Lyle....

I have previously blogged about Jonathan Coulton.  An underappreciated genius. 

I'm doing a different one today.

Today I'd like to talk about the man-crush that I have on Lyle Lovett. 

My infatuation with him started, of all places, with his appearance in the film "The Player."   I kept turning to my wife-at-the-time and saying, "Lyle is the coolest man on the planet."  I already owned "Joshua Judges Ruth," and owned and had seen him perform on Letterman his version of "Friend of the Devil" from the "Deadicated" tribute disc.  That wasn't enough for me.  Seeing him slowly stalk Tim Robbins in an almost Michael Myers type fashion tipped the scales for me.

Not exactly Redford.

Look.  He's unattractive physically.  He doesn't deny it. 

He's also incredibly witty, certifiably humble, and has one of the most beautifully pure singing voices around.  His songs are funny, heartbreaking, winsome, innocent and decidedly jaded all at once.  He covers such brilliant works as "Step Inside This House" with so much achingly pure.....drama....that it's impossible not to believe that he is totally immersed in the moment.  

Anyway.  I see Lyle just about every time he comes to town.  I also make sure I sit up close.  I've seen his two man acoustic show with John Hiatt two or three times.  It is, by far, one my favorite shows I've seen.  Two guys, three guitars, two chairs, two tables, two microphones, the gorgeous Rialto Square Theatre and a whole lot of great music.  Here's a clip from one of those shows with the song "God Will," one of my favorite Lyle lyrics.  Notice Hiatt.  He hears this song every time they play this show.  Yet, he still smiles at the chorus.  Maybe that's showbiz, but he looks genuinely amused by the lyric.  Again. 

Lyle and John

God Will

Who keeps on trusting you
When you've been cheating
And spending your nights on the town?
And who keeps on saying that he still wants you
When you're through running around?
And who keeps on loving you
When you've been lying
Saying things ain't what they seem?

God does,
But I don't.
God will,
But I won't.

And that's the difference
Between God and me.

So who says he'll forgive you
And says that he'll miss you
And dream of your sweet memory?

God does,
But I don't.
God will,
But I won't.

And that's the difference
Between God and me.

A new kind of post....

I have an enormous ego.  I do.  I'm OK with it, though, and am absolutely unwilling to change it.  I tried a while ago, and decided it didn't really suit me. 

I also have an altruistic side that wants to help others as often as I can.  I've burned out opportunities to help others by overextending myself on several projects, which led to neglecting my family, which is a bad thing.  So, I've swung a bit the other way now, and I try to think of family first.  I don't always succeed, but I try.

Anyway - the other day I posted a recommendation on Facebook for a new restaurant in downtown Wheaton.  I chose to dine there that evening as well.  Sure enough, when I walked in, there were 2 parties (one a family and one an individual) who were trying the place based on my advice.  Ego jokes were made, and that's fine, but I believe that I have a fairly good grasp on what is good, and what is not good, and I rarely find instances where people try something I've recommended and heard them say, "well, that sucked." 

Besides.  I'm a fucking critic. 

So.  I decided I'd do a post on some things that are local-ish as a list for myself, and for you.  Try these places if you like, forget them if you like, whatever.  This is a list of my favorite things in the area (most of which are meat/fast-ish food based - you really want to know about salads?)  Therefore, I deem these "Chicago's Best."  I don't drink - so no talk of bars here.  Try these places.  Tell me places I should try.  This is fun.  Fun goddammit. 

Best Thin Crust Pizza:  Barone's in Glen Ellyn.  The sausage with extra cheese is the one to get.  By the way.  Their website is simply bpizza.com.  Like they don't need the rest of the word.  Barone's has taken the entire letter B.  "You want any other B Pizza?  Forget it.  We're the letter B."  And they deserve it. 
 
Best Onion Rings:  Alfie's Inn (again) in Glen Ellyn.  Get a basket of these prior to your meal, and you're on your way to a great night of good ol' fashioned burger joint food.  They tried to open a second location in Oswego, right by me, but the place never took.  Still, in Glen Ellyn, good luck getting a table quickly on a Saturday night. 

Best Burger:  Portillo's double cheeseburger.  Leave it to a hot dog place to make the best burger in town.  But it is. 

Any excuse I can make to take another look at the steak
I ate at Gibsons is fine with me.  Oh my GOD!

Best Steak:  Gibsons Bar and Steakhouse's bone in ribeye.  So far. 

Best Gyros:  Mickey's Gyros & Ribs in Oak Park.  The Gyros Plate Special could kill you.  And you'd love every second of it.  Also...the Big Mickey Burger is pretty damned tasty as well.  Skip it.  Get the gyros.

Best chips/salsa:  Santa Fe in Glen Ellyn's red sauce (not the orange).  Again, Glen Ellyn makes a visit.  There is no doubt I'm a hometown boy, but also, these places have been around an eternity.  There's a reason for that.  I don't like vegetable-y salsa.  The red sauce is just that, it's a red sauce with just enough heat to let you know it's there. 

Best Fried Chicken (local chain):  Brown's Chicken.  It just tastes better.  It does.

Best Fried Chicken (not chain):  White Fence Farm.  Cliche.  So what.  Oh.  Get the corn fritters. 

Most fun restaurant:  David Burke's Primehouse - fun for the flavors, not the balloons.  Get a second mortgage and swing on over. 

Best atmosphere for a restaurant:  Signature Room at the 95th.  Hancock tower.  View of the city like you won't see anywhere else.  Not while eating, anyway.  Romantic, vibrant, and a little "Towering Inferno" - like all at the same time.



Seriously.  Those people never shut up.  Of course, neither do I.



Best place to not hear the music that you paid too much to hear:  The lawn seats on the perimeter at Ravinia.   Too much chatter, not enough speaker.  And, you are a long way away. 

Best venue for a concert (if you're a grown up):  Park West - it would be the Vic if the balcony didn't overhang so many lower bowl seats.

Best venue for a concert (if you're young enough):  Aragon Ballroom.  I'm too old to stand through a show anymore, but this place is beautiful.  And dangerous.  There's a reason for the nickname "Scare-agon Brawlroom." 

Best ballpark:  U.S. Cellular Field - since the re-do.  Not even close.  Wrigley is a dump, people.  Everything about the field is beautiful, but you could blow the rest up and that would be just fine with me.  The Cell is lovely since they added the ornamental iron in the upper deck and changed the seats from blue to green. 

