El Cid

Ratings Guide:
Half handshake, half chest-bump hug – 5 stars
Chest bump – 4 stars
Fist bump – 3 stars
High five – 2 stars
Handshake – 1 star
Manly ass slap – ½ star
Fone and fone – 0 stars




Restaurant: El Cid
Location: 2645 N. Kedzie


I French kissed a cow this weekend and it reminded me of eating roast beef. Not only that, the cow was dead. More on that in a moment.

This past Saturday, where the weather was absolutely perfect, I ventured over to by buddy Dave’s place. Dave just moved here a couple of weeks ago and he had some friends in town from New York. They wanted to grab a bite and were in the mood for some authentic Mexican food, something they say they don’t really get in New York. So, with the weather perfect and the desire to sit outside, I recommended we check out El Cid in Logan Square.

I love the atmosphere at El Cid. Located in the heart of Logan Square it’s just across the street from the Blue Line stop, making it pretty easy to get to. Well, easy to get to for me, since I live near the Blue Line. Maybe not as easy to get to for you if you don’t live near the Blue Line. Lucky for me I don’t care about you. Logan Square has a great vibe about it. One of those “up and coming” neighborhoods, it’s been deemed the next hot spot. It feels a lot like Wicker Park felt 5-10 years ago before Josh Hartnett moved in. And El Cid has two outdoor areas – one in front with about five small tables that let you sit on the sidewalk and take in Logan Square and a second patio in the back with the perfect combination of trees and sunlight. We sat in the back.

Days like this day were made for two things – Mexican beer and margaritas. Chrissie and I opted for the margaritas, while Dave and Wojo went with Pacifico. I didn’t love my margarita. After having one at Matchbox the night before (best in the city), my bar was probably set too had, so I was going to be disappointed no matter what. But, that doesn’t change the fact that it wasn’t a great margarita. Chrissie got the strawberry one and said it tasted like cough syrup. I’m not sure if she meant, “Yum, this tastes like cough syrup” or “Yuk, this tastes like cough syrup” or “MMMMM, cough syrup. This reminds me of the good ol’ days.” I’m guessing the first. The beer tasted fine. Dave went with the Tecate for his second round, and it was served out of a can. And you know what they say; it isn’t summer until you’re slamming a 12 oz can of Tecate.

I started things off with the queso fundido. At a lot of places queso fundido is just a fancy way of saying Rotelle dip. But not at El Cid. They do it the right way. They bring out a plate of perfectly melted Chihuahua cheese, then you scoop it up with your fork, wrap a tortilla around it, and enjoy. I couldn’t have been happier. It was a plate full of happiness. I think I hit rock bottom when I ran out of tortillas and just started eating the cheese with my fork.

Then I ordered three tacos for my lunch. Two of the tacos were fish tacos. I’ll be honest, they were good but not great. They had a nice mix of cilantro and onions and fish, and I squeezed some lime on them, but the flavor was very average. Nothing special.

The third taco I got was beef tongue. That’s right, beef tongue. I saw it on the menu, and I’ve never eaten beef tongue before, so I figured what the hell. I was actually a little disappointed. I’m not sure what I expected it to taste like, but it tasted like roast beef. You could see the taste buds and stuff on the little pieces, so it had that going for it. But, the taco did kill two birds with one stone - now I can cross “beef tongue” and “French kiss a cow” off my list of “1 Million Things To Do Before The Cubs Win a World Series”.

Other orders at the table included the barbeque chicken kabobs, which were fantastic. Maybe the best order of the day, minus the plate of cheese. Dave got some kind of sandwich, which he regretted. It was served on Mexican bread, and he thought that sounded interesting. Turns out Mexican bread is pretty much like American bread. Who knew? But, he also got a taco with Mexican Gyro meat (which is just marinated pork) and it was excellent. I’d advise getting tacos with this instead of fish or beef tongue.

