That might have been the unhealthiest salad in my life. Though it was called a salad, it involved few vegetables: a handful of endive and a few strings of haricots verts (green beans). More prominently featured were a nice, runny poached egg and bits of lardon, the fattiest part of pork bacon. And to complete the cholesterol-laden scheme, it was on a bed of French fries, for god's sake. But was it tasty? Hey, do you even have to ask?

The Salad Lyonnaise at La Tache was, as I said, an antisalad. There's no illusion that it's going to be good for your health: unlike the chicken fingers on a bed of nutrientless iceberg lettuce drenched with fatty ranch dressing (that some restaurants try to push into the "healthy eating" category), it doesn't even pretend to be healthy. If you weigh the thing, it'll run something like this: 80 grams of endive and green beans; 250 grams of fries and bacon. But that doesn't matter, really, because you don't go out to eat healthy. You go out to eat tasty.

This salad was probably one of the best salads I've ever had, and it also might have been one of the best fries. (This is kind of a fun thing to say, actually.) I don't know what they fry their potatoes in, but they were packed with flavor. The greasy fries were balanced by the slight bitterness of the endive and the refreshing acidity of the "truffle vinaigrette," creating such a full combination of flavors. Bits of lardon added smoky and salty punch, and the runny egg yolk held everything together. It was a fantastic salad--if I dare to call it one. The other dish I had at La Tache--a crab cake appetizer--was way too oily and salty for my taste, but if only for the Lyonnaise salad, I'd go back to the Andersonville bistro. (Patrick's quail was quite nice as well, with its wild flavor largely intact but well complemented by the fresh and dried figs.)

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La Tache
1475 W. Balmoral, Chicago, IL
773.334.7168
Our waitress informed me (after I excitedly told her how good the salad was) that it's on the Sunday brunch menu as well--that sounds like a divine idea, to start a Sunday with that satisfying salad!

I was trying to recreate brandade, a French salt cod dish that we had at Avec. Other than making me realize what a god-awful amount of calorie-packed olive oil goes into the creamy dip-like concoction, the thing wasn't working too well. The salt cod chunks refused to become creamy, however hard I attacked them with my bamboo spatula till all the other pots and pans on the stove started to rattle and dance. The cod chunks even resisted the glorious power of modern industrial machinery--my stick blender, refusing to kiss goodbye to their pulpy selves. After adding salt and pepper, the brandade-wannabe did taste decent, but it definitely wasn't interesting enough to be the centerpiece of the evening's meal.

That paused a serious problem. My plan was to accompany that brandade with bread and a bowl of ratatouille. Inspired by the awesome Pixar animation of the same name, I had bought a whole bunch of beautiful summer veggies: summer squashes, yellow squashes, Italian eggplants, orange paprika and some cherry tomatoes. All those, along with an onion and a few garlic cloves, had gone into a big pot and was simmering quietly by the obstinate brandade. Though the ratatouille looked beautiful, now that the brandade is out, I didn't have a "main" dish. I thought about taking a few ladles of ratatouille and turning it into a pasta sauce, but then I realized that I didn't have tomato paste or tomato sauce. Hmm.

1/3 pound of ground pork, leftover from the day before, was my savior. I sautéed the pork in a medium-sized pot, scooped out some of the summer veggies out of the ratatouille pot and threw them into the pork pot. Add a few cubes of Japanese curry roux, and voila, I had a decent Japanese-style curry to serve with some sticky rice. Pretty much everybody loves curry in Japan (especially meat-and-rice-craving hungry guys), and both Patrick and I are fond of the dish as well, so it worked out fine.

Curry was brought to Japan toward the end of the nineteenth century by the British, who, during their rule of India, had grown fond of the Indian cooking. The curry that the British taught the Japanese to cook had most likely been an Anglicized (and simplified ) version of the original Indian cookery, but it underwent further modification to suit the Japanese palate. At the time, the Japanese government was looking for ways to incorporate meats into Japanese diet, in order to build a body fit for an Western-style military. (Most Japanese people then had an aversion to eating meats, based on their Buddhist beliefs.) Along with sukiyaki, curry proved a handy tool for the government; first served in the Imperial Navy's mess halls, the Japanized curry gained popularity and spread out to the civilian society. Once a fancy dish served only in high-end Western restaurant for urban connoisseurs, curry is now one of the cheap and easy "national foods" of Japan that everyone, regardless of gender, age and class, eats monthly, if not weekly. Just like I did, many Japanese wives and mothers turn to this reliable dish in a pinch. After all, it's one of the rare dishes that are likely to delight most everybody in their household (except for, perhaps, their already skinny daughters on a vanity diet).