Best French fries:  The Smokehouse in Wheaton.  I'm not sure they're even potatoes - but they are damned tasty, and just the right "feel."

Best off-the-beaten-path food:  Baby Back Blues in Plainfield's pulled pork sandwich with Carolina sauce.  Get the half pounder.  And use only a little sauce. 

Not an actual picture from my kayak.  You get the idea. 

Best place to blow an evening:  A Wednesday night kayak paddle out of Diversey Harbor.  Paddle all the way out to the 'cribs' and watch the fireworks display that happens at Navy Pier.  You're far enough away that (motor) boat traffic is relatively easy to handle.  Nothing like sitting with your ass below the water line in a form fitting boat trying to mess with the Odyssey. 

Best thing to do on a date:  A nighttime handsome cab ride downtown in the falling snow.  Cliche.  And for a reason. 

Best deep dish pizza:  I've got to go with Lou Malnati's.  Two words:  Butter Crust. 

Best Italian beef:  Carm's. 

Best overall restaurant:  Joe's Seafood, Prime Steak and Stone Crab.  If I'm in the city, not doing a steakhouse review, and just want to go out to dinner, this is our place. 

Best thin crust pizza that is NOT Barone's:  Danny's Pizza in Elgin.  This is a weird one.  They do something at Danny's - which is to leave air pockets in the crust - which other places don't do.  So.  You get a bubble or six in your pizza.  Try it.  Maybe you'll understand why I think it's so good. 

Best Burrito:  The steak burrito at El Faro #1 in Elgin.  The place is a dive.  It's dark, it's greasy, dirty, and smelly.  The burrito is unreal.  Just don't put it down, because it will unroll on you.

Best place to get breakfast:  Walker Bros. in Wilmette.  There is no argument here.  Don't even try.  Just get there early, 'cause otherwise, you ain't eating for a while.

Best place for a specialty food:  The popcorn at The Little Popcorn Store in Wheaton.  An institution.

Best time/place to take a kid to the movies:  First showing of any movie on a Sunday morning at Regal Cinemas 30 in Warrenville or AMC Showplace in Naperville.  They generally start around 10, NO ONE will be there, and you still have the rest of the day to do other things.

Best stretch of road to just "drive":  For my money - Rte. 31 between South Elgin and St. Charles.  Because of development, it's not as good as it used to be, but it's still a lovely stretch of road. 

Not an actual picture of Randall Road.  We don't have
Texaco.  Close, though.

Best place to be exposed to "urban sprawl":  Randall Road.  Drive on it long enough, and you'll just be repeating what you've already seen before.  Plus - you can drive on the west side of it from Main Street in Batavia all the way to Kaneville Rd. in Geneva without ever leaving parking lots, except to cross a couple major roads. 

Best food item from a place I can't remember:  There's a place on the northwest side (?) that makes marzipan.  I don't know what it's called, but it's famous.  And the marzipan is spectacular.

Best donut-y style food:  The sugar twists at the Flour Barrel Bakery in Glen Ellyn.  Tell me you don't want another one immediately after finishing the first. 

Best place to stuff yourself silly and not regret a moment of it:  Morton's.  You can't leave hungry.  They won't let you. 

Most overrated food item:  Al's Italian Beef. 

Best Hot Dog:  Superdawg.  Cliche.  Biggest dog, best flavor.  It's the best.  Don't get me wrong, I loves me some Vienna Sausage, but Superdawg has its own recipe.  Also - I've heard nothing but great about Hot Doug's.  I haven't been there.  Yet.  Also, I should not comment here.  I like my hot dogs decidedly naked. 

Best venue to see a performing arts show that my wife insists be included in this blog:  The McAninch Arts Center, College of DuPage.  Call there.  Ask for Amy.  Tell her I sent you.

So there you are.  That's my list.  Try these places/things and tell me I'm wrong about any of them.  Seriously.  I'd like to be proven wrong.

N9NE Steakhouse - Miss Chicago Steakhouse for June



You could hardly miss this sign.  Oh.  Wait.  You can hardly see this sign.
You better know where you are going.

Good God, here we are back again for another month's dining.  I have some new Facebook friends (read - friends), some of whom may pop in here for the first time.  Here are the posts about what I'm doing this year, and why this post exists.

So far on this journey, I've reviewed Joe's, Keefer's, Gibsons, Morton's, David Burke's Primehouse, and Rosebud Steakhouse.

It's June, which means I'm just now past the halfway point on this project.  I've gotten to eat a lot of really great steak, been out with my wife for many dates we otherwise wouldn't have had, and enjoyed sitting down and describing my experiences through this blog. 

It's so modern, it's like ultra modern...

Believe me, it has been my pleasure.

This month, Amy and I visited N9NE Steakhouse, located at 440 W. Randolph, in the heart of the loop. 

Oh.  Don't forget the links.  They are sometimes funny.  They are also part of my writing. 

I understand from an outside source that these reviews take about 10-20 minutes per to read.  OK.  Fair enough.  Skip the links the first time through, then come back and click them.  They open in separate windows, so you should get through them relatively quickly.  Anyway, thanks for reading.

As I said, this month Amy and I visited N9NE Steakhouse.  As time has gone along, and we are now on our SEVENTH steakhouse in 7 months, the places we visit have started to blend into each other.  Cherry wood trim, leather bound menus, alabaster lights and wet aged steaks are starting to morph into a kind of an all-encompassing zen ritual that we partake in once a month. 

Then we went to N9NE.  Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore. 

The black haired guy in the back is Noel.  Our waiter.

N9NE is not your father's steakhouse.  Hell, it's not even your son's steakhouse.  It is entirely "of itself."  There really is no other way to describe it.  Walking in the door, we were greeted by the host station on our left, with a sheet of a waterfall flowing gently behind it, with the symbol "9" projected into it by a light.  Looking around, it was obvious that this place, while a steakhouse, was unlike any place else we had visited.  The floor was a white terrazzo, looking very dissimilar from a restaurant, and very much like a mall.  The furniture was brushed steel and gray and maroon cloth of some sort.  It wasn't velvet, but it wasn't leather.  Tables were distributed around a central circular bar area, some booths, some tables, some a combination of the two.  The center of the restaurant is a vaulted domed area with reflective silver paint on the ceiling, supported by three columns encrusted in small square mirrors (exactly like a disco ball), and some windows for the ultra chic bar (Ghostbar) upstairs to look into the restaurant.  The lighting in the domed area shifts periodically, so the dome may go from pink to blue to yellow as you dine.  The place could be described as "modern" if I believed that such places existed outside the doors.  Let's call it "artistic."  The atmosphere is definitely unique.  We enjoyed it very much.  The place just felt "alive." 