Now, I read recently that El Cid was up for the honor of best tacos in the city. It didn’t win, but finished somewhere in the top ten. I love me some El Cid, but mostly for the atmosphere. But I wouldn’t say they are anywhere near the top 10 tacos in the city. Who is in the top 10? I don’t know, I’ll have to get back to you. But if El Cid is in the top then, then I think Chicago is in a lot of trouble. But that’s just me.

El Cid gets a high-five with a manly ass slap. There’s better Mexican food elsewhere, but that doesn’t stop me from going out of my way to visit El Cid when I can.


Got a question? Send it to born2fork@yahoo.com.

Erwin

Ratings Guide:
Half handshake, half chest-bump hug – 5 stars
Chest bump – 4 stars
Fist bump – 3 stars
High five – 2 stars
Handshake – 1 star
Manly ass slap – ½ star
Fone and fone – 0 stars




Restaurant: Erwin
Location: 2925 N. Halsted


I hadn’t really heard anything about Erwin before I went there. In fact, I’d never even heard of Erwin before I went there. Some friends of ours recommended it so we headed there for dinner not too long ago. Now, when we walked in the place looked nice. Kind of felt like the type of restaurant you might find if you were on vacation in Lake Geneva or Michigan or something (I’m not sure why you’d go on vacation in Michigan either, but bear with me). But like the really nice restaurant in those vacation towns. Maybe it was the white walls, or the dark wood. Or maybe it was the fact that we were the youngest group of people in the place by at least 20 years. Now, I’ve come to expect this when my wife makes me eat at the blue-plate-special hour of the evening, but it wasn’t six o’clock. It was 8:30. And it’s located in the heart of Lakeview. I can’t remember the last time I went to a restaurant in Chicago and didn’t see one patron under 30 in the entire place (minus our table). It’s like the CBS of restaurants.

Anyway, the six of us sat down at our table. Some people will tell you that they hate it when their server comes by every three minutes to check up on them. They feel like it’s a constant interruption throughout the entire dinner. I’m not one of those people. I like not having to call Anthony LaPaglia to find my waiter. That doesn’t mean I need my waiter to be part of my conversations or to have a seat and eat dinner with us. Just a quick check-in to make sure we’re happy. Even just a slow walk by the table to see if we’re missing anything, giving us a chance to get his attention if we need him. See, what I hate is a server who never interrupts. Who assumes because you’re talking and laughing that you’re doing OK. To simply place a drink order we had to set a bear trap near our table to slow down our waiter and get him to stop. And it was like that all night. In fact, I don’t remember him ever stopping by just to check up on us. At one point we had to ask a busboy to find our server. The only time this plays into your favor (and this was one of those nights) is when you can just sit there and talk and drink for an hour or more after dinner without feeling like you’re being rushed out so they can clean your table and sit another party. That’s always nice.

At least the food was pretty good. I started off with the ravioli, which was filled with braised rib meat. Just a nice little twist on a pretty standard dish. Well done. For dinner I ordered the duck and sausage. The menu actually had a ton of things I wanted to try, which is great. Normally you can narrow down your options to one or two things, but I really did have trouble making a choice here. The deciding factor was what everyone else ordered, since I make it a point to order something no one else at the table is having. My wife got the steak. Two other people got the skate, and Matt got the liver (more on that in a moment). So, while the gourmet hamburger and the chicken both sounded good, I went with the duck and sausage. Mostly because it sounded interesting, and I was in the mood for something a little different. This dish should be named “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.” The good was the duck. Good flavor, perfectly cooked, just wish there was a little more of it. The bad was the sausage. Not sure what I was expecting, but there was nothing interesting or special about it. Just a small sausage cut in half. It didn’t taste any different than if I had bought a Jimmy Dean or Hillshire Farm link from the store and threw it in the pan with a little oil. Normally I’d complain that there wasn’t enough of this as well, but since it was so disappointing I’m glad it was only a small link. And the ugly was the vegetable the two meats were served on. I have no idea what it was, but it was unpleasant to look at (for the record it was braised kale and lima bean ragout, whatever that means).

