Made by toasting a piece of French bread topped with an assortment of mushrooms, green onions, ham, and more, this traditional snack of Polish night owls goes sinfully well with a side of ketchup. Growing up, I have many fond memories of summer nights out with my cousins in Poland. Here in the States, I’ve long craved the zapiekanka that could take me back to those nights in Krakow.

The standard was set (unfairly) high when I walked into Cafe Two07, a late night bar and club with the reputation for serving up some of the best zapiekanki in Chicago. Yet the zapiekanki were just as I’d remembered: crisp, soft, and cheesy. The Polish appetizer menu – including potato pancakes, pierogi, and cabbage rolls – brought back memories of Poland and I soon learned that the nightlife was equally authentic. Located on the 58th block of South Archer in the Polish-Mexican neighborhood of Garfield Ridge, Cafe Two07 is far away from the chic club scene downtown—but only in terms of mileage.

“I’m a nocturnal creature myself,” explains owner and in-house DJ Ralph Pleszko. On most nights Pleszko (stage name Digital Driver), a tall blond vested in Aeropostale, can be found firmly planted in the DJ booth. There, he sifts through his vinyl, spinning German-imported classics such as “99 Luftballons” and “Celebration” as well as the latest in popular house music. Pleszko attributes his passion for music to the opportunities opened up by his move from Poland to Chicago in 1988. Fittingly, he named the place after his inbound flight number, #2007.

Pleszko is invested in giving the South Side youth a place that they can call their own, a place that’s “low key that isn’t in your face.” The tables and sofas are arranged casually in the lounge around the dance floor, and there is a private room in the back.  You can pick your playlist and throw a private party provided you cover the bar tab afterwards. The rest – the friendly staff, the dancing, the little slice of Poland’s nightlife – is all free.

When the music gets going the dance floor gets crowded.  “Some nights are so epic here,” Pleszko says. But you have to know when to go. The most crowded nights at Cafe Two07 are Wednesdays and the second and fourth Fridays of every month, when Plezko brings in DJs from around the country. One of these groups, Soul Kitchen, flies in every other Friday from Vegas to mix for a packed house of fans. During their set, I ran into one frequent Friday-goer, Marcin,: “their music makes me loosen up and free myself from the everyday world.”

Which is exactly what Pleszko wants. “My goal is to give people a universe they can define as their own,” he says. “The freedom to feel human.”

Cafe Two07, 5842 S Archer Ave. (773) 767-5740. Free. cafetwo07.com

Laurie Sartain

The ‘El’ train can get you to EL ideas, but it can’t get you in. The restaurant is open four nights a week and completes only five seatings, each serving between ten to sixteen guests. Reservations are taken long in advance and get distributed through lottery via email. Tucked away in a dark building off the intersection of 14th and Western Avenue, EL ideas is neighborhoods away from the next closest tasting menu.

The restaurant consists of one large, narrow room split by a low barrier that separates the dining space from cooking area. The décor is understated and faintly masculine, with exposed brick walls and Parisian poster art complementing the clean, white dishware, befitting a kitchen full of men outfitted in T-shirts and jeans. For working in such an exclusive restaurant, the chefs and staff are remarkably relaxed and down to earth. Chefs Philip Foss and Andrew Brochu talk with guests and introduce each course with a description of each element on the plate, occasionally sharing the inspiration for the dish. Our server Dave explains that the meal is meant to be experienced as a dinner party in the chef’s home, and invites the table to walk through the kitchen, schmooze, and explore.

The food hints at elements of modern, experimental, and local cuisine, irreducible to a single identity. The dinner served on the night of November 23 resists simple characterization, the elements falling together in a way that is easy to describe, yet difficult to define. The first course was a lightly poached tuna loin served with a short Italian breadstick cracker, a sliver of cornichon, spiced mayonnaise, and fish egg vinaigrette.  An unusual but unusually apt choice to begin with, the fleshy tenderness of the tuna lent itself handily to the crunch of the cracker and vibrancy of the accompanying sauces.

