Such a standard, however, can still be notoriously difficult to pin down. Take 79th Street BBQ. Out of 4 Yelp reviews, two give it 1 star, the others 4 and 5. A WGN video review calls it the best in the city, but the Facebook screenshot credited with the recommendation curiously cites “Lem’s 79th” (Lem’s Bar-B-Q, located on 75th, is highly regarded among critics). And it’s not as though one can rely on a name like “79th Street BBQ” for any hints, either.

So, four friends and I ventured hungrily into West Chatham, not knowing quite what to expect. We had planned on dining in, which 79th Street advertises as an option on their website, only to find that the few seats inside are suited more for customers awaiting pick-up orders. 79th Street, just three blocks from the Red Line and Dan Ryan, clearly caters primarily to an on-the-go clientele.

It’s also a place to try only if you are prepared to eat a lot of meat, at the expense of just about anything else. The menu offers a wide variety of standard barbeque fare—rib tips, wings, links, ribs, turkey drums, and chicken—but only lists “cakes, butter cookies, pies & appetizers” in passing. There’s no mention of sides.

We ended up going with the rib tips, wings, beef links, and pork ribs. Each comes in foil and a Styrofoam box, topped with fries and several generous ladles of mild sauce (a bundle of white bread is wrapped separately). 79th Street also makes no mention of sauce options, but after seeing the customer in front of us request the hot variety, I made sure to get some before we left. The lady behind the counter was kind enough to give it to me for free, even though a sign next to the register clearly stated a 55-cent charge for extra sauce.

With no place to eat in the restaurant, we headed home to eat. Though there hadn’t been much of a wait for our order, the commute was long. Luckily, the food has no problem staying hot. Our fingers learned that the hard way when we tried to sneak some fries at a bus stop. However, plain and thick-cut, they really only served to counterbalance the meat.

The rib tips were the clear winners of the bunch. They retained the deepest overall flavor, and certainly didn’t lack in tenderness. However, after picking through the top half of the box, we were left with a much less appealing mixture of soggy fries, chunks of fat, and excess sauce.

The wings benefited the most from the smothering mild sauce. Apart from that they were pretty standard, without a whole lot of flavor or spice involved. It’s never a good sign when barbeque relies too much on its sauce, and that’s no exception here. The sauce itself was sweet enough, and not too runny, but in every case the meats would have struggled to hold on their own. None possessed that distinctly smoky flavor that makes barbeque so worthwhile—the most critical component of all.

We demolished the pork ribs pretty quickly. They certainly weren’t bad, but they took tenderness to a fault. It almost seemed as though they’d been boiled. The beef links went a little more slowly. Heavy, dark, and difficult to trace back to a distinctly beef-like taste, they went mostly untouched. The side order of hot sauce complemented them well enough, though that itself was probably the biggest mystery of all. The sauce had a strong enough cayenne presence to drown out any other flavors, but lacked almost any sort of bite.

Although our hunger was more than satisfied by the meal, our appetite still longed for something slightly beyond. Perhaps 79th Street has its own band of devotees. But amidst all the small-time establishments dotting the South Side, this is one place that doesn’t exceed expectations walking in.

7901 S. Wentworth Ave. Monday-Sunday, 24 hours. (773)483-7909. 79thstreetbarbecue.com

Rachel Wiseman

When I meet Arel Brown, he is in his hairnet and apron, sporting the neon green T-shirt that is the uniform of Eternity Juice Bar & Deli. He is in the middle of preparing food, and shows me the pieces of raw kale stuck to his hand when I reach out to shake it. “My hands are a bit dirty right now,” he apologizes.

Brown is the owner and manager of Greater Grand Crossing’s Soul Vegetarian East restaurant and its juice bar and deli extension. He takes off his apron and leads me to the main dining area, where, even at 4pm, most of the tables are full. An older man, lean and well-dressed in a tightly tailored black suit and tie, greets Brown and walks with us into the next room, an unoccupied, more formal dining area. He sits down and introduces himself. “My name is Prince Asiel Ben Israel,” he says, each of his names a carefully enunciated burst of sound punctuated by a short pause.