We were supposed to meet another couple for dinner, but as we were driving in, Amy texted her friend and informed him we might be a couple of minutes (if that) late, and if they got there first, the reservations were under my name.  Since Amy and I don't share a last name, and since Vin probably doesn't know my last name, this is important.  She received a call back saying, "That's tonight?"   Vin had mismarked his calendar, and although he was able to make it, his partner, Fig, was unable to join us.  Too bad for Fig, because I can't imagine looking forward to a night out, then finding out I couldn't go because of a SNAFU in scheduling. 

If you tell me to take a lot of pictures Noel, I will.

On to the meal.  We were seated in a table, relatively close to the bar area, and our extra place setting was cleared away.  Our waiter, a charming, smiling guy named Noel ("Just like Christmas!") with a hint of an accent I'll be damned if I could place, introduced himself to us and took our drink orders.  Noticing my camera, he asked what brought us to N9NE.  Amy explained the project, and what we were doing, and Noel said, "That's great.  Take as many pictures as you like, it's just fine."  I imagine that watching people photograph food has to get old for a waitstaff, but Noel seemed enthusiastic about it.  That was nice. 

Explaining the menu to us, Noel did a hard sell on the "Crustacea" platter on the menu, explaining that it was how "we like to start you out..."   At 25 bucks a head, a $75 appetizer tray seemed a bit much.  Plus, it was a lot of food.  A couple of them came out while we dined, and while they were magnificent to behold, I'm glad we resisted the urge to order it.   We were shown the salads, the seafood, and explained how the steaks are done.  "It's all the broiler guy, and our guy gets it right..."   He also explained a bit of the history of the place, how it got its name (apparently, the owners met each other when they were 9), and how he was a day one employee.  Noel was a terrific waiter, and a hell of a lot of fun. 

Mango Avocado Salad.

Vin and Amy ordered the Mango Avocado Salads to start, I got the Iceberg Wedge.  We also decided upon our sides for the meal.  Amy decided that we would get the Duck Fat Frites (french fries fried in duck fat) AND the Garlic Steak Fries.  Being decided on everything else, we went ahead and ordered our entrees.  I got the Bone in Ribeye (SHOCKING!) medium rare, Vin got the Dry Aged Kansas City Strip (which translates to a bone in New York Strip) medium rare, and Amy ordered the Kobe Flatiron (flank steak) rare. 

Noel came back and asked if we were sure we wanted those sides, as they were pretty much the same thing.  After a moment, we decided instead to get two orders of (2) Crabcakes delivered with our salads in lieu of the Garlic Fries. 

A small basket of bread was brought to the table, and much conversation followed. 

Not too long after, our salads arrived.  Amy's and Vin's salads were exquisite to look at, expertly plated (thanks Food Network) and very much about the presentation. Fresh sliced mangoes were topped with slices of creamy avocados, hints of red onion and thin slices of jalapeno added a hint of heat to the salad. Drizzled with olive oil and dusted with paprika all of the flavors were individually highlighted and still combined into a unique and very fresh flavor. (Amy will be attempting her own version at home later this summer.)  My salad looked like a wedge of lettuce with some ranch dressing on it, bacon bits and cheese.  Just what this simple guy wanted.  I enjoyed my salad very much.  The lettuce was ultra crisp, and the dressing, while present, was a complement to the lettuce rather than overwhelming it.  I dislike foods that are "vessels" for other tastes.  Don't slather something in sauce, then tell me how great the food underneath it tastes.  What that tells me is that if you could get away with it, you'd rather stick your hand in a jar full of the sauce a la Winnie The Pooh and his Hunny Pot, and you are using the food as a handy way to convey the taste to you. 

I digress.  I enjoyed my salad very much. 

Crabby.

The crabcakes arrived a short while later, and as I have reported, in the last year I have gotten over my personal disdain for all things shellfish.  At N9NE I was reminded why I had that disdain in the first place.  The crabcakes I ate in Baltimore were delicious.  Those at N9NE were a little too tangy (read - crabby) for my preference.  Drizzled with an orange sauce I can't quite identify, there was a lot of crab meat in the cakes, but the overall flavor was a little too overpowering for my palate.  I suppose if I had a deeper fondness for crab, I might have enjoyed them, but I didn't care for what I ate. 

This is my steak.  The bone in ribeye.  Fatty.  Like me.

A short while later the main event arrived.  The steaks.  And the frites.  Noel included a plate of the Garlic Steak Fries as well, on the house.  First the fries.  The Garlic Fries were damned tasty.  Soft, yet with a crispy exterior, the garlic announced itself, but didn't overpower the fries.  The Duck Fat Frites were different than I expected.  I expected shoestring size fries, but they were standard french fries.  We tried both, and ultimately, I think more of the Garlic Fries were consumed.

Amy's Kobe Flatiron steak.  Tasty, tasty.

Now.  The steaks.  Cooked in a broiler that Noel informed me reaches 1200 degrees, our steaks were charred to what appeared to be perfection.  An odd moment then occurred.  My steak looked a hell of a lot like a strip, and Vin's looked a hell of a lot like a ribeye.  Much trepidation followed, including asking Noel back over to confirm.  It was confirmed that we had, indeed, received the right steaks.  Amy's flatiron steak was easy to recognize.  Precarved, her steak was a delicious looking shade of red with a slightly charred crust on the outside.  Noel asked if they were cooked to our liking at which point I showed him the fork test for elasticity I like to do.  I placed my fork on top of my steak and gently moved it around, showing him that it was cooked correctly.  He then showed ME a test I had never seen before.  Take your hand and make an "OK" sign with your index finger and thumb.  Feel the flesh that is the pad at the bottom of your thumb with your other index finger.  With your index finger and thumb in the "OK" sign, that is what "rare" should feel like.  Change to your middle finger and thumb, feel it again, and that is "medium rare."  Ring finger is "medium" and pinky is "well done."  As you change fingers, the muscles behind the skin tighten.  I'd never seen that before, but it is pretty spot on.  

