The name is Italian for “crazy food,” but I can’t say there’s anything inherently kooky about what’s being served at Cibo Matto, the third and most anticipated of the new restaurants at the Wit Hotel. But compared to State and Lake, its relatively safe and boring downstairs neighbor, it is pretty remarkable—especially considering both are operated by the 16-unit empire Concentrics Restaurants. In fact, Cibo Matto could pass as Spiaggia’s more playful, easygoing younger sibling. What does an Atlanta-based operator know about how to play restaurant in Chicago? For one thing, it enlisted chef Todd Stein, who racked up a lot of goodwill in his time at MK and makes an impressive departure from the contemporary American he focused on there, shifting to irreverent upscale Italian with a slight preference for sea creatures.
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It’s on the pricey side, with most antipasti and pastas ranging from $11 to $16 and entrees hovering around $30. So it helps that many of these dishes have compelling stories a server can sell: the grilled octopus gets simmered with a wine cork; the bone-in halibut fillet is custom cut by the purveyor to maximize flavor; mascarpone creamed spinach was repeatedly and unironically touted by one waiter as “off tha hook.” In most cases the plates lived up to their pitches—that octopus, abetted by salsa verde and pickled pearl onions, might have been the most tender and perfectly cooked cephalopod I’ve preyed upon in recent memory, and the grilled halibut yielded all the promised flavor. The dull, dairy-doused spinach, paired with braised short ribs, failed to live up to its revolutionary promise.
Frank Brunacci, executive chef of Sixteen, oversees the compact menu, which is predictably sophisticated and expensive. A bowl of al dente summer orecchiette turned out to be both enjoyable and a decent deal at $15, laced with lots of mild lump crab meat, sweet corn kernels, diced bacon, and spinach. But at $14 the duo of small crispy spring rolls—containing a few morsels of duck leg and bedded on bland carrot coulis—disappointed. I had trouble imagining what could make even a prime sirloin burger worth $23; still, the half pounder arrived rare as ordered, on a soft brioche bun that didn’t quite hold up, topped with a nice balance of caramelized onions, farmhouse cheddar, and baby greens. It also came with good waffle-cut truffle fries, which are $7 a la carte. Judging by a dull milk chocolate hazelnut bar, I’d say skip the $10 desserts, and definitely forgo the $5 coffee.
Meals start with imaginative amuses, such as intensely anise-y fennel sugar-lemon custard doughnut holes, which you can wash down with Metropolis coffee or a juice du jour. All slate and mirrors to maximize limited space, the cash-only operation is hot and poorly ventilated—which doesn’t seem to deter the weekend mobs currently helping the restaurant live up to its name. —Mike Sula
The Terrace at Trump 401 N. Wabash, 16th floor, 312-588-8600trumpchicagohotel.com/Food_Wine/The_Terrace_at_Trump.asp
Jam 937 N. Damen, 773-489-0302jamrestaurant.com