I am surprised and delighted to hear this, because I know who Prince Asiel Ben Israel is, though I have been unable to find out much about him. Ben Israel and his wife, Yohanna Brown, started Soul Vegetarian East in 1982; the birth of their son Arel and the addition of the Eternity Juice Bar and Deli followed soon after.

Ben Israel is a charismatic figure, and he speaks in an even, amiable tone—except, as when he introduced himself, when he wants to make sure he is heard clearly. Given the recent controversy to hit Soul Vegetarian, this instinct to guard against potential misunderstandings makes sense: a November interview in the A.V. Club Chicago quoted Yohanna Brown as saying, “Women don’t wear men’s clothing, and men don’t wear women’s. If you look at present culture, you can see how breaking these guidelines has led to things like homosexuality.”

Brown and Ben Israel are both Hebrew Israelites, and this identity is the basis of their vegan offerings. Based on an interpretation of Old Testament dietary prescriptions, they support a vegan diet as the source of both spiritual and physical health and believe that being mindful of one’s diet is the first step to living a healthy lifestyle. While this belief is in and of itself unproblematic for most, some have voiced concern that the source of these beliefs is also the source of Brown’s homophobic remarks.

It would be a mistake to prejudge South Kawa’s food or service based on its lack of traffic, however, as both were more than satisfactory. We started our meal with edamame, hoping to quiet our grumbling stomachs while we waited for three friends whose bus never came. The beans were delicious—firm, fresh and hot, with the perfect amount of flaked salt shaken on top. They came out within five minutes of us ordering, and were gone in as much time. Our waiter laughed when we asked for a second helping: “I told you so!”

With a mound of pods left on the table and our friends on their way by cab, we gave in to hunger and ordered our sushi. The menu features a variety of rolls and pieces ranging from the simple to the elaborate, alongside a limited range of non-sushi appetizers and entrees. I split two of their more extravagant rolls—the Fallen Angel and the Sweet Sixteen—with two companions, along with the less showy salmon and avocado roll. We also ended up with a bowl of yaki udon, and the chicken skewers from a series of yakitori options based on our server’s second suggestion—his first was to get all five types, ideally washed down by three cold beers and a baseball game.

The yakitori skewers were small but well-grilled, and the sweet sauce was good enough to warrant some skewer twirling. The yaki udon came in a generous portion, with firm noodles and a sauce that managed to be salty without crowding out other flavors. The Fallen Angel roll—crab meat, seaweed salad, tempura bits and avocado with scallops and roe on top—was good, but the salad somewhat overpowered the crab. Both the skewers and the roll were listed as spicy, but as somebody who tears up at an extra drop of Tabasco sauce, I imagine that a person looking for heat would be disappointed by both.

The Sweet Sixteen, which topped tuna with salmon, was given a punch up by the inclusion of mango, which lent a pleasing sweetness even if its mushy texture didn’t contribute much. Selected from a back page of rolls like the “Sexy Mama” and the “Anaconda,” both the Sweet Sixteen and the Fallen Angel were beautifully presented—a mosaic of colors and textures accented by the sauces drizzled on top. All were prepared by a lone, headband-crowned sushi chef at a bar set into the wall across from our table. In terms of taste, hearty isn’t a term usually ascribed to sushi, but it fit here: the fish was thick cut, and our hungry group left almost unanimously full.

South Kawa really shines on service. Though tea wasn’t on the menu, my friend was brought some free of charge on request. Save for the yaki udon, all of our food came out within ten minutes of ordering, and the noodles quickly followed. Our servers were always on hand but never hovered, a hard balance when waitstaff outnumber patrons. The restaurant’s decor was as sparse as the crowd, limited to a large stylized koi pond painting and a flat screen twice its size that loomed from across the narrow restaurant. Yet the servers’ friendly banter kept the emptiness of the restaurant from feeling oppressive.

