What Else Is New
Dawali Mediterranean Kitchen4911 N. Kedzie | 773-267-4200
For a long time I didn’t have the heart to file a report on this odd, dark, and claustrophobic little Ecuadoran-Japanese hybrid. It had the stink of death about it in its first perpetually empty couple of months, and I saw no reason to piss in the karmic waters about a place I was sure wouldn’t be around much longer. There was a handful of interesting things on the menu, but the restaurant’s ability to get them out of the kitchen even when the place was empty—which it always was—was seriously handicapped. But now business has picked up even if the otherwise friendly and earnest service hasn’t. Meals start promisingly with a basket of hot fried plantain chips and a small ramekin of smooth orange salsa made from the tamarillo, or tomate de arbol, a tree fruit common in Ecuador but rarely found here. If you’re ordering from the Japanese side of the menu it’s strange to follow this with a bowl of miso soup, but that’s what happens prior to the arrival of the saucy sculpted maki of chef Albaro Perez, formerly of the late Pacific Cafe. More interesting is the Ecuadoran selection dominated by soups—including one with steak-stuffed plantains—and platillos of grilled and fried meats and fish with mounds of starchy sides, such as the bandera (combo) of stewed goat and guatita, a tripe, potato, and peanut-sauce stew that’s probably better in the dead of the winter, or pescado encocado, a surprisingly good tilapia fillet in a mild coconut sauce reminiscent of an Indian curry. Tuna and chicken tamales and the little cheesy little potato pancakes llapingachos, among others, lead things off, along with a handful of ceviches, bringing the cold fish connection full circle. —Mike Sula
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
Cherubic, down-to-earth Graham Elliot Bowles is a homeboy (more or less) who helped make Chicago a draw for big-name chefs. Now at his more casual new place, Graham Elliot, hasn’t he earned the freedom to crank his iPod, outfit his staff in T-shirts and Chucks, and cook with Cheez-Its and ironic cheap beer? Big windows, wood pillars, and exposed brick and ductwork mark this declaration of independence, but there’s a thread of narcissism woven throughout the place that becomes distracting. Squint past GEB’s not entirely legible handwriting and you’ll find the menu is divided into “cold,” “hot,” “sea,” “land,” and “sweet” courses (with corresponding wine suggestions), which are scattered with artifacts from a late-20th-century history of industrial snack foods. A deconstructed Caesar salad seems to be positioned as a signature dish, but its most original element, a “brioche Twinkie,” is like something pulled from the day-old bag at the neighborhood panaderia. This sort of nostalgic twist was cute in the Pop Rock “foielipop” (conceived at Avenues and available on the bar menu here), but fond memories of indiscriminate drinking don’t make bitter Budweiser foam delicious. That’s an accent on a spicy buffalo chicken dish with competitively aggressive hot and blue cheese sauces. It’s expensive for what it is, at $13, and it lacked balance, as did a cheddar-apple risotto with a predominant bacon flavor (from “powder”) that a sprinkle of Cheez-Its did nothing to enhance. Rice Krispies, PBR, malted milk balls, and Nilla wafers also show up in various forms. Sometimes the gimmicks are just jarring—like a scoop of hickory-smoke-flavored ice cream that brought a taste of ashtray to an otherwise delicious Kobe beef tartare. We had better luck further down the menu: a relatively simple pan-roasted skate with caper-raisin chutney and an insurmountable but tasty double-cut Berkshire pork chop with barbecue sauce and a crunchy watermelon chutney. But too many dishes seem overearnestly calculated to provoke some nostalgic reaction, and it gets mawkish fast. As much as I’m pulling for Bowles, I knew there was something wrong when I found myself commenting more on his playlist than on the plates. Mike Sula
$Bar/Lounge, American, Burgers | Lunch, dinner: seven days | Open late: Saturday till 3, other nights till 2 | Reservations not accepted
Little Brother’s818 W. Fullerton | 773-661-6482
The puzzling take-out menu at this three-month-old storefront by the Bryn Mawr Red Line stop shows a fork bearing a spaghetti strand and carries the label “Indian Fusion Cuisine.” In fact, there’s no pasta on the menu, though fusion of some sort turns up in dishes like a grilled vegetable and paneer wrap (served with fries) or a green salad with cranberries, walnuts, carrots, bell peppers, olives, corn, and chickpeas. Apart from that, Little India offers a fairly extensive selection of straightforward Indian standards, from appetizers like pakoras and samosas; dals, curries, and biryanis; a range of tandoori-baked breads; and desserts including house-made orange kulfi. All meat is zabiha halah, but that didn’t much help the mildly spicy lamb vindaloo, whose chunks were by turns fatty, gristly, and just right. Chicken boti, designated a “premium item,” was desiccated; it might be best to stick to vegetarian and fish preparations here, though I’d take the bhel puri over the less-than-crisp samosas. A word of warning: alcohol is prohibited at Little India, so if you want a beer it’s carryout or delivery. —Kate Schmidt
