Snout-to-tail cooking is the name of the game at The Purple Pig, a convivial take on an Italian enoteca from Scott Harris (Mia Francesca), Jimmy Bannos Sr. (Heaven on Seven), and chef Jimmy Bannos Jr., who honed his skills at Mario Batali’s New York restaurants. While there was no actual snout, sow’s ear became the proverbial silk purse in crunchy-chewy fried strips with crispy kale, marinated cherry peppers, and a fried egg to mix in, all served in a cute wine-colored pig bowl. Sections of tender pig’s tail braised and glazed in tart balsamic were draped with a little egg salad, making me wonder if Bannos was riffing on bacon and eggs. I enjoyed the lingua agrodolce, thin slices of delicately sweet-and-sour pork tongue cured in-house (not all the meats are), but slightly pasty pork neck-bone rillettes needed the accompanying mostarda and country-style grilled bread to bring them to life. Other intriguing “smears,” as they’re listed on the menu, included pork liver paté and roasted bone marrow with herbs; pork blade steak and milk-braised shoulder were among the hot dishes.
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But not all the pleasures are porcine at this noisy spot, where diners perch on bar stools, at high communal tables, or—if they’re lucky—snag seats along the banquette amid wine-barrel wall decorations and tile work. Of our four (too) cold antipasti, expertly seasoned giant Greek lima beans paired with olive-oil-poached tuna was the favorite, followed by brown-butter-caramelized butternut squash with pumpkin seeds and ricotta salata, which nonetheless would have been better warm. So would the somewhat strong, chewy clams with rosamarina (a wheat pasta similar to orzo). Brussels sprouts shaved to a fine slaw were so cheesy with Pecorino Foglie di Noce and Parmigiano Reggiano they seemed geared toward people who don’t like brussels sprouts.
I hope Ceres’ Table will have better luck than Monticchio, its short-lived predecessor, in exorcising the ghosts that haunt this ground-floor space in the hideous condo building erected on the ruins of the Rainbo Roller Rink. It’s an unpicturesque spot with a view of Saint Boniface Cemetery, and the spare bulb-lit blue-gray walls of the minimally reworked space bring to mind a wintry subbasement where sinister deeds may once have been done. But chef-owner Giuseppe Scurato (Boka, MK, Topaz Cafe), who prowls the dining room taking comments on his unclassifiable menu, animates the places with a gruff but welcoming warmth.
Further complicating matters at any given seating is a disorienting list of appetizers, soup, salads, and entrees. Some, such as a dainty cup of carrot soup with white miso, cream, and king crab—rich enough for two to share at $6—are marvelous. Others seem like extravagant teases: a toddler’s handful of tiny, crispy river crabs alongside a reservoir of buttery Japanese curry, priced at a shocking $10, would be more appropriate at $5, or better yet as a shared amuse. The piscine sacrilege extends to the entrees, where it’s epitomized by a lovely panko-coated fried cod fillet topped by wan slices of strawberry (in February?) and slid onto a slick of chocolate miso sauce—it’s like a fish sundae with a side of bok choy. Such gimmickry plays to a collective willingness to be suckered. —Mike Sula
Ceres’ Table 4882 N. Clark, 773-878-4882, cerestable.com
Macku Sushi 2239 N. Clybourn, 773-880-8012, mackusushi.com