The instrumental background music switched to a lullaby as we left South Kawa. “See you soon!” our waiter called. We wandered onto Halsted, as lazy, full, and well-cared for as the koi glancing from the back wall.

3417 S. Halsted St. Monday-Thursday, 11am-3pm, 4pm-10pm; Friday-Saturday, 11am-3pm, 4pm-11pm. (773)940-1238

Angela Qian

If you follow a delivery truck with a logo for 100% pure beef emblazoned on its side through the streets of Bridgeport, there are only a few places it may lead. If you’re lucky and hungry enough, you’ll find yourself at a tiny little building on Halsted and 36th Street, home of Zebra’s Gourmet Hot Dogs. On a recent cold windy day, a few friends and I were just so lucky.

Inside, Zebra’s has a homey feel, with checkered napkins and plastic chairs ringed around white tables. The front of the house is cozy, not a large-scale dining establishment by any means; the counter at which I ordered was also the partition between the eating area and the kitchen. Standing at the counter, the married owners greeted us warmly and—seeing our indecision over the menu—told us that everything on it was only a suggestion and that we could customize our toppings as we liked.

In the end, we stuck with the menu, and ordered four different hot dogs with fries: the Philly, the Chicago Classic, the El Paso, and the Bronx Reuben. Each person’s order came to exactly five dollars. We sat down and waited for our food to come while we sipped the water brought to our tables.

Our hot dogs arrived in diner-esque little black baskets, wrapped in black and white paper and filled with huge sides of fries. There was also a small box with corn fritters covered with powdered sugar, cheerily given “on the house” to the only person in our group who hadn’t ordered fries. Crisp on the outside and not too sweet, the corn fritters were delicious. The same, unfortunately, could not be said for the fries, which were soggy and loaded with far too much salt.

The hot dogs themselves, made from Nathan’s 100% beef, were all filling and juicy. Topped with salsa, jalapenos, and onions, the El Paso was colorfully loaded up on a nicely toasted bun. The jalapenos and onions added a nice kick to it, but the salsa was too sour and too plentiful, nearly overwhelming the rest of the dog.

Upon receiving her Chicago Classic hot dog, my friend smothered it in ketchup before we could warn her about the overwhelming hatred of true born and bred Chicagoans for that red condiment. Ketchup aside, she did say that it was a good hot dog—not exactly news to most Chicagoans.

My friend who had ordered the Philly was understandably distracted by his corn fritters. After savoring one or two of them, he finally unwrapped his hot dog and tried it, saying only—not eloquently—that it was “good,” the meat filling and the flavors interesting. He did not accessorize his food with condiments, content with the swiss cheese, grilled peppers, and onions that made for a colorful and apparently tasty combination of toppings.

Meanwhile, the Bronx Reuben, unwrapped, was completely heaped with a brownish substance that was probably the sweet kraut detailed on the menu. In defiance of my friend with the ketchup, this friend smothered his hot dog in mustard and demolished it, adding only that he also liked the bun. But he must have been sincere, as he also ordered a second hot dog to-go for his late-night snack later on.

As we got ready to leave, one of the owners came over and asked if there was anything she could wrap up for us. She presented the two to-go hot dogs, which had been kept warm in a brown paper bag reminiscent of a motherly packed lunch from elementary school days. My friend licked the last remnants of powdered sugar off of his fingers before the little baskets and wrappers were taken away.

We were satisfied, not elevated to another state of being. But, that’s hot dogs, reliable and true. Luckily, Zebra adds just enough flair to make it something special.

3551 S. Halsted St. Monday-Friday, 11am-8pm; Saturday, noon-6pm. (773)940-1526.

(Jane Fentress)

The Chicago brew community has gone wild. We all know about Goose Island, but when the news broke on April 10 via Twitter that the California-based Lagunitas Brewing Company plans to open a new brewery in Douglas Park, it became clear that Chicago is in the middle of a craft beer renaissance. Within the next year, the home-brew “club” New Chicago Beer Company plans to open its “socially conscious” and “100% sustainable” (according to their website) permanent brewery, while Kickstarter-funded Pipeworks Brewing will be opening in the next few months. In a city with about a dozen brewery projects in the works, Lagunitas is entering a truly vibrant scene.

