I used to have this theory. It was about $12 entrees—or $11, or even $14; basically the price range that to your grandparents connotes a respectable meal, but nothing too extravagant. The theory held that $12 was low enough to exclude ingredients of any particular quality—no grass-fed anything, growth hormones galore—and yet was more than you should be paying for whatever middling rendition of fettucine alfredo was available for that price. At what cost mediocrity? Twelve bucks.
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Alas. I was a textual originalist, with a theory that stayed fixed in the past while time, like a free-range chicken, scampered on ahead. And so here we are in 2013: you can vote if you’re a woman, you can have anal sex if you’re anybody, and you can spend about three times the Illinois hourly minimum wage (before taxes) on a flamingly mediocre main course at a new restaurant at the corner of Southport and Wolfram. Old ideas die hard, though not as hard as the livestock slaughtered for dinner service every night at the Bentley Tavern.
An appetizer of scallops came to the table lukewarm. (So did a martini.) They had a generally fishy flavor. There was some bacon, and little charred onions that were nearly raw in the middle. The timing issue was especially confusing because we were almost the only people in the dining room and the dish showed up right away—how did it find the time to cool off? On another visit the entrees came out about two minutes after the appetizers. I hadn’t even teethed my way into a single angelotti yet.
2834 N. Southport 773-477-2283bentleytavern.com
