2007 Angeline Sauvignon Blanc, Russian River Valley

Pan-seared Kurobuta bone-in chops, Stone fruit chutney, Japanese white sweet potato, Tarragon coulis

     2005 Meyer-Fonné Gewurztraminer, Réserve Particuliere

Cherries, Lemon sabayon, Toasted brioche

     Pierre Ferrand Pineau Des Charentes

The crispness of the arugula, and the flavors of the celery made me lean toward Sauvignon Blanc, although it was tough with the sweetness of the candied pine nuts and the saltiness of the blue cheese. Overall the wine showed off the salad, which invigorated the palate with sweet, sour, salty and bitter. I love pairing white wines with a little sweetness with a beautiful piece of meat. It is a real treat to drink an Asatian Gewurz with the main course, and with this juicy, marbled meat and its somewhat exotic sweeter companions it was clearly the right choice. With its floral, lychee driven nose, it definitely stood out (although it was a little hot on the palate). And finally a little Pineau Des Charentes with its tarts fruit flavors and almost Madeira-esque oxidized sweetness, which made its way into the sabayon as well.