The next course set the tone for the evening, revealing the playfulness and good humor of the kitchen. Diners were presented with a foie gras serpentine, snaked along the plate alongside bruléed foie gras buttons served with various forms of apple (apple chips, apple puree, and pea sized dots of raw apple) along with walnut dust and rainbow oxalis, an acidic-tasting flower.  This course was served on a flat plate, without silverware, and after everyone was served, Chef Philip addressed the room and instructed us to lick the food off of the plate, promising “bonus points to anyone able to do so while making eye contact with the person across from them.”  After a moment’s hesitation, diners across the room began breaking the taboo of civilized consumption, diving headfirst into the simple, sensual act. The foie gras delivered on its promise of luxury and unctuous indulgence, accented but not interrupted by its accompaniments, while at the same time imparting a sense of whimsical theatricality.

The “bolognaise” was the first underwhelming course. Consisting of four pieces of gnocchi served on a bed of spanner crab and eggplant bolognese with grated pecorino, the dish was sometimes more gummy than pillowy and the flavors of the bolognese were muddled, relieved only slightly by the zing of lemon zest.

The disappointment of the pasta was easily forgotten by the guests, though, when followed by the seventh course, titled “jowl.” The pork course consisted of a portion of tender pork belly, a slice of pork jowl bacon, and celery puree with celery root and kiwi fruit. The result was dazzling: the dual pork preparations complemented each other perfectly when combined with the crisp, herbaceous celery and tart sweetness of the kiwi.

One of the highlights of the evening came with the ninth course, titled “agnolotti.” A single piece of fried sweetbread rested atop pockets of tender pasta filled with squash puree, served in a thyme-gingersnap cream sauce with tiny cubes of cooked squash. A perfect melding of crispy, savory, tender, creamy and sweet, each bite was a mouthful of warmth and comfort, perfectly representative of the seasonal transition from autumn to winter.

The final course, the twelfth of the evening, came with a story. Chef Andrew introduced the concept behind the dessert as a memory of an adult ritual from holidays in Florida. Adults would sit around after dinner and eat bourbon balls, drink coffee, and smoke cigarettes. The grown-up dessert was composed of tobacco pudding, a small dome of chewy caramel, and a quenelle of Maker’s Mark ice cream with cookie crumbs. The dessert was a playful variation on adult vices: the bitterness of the tobacco and the booziness of the ice cream cut the sweetness of the dish wonderfully.

After the last plates were cleared, the diners relaxed in their seats and talked among their groups and with the chefs, who remained to chat and answer questions. Voices and spirits hit a crescendo, warming the dark room from within with laughter and good cheer. Ambitious and innovative, though never overreaching, EL ideas elevates the dinner party to an art.

2419 W. 14th St. (312)226-8144. elideas.com

Since winter is fast approaching, Ruyter—a lively octogenarian and Hyde Park resident—decided soup would be the best donation she could give in support of the movement. To help protesters battle the cold weather and boost spirits,  she prepared several Thermoses full of homemade soup, and hopped on a bus headed downtown to hand out the hearty sustenance.  Ruyter explained her political motivation for taking up her ladle for the cause to a group of about ten volunteers, “the current situation is untenable, and it is appropriate for somebody to speak out.”

In no time, Ruyter’s friends and neighbors got wind of the project. Some, no longer spring chickens, sympathized with the demonstrators and wanted to help. “My bones can’t take that cold weather,” explained Cecilia Briscle, a volunteer who lives in the same building as Ruyter, but the Soup Brigade gave her an accessible way to be involved in the movement.

The volunteers hope to make regular soup deliveries to the protesters, but in order to lay the logistical groundwork they will need lots of cooks in the kitchen. That means that anyone—master chef or not—can be useful. Newcomer Barbara Roy described herself as “no soup-maker,” but was still eager to help make and transport it.

The Soup Brigade has already attracted attention from the local media and news of their work has spread beyond the neighborhood. Donations have come not only from the local grocer, Hyde Park Produce, but Ruyter received a call from a farmer in Wisconsin wanting to deliver produce for the cause.

This Thursday though, the mood at the meeting was not self-congratulatory, but rather ambitious for further success. Ruyter, a petite but commanding woman, projected warmth as she spoke with volunteers before the start of the meeting, and doled out thanks and hugs along with samples of her soup. One spoonful alone conjured up the sensation of being tucked warmly indoors, safe from any flurry stemming from political upheaval—or simply cold weather.