I’m pretty sure I made the only bad choice of the night. The steak was good. Not a “holy crap” steak, but also not a “wish I had a do over” steak. Just a good cut of steak cooked perfectly. The skate was also pretty good. I will say that it had a strong lemon flavor, and even though I love fish when it’s cooked with lemon, this was almost too much. It wasn’t nearly as good as the skate at West Town Tavern, but still a pretty good choice. I think the best entrée was the liver. Yeah, I said it. The liver. How many times have I tried liver? Somewhere right around zero. I love braunschweiger, which is basically speadable liver (I think my favorite sandwich in the world is braunschweiger, miracle whip, and pickles on French bread. Oh, and don’t ever eat this sandwich if you plan on making out with someone. Just trust me on this.) so I’m not sure why I’ve never actually tried liver before. Seems I was missing out. The liver was really good. I had a bite and was jealous I didn’t get it myself. Oh well, maybe next time.

I made up for my poor dinner selection with dessert. No one was really interested in getting anything, but I insisted. So many things on the dessert menu looked good I had trouble deciding. So I just ordered three of them. The sour cherry pie and the double chocolate brownie sundae were both really, really good. But they were nothing compared to the ice cream sandwich. It wasn’t your typical chocolate chip cookies with vanilla ice cream. It was chocolate chip banana cake with butter pecan ice cream topped with caramel sauce. It was even better than it sounds. I would go back for the dessert alone.

The night was capped off by the pleasant discovery of the after dinner mints sitting on the hostess stand. They were the old school root beer hard candies. You know, the ones that are shaped like a barrel. Just genius. Thankfully that restaurant was pretty empty when we left so I didn’t feel bad stuffing my pockets with the little suckers.

If it weren’t for the dessert and root beer candies I’d give this place probably a high-five, maybe a high-five with a manly ass slap. But the end of the evening gets it to a solid fist bump. Good choices, good food. Just nothing great.



Got a question? Send it to born2fork@yahoo.com.

Spiaggia

Ratings Guide:
Half handshake, half chest-bump hug – 5 stars
Chest bump – 4 stars
Fist bump – 3 stars
High five – 2 stars
Handshake – 1 star
Manly ass slap – ½ star
Fone and fone – 0 stars




Restaurant: Spiaggia
Location: 980 N. Michigan Ave.


“Spiaggia don’t lie.”

So Geoff and I are sitting down, eating our dinner, and we’ve both been a little over served. After about two bites of his entrée, he turns to me and slurs, “I want to scribe the first line of your review.” Then he took a dramatic pause. “Spiaggia don’t lie. Spiaggia don’t lie.” He makes a good point. Spiaggia don’t lie.

I know what you’re asking yourself. Why in the hell were you and Geoff eating dinner together at Spiaggia? It’s not exactly the kind of place you and a friend go to and grab a bite to eat. Well, friends of ours from high school got married, and the reception was at Spiaggia. Now, my wife couldn’t attend because of a prior commitment, and Geoff’s wife couldn’t attend because he isn’t married or dating anybody. So, we went together. Which worked out great because they had an open bar and Geoff’s been known to put out after he’s had one-to-many. And I was in luck, because he had about nine-to-many.

The wedding was a beautiful Catholic wedding that only lasted about thirty minutes. Most Catholic weddings are a full service, lasting at least an hour. So anytime a Catholic wedding is only thirty minutes it becomes a beautiful Catholic wedding. After the wedding we drove down to Geoff’s place, which is around Grand and Ogden. We had an hour to kill before the reception started, and it was nice out, so we thought it would be a good idea to walk to Spiaggia from there. He didn’t really look at the invite, so he had no idea where it was, and I was convinced that it was on the 600 block of N. Michigan. So we figured we’d hustle straight down Grand, cut over to Ohio, and be there in plenty of time. The walk was nice. We talked. We laughed. We made every girl we saw feel so uncomfortable she would cross the street to avoid us. It was great. So, we hit Michigan Ave., looked around, and had no idea where this place was. We walked around for a couple of blocks, calling everyone we know and asking doormen and people on the street where the place was. Nobody had a clue. Finally I walked into the Coach store and pleasantly approached a couple of the ladies working there. “Do either of you know where Spiaggia is?” The first girl looked blank. Never heard of it. The second girl looked annoyed, “You mean Spagga?” correcting my pronunciation as she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it’s down at 900 N. Michigan,” she said and turned to walk away. Thanks for the help. And by the way, bitch, it’s Spiaggia where I come from.