But Lagunitas, though it may be craft, is far from a microbrewery. The Douglas Park site will be housed in a former steel plant near the Cinespace Chicago Film Studios on 18th and Rockwell, and hopes to open in July 2013. The 250-barrel brewhouse will double Lagunitas’s national production, but the Chicago brewery alone is estimated to out-produce Goose Island, Pipeworks, Haymarket, Revolution, 5 Rabbit, Three Floyds, Two Brothers, and Half Acre combined, according to the popular beer blog Aleheads.

When asked how the opening of this new project might affect the Chicago beer scene, Lagunitas owner and Chicago native Tony Magee claimed, “There are a lot of brewers here now, and more in the crib, so I don’t really think that the addition of one brewer will affect the trajectory Chicago is already on. I just hope to be part of it all and to have fun doing it, too.” Aside from the brewhouse, Magee hopes to open the site up to the city by offering tours and tastings.

Local brewers have gone public with their well wishes for Lagunitas. The general consensus seems to be the more the merrier. As Paul Schneider wrote for Chitown on Tap, “The biggest effect is probably that this move is a major milestone in Chicago’s growth as a craft beer city. This is the third regional craft brewery in a few months to announce plans to open a second brewery… so the fact that it landed here is huge. It should give us some swagger.”

Most of the beer made in Douglas Park will be shipped farther east, while the local impact will mostly be a shake-up of resources and talent. When companies expand at the rate of Lagunitas, there are bound to be some shifts in labor, but the opening of this new site will ultimately lead to job creation and a rise in interest and talent among Chicagoans. Lagunitas is still a California brewery with a California identity, and adding its flavor to Chicago’s mix only means fresher beer for the Midwest.

How the opening of Lagunitas will affect its immediate neighborhood of Douglas Park may not be clear for some time. The brewery has high expectations: “The site is spectacular, and it will be cool to play even a small role in the reclamation of a part of the old North Lawndale area,” says Magee. North Lawndale is a West Side neighborhood, adjacent to Douglas Park, and was once Chicago’s largest Jewish community (it housed over 60 synagogues and approximately one quarter of the city’s Jewish population). Later it became the home base of Dr. Martin Luther King’s northern civil rights movement, while today it is a filming location in Showtime’s “Shameless.”

The area has seen recent revitalization in the form of real estate development, but there is a grassroots push for more community-oriented reclamation by residents. Lawndale community organizer Marcus Betts, who’s been running everything from political forums to wine and cheese tastings, is especially optimistic about the near future of the neighborhood. Still, it’s important to keep in mind that while the opening of Lagunitas’s new brewery may potentially provide jobs to local residents, it could also present the appearance of gentrification, rather than “reclamation,” to community members. It will be important, then, as Lagunitas moves forward to their opening in 2013, to consult local community organizers as well as their developers to create the right kind of development.

Lagunitas’s opening in Douglas Park will certainly mean a great deal of change for the both the community of North Lawndale and Chicago’s craft beer community at large. The project is an ambitious one amidst a crowd of ambitious projects. Today it’s hard to believe that the prohibition movement actually started in this city.

(Jamie Keiles)

There are two types of vegetarian restaurants.  The first type tops things with sprouts and tosses around words like seitan and tempeh.  The second type pretends it isn’t a vegetarian restaurant.  Brother Tim’s, situated near 87th and Stony Island in Calumet Heights, is the second kind.  Their menu, which proffers “vegetarian fast food,” is conspicuously rabbit food–free.  Instead of salad, they offer a Super Link Soy Hotdog with melted soy cheese.  Instead of tofu, they serve chicken–less hot wings (mild or spicy). The dessert menu, which boasts a variety of cobblers and puddings, seems more at home as the capstone to a classic soul food meal than it does to something like a bowl of quinoa. Luckily, Brother Tim’s fare is junk food first and health food second—the rarest kind of vegetarian restaurant.

