Chicago: The Publican

I've been looking forward to this dinner for about a week now. I arrived in Chicago forty eight hours ago, hoping for some rejuvenation from my friends Charlie and D who moved out here last month. Usually I would rely on New York to provide distraction, but as it turns out, New York isn't for me right now. So, HELLLLLO CHICAGO. I wondered out loud yesterday if Chicago is America's hidden treasure, and then was lovingly reminded that millions of people live here and that Chicago is one of America's most influential cities. I mean, OBAMA is from here for god's sake. So if I'm a little slow on the uptake, at least now I'm in on this well known secret.

After the great disappointment that Rick Bayless' restaurants are closed on Mondays, Charlie came to the rescue (as he always does) by recommending The Publican in Fulton Market. A publican is a tavern keeper, yet as we stumbled through an area that screamed of organized crime but smelled of chocolate, we realized that The Publican is no normal tavern. Despite the long wooden tables and extensive beer list, The Publican's clean feel and product focused menu reinvents the tavern for the contemporary consumer who cares about more than pints and meatloaf.

Our waiter-- who may or may not have hated us-- brought us to our table, and then promptly locked us inside. The Publican offers side booths with wooden saloon doors, which really allowed us to focus on our private dining experience. We almost forgot that other people in the restaurant existed! It was amazing. Just a quaint little wooden box for three, what more could we need?

We began with beer, then Charlie's wine selection ["grenache, because white wine is only for getting drunk"], and then bread and butter. I love butter. That's all I have to say about that.

The Publican's menu focuses on pork and shellfish, which for the Jewish eater may prove a little tricky. Luckily, my kosher allegiances stop once shellfish is on the menu, so I still had many options at my disposal. Yet the porkcentric elements of the menu were too much for the boys to resist, and so our meal commenced with some good old fashioned pork rinds. I can't even imagine what these taste like, but I think it's probably something like pork fat fried into a chip and covered in chili. deeeeeelish, apparently.

For my appetizer choice, I opted for the fried perch with fried green tomatoes, lemon, parmesean and tartar sauce. The Publican suggests that most items be shared, so we all dug in with fervor. WOW. The perch was so tender, the green tomatoes so fresh, the parmesean a perfect complement to both... mmm. Since the Publican's menu specifies where each ingredient comes from, it is relevant to note that the perch itself comes from Lake Erie, and The Publican's owners probably tasted a lot of fish before deciding that Lake Erie's were the best. As our waiter said, "the chefs don't matter, the recipe doesn't matter, only the product matters". So while all the ingredients may not be local, they certainly are America's top quality ingredients. And as D intelligently pointed out, "it is local where it comes from".

Next, our forks dove into soft shell crab atop a shrimp-leek galette with lemon aioli. Soft shell crab is Charlie's favorite food, so this dish was a must. [side note: Charlie's second favorite food is hard shell crab.] I don't know how we ended up with so much fried food, but probably because I was the one ordering. Why I've never eaten soft shell crab before is beyond me, but trust me, I'll never skip over it again. You can just EAT THE WHOLE THING. It's so... carniverous. And yet, so delicate. I love it.


The boys reverted back to Suckling Pig as their entree. Ew. I mean, I'm sure it was good, but whatever.
YES! FISH TIME AGAIN. We chose the golden trout, whose insides were pink as a salmon, fried to a perfection and topped with cherry tomatoes and onions. This was amazing. First of all, it must be emphasized that Charles Kurose can gut and clean a trout in twenty seconds. What a hunk. The Publican's trout, which is probably only slightly more sophisticated than Charlie's trouts, is fried whole but without the bones, allowing the diner to just cut the fish right through, eating juicy pink meat with a crunchy fried skin. And then the geniuses in back just stick whole vines of cherry tomatoes right on top. It's so real! Tomatoes on the vine! Marvelling at the garden like purity of this plate was almost satisfying enough. But, obviously, it tasted great too.


As a side, we ordered the corn, which was made Mexican style with parmesean, chili, lime and aioli. THIS WAS SUCH A WINNER. The corn is grilled in butter, covered in aioli, and then dusted with parm and chili and lime. It's... brilliant. And although this can be bought from a street cart for two bucks, it's defintely worth the eight dollars at the Publican. The waiter explained that The Publican uses the street food recipe, yet replaces mayo with aioli and uses less butter and chili. When I asked him the difference between mayo and aioli, he confidently responded that Mayo is just the brand name for aioli. Since I was in complete shock at the revelation that Mayo is the same as Kleenex, Bandaids and QTips, I completely missed the fact that this makes absolutely no sense. As it turns out, our waiter was wrong. Mayo just has egg and aioli is olive oil and garlic. Annnnyway... ORDER THIS. Street food or restaurant style, it's incredible.

This meal was superb.

I would just like to leave this post with a quote from the back of The Publican's free post cards. Despite the fact that I don't eat pork, I find this poem the perfect way of describing the Publican's ability to take its food very seriously and still have fun at the same time. This is a great restaurant. Anyway, here goes:

"Here's to the Swine/ That animal divine/ who through mud and slime/ Grit and Grime/ Gorges over time/ Into Meats Sublime"

Thank you, thank you very much

Goat Cheese at Hazorea

Kibbutzim are not usually known for gourmet cuisine. The Kibbutz chader ochel daily produces mass quantities of food for its members, which typically results in a buffet the common meat dishes with an assortment of salatim on the side. I have a soft spot in my heart for this kind of eating, where every meal exemplifies the kind of community living that is at its best on Kibbutz. That being said, when I trekked up north last weekend to Kibbutz Hazorea, I was blown away by the food surprises Hazorea has to offer.

At the base of Hazorea lies a magical little wood shack filled with goat cheese. That was a ridiculous sentence to write, but it's true.

Inside the doors of "Goat Cheese from Hazorea", which is only open on Saturdays, hides the freshest bread, jam, and goat cheese you can dream of. Hard cheeses, soft cheeses with spices, cheese spreads... everything. The bread is fluffy, thick, and soft; filled with olives, nuts or seeds. Everything tastes like it was made that morning, as though the food was made just for me to come and enjoy.









There is one woman in charge, and after letting you sample every type of cheese imaginable, she will lovingly construct you a sandwich. After selecting the bread, you can choose whichever and however many cheeses your heart desires (I went with one hard cheese made with wine and a chive filled soft cheese). Then, you can choose between pesto, olive spread, and sundried tomato spread (I chose all three). And finally, you can add grilled peppers, eggplant, tomato, cucumber or lettuce. Everything is handmade right in front of you; each ingredient carefully placed and organized in order to construct the perfect sandwich.






Then, placed on a rustic wood cutting board, with a garnish of fresh olives, that magical woman presents you with your masterpiece:

This sandwich is almost too good to be ruined with trying to explain it in words. Because of the care taken in its construction, each bite contains every element and your mouth never misses any part. The bread by itself is enough to rave about, but when all the ingredients come together, this sandwich becomes a sandwich unlike any other. The freshest, most wholesome, hearty meal that a little farm has to offer. And really, an experience like this could only happen on kibbutz. There is no better way for kibbutznikim to relish shabbat than to take a minute to enjoy their own labor, to appreciate the delicacies their work produces. Where else do we get the chance to slow down like this?