OK, so now we’re at the reception, drinks are flowing, I’m catching up with old friends, all is well. Then we see someone walking around with an appetizer tray, and I get a little excited. Then I see the tray. It’s filled with spoons, and each spoon has a tiny appetizer on it. Now I’m nervous that I’m gonna have to go to McDonald’s after dinner just so I don’t starve to death. I take the spoon, which has a small piece of artichoke on it, and devour it. Great. Eventually another tray comes around with more spoons, but these have prosciutto. Also great. Looking back it was genius. Just a tiny, tiny sample that whet my appetite and left me wanting more. Brilliant.

So we sit down for dinner and toast the happy couple with a glass of champagne. Just then our buddy Andres, aka Ronnie Physical, comes running over and puts everything in perspective for us. “I had no idea how nice this place was. They got white people serving the water.”

For starters we all got the Mozzarella di bufala con pomodori, cipolle, e pepperoni. Which is Italian for good-ass salad. And not the kind of good-ass salad you get in prison. This was basically a caprese salad with buffalo mozzarella, drizzled with olive oil and accented with a couple of vegetables. It was fantastic.

Next was the Ravioletti di formagella, which was ravioli filled with goat cheese and covered with a sauce that had a strong olive taste. I don’t really like olives, and the sauce was heavy on the olive flavoring. But even so, it was still really good, it just wouldn’t have been my first choice. And if I go back I probably wouldn’t get it again, but that’s just me.

And now came the entrée. I went with the fish. Normally at a wedding I go with the meat, because the fish is almost always salmon, and I don’t like salmon. But the fish tonight was Swordfish (Pesce spada alla costa assura to be exact) and I couldn’t pass it up. And I’m glad I didn’t. While the steak looked great, the fish was the perfect dish. Great flavor to it and perfectly cooked. My fork effortlessly cut through the large portion and tore off each piece. And I love the way fish can fill you up but doesn’t sit heavy in your stomach, which is good when you’ve had three drinks and are on your fifth glass of wine and your date for the night keeps putting his hand on your knee (not that I was complaining).

After dinner I noticed Ronnie Physical holding two cups of some fancy coffee. I went over and discovered that out in the lobby area they had a guy making espresso drinks. So, I strolled out there and got Geoff and me a couple of cappuccinos. When I brought it back to the table Geoff lit up. I’m no coffee expert. I brew it every morning, I know I like it strong, and I know I like Intelligentsia. But that’s about as much as I know. Geoff, on the other hand, is a bit of a coffee expert. Well, espresso really. And after one sip he turned to me and said, “Wow, this is perfect.” So that means they know what they’re doing. Then he touched my knee again. This was going well.

Dessert came and was a chocolate multi-layer cake served with a small side of ice cream. Guess what? It was also great. It was also at this time that Mr. M, (Two Moons Mathismo’s dad) was talking to our buddy Cornell who lives in New York. Cornell was inviting him out to visit, and Mr. Mathis responded by saying, “I know, I know. But I got to figure out what to do with my wife. You know you don’t bring sand to the beach.” Maybe it was the 1.3 blood alcohol level, but I couldn’t stop laughing.

As dinner wound down the music wound up, which allowed Geoff to do some Crip Walking and me to drop the Skateboard on fools. And that was that. Geoff and I danced the night away to the sounds of Stevie Wonder, Bel Biv Devoe, Bobby Brown, and more. We stumbled out of there at 1 a.m., but rumor has it the rest of the crowd danced until 3, as the staff stood there crossing there arms and hoping the night would be over sooner than later.