In the tradition of other fast food restaurants, Brother Tim’s upholds the nugget as an art form. One of their specialties, the fish nugget, near-perfectly mimicked the taste of seafood.  The nuggets, which come in orders of 12 and are delivered folded in a tinfoil bag, are lightly breaded in a cornmeal batter and fried in just the right amount of oil. Though the texture was less fish and more nugget, this wasn’t as bothersome as it might have been with a real piece of meat. Omnivores might find the homogenously spongy texture off-putting, but as a vegan, the processed mouth-feel was a welcome return to the Gorton’s frozen fish sticks of my childhood that I’ve since forsaken. Think McNugget, but slipperier and with less guilt.  The morsels paired wonderfully with Brother Tim’s homemade dairy-free Ranch dressing, which is available in house for dipping or in sixteen-ounce bottles for home use.

Brother Tim’s dessert case looked like an elementary school bake sale, filled with individually wrapped banana nut loaves, palm-sized sweet potato pies, and jumbo trays of fruit cobbler with sloppy handmade crusts. The blueberry cobbler, ordered for takeout, came double wrapped in a Styrofoam cup and a paper bag, welcome defenses against the white-shirt-hostile deep purple filling. The sweet potato pie, also portioned for takeout, filled a mid-sized plastic box and tasted sweet enough for dessert, but not so sweet that it couldn’t be eaten for breakfast.

Brother Tim’s shuns corn syrup and artificial sweeteners, but the establishment is largely devoid of the organic, gluten-free, and vegan–type rhetoric that characterizes many trendy vegan and vegetarian establishments. Sure, the fare is made without meat, eggs, or dairy, but the restaurant doesn’t come across as pushing a dogma. The vibe is downright unpretentious. Everything from the restaurant’s menu—hand painted directly on to the wall—to its in-house notices—rendered in rainbow WordArt—shirks that sort of self-congratulatory, Whole Foods activist affect that one might expect from a restaurant of this genre. Hell, they don’t even recycle, a fact that is somehow refreshing, bothersome, and confusing all at once.

What was most surprising about a visit to Brother Tim’s, though, was the clientele.  During the Saturday afternoon lunch rush, a steady stream of people passed through, most of them men. Men ordering soy chicken sandwiches. Men eating nut loaf burgers. Men sipping honey ginger lemonade, and liking it.  One after another, Brother Tim’s customers contradicted the meat equals masculine mindset. The venue doesn’t make a spectacle out of eating vegetarian, and this strategy appears to be working.

All in all, Brother Tim’s isn’t the kind of food you should eat every day, but it certainly makes for a nice treat, and definitely serves as an improvement on the real fast food establishments that blanket the surrounding area.

711 E. 87th St. Monday-Saturday, 11am-9pm; Sunday, 11am-7pm. (773)375-4722. brothertimsvegetarian.com

(Sam Jones)

Rainbow sprinkled, toasted coconut, Boston cream pie, strawberry glazed, chocolate cake: these are only a portion of the twenty-five flavor spectrum of donuts offered at Dat Donut. With a red sign rivaling the size of its donut selection, the outpost is easily visible at the corner of 83rd and Cottage Grove. Rows and rows of fresh, handmade donuts fill a cramped pastry case, which is patronized both by locals and discerning out-of-towners.

As we stood surveying the goods, stupefied, the women behind the glass continued on with their work. “No rush,” one piped up. Should we get two each? Split a box of six? We were crippled by indecision in the face of such a spread. When another patron joined the line behind us, we were finally pressured to make our move. We approached the register and asked for half a dozen.

We had heard tales of the infamous glazed, so we decided to start with two. My friend went for the jelly, myself for the chocolate Long John. Now we were stumped. How were we to choose from the glut of varieties? A consultation from the Dat employee behind the counter steered us in the direction of their cake donuts. Pointing at a few, she listed flavors such as lemon, chocolate, and lastly, buttermilk. Intrigued, we chose the latter. Our final selection was made more easily: a caramel-iced original.