Vin's Dry Aged Kansas City Strip.  Cooked to perfection.

Back to the steaks.  My steak was cooked to perfection, as was Vin's.  We each shared a sample of each other's steaks, (although I was pretty stingy with mine), and we each decided we liked our own steaks the best.  Vin's steak was dry aged, so it had a slightly more gamey taste to it, but it was cooked to perfection, silky for a strip, and surprisingly flavorful.  He thoroughly enjoyed it.  Amy's flatiron steak was very tender for flank steak, probably owing to it being Kobe beef, and its rare temperature.  I liked the way it fought back a little while being chewed, but was ultimately very soft for as grainy a steak as flank steak is.  Amy complained a little while into it that she should know better than to get things cooked "rare," but I think any more heat would have made her steak a little tougher.  Had it been me ordering it, I'd have considered it perfect. 

My steak was delicious.  As previously reported ad nauseum, ribeye is the most flavorful cut of steak.  Because it's loaded with fat.  Not "marbling."  Fucking fat.  Tasty, tasty fat.  A little light on the char, my steak was melt in your mouth tender, thick enough to satisfy my more base "eat lots food" desires, and just generally great.  Again.  I'm getting bored with eating fabulous steak.  Wait.  Scratch that.  Reverse it.  I'm NOT getting bored with eating fabulous steak.  The steak was not as good as what I had at Gibsons (again...), but N9NE serves up a hell of a good cut of meat. 

Amy's dessert.  Simply called "Chocolate."

We finished our entrees.  Check that.  I finished mine.  Amy and Vin saved some of each of theirs for later.  It was now time for dessert.  The dessert menu had lots of odd desserts on it and lots of steakhouse standards.  One of the items on it that I really wanted to get was Cotton Candy.  It came on a steel stand, from a home spun cotton candy machine, served with 3 tiny ice cream cones and a chocolate pretzel.  It was, without a doubt, built to share.  My dining mates didn't want it, and there was no way I was going to try it on my own.  I wound up ordering the Root Beer Float, which was supposed to be accompanied by 2 warm (foreshadowing kids, foreshadowing) chocolate chip cookies.  Amy got the dessert called "Chocolate," and Vin got the Pecan Square. 

My float arrived in a tall pilsner glass.  Utilizing Goose Island Brewery Root Beer, the glass had two small scoops of ice cream floating in the liquid, one a cinnamon and one which was vanilla.  P'raps it was the nature of the glass, but I wound up eating the ice cream in two bites, with very little root beer to complement it.  The root beer I then drank was not just root beer, so I assume a lot of the ice cream was distributed throughout the remaining liquid.  You're here for my opinion.  The float was OK.  Nothing special.  The chocolate chip cookies were not warm.   They also were pretty hard.  Sending them back wouldn't have helped that, so I chose to ignore them.   Amy's "Chocolate" dessert was a chocolate mousse cake with a scoop of Fudgesicle sorbet on top of it.  Wonderfully light, her dessert was magnificent.  Magnificent to look at, magnificent to eat, just magnificent.  Vin's Pecan Square was, from the reports I got, equally magnificent.  I don't go for pecans, so I didn't try it, but it was apparently a warm delicious pecan pie.  Cut in a square.  Clever. 

Watery signage.

The meal was over.  We had thoroughly enjoyed another evening of "fooding."  Because that was the night was.  Sure, there was steak, but the overall experience was what appeals about N9NE.  And there's a lot of that.  I heartily recommend the place, and would definitely eat there again.  I can think of no higher praise for any venue, artist, etc. than a return visit.  I look forward to returning to N9NE.

OK.  Nuts and bolts.  Pricey.  We bought Vin's dinner.  Our meal was $120 a person.  With no liquor.  Do your own math.

Bathrooms are gorgeous.  Men's bathroom has tiny TV screens above the urinals.  Hey, something to look at besides the wall is ALWAYS welcome. 

Gorgeous atmosphere.  Ultra modern is how Selma Bouvier would describe it....

You are going to enjoy an evening of food.  It's going to take a while to enjoy it.  But enjoy it you will.

That's it.  N9NE is a terrific restaurant.  Go try it.  You won't be disappointed.  I promise.

Next Month:  Fogo de Chao (all you can eat steak - are you kidding me?!)

The requisite photo.  Smiles courtesy of great fooding.

Memories are funny things...

Last night I watched the tape of the 2001 production of "1776" that I did at Summerplace Theatre. 

Um.

I don't know who came up with the movement on "The Egg." 

Wow. 

Beyond that, good show, but that was brutal.  Just brutal. 

I may have to rip it and post it here.  It's that good/bad.

At least I looked completely bitchin' in the suit....

Posting from facebook....

I need to write.  In the meantime, I'll put this here.  This is the director's note that I would have included in the program for "I Hate Hamlet" if I had unlimited space.   I wrote this 3 years ago.  Since "1776" was near and dear to Mr. Quinn, and since I am in the show with 4 people from the 1985 production he directed....somehow this seems topical and fresh. 

Ben (“IHH’s” set construction chair) and I discovered, while building this massive set, that we are both alums of Glenbard West High School.  We got to talking about Doug Quinn, my high school theatre director.  His name still echoed in the halls of Glenbard West 10 years after Doug and I left there, when Ben was a student.  Doug is a legend.  After he left Glenbard West, he was hired at Pheasant Run where he established the dinner theatre that fellow Glenbard West student (and Doug’s main protégé) Diana Martinez ran for well over a decade, before she moved on to run the Paramount Theatre in Aurora.  

I never knew him as “Doug,” he was always “Mr. Quinn” to me.  He was also the only person of any sort of authority figure that I listened to at the end of high school.  Thanks to my drug addled state, brought on by my own thirst for escape from reality, I was far out of touch with life.  My poor parents were the main target of my immature rebellion, but I wasn’t selective. 

For whatever reason, when Mr. Quinn spoke, I listened. 

Mr. Quinn wasn’t exactly a role model.  He was paunchy.  He smoked like a chimney, crushing Carltons between his fingers to try to suck ANY tar and nicotine out of them.  Carltons were to cigarettes what iceberg lettuce is to food.  Mr. Quinn had to smoke them, or he’d have dropped on the spot every day.  He drank to excess, but only on his time.  He would threaten you with a cup of coffee from a Mr. Coffee machine that looked like it had been used for 50 years.  It was no more than 3 years old.  He ate like a pig, often substituting Carltons and coffee for any sort of nutrition.  He rarely went home before 7 or 8 each night.  There were always rumors about drug use.  He was gruff.  He was passionate.  He would yell if he needed to, and sometimes he would yell if he didn’t need to.    His office was in the bowels of the auditorium, in the set shop.  A place NO ONE could get to without considerable effort.  It suited him, like a troll living under a bridge.  Despite his appearance and mannerisms, no one cared more about his students or his craft than Mr. Quinn.   