Courtesy of Plant Chicago/flickr

“I still get really excited about Zelda,” Chris Tourre says, not hesitating to respond when asked if there are any recently released video games he’s jonesing for. In a gray hoodie, sneakers, and thick, black-rimmed glasses, he is at once cute and nerdy, like overgrown kids always are. After all, he co-founded a company based on what he calls the “untapped marriage of video games and beer.” This seemingly juvenile obsession with beer is misleading, though, because Tourre is into good beer, really good beer. He and his business partner Lance Curran are the two guys behind Arcade Brewery.

Surprising ideas come from surprising places: an experiment with poultry was Tourre’s inspiration for the project. For his MFA thesis from the University of Illinois at Chicago, Tourre raised a flock of chickens and delivered the eggs across Pilsen. Traveling around the neighborhood, he realized he could bring together the South Side’s bourgeoning culinary scene and its blue-collar population to create a unique, community-oriented product.

Soon after the egg delivery experiment, Tourre started holding brewing workshops and participating in local beer conventions. Sparked by his love of the brew, the part-time artist began concocting his own beer at home before taking his craft public.

Although the word “artisanal” never came up in conversation, Tourre is obviously a craftsman. His recipes are playful and seasonal—take, for example, the Arcade Grapefruit IPA, a golden hoppy concoction with a quirky grapefruit kick. The brewers are also open to customers’ input on what ingredients to use. “From conception to consumption,” Tourre says, “our customers will have a stake of what goes in the bottle.” After the 8-Bit Series, Arcade’s first line of beer, the brewery will release Six Pack Stories, a line that aims to blur the boundary between maker and taster.

Each bottle will have a custom-drawn comic frame, and Tourre hopes to get one artist for each series, who will be chosen by popular vote on Facebook or Twitter. Graphic illustrator Tony Moore—more famously known as the illustrator of the comic book series, The Walking Dead—is the first artist signed on to illustrate what Arcade hopes will be a dynamic, custom label, rather than a typical company masthead.

Arcade has located a physical space for their project—they are the latest planned addition to the Plant, an abandoned warehouse in Back of the Yards that is in the process of becoming the city’s first self-sustainable vertical farm. They will share the 16,800 square-foot first floor space of the Plant with another brewery, the New Chicago Beer Company. Both companies intend to use the space for brewing, bottling, and kegging, and—if things go according to plan—they will eventually be joined by a beer garden. As of now, however, the first floor feels like it belongs in an episode of Ghost Adventures, not in someone’s memories of a half-drunk night in Back of the Yards. Construction won’t begin for another five weeks, but once work on the space begins things will have to move quickly—both breweries want to be up and running by March of next year.

Like many fine alcohols, time is what the Plant needs: time for construction, and time for a $2.1 million anaerobic digester (a fancy power generator) to come through the mail. In the meantime, both Tourre and Curran are keeping busy. Curran is working full-time at Threadless, and, in anticipation of Arcade’s grand opening, Tourre has managed to get ahold of a Winnitron 1000—an old-school arcade console that he and Curran plan to deck out in Arcade “schwag.” The Arcade aesthetic is slowly coming together, but Tourre and Curran don’t plan on becoming beer snobs anytime soon.   “I’m not a style Nazi,” Tourre says. “I just like to make fun beers that are enjoyable.”

Maria Nelson

The massive mural of Mao Zedong in Tony Hu’s new restaurant has raised a red flag for more than a few food critics. Lao Hunan is embellished with all the amusing touches of the Hunan province of China, including the face of its most prominent former resident, Chairman Mao. The servers are decked out in drab olive People’s Liberation Army uniforms, complete with matching messenger bags. A fellow diner noted that it was a bit unnerving to see waiters dressed in military uniforms smile at him, but for the most part the decorating effort comes off as more historical than radical. In fact, the only things truly communist in this joint are the communal tables. Despite Lao Hunan’s busy décor, the crowd-pleasing menus are stocked with unpretentious, well-executed Chinese staples.