With our loot bundled into a white paper bag, we paid with credit card, walked over to the diner counter, and  grabbed a seat. The caramel confection came first—it’s light, fluffy interior perfectly complementing the rich, caramel frosting. Next was the highly recommended buttermilk cake donut. Cake donuts are generally much denser than regular ones and have a much stronger flavor. Although the buttermilk variety was well executed, cake donuts are a bit too rich for my liking, and just a bite was enough.

We decided to move on to our individual preferences. Unlike the previous two tastings, Long Johns and jelly donuts are not meant for splitting in pieces—Long Johns’ frosting invariably is partisan to one side, and a jelly donut never splits its filling fairly. Instead, we each took a giant bite. Chocolate frosting got on my nose and powdered sugar exploded all over my companion’s jeans, but not a single patron cast a disapproving glance; everyone seemed to agree that donuts should be enjoyed with fervor.

We came to the most anticipated sample of our survey: the classic glazed. Not as exciting as the Boston crème, or as fruity as the (real!) strawberry-iced, the classic glazed looks like any other Krispy Kreme or Dunkin’ Donuts product. But chain-store mass-produced average this pastry was not.

Dat Donut loves their classic so much that they even offer a fabled supersized version. On the very bottom shelf sat three of the saccharine behemoths. About three or four times the size of the standard offering—which aren’t petite themselves—this giant donut retained all the taste and fluffiness of a donut more modest in magnitude.

Saving the traditional glazed for last was wise: while the others were tasty, and certainly inventive, the classic has everything one wants (and more importantly, needs) in a donut. The glaze was sweet, but not too sticky or overpowering. Where the glazed thinned, the donut offered. Complementary textures sang in sweet combinations—the icing met the crispy fried dough just enough to crackle with each bite.  Inside the donut was white, cloud-like goodness that dissolved immediately on the tongue.

As we walked out the door, a man in line asked us for a recommendation. My response was automatic—the classic glazed.  As he approached the counter I heard him ask for two.

A classic is a classic for a reason.

Dat Donut, 8249 S Cottage Grove Ave. Monday, 4am-Saturday, 10pm. (773)723-1002.

(Holly Zaharchuk)

You should probably bring a date, because Acadia is all about the pairings. Harmony, complement, and dichotomy define the cuisine and atmosphere of this new South Loop spot by the corner of 18th Street and Wabash. A little elegant, a little homegrown, Acadia is a unique experience in accessibly upscale dining, which is absolutely unafraid to defy your expectations.

The sage, dark chocolate, and soft gray hues of this minimalist space echo the ease and sophistication of its food. High ceilings and tall bare windows (which nevertheless provide extensive views of the overgrown neighboring lot) create a sense of openness. And don’t be suspicious of the sizeable fleet of wait staff milling about the dining room—their attentive service is unobtrusive and complements the ebb and flow of conversation, courses, and amuse-bouches.

These petite hors d’oeuvres were some of the most delightful bites of food that arrived all evening. Our first was a chilled parsnip soup, puréed and presented in a tiny teacup on a rustic stone slate. The soup itself was luscious and sweet with smoky, nutty undertones, which were accompanied perfectly by the seaside tang of the roe, the herbaceous crunch of the watercress, and bright punch of lemon.

Between our appetizer and entrée came four small, flawless biscuits served with sea salt and a dab of butter. No one at the table uttered a word between the first bite and last; those fluffy concoctions alone make the trip to Acadia worthwhile.

Our appetizer, a play on risotto, was imaginative but not entirely successful. Miniature matchsticks of potato replaced the classic Arborio rice in this dish, which was prepared with leek-infused cream and apple. The dish, while creative, failed to reach the bar set high by our first amuse-bouche: the texture of the sauce which clung to each grain of potato was lovely, but the saltiness of the dish ultimately overpowered the delicate sweetness of the apple.

The entrée course delivered on the promise of excellent pairings. The highlight by far was the swan creek duck paired with sour cherry gel, foie gras flan, and gingersnap. The fattiness of the duck skin was artfully rendered and seared with a fabulous crust, and the flesh itself was a succulent medium-rare. The rich meat harmonized with the tart fruitiness of the gel and the piquancy of the gingersnap. The whole experience of the duck was enriched by the earthy flavor and silken texture of the foie gras.