Mr. Quinn staged HUGE shows.  It’s what he did.   He made you work hard on them.  He made you be as good as what he put behind you, which was beyond spectacular.  As a testament to his influence, 6 of the 7 principals from our production of “The Foreigner” have been paid to do theatre later in life.  That’s a hell of a percentage.  Go to any high school production ANYWHERE and show me 86% of the cast that is going to cash even ONE check for doing theatre.  You won’t find it.  Four of the six relied on theatre for their living for at least a time, and 3 of them still earn their living from theatre, or education and theatre.  Two of those followed in Mr. Quinn’s footsteps and became high school theatre directors, while one is a working circus clown performing off Broadway in New York. 

You say you want to move into this set?  Every one Mr. Quinn built was built to these standards.  He simply built a “real” suite at the Plaza for “Plaza Suite” or a real fishing lodge for “The Foreigner.”  Except for the lack of a ceiling, they looked like they existed in the real world.  They didn’t look like “sets.” 

During the summers, Mr. Quinn was the director of the bygone Before Broadway Players, the community theatre sponsored by the Glen Ellyn Park District.  Steve Merkel, Joe Maier and Jean Austin are names currently connected to WDI that I had the pleasure to meet way back then.  The BBP did one show a year, eight nights (WEDNESDAY thru Saturday – try opening on a WEDNESDAY night……), in a 750 seat auditorium.  Tickets cost $8 apiece.  At the end of the group’s existence, the budgets for the shows exceeded $30,000.00 in mid 80’s dollars.  You can do the math on how many tickets you’d need to sell to pay for that, (let alone be profitable, and the shows were always VERY profitable) but it’s a LOT.  We usually played at least 4 of the 8 shows to sold out capacity.  For “Joseph” (pre Donny Osmond) in 1984, we sold folding chairs in the aisles the last 6 shows.  We had 180 patrons on opening night.  No one knew that show then.  It was all word of mouth.  Whether it was “Camelot,” where he built a structure connecting the balcony to the stage with a functioning walkway (about 18 feet in the air – for about a 50 foot long run – on EITHER SIDE of the auditorium) or shooting off fireworks from the ceiling of the theatre during “1776,” Mr. Quinn never skimped on the details.  I was lucky enough to appear in 4 of their shows, including that production of “1776” and 1986’s “Oklahoma!” where Curly rode a real horse through the audience while singing “Oh! What a Beautiful Morning.”  That’s right, a REAL horse.  He had one for “Camelot” too.  Did I mention he did HUGE shows? 

Everything I learned from Mr. Quinn I still use today.  This cast has heard some of his more frequently espoused philosophies, such as “what you do in rehearsal is what you do in performance” and “always leave them wanting more.”  He helped form the nucleus of my love for this art.  I’ve since learned much more than he ever taught me, but no one person ever taught me more. 

Mr. Quinn died of a heart attack in 1988 at the age of 33, two days after I completed my stay at Central DuPage Hospital’s Addiction Treatment Center.  I had talked to him on the phone while there, and he had promised to come see me, but he never made it over.  He never knew that this year is my 20^th anniversary clean and sober, but he sure knew me when I wasn’t either of those things….  

“I Hate Hamlet,” at its core, is about a ghost who, while alive, was arguably the best Hamlet ever.  He returns from the grave to mentor a much less skilled actor about how to perform Hamlet, with all that entails.  That ghost is not exactly a role model, and knows he wasted considerable amount of talent in his own indulgences.  He expresses regrets in death that he probably never said in life.  He seeks cosmic redemption through his protégé.   By the end of the show, he realizes that while the student couldn’t measure up to his impossible standards of excellence in performance, he has outgrown his teaching.  Every facet of it.  The ghost is indeed redeemed, while still being the master. 

I have always felt with every show that I have directed that I have a ghost (who was a master) looking over my much less skilled shoulder making sure I get it right, mentoring me.  I talk to that ghost as I go through every show.  I listen for inspiration.  In life, I learn from his failures.  This one has been exceptionally poignant to me, because this show is about exactly what I deal with every time I direct.

With the copious help of everyone involved, this show is how I believe that ghost would envision it if he were alive, and more importantly, I think I’ve become the person that ghost would want me to be.   Mr. Quinn would love this one. 

So…from an “Andrew,” this show is all for my “Barrymore,” Mr. Quinn. 

Randall W. Knott

Oh, How Sweet It Is! (Guest blogger - Amy Calhoun)

Randy and I first discovered The Langham Hotel's chocolate buffet while watching a show on the Travel Channel. After viewing the segment, I knew I would be making the trip with Randy on his Boston baseball pilgrimage just so I could indulge in this amazing spread of my favorite food ... CHOCOLATE!



Yes, our actual wedding cake.



While Randy is big on steak, I am a huge fan of chocolate. It's a rare day that I don't have some form of chocolate -- chocolate in my coffee, chocolate milk, candy, cookies, cake ... well, you get the picture. Even our wedding cake was chocolate.

Stepping into Cafe Fleuri's Chocolate Bar was like walking into Willy Wonka's chocolate factory only a bit more adult and sophisticated. (and with smaller portions) A chocolate fountain graced the center of the buffet and was surrounded by 8 additional tables all laden with sugary goodness. I was like a kid in a candy store...literally!



This was perhaps the most decadent experience I have ever had. Although I have participated at the midnight buffet on a couple cruise ships, this spread was superior in quality and attention to detail. Everything was beautifully displayed and each dessert was labeled  - even with possible food allergens.

A sampling of the many desserts.

Each year the chef selects a different theme for Cafe Fleuri's Chocolate Bar. This season the chef has focused on the five elements of taste: salty, sour, bitter, sweet and savory. Before diving into the selections our waiter brought us water and coffee. After eating that many sweets, coffee or tea is a must.