Tony Hu, regarded by many as the unofficial mayor of Chinatown, is a humble and ambitious man. His philosophy is simple: cook authentic Chinese food true to the culinary traditions of the provinces his restaurants represent. Despite Hu’s modest aims, each of his projects has received consistent critical attention and acclaim. He is sometimes credited as the key source of Chinatown’s transformation over the past two decades into an accessible dining destination. His newest restaurant, Lao Hunan, sits behind a yellow and red sign and matching canopy on Wentworth in old Chinatown.  Lao Hunan specializes in dishes from the Hunan province in southern China, which borders Hu’s native Sze Chuan. Hunanese cuisine is known for packing a scorching dry heat; the spice used numbs the mouth, temporarily enabling diners to consume remarkable quantities of spicy food.

The medium-sized dining room comfortably seats about 50 people at various small rectangular and large round tables. For a Friday night, the wait is not long, the frazzled host quickly moving through the long list of reservations.

Lao Hunan has two menus: one which offers Hunanese specialty items (as well as cameos from Lao Sze Chuan, such as the Sze Chuan Green Beans and Ma Po Tofu) and the other, a “Taste of Asia” menu, which provides a more general spread of Chinese appetizers, stir-fry dishes, and fried rice and noodles.

Flavorful, delicate, and refined, the Jade Tofu ($5) is a good choice for a first course in place of generic fried offerings from the Taste of Asia menu. Thin chilled slices of firm tofu are served in chili oil with chopped scallions; the mixed sensation of cool and spicy on the tongue is unusual and memorable, and the scallions provide a textural counterpoint.

As in most traditional Chinese restaurants, plates are placed in the center of the table to be shared and served with a large bowl of rice. Popular dishes are eaten quickly while the less preferred are neglected, eventually boxed up and handed off as leftovers. The clear winner of the evening’s main courses was the Spicy and Crispy Chicken ($11)—fried bites of chicken served on a bed of dried red chilies. The Famous Stir Fried Lamb ($15) and House Fried Rice ($8) were also finished quickly. Chairman Mao’s Favorite Pork Belly ($10) was intensely spicy sweet, though too indulgent to justify a second serving; the table went through this course slowly due to fattiness of the meat and portion size, which was three times the size of similar pork belly dishes found in trendy farm-to-table small plate restaurants sweeping Chicago.

Spice, the centerpiece of Hunanese cuisine, was subtle enough in many dishes to be enjoyed by even the most pain-intolerant of diners. One item on the menu, however, begged adventurous guests for a bite: the Famous Hunan Chili in Black Bean Sauce ($9), a bowl of black beans accompanied by strips of spicy green peppers in a tongue-tingling chili sauce.

Noting that the dish was already marked with two chilies on the menu (out of a possible two), in the spirit of inquiry one daring diner asked for the dish to be prepared extra hot. While the heat drew tears and cries for milk from some, others remarked that the heat complimented the more nuanced flavors of the chili nicely. Suffice it to say, Lao Hunan is equipped to satisfy a wide range of palates.

2230 S. Wentworth Ave. Monday-Sunday, 10:30am-11:00pm. (312)842-7888

Chelsea Leu

The name White Castle brings to mind myriad associations—nickel meals, greasy sliders, and Harold and Kumar. But whenever you think of White Castle, it’s hard not to picture one of the actual restaurants. Since the chain was founded in the 1920s, the company has relied on its trademark design to make it more recognizable among consumers. Each branch, the company dictates, has to look quite literally like a castle—Chicago’s Water Tower castle, to be precise—complete with turrets, crenellated walls, and white porcelain brick. Effectively, the buildings themselves became wordless advertisements, glistening roadside invitations to come in and eat.

White Castle #16, at Wabash and Cermak, was built in 1929. Weathering the Depression and the eight decades that followed, the porcelain structure slowly lost its sheen. But, in 2010, after its current owner was awarded a $280,000 grant from the city to rehabilitate this Chicago artifact, the White Castle’s façade was returned to its former gleaming white glory. In September, the site was deemed so important that the Commission on Chicago Landmarks awarded White Castle #16 the “2011 Chicago Landmark Award for Preservation Excellence.”