Just a great night overall. There’s nothing better than catching up with friends you don’t get to see often enough. And there’s also nothing better than Geoff’s goodnight kiss, which is the perfect blend between passion and compassion. Thanks Geoff.

Spiaggia was great. And if the wedding menu we were served is this good, I can only imagine how good the full menu is in the dinning room. But, until I actually eat in the actual restaurant, I can only give Spiaggia a chest bump with a manly ass slap. But I’m sure it would get a perfect score on my next visit. Stay tuned.



Got a question? Send it to born2fork@yahoo.com.

Milwaukee

Ratings Guide:
Half handshake, half chest-bump hug – 5 stars
Chest bump – 4 stars
Fist bump – 3 stars
High five – 2 stars
Handshake – 1 star
Manly ass slap – ½ star
Fone and fone – 0 stars



Let’s play some word association. I’m gonna throw out a word or phrase or whatever, and you say the first thing that comes to mind. Let’s begin.

Pizza.

Basketball.

Beach.

Nike.

Milwaukee.

Vacation.

Strip club.

Chocolate.

Beer.

The movie Stick It.

Summer.


That’s enough. How’d you do? Let me guess. Your answers went something like this:

Pizza: stuffed, good, greasy, tasty, pepperoni
Basketball: MJ, Bulls, United Center, Scottie
Beach: sand, ocean, blanket, bikinis
Nike: shoes, swoosh, MJ, sports, clothes
Milwaukee: sucks, boring, sucks, awful
Vacation: beach, relaxation, sun, plane, no work
Strip club: bada bing, boobies, pepperoni, g-string divas
Chocolate: sweet, Snickers, good, strawberry
Beer: good, High Life, refreshing, Duff, Homer
Stick It: sucks, boring, sucks, awful
Summer: warm, sun, vacation, no work, softball

Am I close? I’m guessing I am. Here’s my point: you probably feel the same way about Milwaukee as you do about a movie like Stick It. Most likely you haven’t been to Milwaukee, and you haven’t seen Stick It, but you have assumptions about both. And that assumption is that they are both a waste of your time. And you know what? You’re wrong.

See, Milwaukee’s got a lot more going for it than you’d think. Just like Stick It. Believe me, I know. I saw the movie the day it opened, and I’ve been heading to our sister to the north a lot lately for work.

Here’s the list:

Milwaukee: The lakefront. Great place to run, go for a walk, or have a picnic and enjoy the view.
Stick It: Great one-liners, like “This is my hetero life partner Frank” and “’You gonna bust me out?’ ‘You know how I like a good bust.’” and “Careful, or you’re going to have a cardio vasectomy.”

Milwaukee: Brady Street. Feels like a younger, more happening Main St. of a small town. Great vibe, great atmosphere, great bars. Lots of college kids (for better or worse).
Stick It: Hot girls (don’t worry, I think they’re all over 18) in boy shorts and sports bras. And they are all in some sick shape.

Milwaukee: Good restaurants. You’d be surprised.
Stick It: Poot and Frank.

Milwaukee: Downtown. It’s not much, but the parts that are developing are nice.
Stick It: Missy Peregrym.

Milwaukee: 3rd Ward. Up and coming ‘hood with lots of lofts, shops, markets. Feels like a real city neighborhood.
Stick It: Every “phone” scene. So dumb it’s brilliant.

Milwaukee: Encased meats and cheese. And the Miller brewery. And Harley’s headquarters. Sausage plus cheese plus beer plus motorcycles. Sounds like a pretty good city to me.
Stick It: The story line. Ridiculous. In a good way.

Milwaukee: The art museum. I hear good things. I’ve never been there, but it looks great from the outside.
Stick It: Wei Wei’s dance moves. Uncomfortable. In a good way.