I came prepared to sample. Being part of the clean plate club was not going to happen. I wanted to try as many desserts as I possibly could. Most servings are bite-size or a little larger. On my first go around, I filled 3 plates with 15 different desserts. Even with bite-size servings, I was still only sampling for flavor.

Kid in a candy store!

My first sampling was a hand-rolled chocolate truffle dusted with raspberry infused powdered sugar. The liquid chocolate in the center was smooth, creamy and bitterly rich. YUM! I was off to a fantastic start. My next taste had me a bit nervous - a combination of chocolate and pumpkin. I enjoy both of these flavors separately but couldn't really imagine they would taste good together. I was wrong. Utilizing very little spice, the pumpkin was just a slight undertone to the chocolate. I ate all of this and will be searching recipes to figure out how to make something similar for Thanksgiving this year.

I have two favorite chocolate flavor combinations - chocolate and peanut butter along with chocolate and raspberry. Yes, each of those combinations were available. The Peanut Crunch Cake layers salty peanuts with chocolate cake and chocolate mousse. Yes, very good with the crunch of the peanuts not being something you would expect in a cake. The layered chocolate cake, chocolate mousse and raspberry was fabulous as was the raspberry whipped mousse with a chocolate crust. These five items were my favorites.

Smoked cake

Randy had me try a bite of cake he had grabbed. Now this falls into the savory category. Here is the description straight from the menu: flourless chocolate cake made with house-smoked bittersweet chocolate  House-smoked bittersweet chocolate - unique to the taste buds to say the least. My vote is still out on this one. My initial thought was that there was bacon in the cake. I'm glad I tasted it, but I wouldn't want to eat a whole piece of smoked cake.

Of course I had a chocolate dipped strawberry and I drenched fruit and pretzels in the chocolate fountain. Holding food on a skewer and letting chocolate shower over it is just fun. I tasted a dense chocolate brownie, a white chocolate mousse with a strawberry gel, chocolate mousse with passion fruit, cannoli, Boston creme cake, a chocolate filled tart and a few other items.

There were two service stations as well. One was making chocolate crapes and the other served ice cream with your selection of mix-ins (I skipped the ice cream since I had done that before at Cold Stone Creamery). There was a cotton candy machine and an array of cookies, brownies and rice krispie treats. Unfortunately, no chocolate soup on the menu this year. At my best guess, I would say this buffet offers more than 50 different items.

Nearing the end of this chocolate extravaganza, I had another skewer of chocolate dipped pineapple and Randy grabbed a shot glass of chocolate liquid. He downed the liquid and told me to go get two more - one for each of us. We toasted each other and I downed what I was expecting to be chocolate milk. It was a chocolate liquid infused with cinnamon. I don't know if it was milk but that cinnamon took me by surprise. It was a delightful topper for the end of our "tour de chocolate."

If you are ever in Boston on a Saturday, I recommend  you check out Cafe Fleuri. Even the locals come here. There was at least one birthday party seated near us and a baby or bridal shower seated across the way. Plan to spend a minimum of an hour and take little bites so you can try as many desserts as you can possibly handle. And if you are wondering if I over did it and am off chocolate for awhile ... nope, I've had a little bit of chocolate everyday since arriving back home.

RANDY'S EDIT:  One note of caution - it's pricey.  Really pricey.  It's chocolate.  Get over it....

Thanks for reading! - Amy

Amy and Randy at Cafe Fleuri

Opening night....

Tonight is opening night for "1776."  I don't have time to write more right now, so I'm going to be mercifully brief. 

This show will always be my favorite. 

Always.

It's also special...because this is the first time my son will see his daddy act. 



Come see it if you have the chance.

Daniel Baggott-Miller as Dr. Benjamin Franklin, Sean Ogren as John Adams,
the author as Thomas Jefferson and Kimberly Baker as Martha Jefferson.

Rosebud Steakhouse - Miss Chicago Steakhouse for May



Another month, another big ol' steak.  I love my life....



Loyal readers:  Thank you so much for being part of this project.  I've had a ton of fun doing it, and a ton of fun hearing from a few of you about how much you enjoy it. 

As I pointed out in the comments section last month:  I'm on no payroll with this.  I do this for fun, for entertainment, and ultimately, for some date nights with my wife. 

Previously, I've written on Joe's, Keefer's, Gibsons, Morton's and David Burke's Primehouse. 

This is Rosebud Steakhouse when it's not pouring down rain.  And dark. 

This month we visited Rosebud Steakhouse on Walton.  Right behind the Drake Hotel.  If you don't know where the Drake is, you don't know Chicago.  Rosebud is a chain of restaurants, most of which serve Italian food.  There are two steakhouses in the family, and both have a solid reputation around town, and are highly reviewed.

This month we brought another couple with us.  This was a first on this project, but it won't be the last time it happens.  Both June and July will feature people other than ourselves dining.  Plus.  I'm not sure how this is going to work yet - but watch this blog for an announcement regarding an essay contest I'm going to run to dine as our guests at Wildfire in September.  More to come on that, so don't get too excited.  Yet. 

Enough of the warm up.  Kinda.  Camera couldn't take good pictures.  Too dark.  Most of the images are borrowed.

Let's get into the story. 

Saturday in Chicago was rainy, cold and miserable.  The Cubs were playing the Giants that NIGHT (this is a rare thing - a night game at Wrigley on a Saturday).  Our friends, (for anonymity's sake we'll call them) Georg and Amalia, live on Southport, relatively close to Wrigley.  That being the case, our departure time bumped up by half an hour, because we needed to get to their neighborhood in time to make our reservations.  We left our house at 4:30.  This made for a long drive, and a relatively cranky driver.  As can be expected, we were late getting to their house, which made us late getting to the restaurant.  We arrived at 6:45 for our 6:30 reservations.  I'm an enigma when it comes to timely arrivals.  With work events I tend to leave myself JUST the exact amount of time I need to travel, which inevitably leads to being late, but for personal things, I'm the guy who tries to get there 15 minutes early.  Unless it's family.  In which case, it's about a 50-50 shot on whether or not we'll be late. 
 

Oh yeah, NOW I know where the Drake is....



Getting away from the point.  We pulled up (in the rain) to the Rosebud Steakhouse 15 minutes late for our reservation.  We used the valet service for the ol' minivan.  Pulling up to the restaurant, Georg observed, "Boy, if you didn't know this place was here, you'd never find it."  Its location is in a tricky spot.  It's two blocks north of the Hancock Tower, and two blocks east of Michigan.  It's on a one way street heading west, and the area doesn't exactly get a lot of traffic.  You have to know it's there, or you won't ever see it.  There are still a whole lot of blocks downtown where you can cross the street without worrying, most of them between Michigan and Lake Shore Drive.  This is one of them. 

