If repeated openings of high-ticket restaurants in remote or unlikely neighborhoods are a sign of a strengthening economy, just one more ought to be enough to indicate a light at the end of the tunnel—or at least validate a consistently practical response to enduring stagnation. Relatively low rents in far-flung digs away from restaurant densities allow chefs with fine-dining pedigrees to keep doing their thing without resorting to something as crass and humbling as ordering from Sysco or driving a truck—Phillip Foss already tried that, and look where he is now. I wrote about former Les Nomades chef Chris Nugent’s excursion into the far-western reaches of Lincoln Square last week, and this time it’s the turn of chef Ryan McCaskey, last seen at southwest-suburban Courtright’s, and a veteran journeyman who’s put in time at Rushmore, Tizi Melloul, and Vivere.
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The forlorn near-south-side landscape on which Acadia sits is about as far from the idyllic New England of the chef’s childhood vacations as you can imagine. The low-slung empty factories and weedy undeveloped lots afford a commanding northward view of the city’s skyline. Inside, it’s a spacious, comfortable dining room, colored in cool silvers, grays, and off-whites that don’t so much conjure up a Maine summer as a sleek intergalactic cruise ship docked on an alien landscape. Outside, the valet seems lonely—there’s plenty of street parking.
These dishes aren’t dispassionate abstracts. They have referents to familiar American classics: chicken presse, a terrine of compressed thigh meat sandwiching an herbed mousseline of breast, lies among batons of roasted salsify, rutabaga, crosshatched trumpet mushrooms, and a square of truffled bread pudding. It’s chicken and stuffing, highly refined, but unironic and satisfying. A seared black cod fillet with tempura-fried clams nestled in brussels sprout cups anchored by bacon vinaigrette gel is somewhat less recognizably “chowder,” the fillet reclined on a creamy foam with leek confit. The ever ubiquitous pork belly is an Alsatian choucroute garnie with stone-ground mustard and pear mostarda. Fat shrimp leaning against roasted cauliflower sections and bundles of cuttlefish noodles rest in an acidic black sauce drawn from the creature’s ink. It’s meant to recall Spain, I was told, vis-à-vis a scattering of powdered chorizo and marcona almonds, but the crustaceans, like much of the seafood on the menu, come from Maine, and their sweetness summons the nostalgia McCaskey is trying to get across.
1639 S. Wabash 312-360-9500acadiachicago.com