While the building itself is gaining preservation notoriety, the food won’t be receiving any awards for historical accuracy. In fact, the former White Castle now houses two separate but related restaurants—Gourmet Chicken and Chef Luciano, both owned and operated by father and son team Dave and Rocky Gupta. The two restaurants occupy the same enclosed space, though each has its own special fare. Chef Luciano (Dave’s alter ego) serves Italian staples with, as their menu says, “Cajun, Jamaican, African and Indian” accents. Gourmet Chicken, on the other hand, serves fried and roasted chicken, fried okra, and incongruously, Indian dishes, such as curry chicken and naan.

Rocky can constantly be seen in the kitchen, moving between the two sides of the restaurant, while Dave makes appearances on the customers’ side of the counter, his friendly face crinkling with a smile as he wishes visitors an enjoyable meal. One wall of the brightly lit space is painted a bright vermilion, while the rest are covered with framed newspaper clippings and photographs of happy customers. Racks of homemade and hand-labeled bottles of hot sauce, lemonade, and ginger beer flank the ordering counter—a flavorful spread that seems a far cry from what the eighty-year-old building originally offered.

Gourmet Chicken and Chef Luciano aren’t devoid of their own history. Here the workers all wear the same black T-shirts, proclaiming that Gourmet Chicken has been “proudly serving the South Side” since 1982 but the legacy of White Castle still (quite literally) surrounds them.

The Guptas are conscious of this legacy. To celebrate the completion of the renovation last November, they offered their take on White Castle’s famous Depression-era five-cent burger deal—a two-piece roast chicken dinner with rice pilaf for a nickel. But their mission of bringing gourmet yet affordable food to Chicago seems in direct contrast to the assembly line-produced fast food of White Castle. As a chef, Dave sees bringing tasty, nutritious, and affordable food to his customers as a life mission. This belief was the driving force behind his decision to switch from fried to roasted chicken dishes in 1988. Though some scoffed that roasted chicken wouldn’t sell, Dave firmly believed that “if you give people choices, they will make the right choice.”  Gourmet Chicken and Chef Luciano, then, occupy a unique niche—neither fast-food chain nor pricey fine dining, but  a simple, two-part eatery where the staff look after their customers.

Still miss that quick-and-dirty White Castle fare? While the former White Castle #16 no longer serves Chicagoans, a modern-day, functional White Castle is visible just across the street—a testament to the chain’s power as a cultural icon and, perhaps, the unchanging tastes of the American palate. According to White Castle Inc., the chain “is more than a company. It’s an experience that transcends time, space and sometimes, rational thought.” Though it may sound like hyperbole, it seems as if this mantra still rings true in White Castle #16, even though its royal burger days are done.

49 E. Cermark Rd. Monday-Saturday, 10:30am-8pm. (312)326-0026. chefluciano.com

Like the towering glass condominiums and clean brick storefronts that surround it, Waffles looks modern. The restaurant is sleek, clean, and well lit, with wide windows and neatly placed minimalist tables and chairs. As in a Rothko painting, long strips of solid colors line the gray walls, matching the large, painted “W” that hangs from the ceiling. And, in case you’ve forgotten why you came, the  restaurant’s graphic waffle logo is imprinted on the wall to remind you.

As you walk up to the counter in the front, Frank Sinatra tunes jingling in the background, the entire cooking process is laid bare before your eyes. Cooks prepare cupcakes and milkshakes, mix batter, and press down on rows of French waffle irons. The baked waffles, which come out of the irons in a variety of shapes and colors, are then handed through a wide window to the restaurant’s rear kitchen, where they are decorated with a boggling variety of sweet and savory toppings that include spicy Mexican chocolate, cheddar cheese, and braised short rib. Maple syrup is, of course, always an option.

Following the advice of Mitch, the counterman, we ordered the waffles Benedict served with pork and the classic chicken and bacon waffle. “If you like meat,” he said, “you get a lot of meat.”

Careful attention was paid to the presentation of both dishes. For the waffles Benedict, a waffle about the size and thickness of a 400-page paperback book was cut diagonally, placed on a long, thin china plate alongside sprigs of greens, and topped with two large poached eggs, a generous helping of yellow Hollandaise sauce, and neatly arranged slices of pork shoulder. The combination of tastes was so rich that taking more than a few bites quickly became a daunting task, and blurred the lines between breakfast and lunch.