I'll have to use that mediocre brandade for something today--I'm thinking of Jansson's Temptation, a Swedish potato-and-anchovy gratin. Pray for me that it'll be edible...

This is the second half of my two-part review/applause of Le Lan, a French-Asian restaurant in River North. The first half is here.

For entrée, Patrick's blue nosed grouper wrapped in banana leaf was the winner. To begin with, it was an eye candy: the deep green of the fresh banana leaf, vermilion of the Thai red curry sauce and creamy yellow of the fingerling potatoes danced in a large, simple, white bowl. Yet the flavors were sweeter (figuratively, that is) than the look. The grouper was firm and supple, the fingerling potatoes earthy and sweet. The Thai red curry might have been the best I've ever had. And I spent about one fifth of my life in Bangkok. (Well, that was when I was a skinny little kid, but still.)

My choice from the day's specials was an interesting one: grilled scallops in smoked tomato sauce, served with coarsely minced pork belly. The scallops, though fresh and naturally sweet, were far too salty for my taste. The absolute redemption was the pork belly and the smoked tomato sauce. Combined together, the paté like pork belly and the smoky tomato sauce tasted like a very good barbecue; only that the pork had never been on a Weber grill. "It's a deconstructed BBQ," we laughed, while admiring the almost magical non-BBQ BBQ on our tongue. Despite the excess salt in the scallops, the dish was delicious, and made me want some freshly steamed white rice (which is a compliment in a Japanese context).

The dessert was a feast in itself. Our Tuesday prix-fixe included dessert, so we ordered one each; pineapple napoleon for Patrick, Vietnamese coffee cake for me. And on top of these, the restaurant gave us an off-the-menu crème brûlée with a nice message scribbled across the plate with chocolate. The three previous courses weren't humongous, so we had enough room for our own desserts, but the complimentary dessert was a bit much (although the gift made me very grateful). Of course we finished it all--it was one of the best crème brûlées in my life; rich but light, sweet but refreshing.

Patrick's pineapple napoleon was actually made with layers of wanton with very fine custard cream. The caramelized pineapple bits were very good, and the sweet-tartness went wonderfully with the suggested port (I forgot the name), but what totally made this playful dessert was the aromatic sage sorbet. My Vietnamese coffee cake was more substantial than Patrick's dessert. Three small squares of coffee cake (baked with Chinese five spice mix) were accompanied by thick zig-zag of chocolate mousse, which was fantastic. As a chocolate mousse addict, I had to restrain myself hard so that I won't start doing my happy dance, right there in front of everyone (though our server witnessed a bit of that earlier). Here and there in the chocolate mousse track was bits of caramelized hazelnuts and pecans--I could eat those crunchy, nutty, bitter little things all day long!

When we stepped out into the evening, the gray sky harbored some threats of impending storm. We strolled up Clark Street for a couple of blocks, waited for a bus for a while, and decided that the occasion was special enough to justify a taxi splurge. From the Lake Shore Drive, we could see a huge number of white boats--some tiny, others sizable--heading toward the Navy Pier area, where pre-July-4th fireworks were in preparation. The beaches were similarly jam-packed with people waiting for the fireworks. The taxi driver and Patrick discussed the congregation of the boats for a while. I went through our fantastic dinner in my head, and hoped that Le Lan would be around years to come, so we'd be able to make the yearly visit our gluttonous romantic ritual.

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Le Lan
749 N. Clark St., Chicago, IL
312.280.9100
Le Lan's Tuesday prix-fixe is such a deal. At $38, you get a soup or salad (which are as inspired as any entrée--no standard-issue "house salad" here), an entrée and a dessert. A simple addition of these three courses could cost more than $45 off the normal menu. We added an appetizer (Wagyu carpaccio), two glasses of wine, a glass of port to the prix-fixe, and came out with a tab of around $125 before tip. Tuesday is the day at this superb French-Asian restaurant.

