Not just European, but a product of the deep foodie culture of London and its environs, where there are more than 70 Michelin-starred restaurants within the town and its commuter belt. Cookery shows are a staple of prime time television and most middle class dinner conversations seem obsessed with your latest restaurant find, the gourmet ingredient you brought back from your last holiday or the menu for your next dinner party.When I saw that Chicago had 19 starred restaurants of its own, I thought it was time for a comparison. As familiar as I was with Michelin's picks in the UK, I'd never eaten at that level in the land of my birth. What would it be like?
Our test case was Sepia, a well-reviewed place in the city's newly trendy near west side, serving up "New American" cuisine in an old print works. (From there, the inspiration for the name, and the brown-tinted photographs of old Chicago decorating the interior.) The ethos, certainly, is exactly the same as any UK equivalent. This from their menu: "rooted in tradition, our seasonal menu showcases pristine natural ingredients ... we support local artisan farmers".
We went for the seven course chef's menu with matching wine flight. Well, we could hardly do a fair comparison on just three courses and one bottle, right? The food was exactly what I'd expect from any one Michelin star establishment. A beautifully balanced menu, everything perfectly cooked and artfully presented, with delicate portion sizes built to let you work your way through the whole menu without being stuffed.
There was little, however, that surprised, and little that told my taste buds I was in another country. The only strikingly unusual element on the menu was the striped marlin (aka nairagi) for the fish course; flown in from Hawaii and unknown in the UK. Everything else was standard fine dining fare: beef tartare, scallops with black pudding, pork tenderloin with the uber-trendy slow cooked cheek. Innovation was subtle and came in the accompaniments. Pickled ramps (baby leeks) beside the scallops, tea soaked prunes with the pork, a flemish sour beer with the flourless chocolate cake.
That last pairing was the stand-out culinary moment of the evening, and I suspect Verhaeghe Brewery'sDuchesse de Bourgogne may make an appearance in place of a dessert wine at a Bencard dinner party this winter. In fact, it was the wine flight that took us to the most interesting and unusual places. First, another example of an American "flight" that wasn't just wine. Then a tasty riesling from Canada's Niagra peninsula, and a pinot noir vin gris from Traverse City Michigan. I had no idea either of those northern spots could turn out wine. Neither were worth adding to the home cellar, but it was interesting to taste such unusual options and they both paired well with their food. (Gingersnaps with ricotta cremeux for Niagra and scallops for Michigan.) In fact, alcohol seemed to be a strong suit overall. The bar up front has a fascinating collection of local spirits and a barman who's a true mixologist, creating unusual combinations unique to Sepia.
The differences from English Michelin star dining came in environment rather than food. If this is a representative example, then America's high end restaurants are just as noisy as the run-of-the-mill places. There was a steady din until the place started to empty out as we approached dessert. Most diners seemed to be there on business. We know. The residents of the tables on each side of us were speaking so loudly I could have contributed to their discussions.
Most of our fellow diners did not seem to be having the chef's menu ... which would be standard at this sort of place in London ... but doing a typically American in-and-out for two courses. From our observation, nobody really seemed that into the food at all. This spilled over to efficient yet brisk and perfunctory service. Our waitress was pleasant, and told us what was on the plate, but didn't stop to chat and didn't have that much to add, even when we asked questions and it became obvious we were honestly interested. We never really got to conversation level, as we often have with servers over here, who are clearly as into the cuisine as we are. The same went for the drinks service. I sense there wasn't a sommelier at all; the flight was served by either the restaurant manager or our waitress. And while they were able to give us a basic overview, there was certainly none of the tasting note style conversations, or quirky stories about the winery or the production, that you get in the UK.
All this, honestly, left me unimpressed. If I'm spending a lot of money on a meal ... which, we all know, I am happy to do ... then I want the atmosphere to be as impressive as the food. Soothe me, fascinate me, or give me a buzzy vibe that makes me feel that I'm in some exclusive spot with the cognoscenti. The whole experience should be as special as the food, and I certainly can't say that about Sepia.
Our visit to Niche the week before in St. Louis remained the finest dining experience of the whole trip. But our time in Chicago generated a healthy list of other honourable mentions, laid out below.
Chicago's German classic, run by the same family since they opened in 1898 and claiming to be the oldest restaurant in town. Sadly, they've modernised since my youth, opening up the old, wood-panelled bar so that it runs continuously into the restaurant and putting all sorts of non-German things on the menu. If you want light food or nouvelle cuisine, go somewhere else. Come here for fresh-baked pretzels with multiple mustards for dipping, wiener schnitzel, spaetzle, sauerbraten, potato salad and the own-brand beer, with seasonal varieties. Those were all still as good as they used to be.
Kikuya Japanese Restaurant
On the edge of the University of Chicago Campus and a 10-minute walk from the Museum of Science and Industry, but clearly such a local secret that one of the regulars ... a professor from Roosevelt University ... struck up a conversation with us to discover how in the world we found it. (TripAdvisor) Tiny, humble place with fantastic sushi. Obviously freshly cut and prepared by hand on order, with both traditional and the bigged-up, sauced American-style rolls. Some of the best I've had in the States.
Harry Caray's Tavern, Navy Pier
Yes, it's a sports bar, looking like a thousand others across the States. But the burgers tasted like they'd actually been shaped in that kitchen and were cooked to your preference, rather than to the enforced medium-well-so-you-can't-sue-us style so prevalent now across America. My Santa Fe salad was heavy on the good stuff, rather than bulked out with cheap iceberg lettuce, and served in a size I could actually eat rather than sending wasteful extras back to the kitchen. Great service with constant refills on the soft drinks. Better than the average sports bar is a mini museum on the way to the bathrooms; St. Louis fans will be particularly impressed to see one of Stan Musial's jerseys. (Caray was the Cardinals' broadcaster before he moved north to make his reputation with the Cubs.)
The University Club
Sadly, you can't eat here unless you're a member, or have a membership at a reciprocal club. Or are with someone in those categories. If you can get in, do. A constantly changing menu with seasonal specials, top quality meat and fish, beautiful presentation and a great wine list. Most of the year dinner is in the extraordinary neo-Gothic great hall, but in the summer you eat on the roof balcony with jaw dropping views of the city. There's an extremely friendly and generous staff. Dangerously so when if comes to the one behind the President's Bar, to which we retired after our meal to explore their small but respectable collection of armagnac and single malts. We ate here two of our three nights and dollar-for-dollar, it delivered a better all-round fine dining experience than Sepia.
Tortas Frontera
Celebrity chef Rick Bayless delivers the best airport food I've had anywhere in the world. Mexican griddle-baked sandwiches filled with delicately seasoned south-of-the-border specialities like Cubana smoked pork loin, chipotle chicken and Yucatan pulled pork. From meat sourced from organic producers listed on the menu. No industrial, processed flavours here: everything tasted like it had been cooked slowly for hours over a wood fire by some wizened old woman named Juanita. Pair that with hand-shaken margaritas made with house-infused flavoured tequilas. All explained by a barman/server who clearly cared about the provenance of his ingredients and whether we liked it. And conveniently located across from the BA departure gate. Makes me kick myself I didn't plan far enough in advance for my Michelin experiment to take place at Bayless' starred Topolobampo. Top of the list for the next visit...
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