The chicken and bacon waffle was less complex, though still gourmet in its presentation. A drizzle of maple syrup lined the edges of the plate and a very lightly fried, barely breaded chicken leg and thigh were set on top of the waffle. Bacon bits were infused into the batter and more were sprinkled on top. The bacon flavor—though strong and bordering on over-the-top—blended well with the maple syrup and waffle. With its strong, bacon flavor and classy presentation, the dish aimed for elegance over the workman simplicity of the soul food standard, but it may have taken a formula that already works too far.

The highlights of the menu are their sweet waffles, in part because the chefs keep them simple. The green tea waffle was a heavenly combination of macha-infused batter and a generous portion of sweet cream garnished with pistachios. These ingredients blended perfectly with the soft and warm texture of the waffle—an irresistible combination where nothing else matters but the next bite.

The only drawback to the green tea waffle is the price: $9.95 for a dish that is essentially a dessert. While not cheap, prices at Waffles are comparable to those of other restaurants in the neighborhood, and there is a posted 15-percent discount for college students Monday through Thursday that the waitstaff happily offered on a Friday as well.

The menu does offer soups, salads, sandwiches, and a handful of interesting omelet choices, if the main attraction does not hold its appeal.

Like the pristine neighborhood of towering and unfamiliar condominiums in which the restaurant is situated, Waffles brings its humble breakfast food to rarified airs. You may still soon find yourself reaching into your freezer for the comfortable familiarity of a frozen Eggo, but the restaurant’s extravagant creations are, at the very least, memorable in their decadence.

1400 S. Michigan Ave. Monday-Friday, 7am-3pm; Saturday, 8am-3pm. (312)854-8577. waffleschicago.com

Carolina Baizan

Let the smell of warm, fresh pasta wafting into the fall air guide you into one of the overstuffed leather booths at Calabruzzi’s Café. Exposed brick walls, an enormous tri-color decal of Italy on the floor, and an accordion over the speaker system typify Italian-American restaurant décor, but the sharp smell of frying garlic will snap you to attention. Calabruzzi’s is about family-style food, not kitsch.

Everyone working at Calabruzzi is noticeably related. Our friendly server, who turned out to be the owner Rosanna Mandile, confirmed that most of the people on staff share her last name. Even the name of the café—a portmanteau of Mandile’s parents’ birthplaces, Calabria and Abruzzi—underscores the importance of their family history. Mandile’s training is exclusively homegrown: her culinary skills come from her father whose first job in the United States was as a cook in Italian restaurants, from her work as a teenager in her uncle’s pizza place, and from her Italian aunts who passed down their kitchen wisdom. In short, family is a big deal at Calabruzzi’s, and you can see it in the dishes they choose to prepare and in the people that eat there: an elder member of the Mandile clan drinks at the bar, a couple argues over their meal, and a few families sit with young children for a weeknight dinner.

As expected, pasta and thin-crust pizza are the main offerings here, along with a wide selection of sandwiches and appetizers. The fried gnocchi were small pillows of creamy ricotta and potato, lightly crusted, and served with a vodka dipping sauce. The sauce, though a little bland, added a nice balance of acidity and sweetness to the already plenty tasty gnocchi.

The spaghetti carbonara, made with satisfyingly large chunks of salty pancetta, fresh peas, and velvety eggs, would be right at home served out of a giant bowl at a family dinner. Though very good, the spaghetti could have been a little more al dente, especially since the sauce was so heavy. For those with more creative flavor-pairing ideas, there is also a “make-your-own” pasta dish option, with a large assortment of sauces, noodles, herbs, and other add-ons.

The standout of Calabruzzi’s menu, and the most popular dish, was the potato pizza, a simple, but delicious medley of potatoes, rosemary, Parmesan, and mozzarella. The crust was crisp, as all good thin-crust pizza should be, the potatoes were perfectly browned, and the unfussy flavors of garlic and olive oil were spot-on. The desserts—gelato, tiramisu, and wafery pizzelle cookies with Nutella—were reliable but unremarkable. But after the giant servings, it’s unlikely anyone would be able to eat dessert anyway.

