Chicago - Simplicity and Distillation

Lunch was in Evanston (IL) at a local Mexican restaurant called Lupita's. It's an airy, low-key joint that wasn't too busy at 2pm so everyone -- in parties of 1 or 2 -- was seated in one of the booths along the large glass windows. There were a number of lunch options within walking distance of my friend's condo but I chose Mexican for a personal reason, as Chicago is where I learned to really enjoy Mexican food. Before then, I'd only had gringo-ed Mexican food and really wasn't that in to it. I suppose if someone had only had Americanized Chinese food (sweet and sour pork, etc.) then they might not be too impressed with Chinese cuisine either. Chicago has the second-largest Mexican population of any US city -- ~530,000, behind only Los Angeles -- so there's plenty of demand for good Mexican food. Following the standard rule of only eating at ethnic restaurants where people of that ethnicity actually eat, Chicago really opened my eyes. One of the major impacts that it's had on my palate is what I'm going to call the Chicago style of salsa, very heavy on the use of fresh cilantro. No other city in my experience uses massive quantities of cilantro so consistently in their salsa. I'm not going to argue that this is the superior way, but because this is the style to which I became accustomed, salsa without ridiculous amounts of cilantro doesn't quite taste right to me. This recalibration of personal taste makes me wonder sometimes how universal and/or standardized deliciousness can be, given how one's aesthetic and gustatory perceptions are shaped by one's personal experience.

The tortilla chips at Lupita's are a bit unusual, as they are made from flour tortillas instead of corn tortillas. Clearly made fresh on the premises, the tortilla chips were multi-ply and deep-fried to the hilt (and therefore tasty). The salsa was cilantro-y and liquid-y, with a notable level of heat. The cup of salsa actually came with a spoon, which I found unexpected but useful for adding to a folded tortilla later in the meal or just consuming the salsa straight. I ordered the chicken caldo -- which I'd never had before or even heard of previously -- which is a very simple soup with pieces of white-meat chicken and large chunks of carrots, broccoli, and cauliflower in a clear, not-strongly-flavored broth. I like to think that I can appreciate subtlety and balance, but I definitely enjoy strong flavors. It wasn't bad, wasn't spectacular, but I appreciated the execution since it's more difficult to do a good job with something simple vs. something complicated. If there are a lot of crazy sauces and spices going on in a dish, one can hide mistakes. If you just have some vegetables, some chicken, and some broth, any failings in any of the ingredients will be glaringly obvious. The weather outside was cold but clear, so the airiness of the restaurant contributed to a happy experience, if not a particularly memorable meal.



Dinner was kind of excellent. My buddy and I met up with a few of his friends at a Korean bar/lounge/restaurant called Ssaboo in Glenview (IL) so we could watch Korea play Japan in the World Baseball Classic over dinner. The draft beer comes in frosted glass mugs whose coldness creates mini-icebergs in the drink, and the soju flows as freely as one might fear. I'm always overdue for Korean food and I'm especially appalled that I did not take better advantage of the Korean establishments in northern Virginia while I was there. The main reason we went to Ssaboo was for the 통닭 (tong dak), Korean-style fried chicken. We had two orders for a table of five and the super-juicy, thinly-coated, tender and flavorful hunks of bone-in chicken did not last very long. It takes a while to come out since it's made à la minute (cooked to order) and pretty much every table orders it. The 골뱅이 (golbaengi) is a dish of sea snail with sliced cucumber and shredded scallions in a hot and spicy sauce generally made with 고추장 (gochujang = chili pepper paste), chili pepper powder, vinegar, sugar, salt, minced garlic, and sesame oil. This deconstructed list of ingredients doesn't do the dish any justice, as the end result is a mouthful of spicy, slippery sea snail with a faint hit of alliterative sour savory sweetness to balance the heat. And the whole shebang is designed to go well with soju. There's a term in Korean called 안주 (anju), which refers to a dish that is consumed with alcohol. A broad range of items falls under this category, from tiny portions of dried bar snacks to full-sized entrees such as fried chicken. There are entire categories of Korean restaurants that serve only these kinds of dishes (along with appropriate beverages) and I'm hard-pressed to think of a better place to go with friends for a child-unfriendly convivial evening out.







If you ask any Korean what they consider their #1 comfort food, 떡볶이 (dduk bok-ki) would be a very popular answer. The base is cylinders of 떡 (chewy rice cake) each ~0.5" in diameter and ~2" long, which is stir-fried in a generous quantity of spicy 고추장 (gochujang) along with a variable list of ingredients that almost always includes fish cakes. It's one of those rare foods that is a very popular street snack but can be made just as tastily and easily at home, and often is. We also had 김치찌개 (kimchi jjigae), a spicy stew that I'm not going to describe in detail because it would take far too many words to articulate the cultural and personal associations involved. Suffice it to say that the dish is tasty in general, Ssaboo's version is very good, and it only added to an already high happy quotient during the meal.





Korea lost the baseball game but they had their scrubs playing at the end of a tight contest, leading to speculation that they were sandbagging in order to play Venezuela in the semifinal round instead of the US. One can only hope that both Korea and Japan win their semifinal games to set up a revenge showdown in the final.

Miles driven: 0 / 715
New friends made: 4 / 18
Shirts spattered by flying salsa: 1