Milwaukee: A chain of restaurants that all start with the word “Mo” – like Mo’s Steakhouse, Mocha, Monsoon, and highest of all comedy – Moceans. Can you imagine a worse name for a place? In a good way.
Stick It: The highest of all comedy – Jeff Bridges nearly crying.

Milwaukee: The weather bean. It’s a neon bean that sits on the top of a building and changes color based on the temperature. I figure if Chicago can brag about Cloudgate then Milwaukee should be able to brag about the weather bean.
Stick It: Jeff Bridges on the trampoline.

I could go on all day. You get the point. Sometimes your preconceptions are misconceptions and you need to give something a chance before you crap on it.

Now that we’ve got that covered, here are a couple of those good restaurants I mentioned.


Restaurant: Zarletti
Location: 741 N. Milwaukee St., Milwaukee, WI

If you ever are going to Milwaukee and are going to be stuck over night (and I mean stuck in the nicest possible way), then I advise you stay at the Metro. Probably the nicest hotel in town. And if you do stay at The Metro, and you’re looking to eat dinner, look no further than Zarletti. It’s right across the street, which is good since catching a cab in Milwaukee is about as easy as catching an STD in a convent. Not that I would know.

I always know I’m going to like a place when they bring out the bread. For one, it’s free, and anytime I’m getting something free, I’m happy. Plus, the bread was warm, and the butter was soft. You really can’t underestimate soft butter and warm bread. I hate the places that give you a loaf of bread with some butter that just came out of the fridge, except the fridge is set at such a cold temp that the butter is practically frozen, so you can barely cut the butter with a knife, and spreading it on the bread is impossible. And if they give you the frozen butter and the bread is cold? Forget about it. I won’t even eat it (OK, that’s a lie, cause I’ll eat anything. But believe me, I’m not happy about it). So, Zarletti scored some serious points with warm bread (and good bread at that) and some soft, spreadable butter. And isn’t everything better when it’s spreadable?

For starters I opted for the minestrone soup and a Caesar salad. The salad was just OK. Nothing special. It seems like everyplace serves a Caesar salad, but it’s hard to find a great Caesar salad. Why is that? The soup was much better. See, minestrone soup is something that is relatively common, but every place seems add their own twist to it, so it’s not like you ever get the same soup twice from restaurant to restaurant. But with Caesar salad there really isn’t much you can do to spice it up. So either you have a great dressing or not, and most places don’t. Too bad, since I love Caesar salad. So, soup was good, and salad was nothing special (but it almost never is).

For dinner I rolled the dice. Every now and then I’ll ask the server what they recommend. I’ll have two or three options in my head, and if they say an option I was thinking of, then it’s a sign to get it. And if they say something totally different, then I really have a decision to make. But even better is pulling a “Tony D”, where you ask the server to make a recommendation between Dish A and Dish B. Then, if the server says, “Oh, I’d go with Dish B.” you immediately say, “I’ll take Dish A.” Great dickhead move that always kills. Plus the server will either laugh and think it’s funny or spit in your food, but either way it’s worth it. At Zarletti I handed the server the menu and said, “Surprise me.” He looked a little stunned, and I repeated myself with a, “Bring me anything. Your choice.” He asked if I eat red meat and was off. He brought me the prime rib. And the man made a great choice. Amazing. Cooked perfectly. Great sauce (I believe they call it a reduction sauce, though it actually increases flavor, not reduce it).

On the flip side, my buddy Scott says stay away from the veal. Zarletti claims it as a signature dish, but Scott says it’s no good. Not sure if Scott can be totally trusted since he hates everything and probably eats his pasta with no sauce and adds butter, but you’ve been warned.

Chest bump. I really liked the atmosphere, the food, and most importantly the company (awwwww). I’m sure I’ll be back.



Restaurant: Roots
Location: 1818 N. Hubbard St.