Arriving in the rain led to us hurrying inside.  There was a green awning in front - apparently this is standard issue to steakhouses.  It's kind of like the three balls in front of a pawn shop.  Once in, we were greeted by the Maitre'd station just inside from an entry vestibule.  There were plenty of empty tables when we arrived, so I got over the being late thing, but on the way out, the place was filled, including the entry vestibule.  They seem to do a fairly brisk business.

Looking around the place I was immediately struck by its intimacy.  By "its intimacy" - I mean its smallness.  There couldn't have been more than 20 tables in the whole place, and there was a bar (with no patrons) taking up half the back of the restaurant.  The restaurant was a mixture of dark woods and cream paint.  There were various books on the wall, used for decoration and nothing more (for a while the now closed Cafe Wheaton had a copy of the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous on the wall.  I always thought that was inappropriate, yet funny at the same time...).   The light fixtures are large alabaster bowls.  Again, most of this is standard issue steakhouse stuff. 

One of the few pictures that turned out OK.  This was OUR particular
bread basket.  The butter has a hint of honey.  Tasty stuff in here....

We were shown to our table immediately, a small table for 4 near the back, and were presented with a big basket of various breads and our menus.  There is an article about the breads at Rosebud here.  Try the pretzel roll.  It's fantastic.  The menus are printed horizontally on card stock, about 8" x 16" and placed in a leather, non-folding board.  I noted that they were "unwieldy."  I should have followed that with, "And the server is standing behind me right now, right?"  Because you know that's what happened.  She asked if I had trouble with it.  Never fails.  We got past my faux pas, and we were introduced to her.  Her name was Mary, and she was dressed in a full tuxedo.  I do like that a lot.  It's a touch of class that shows the management cares about the details.  Anyway, Mary welcomed us, asked us for drink orders (no pushing of alcohol - nice), and gave us a little bit to go over the menus. 

As with all of these reviews, I familiarize myself with the menu weeks in advance.  So, when it comes time to order things, I already know what I'm having.  I do like to ask what the house specialty is, but beyond that, I pretty much know what I want before I enter.  Saturday night we were perusing the appetizers, and I mentioned that in my research, Rosebud has a reputation as having the best burgers in Chicago.  (Sorry Marc L., turns out I was wrong about that being Gibsons...)  Well.  One of the things on the appetizer menu was a plate of 2 oz. Mini Burgers with 1000 Island Dressing, Cheese, Carmelized Onion and Pickles.  A plate of those was ordered (3 burgers - Amy decided she didn't want one) and a plate of Bacon Wrapped Scallops was ordered as well (3 scallops again - Georg and I weren't too hip on them - I don't like seafood - but decided we'd split one for sportsmanship).  Mary left to place the order, and before she came back to take our entree order, our appetizers arrived.

Not our scallops.  I guess this is what they come from though....

Scallops first.  In the course of this project, and indeed over the last year, I have let go of my absolute prejudice against all things shellfish.  I don't really have grounds for disliking them, because I've never really had one I didn't like, (not unlike cats - I hate them on principle - but have yet to meet one I didn't like) but I have a wall between myself and shellfish.  The scallops were smallish bacon wrapped cylinders, covered with a barbecue-ish sauce and wrapped in bacon.  They were complemented with a corn relish of some sort that none of us ate.  Since I had never tried them before, I decided to try the scallop portion independent of the bacon.  I know what bacon tastes like.  Light and flaky, the scallops really tasted like...nothing...except the sauce.  So.  I guess that means they were good.  Amy said they were not as good as the scallops she had at Joe's, but that they were good.  The bacon was outstanding.   Some day someone is going to have to explain to me why food that tastes like nothing is good.  I know seafood shouldn't taste fishy - but WHY EAT IT?! 

Now.  The burgers.  The reputation is deserved.  Juicy, seared to perfection, and just basically tasty as hell, the burgers were a nice start of the evening's dining.  Served on a pretzel roll, the juice had bled into the bottom of the bun, soaking it with flavorful goodness.  They were served with a small dish of ketchup on the side, and the roll had been lightly toasted.  It's hard to say much more about them besides I could envision myself eating at Rosebud again just for the burger.  It was that good.  Amalia informed me that any time I was in the city at lunch, she might be persuaded to join me there for lunch.  Provided...I asked.  Tough persuasion.

The Rosebud Burger.  I believe it was Jules who said.....
"MmmmmmMM.  That is a tasty burger..."

While feasting on our appetizers, Mary returned to ask for our entree orders.  Amy and I knew what we wanted long before we got there, but Georg and Amalia were curious about the Chateaubriand for 2 that was listed as a special.  Asking Mary about it, she was not short of opinion.  She basically talked them out of it.  When asked what the house specialty was - she replied, "The Chicago Cut Bone-In Ribeye."  Oddly enough, that was what I was having.  Surprise!  Pretty much it goes like this, every Chicago place worth its salt has a bone in ribeye on its menu.  It is the most flavorful steak, and something about the wet-aging that is standard in Chicago with that steak makes it super easy to cook, and super easy to enjoy. 

Well.  The bone in ribeye is a 24 oz. piece of meat.  Rosebud also featured two smaller ribeyes, a much smaller 10 oz. - which would be hard to cook correctly - that might be too thin - and an 18 oz. Delmonico cut.  Named after Delmonico's restaurant in New York, the Delmonico is a ribeye cut a certain way.  I'm not sophisticated enough to know more than that, so don't ask.

EDIT:  Oh my God.  I found an article.  I wrote this late at night, so I didn't feel like doing the research.  Wanna make your eyes bleed?  Read this article about the Delmonico Cut.  Odd.  I've always heard of it as a ribeye.  Always. 

Amy had decided before we got there on the Delmonico, cooked rare.  Amalia ordered the Petite Filet medium, I got the bone in ribeye medium rare, and Georg was really struggling with what to eat.  Mary was pushing him toward the Delmonico, but he wasn't sure he wanted that much food.  He's not a big red meat guy, and that was a LOT of red meat.  Being who I am, (big red meat guy) I was no help in this situation.  Finally, after much handwringing, Georg decided on the Delmonico as well, cooked Medium.  I felt bad for him, because it was obvious the choice wasn't one he felt solid about.  That has to be a tough feeling.