After chatting with Mandile for a bit about the history of the place, we asked what she had envisioned for Calabruzzi when she opened it. Mandile replied that she just wanted people from the neighborhood to come for some good food. With the café filled with satisfied friends and families, it seems like she has accomplished exactly that.

Calabruzzi’s Cafe, 3304 S. Halsted. Monday-Thursday, 11am-11pm; Friday-Saturday, 11am-2am; Sunday, noon-11pm. (773)247-9999. www.calabruzziscafe.com

Kelsey Gee

Through the window of the #47 bus, two words calls out to me as if uttered by the lips of an angel: “veggie dogs.” Frosted onto the tall windows of H-Dogs, the new burgers-and-dogs restaurant in chicken-and-waffles-heavy Bronzeville, the words come as both a surprise and an invitation.

One of the few South Side vendors to offer the veggie rendition of the encased meat treat, H-Dogs was founded by a culinary master and a vegetarian real estate developer. According to Eileen Rhodes, the vegetarian half of the team, H-Dogs’ menu aims to promote wellness in Bronzeville. “For us, it was about more than opening a business,” she says, “it’s about getting the community to be healthier and healthier.”

Rhodes lives on the near West Side, but works in Bronzeville with East Lake Management and Development. Co-owner and head chef Cliff Rome, meanwhile, has worked under the world-renowned chefs Wolfgang Puck and Francois Dongo at Spago in Beverly Hills, California. The two met in 2002 while collaborating on the redevelopment of the Parkway Ballroom, a space where weddings, political fundraisers, and Nat King Cole performances took place from the 1940s through the ’70s. Rome’s catering group, Rome’s Joy, has kept the reopened ballroom busy. Taking this initial success as a sign of good chemistry, the pair decided to work together again to start a full-service restaurant.

Their goals, however, are not merely culinary. Both are serious about using H-Dogs to spur new development in the neighborhood.

Inside, the place looks a bit like Five Guys. The space is wide open, with the sleek kitchen exposed behind a low counter. The countertop and free-standing tables provide endless chrome surface area, and bright primary color accent pieces that break up the black-and-white tile floors give the place a retro diner look. Hanging over waiting customers, one flat-panel television remains fixed on the Food Network, while another, perched over the family-sized tables, shows college football.

Unlike that other fast-food restaurant (which, coincidentally, just opened a location on the South Side), H-Dogs offers a meal creatively designed with the neighborhood, and their cholesterol levels, in mind. Though H-Dogs does carry hefty (1 pound, to be exact) beef and bacon burgers, the more popular items on the menu are the lower-fat, lower-price turkey, salmon, and veggie patty-based meals.

One of the cheapest dishes, the “Sloppy JoAnn” will give you a hearty helping of slow-ground turkey, mixed with a sweet tomato basil sauce in lieu of the ground beef slop served up by cafeteria workers across the country. The “Big Easy” could make a meal in itself, with its thick, smoked andouille brat, hidden under a helping of vibrant N’awlins jambalaya, mustard, and cubes of fried okra.

But it’d be a big mistake to fill up without trying the side of French fries. It costs only fifty cents to replace the regular fries with crispy, crinkle-cut sweet potato fries, cheese fries, or fried okra, and another 50 cents for savory, squishy, truffle-salt dusted fries. If you have enough spare change, it’s worth trading up. But what drew me in from the street, the “Healthy Hound,” is a split veggie dog on a white bun nestled beneath a bed of cucumbers, sprouts, roasted peppers, and red onion.

Such a menu isn’t developed overnight, and Rhodes readily admits the two “spent a long time figuring out what the neighborhood wants to eat.” Her efforts seem to have paid off. One month after the restaurant opened, I am one of the many returning customers. A father, wasabi mayo hanging from the corner of his mouth, offers to help me as I consider a second order: “Try the salmon burger, you can’t go wrong with it, I promise you.” While waiting for their take-out orders, a group of customers peers into the kitchen, asking one another hungrily, “What’d you get?”