The Deer Isle shrimp and wagyu beef were at once both familiar and inventive, executed skillfully and with purpose. The shrimp dish—paired with playful cuttlefish “noodles,” a wonderfully acidic squid-ink vinaigrette, and a dash of chorizo powder—was a witty take on shrimp scampi. Elevating the traditional meat-and-potatoes meal, the wagyu beef retained such elements of a steakhouse dinner as three distinct preparations of potato, a mushroom conserva, and delicate drops of fennel gel.

The rabbit, recommended by our enthusiastic waitress, promised excellence but did not quite accomplish it. The components distinct from the rabbit itself–an herb spaetzle with spring peas, pea shoots, and baby carrots bathed with a luxurious coat of butter and nestled atop eggplant puree–were incredibly delicious and satisfying. However, the star itself was completely overpowered. The chef created a rabbit sausage, which was formed around the rabbit loin and then wrapped with bacon. While I have no reservations about the brilliance of bacon, I desperately wanted to taste that rabbit sausage.

The meal came to its conclusion with a milk chocolate cremeaux. The presentation left something to be desired, but the flavors kept my spoon going back for more. The cremeaux itself—which enveloped the tongue with a heavenly texture and undertones of caramel—was simple and delicious, but complemented by far too many additions (buttermilk cake, dehydrated Meyer lemon chip, Meyer lemon gel, huckleberry gel, candied hazelnuts, and shards of chocolate-hazelnut candy bar covered the dish). The dessert would have been improved if only the huckleberries and candied hazelnuts had adorned it, as those elements created a tasteful harmony of richness, nuttiness, acidity, tartness, and sweetness.

Acadia’s ambitious pursuit of creativity remains rooted in a dedication to the warmth and happiness of a thoughtful meal. Yet it seems that its strength lies in its simpler dishes, where the chef refines each ingredient’s natural flavors through his adaptations and pairings.

Acadia, 1639 S. Wabash Avenue. Wednesday-Thursday, 5pm-10pm; Friday-Saturday, 5pm-11pm; Sunday, 5pm-9pm. (312)360-9500. site.acadiachicago.com

(Temple Shipley)

[Show as slideshow]

“What do you know about your neighbors?” This was the question that Amanda Neely, co-owner of Overflow Coffee Bar in the South Loop, posed to residents prior to its opening a little over a year ago. For many South Loop residents, like city-dwellers everywhere, the answer is not much. Fifteen years ago, the South Loop was mostly warehouses; now, it’s a hotbed of residential development. But Brandon and Amanda Neely, owners of Overflow Coffee Bar, think the residents need more than just the requisite stores: they need businesses that are committed to creating a sense of community.

Amanda and Brandon both grew up in small towns where, as Amanda says, they enjoyed the feeling of community camaraderie, the sense that “someone has your back.” After moving from small-town Ohio to Hyde Park to attend the University of Chicago, Amanda was impressed by the sense of community she found in the neighborhood. She recounts how impressed she was when Hyde Park residents banded together to save the seawall at The Point from being paved over, saying dubiously, “If they tried to do that on the 16th Street Beach, I’m not sure anyone would care.”

Since opening, Overflow’s intimate atmosphere has provided a space for South Loop residents to learn each other’s stories. It is comfortable as a living room—on a quiet Friday afternoon, some patrons have kicked off their shoes and curled up on couches with a book, and others sit cross-legged at tables, chatting animatedly with friends. “People do their taxes here,” says Zach, a 19–year-old regular who lives in Chinatown and works at a nearby coffee shop. They also give back to the Overflow community in small ways, such as by donating their well-thumbed books to the book exchange (which consists of an amalgamation of Danielle Steel novels and classics like “Lolita”) or their canned goods to the pantry, or simply by putting a few extra cents in the tip jar (which, on this particular day, reads, “Tip extra big for Brandon’s birthday!”).

