It's probably been close to two weeks since we went to the crane-in-a-dumpster Greek restaurant out in Niles, for it was way before our move to the new apartment. ("Crane in a dumpster" is a Japanese expression meaning a gem in an unexpected place; "crane" here is that elegant, migratory bird, not the construction equipment that might be more closely associated with a dumpster.) Anyway, Mykonos on Golf Rd. is one of my favorite Greek restaurant in the area. Serving up consistently fresh seafood and good broiled meats at reasonable prices, Mykonos could very well be better than at least some of the mainstays in Greek Town.

Our visit on that day, though, was somewhat troubled: Mr. Waiter was a bit short on his English ability, and brought me a huge plate of fried calamari, instead of the baby squids grilled with a dash of lemon. The mustached guy, probably in his late forties or early fifties, looked more fitting to be fishing out in the blue Aegean Sea on his impeccable white boat--or maybe contemplating the next move on the chess board while sipping ouzo at a shady sidewalk table of a café--than waiting tables at a restaurant in the ocean-less Midwestern suburb. Since he was obviously doing his best, I didn't feel like sending the plate back to the kitchen. So I took the huge heap of fried calamari, which I was sure I wouldn't be able to finish in one sitting. Munching my way through the crunchy and tender, I was already starting to think what I would do with the leftover.

Somehow, by the end of the meal, my mind was set on transforming the Greek calamari into something Thai. (Don't ask me why.) The next day, I heated up the now-soggy calamari in the oven toaster till crisp again, and made some dressing by mixing equal parts of sweet chili sauce and lime juice. To accompany the fried calamari, I roasted a summer squash, sliced into medium-sized discs. With a handful of sliced red onion and a bunch of cilantro (both of which were added to the dressing, after being finely chopped) and another handful of Vietnamese pink mint, the Greek calamari successfully morphed into a refreshing Thai dish. (I have to admit, I felt a funny pride in this transformation.)

And even better yet, I finally got to use the antique (?) Japanese (?) tea cup we picked up at the Volo Antique Mall. Its orange trim looked quite nice against the otherwise ordinary, greenish glass plate!

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