Rome is not the only big name to try his hand at gourmet fast food. In the last few years, foodie-endorsed remakes of American junk food staples—from fancy Kit-Kat bars made of toasted hazelnuts and sea salt caramel, to organic black truffle mayo French fries—have popped up everywhere. What distinguishes H-Dogs is its audience. “It’s about hot dogs, but it’s really about making more people and more businesses come into Bronzeville,” says Rhodes. But more than just feeding Bronzeville with better, fresher ingredients at a low price, the duo is excited about the prospect of bringing in outsiders, like students living on the nearby University of Chicago and the Illinois Institute of Technology campuses. “It’s such a diverse area,” Rhodes sighs. Off to a great start, the owners seem just as excited as their customers about getting people to try new things: “There are no vegan options yet, but that’s the next step.”

4655 S. King Drive. Monday-Thursday, 11am-7pm; Friday-Saturday, 11am-8pm. (773) 633-2978. hdogschicago.com

Jane Fentress

Pleasant House Bakery was utterly charming. A chalk sign on the wall advertised pasties, royal pies, and “bangers and mash.” The entire kitchen, where two men were busy rolling dough and filling pies, was visible behind the counter. On a nearby table, a sprig of purple-blossomed chive rested in a small glass.

The British bakery, now in its third week of existence, specializes in sweets, homemade sodas, and royal pies. The name “royal pies” is a misnomer—these pies are peasant food in the best sense. Warm and simple, they’re meant to be comfort food, not haute cuisine. So my dining companion and I jumped right in, ordering a chicken balti pie, a steak and ale pie, homemade sodas, a chocolaty lace cookie, and a garden salad.

While we were waiting, the chefs were busy scooping a thick filling into prepared pie dough and pressing the crust on top. I asked the lady behind the counter if the owners are British; she said, “We are the owners!” and pointed to herself and the man filling pies. The two cooks, Art and Chelsea Jackson, are both American. But Pleasant House Bakery can lay claim to British roots—Art’s parents are from England.

The couple grows the restaurant’s veggies in a nearby urban garden. When the salad came out, Chelsea pointed out its many different leaves—spicy arugula, delicate lavender chive flowers, and pristine icicle radishes. The salad was exactly the sort of dish that someone would make from their own backyard plot: cut a few different leaves, pull up some radishes, toss it with oil and vinegar. It was a simple salad. That’s all it had to be.

We drank homemade ginger ale and tropical soda flavored with hibiscus tea. The ginger ale was fantastically fresh, with  the right amount of bite. The tropical soda’s sweetness, however, hid the fruit flavors. The accompanying lace cookie was wonderful: sweet, crisp, with just a thin smear of chocolate in the middle.
Next it was time to try the king and queen of the meal. First, the chicken balti pie, sprinkled with oniony Nigella seeds. My fork sank into the browned top and the smell of curried chicken and buttery crust wafted upward. It was tasty, but I had expected more heat. The accompanying coriander chutney helped: made with cilantro and jalapenos, it brought a welcome kick of fresh, herby flavor to the dish. If the color green had a taste, it would be that chutney.

After generously dipping the crust into the chutney, I sampled my friend’s steak and ale pie. The inside was like a hearty stew with chunks of beef and vegetables. But, like the tropical soda, it lacked a bit of flavor. Also, the crust was tough on both pies instead of light and flaky. My companion didn’t seem to mind the thickness of the crust and praised its “girth.”

Both pies were satisfying, if not spectacular. It would have been the prudent time to take a break, but the mushroom and kale pies had just come out of the oven. We had to order another pie, and also a boozy biscuit trifle for good measure.

Some kind of alchemy made the vegetarian pie, stuffed with mushrooms and kale in a creamy Parmesan sauce, just as filling as the meat pies. In the delectable trifle, delicate pink syrup from tart rhubarb bled into white layers of sweet whipped cream; next was a layer of thick, fresh vanilla custard. On the bottom, brandy-soaked scones added some devilish boozy depth to the otherwise pure and innocent dessert. That dark edge in the trifle might have been the boldest of the flavors in the restaurant’s offerings. Yet the bakery’s charm is in its simplicity: every dish felt comforting and wholesomely homemade.

964 W 31st St. Tuesday-Thursday, 11 am – 9 pm; Friday and Saturday, 11 am – 11 pm; Sunday, 12 – 8 pm. (773)523-7437. pleasanthousebakery.com