For our sides, we were informed that the starches and the vegetables were packaged so that one order of either would be enough for 4 people.  Georg and I had relinquished control over the side dishes to the ladies.  They chose the Bacon Cheddar Mashed Potatoes (as Amalia said, "What in there is bad?") and the Grilled Asparagus. 



If you can picture two people glistening like
they were just sprayed with baby oil, and panting
heavily, then this is an exact image of our kiss.  Oh, and
picture their lips meeting.  That's important.

 

More conversation followed, mostly about theatre projects and kids, as we awaited our entrees.  Amalia and I have acted opposite each other twice - including the World's Sweatiest Stage Kiss as Harold and Marian in "The Music Man" in 2003 - and I was lucky enough to direct her in "Steel Magnolias" in 2004.  We have a solid relationship based on our own (it turns out increasingly) peculiar sense of what theatre should be and how it should be done.  I was on stage with Georg in "1776" back in 2001, and have seen him a couple of other times, including opposite Amalia in "She Loves Me," where the two of them met.  None of that has anything to do with food reviews, which is why you came here, but I don't care. 

The following is foreshadowing.  We learned about it before.  During the conversation, I noticed that we had been waiting for our food for a while, and I said, "The waiting is the hardest part."  Foreshadowing kiddies, foreshadowing. 

Our entrees arrived.  The potatoes were magnificently presented in a pan, loaded with cheese and slightly browned on top.  The asparagus was on a small platter, plenty for the whole table.  Our steaks were each served au jus with a tall, cylindrical bone to the side, with a sprig of rosemary protruding from the bone.  Everything looked delicious. 

Then, there was a snag. 

Our steaks were trending towards cold.  They weren't cold yet, but they weren't hot.  I can tell you that.  I don't expect a steak to arrive at the table sizzling like it does at Peter Luger's, but I do expect it to be hot.  I thought for a moment it might have been the au jus, but further thought has convinced me that they basically sat in the kitchen, waiting for someone to serve them.  That's what we were foreshadowing.  The steaks should have been to the table at least 10 minutes earlier.  Since warming them would have required overcooking them, or, God forbid, microwaving them, we persisted in eating them.  So, I have to review what I ate.

Not my steak.  This one appears to have cheese melted on it.  This is Rosebud's
Bone In Ribeye.  Charred.  Au Jus.  What more could you want?  Oh yeah,
you want it served HOT. 

My steak was charred to perfection on the outside.  Rosebud serves nothing but wet-aged USDA Prime steaks.  Can't really screw that up.  The center was warmish red, just as medium rare should be.  It was flavorful, tender, and just utterly delicious.  The fat, intrinsic to a ribeye, was thoroughly melted, and the steak was probably my second favorite steak I've had on this journey, not that far behind Gibsons.  But it wasn't hot.  Amy's steak was cooked to perfection, and coldish.  She really enjoyed it also.  Georg's was also cooked correctly, and he enjoyed it, and all Amalia has said is, "I know we should have talked about the food more besides "Yum." but really, we couldn't." 

So.  The steaks were great.  Raised correctly, butchered correctly, aged correctly, and cooked correctly, but they were not served correctly.  I give Rosebud high marks on its food.  We were greeted by the manager at one point, and while he was informed of the low temperature thing, we all conceded that short of re-cooking there wasn't much that could be done.  Not a whole lot of help. 

The potatoes had nothing bad about them.  But we knew that before we ate them.  They were light, yet cheesy, and the bacon didn't overwhelm the flavor as much as enhance it.  Probably because they were served in their cooking dish, they were still hot.  The asparagus was nothing special, and (surprise!) coldish.  I don't know if I'd order that again.  If I went back. 

After dinner we were given the dessert menu.  We were told that desserts, with the exception of a couple items were big enough for 4.  That was not hyperbole.  The ladies, again in total control, decided on the Banana Cream Pie with Oreo Crust as our dessert.  I ordered a cup of decaf, which was standard issue.

Our actual pie.  We should have put a bus next to it, so you
could see some size perspective.  Woulda dwarfed the bus though....

I don't know what pie the slice we were presented came from, but I imagine it to be roughly the size of a really big pizza.  Or a small planet.  The pie was delicious.  Drizzled with a small amount of chocolate and caramel, the bananas were just right and the Oreo crust was a perfect choice.  Very good dessert.  And yes, one slice was big enough for 4.

So.  There we were.  We were done, having eaten in 2 hours and 15 minutes, and it was time to go.  The check was $300 between the 4 of us with tip, so not all that pricey, but still in the upscale area.

It was an enjoyable evening of catching up and good to great-ish fine dining.

Couple of other summary facts/opinions:

Service was mediocre at best, and certainly not special.  Plates tended to be cleared before they were ready to be cleared, and the cold steaks were inexcuseable.

The bathroom stalls are floor to ceiling.  Apparently that is also standard issue steakhouse material.

The place is bordering on cramped.  I was in the aisle, and my chair was bumped frequently.  Amalia and Amy were right on top of the people behind us.

It's dark.  Even with my super fast lens, pictures were a challenge.

It's noisy.  See the cramped comment. 

There are two Rosebuds that are steakhouses.  I kinda wish I had chosen Rosebud Prime, but chose this one for its intimacy.  I think that was a mistake.  Maybe.  I don't know.

Georg felt as if he ate too much.  I'm a glutton, so I guess I hadn't ever taken that into account at most of the places we've been (except for my stupidity at Morton's).   It was good to get that perspective. 

So.  Bottom line.  Rosebud Steakhouse makes a hell of a steak.  I don't think we'll be returning, because we've had equal meals elsewhere at similar prices with better atmosphere, friendlier staff, etc.  I think I would have to say it was "typical."  I thought maybe that might happen as this went on, that eventually all the places would blend together.  Rosebud did nothing to distinguish itself.  We got a fine meal at a fine meal price.  That was to be expected.  Rosebud was adequate.  There's no shame in that.

I would go back for the hamburgers, though.  Perhaps a lunch visit.

Thanks again for reading.  I really appreciate it.

NEXT MONTH:  N9NE Steakhouse.  Going with guests again.

In lieu of the fairly bad picture of the two of us from Rosebud, here's our wedding day.
I think I'm thinking about steak.