In the desolate food scenery of Chicago's downtown (unless you have lots of change to spare, or you love old-fashioned stake houses), Avec's interesting and reasonably priced food is a rare find. And it goes well with the vast range of Mediterranean wine the restaurant offers. I realized its existence during my short slave work (read: unpaid internship for English majors) with a women's magazine. According to the reviewer, the restaurant's concept sounded pretty cool. I made a mental note to pay a visit.

The first time we went there, we fell in love. The decor was beautifully clean and minimalist, with a long wooden counter and a long communal table stretching all the way to the back of the long and narrow room. At the end of the long room was a wall of various glass cubes, adding just enough splash of color to the otherwise natural/woody color scheme. The idea is that the space is communal, where you squeeze into your share of the bench, with your elbows almost hitting your (equally delighted) neighbors. Conversation may not take place between total strangers, and it may not be a small Mediterranean village outside of the large glass window, but the possibility is still there. (I especially enjoyed eavesdropping on the conversation next door, and watching people in slightly hip clothing.)

And of course, the food was fantastic. I especially loved the crostini with puréed horseradish and parsnip, topped with arugula and shavings of parmesan-like cheese. So, when we went back to Avec the other day, I was eager to have that crostini again.

Now, part of Avec's concept is that the menu constantly changes, presumably to accommodate the ingredients in season (as well as to give the regulars little surprises every time). As such, the menu didn't have the parsnip crostini any more. (It was replaced by bruschetta with roasted beet.) The lesson: come prepared to be surprised, and don't form too emotional of a bond with any one item on their menu. (Of course I learned the lesson too late; I'm now determined to try replicating the crostini myself.)

Before I recovered from the initial shock of the loss of my beloved parsnip crostini, Patrick and his sister ordered a carafe of Italian white. Made from Pecorino grapes, Caldora was a wonderful white. It was very crisp and very dry, but had a subtle, citrus-like aftertaste. It wasn't on the menu, so we owe this pleasant surprise to our waiter. (We also owe it to the vintners as well, who have revived the cultivation of the rare, endangered Pecorino species of grapes.)

After a careful discussion, we settled on four of the small plates. Avec offers small ($4-12) and large plates ($12-18), which are perfect for sharing. Each small plate is about the size of a smallish individual entrée, so the larger the party is, the more you get to try. The first to arrive was the escarole salad with smoked pork and black eyed peas, with sherry vinaigrette. The smoky pork was quite wonderful, but I would say that the crusty, focaccia-like bread that came with it was even better.

The smash-hit of the night was the whipped brandade, a creamy, dip-like dish from France. A bit of research yielded that brandade is made with rehydrated salt cod, milk, fresh cream and (sometimes) potatoes. Our version has a bit of olive oil drizzled on top, and came with little slices of garlic bread to scoop up the hot, creamy goodness. The salt cod gave it enough oceanic flavor without overwhelming the concoction with fishiness, and the richness of the fresh cream was rather sublime. Considering how many calories and how much cholesterol this blasted thing must harbor inside, we probably shouldn't be eating this too often, but I could eat that thing every day, all day long. (Maybe not, to be honest--I'm not good at too much grease--but it was very good.) We would have licked the cazuela clean, had it not been so hot, coming right off the burner.

We also had house-made red wine sausage with pistacio and black grape relish (served with rosemary polenta) and Tasmanian trout "steak" with chili ginger sauce. Both were very good, but I'm omitting the details to keep the post within a certain length. Avec is a little brother of the people who run the renowned Blackbird (a few blocks down the street from Avec). At Blackbird, innovative, seasonal entrées go for about $30-35. I'm sure Blackbird has awesome food, but at that price range, it's a birthday-dinner kind of place. Avec isn't: the check for the three of us, which included four small plates, two carafes of wine, three coffee and a dessert (caramel coffee cake with espresso ice cream) was around $85, and we were quite happily full.

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Avec
615 W. Randolph St., Chicago, IL
312.377.2002

Blackbird
619 W. Randolph St., Chicago, IL
312.715.0708