Well, I know I said maybe Scott couldn’t be trusted based on his “simple” tastes, but we put our faith in him anyway and let him talk us into eating dinner at Roots. And I’m glad we did. For one thing, it took us to a different part of the city. We usually stick to the two blocks that consist of the “cool” part of downtown. Usually because we’re just walking from the hotel, and because we figured it was all Milwaukee had to offer. But Roots sits in a different part of town (I have no idea what the part of town is called. Then again, the city isn’t that big, so it might just be called “Milwaukee”.).

So we walk in the door, and in the upstairs area there are about 4 tables that are full. The rest of the tables are empty (maybe 7 or 8). The bartender comes up and asks how many, and when we tell him four he tells us to hold on a minute. It takes them probably five minutes to clear a table for us. Again, there are probably 7 or 8 empty tables, but we end up waiting five minutes before they sit us at a table. This had me nervous. Turns out it was worth the wait. The table they cleared for us was right next to the glass doors that led to the outdoor patio. Now, it was too cold to sit outside, but the table was important because it had a great view of the city through the doors. The view actually made the city and it’s skyline look impressive. Let that sink in for a second. Every time I would drive up to Milwaukee I would make my “What a beautiful skyline” joke as everyone laughed. But this view from Roots has changed my opinion (would love to sit on the patio when it’s nice out). From this view Milwaukee actually felt like a cool little city. I’ll probably only make the skyline joke every other time I drive up now.

Roots also brags of slow service. Seriously. On their menu it says something about taking your time and enjoying your meal. There is no rush. You sit, relax, enjoy your meal, and stay as long as you want. It’s kind of refreshing. Of course if you’re starving, you have to tackle your waitress and beg for some bread (like we did), but after that it’s great.

The meal started off bad. But I’ll take full responsibility. I ordered the Caesar salad. Guess what? It wasn’t anything special. It was a Caesar salad. Big whoop. What did I expect? I have no idea. But I think I might be done ordering Caesar’s unless it’s the only edible thing on the menu. Luckily for me I was able to mooch some of the other appetizers. Julie got the spaghetti squash pancakes, and they were delicious. They tasted like real pancakes. You would never guess they were made with a vegetable. I just wanted a bite to see what it tasted like. I may have eaten an entire pancake. My bad. Michael got the crab cakes. Not bad, but nothing special, according to him (I didn’t try them, but I’ll take his word for it).

For dinner I couldn’t decide, so I asked the waitress what she would get if she were ordering dinner, and she said the sablefish. And since that was one of the options I had narrowed it down to, I took it as a sign. So that’s what I got. Now, the sablefish comes with grilled bulgar. Do you know what bulgar is? Neither did I. It’s a grain and is kind of like cous cous. The only difference is that it tastes like dirt. And when it’s grilled it’s like a brick of dirt. It was also a little burnt. Of course none of this stopped me from eating the whole thing, but I think it was out of curiosity more than anything. Oh, and the sablefish was pretty good. I also had a bite of the tilapia, which was great, and the tenderloin, which was also great.

And when we were done with that I talked everyone into ordering some dessert to share. And by share I mean I eat everything on the table. The seven layer chocolate cake sounded great. Too bad it didn’t taste that way. It wasn’t awful or anything, but when you tell me you have seven layer cake, I’m looking for something that’s gonna put me in diabetic shock. Instead I ate half of it and gave up. Julie got the sorbet, which was actually really good. Unfortunately it came out so frozen that even a knife wouldn’t cut through it. You had to sit there and wait for it to warm up before it became edible. But once it did I actually really liked it.

In the end not a bad recommendation by Scott. After the meal he informed us that he had actually never eaten in the restaurant. He had only been in the Cellar, which was the lounge downstairs. I walked down there to check it out and I can see why he would go there to eat. Good atmosphere with great music playing (I heard some Q-Tip and Common’s The Corner). Made me wish we had gone down there to eat. Then again, our meal was pretty good. But, nothing that I would crave to eat. In the summer I could see myself going back there to sit outside and eat. I’m torn between a high five with a manly ass slap and a fist bump, but I’m gonna give it a fist bump for Scotty. And for the view.



Got a question? Send it to born2fork@yahoo.com.