In addition to providing a pleasant space for neighborly interaction, Oveflow holds many events that bring together their initiatives of community building and social justice. As Amanda says, “Changing the world is really tough, especially if you’re trying to do it alone.” Movie nights, held monthly in an auditorium in the same building as Overflow, feature films about social justice issues. Recently, the coffee bar showed the film “Good Fortune,” which tackles the subject of poverty-fighting efforts in Africa. Profits from the screening were used to finance a microloan to a small business owner living in poverty.

Monthly open mic nights let residents share their musical and creative talents, and for a few days in late February and early May, the coffee bar hosted readings as part of the Association of Writers and Writing Programs’ annual conference. Last year, a highly attended State of the South Loop address was held at Overflow, a clear indication of the kind of community space the coffee bar has become. And on Sundays, Overflow hosts a discussion section on social justice issues, considering solutions to problems that plague both the South Side and the world beyond.

Brandon and Amanda now hope to expand their community building initiatives into another sphere—religion. As a student at the UofC, Amanda became involved with the Hyde Park Vineyard Church, and she and Brandon hope to bring a congregation of the global church movement to the South Loop.

But Amanda says that she’s not interested in proselytizing or preaching religious dogma. Instead, in both the South Loop Vineyard she and Brandon hope to start and in the coffee bar they own, the couple aspires to create a place where people of their community from various backgrounds and ideologies can all come together. Overflow is, as Amanda puts it, “proud to be known for being the coffee shop that cares about the neighborhood.”

Overflow Coffee Bar, 1550 S. State St. Monday-Friday, 7am-8pm; Saturday, 8am-5pm; Sunday, 10am-6pm. (312)772-2356. overflowcoffeebar.org

John Gamino

“We believe in the vendor, we believe in the little guy,” declared Beth Kregor in her opening remarks of Saturday’s food truck symposium. Kregor, who is the director of the UofC Law School’s Institute for Justice Clinic of Entrepreneurship, addressed an eclectic group of university students, locals, and members of the food truck industry gathered in the school’s parking lot.

The day began with a series of panels on the legal status and future of mobile food in Chicago, organized by the IJ Clinic. The little guy, Kregor and the other panelists stressed, often comes from a family of recent immigrants, and may not even speak English. “Most of them are not foodies at all,” said Sean Basinski, a lawyer and street vendor advocate, discrediting the idea that truck owners tend to be already-successful restaurateurs. “It is at best a hard-earned path to middle income,” added Gabriel Wiesen, who started the food truck Beaver’s Coffee & Donuts when he failed to secure funding for a restaurant in Rogers Park.

The need to protect vendors’ legal rights and interests, particularly in cases of language barriers, was emphasized throughout the symposium. Many of the panelists argued that current city laws against mobile food are unnecessarily protectionist in favor of the brick-and-mortar establishment, and even unconstitutional.

Chicago’s regulations are indeed some of the most restrictive among large cities in the country—mobile food vendors are virtually prohibited from selling on public property downtown and cannot prepare food on site. The IJ Clinic cited research showing that food trucks actually help the very restaurants that try to restrict them, increasing foot traffic while serving a faster, less filling meal. To some of the panelists, though, competition wasn’t even a concern. Bert Gall, senior attorney at the IJ, underscored the need to eliminate arbitrary regulations even if the “little guy” happened to be the owner of a comparable brick-and-mortar business.

After the symposium, the trucks serving lunch outside certainly didn’t seem to represent the littlest guys in Chicago. As customers lined up in droves to get their fill, they were encouraged to follow the trucks on Facebook and Twitter. One vendor even described his motivation for work as a “passion for branding.” But despite the abundant commercialization, the opacity of municipal regulations was still a conspicuous force—one truck, still mired in the process of obtaining a dispensary license, could only legally offer samples from outside the lot.

Of course, the focus on Saturday remained primarily on the food itself. “At what point do I become gluttonous?” asked a panel attendee over free samples of Beaver’s donuts. It was a question that was surely on many peoples’ minds.