Lady T

Now this is something I would try. ← Well, then. This is how the last attempt went... Shallots: Wash and slice thinly, tossing to create miniature 'onion rings'. Dry. Saute in EVOO or by other preferred method, watching carefully, to crispness. Drain on paper towels and hold. Mushrooms: Medium-size fresh criminis, washed/trimmed/marinated 15-20 minutes in EVOO in a Ziploc bag, turned into Pyrex, Corning Ware or other glass-derived casserole (better for conserving juices released by 'shrooms); add salt and pepper liberally, lay a sprig or three of fresh thyme over rows of stems-up mushrooms, seal casserole with double layers of aluminum foil plus lid of casserole, and bake at 375 degrees F for 20 - 25 minutes. Discard sprigs of thyme once done, quarter mushrooms, and hold. Also hold aside any juices in casserole, for use in preparing sauce. Turn oven down to 350 degrees F. Beans: Wash, tip and string if needful, and steam lightly for no more than 4 -5 minutes. Remove beans from steamer with tongs. Sauce: Prepare rich bechamel to taste, incorporating juices of mushrooms. I really can't be more specific than that, since seasoning and quantity seriously depend on the tastes and numbers of the crowd. Assemble: Toss beans, sauce, and mushrooms in appropriate sized bowl until mixed and coated with sauce. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Turn into presentation/baking dish (oval au gratin dish works superbly), dot with butter if desired for extra richness, and top with sauteed shallots. Bake at 350 degrees F until irresistible (12 -20 minutes). Serve. Should work. I've never had leftovers.

Sneaking in one last entry: many, many happy returns, Mr. Whiting, and many thanks for the information I will use in my next cassoulet attempt!

A further memory: margaritas-until-everybody-but-the-designated-driver drops at Lupita's in Evanston, Illinois. Matchless, with the fine chiles rellenos (some of the best to be found north of Frontera Grill!) and a flan thereafter. I distinctly recall walking home (a matter of a mile and a quarter or so) after such a debauch, some years ago (in a soaking rain) and not much noticing it. I did notice the tequila hangover the next morning. Oy *Gott*, did I notice.

Only if you share with all the girls. And me. ← You surely are forgiven, Sister. Being just a touch...capricious...goes with the territory. It also helps that more than one of my Chrismukkah gifts were chocolate/sugar-based, and that I'm enjoying some of same with the last of a split of good Champagne.

As much to the point, I think: 'duh Mare' (Daley) gets significantly ticked any time anyone tries to force his hand or otherwise "tell him what to do." I would bet good money he's smelling such an attempt and balking.

Quite, srhcb. In the meantime, my knives are kept at a pretty fine edge, and if I don't quickly boil my lobstahs, then they're going on the grill, split in two and discharged of unnecessary innards, after a fast merciful meeting with my 9" Wusthof. Nobody suffers that way. And PETA, in my 'umble opinion, needs to go mind its own business. *Edited to correct punctuation.*

I thought for a moment I'd ruined my keyboard by splurting cava all over it when I got to your 'vanilla' metaphor. Not that I disagree; I'm with you all the way. But the...um...incongruity got me for a moment, coming as it did after a nicely seasoned Malaysian menu. Beautiful work, Bond Girl. Happy New Year to you (now and later this month, if you celebrate the Chinese lunar year. Or both, if applicable!), and much better hunting. Someone's out there for you: believe it!

May depend on the precise time you ask, also: how long ago did the bacon get cooked...? And: where's the nearest shower stall?

Ohhh, the horror. Imagine the grim, pursuing waiters wearing the contents of those gravy boats, launched by desperate Luger's aficionados in getaway attempts. Not to be considered. I will put together my own horseradish/mayo sauce at need here in Chi-town, and deal with Luger's if/when I am next in NYC. In the seated position, thank you.

Ehh. If I got any whiter I'd faint. I did, in my early/mid twenties, do GBC with the mandatory Campbell's and Durkee's, along with frozen green beans. God help me and all I served: everybody loved it. These days, if I do anything that remotely resembles GBC, it's with fresh green beans and made-from-scratch bechamel and separately roasted mushrooms (involves EVOO, sea salt, fresh-ground pepper, and fresh thyme). The onion component may come from sauteed shallots. Or not. Everybody loves that, too. Go figure.

I guess I'm glad that the building will still be in the family and will still be used in a foodservice capacity by a family member. I guess I'm glad that the place won't be bought by an outsider -- or worse, a chain -- and turned into a pale shadow of itself, shilling ersatz-Deutsch-essen endlessly to tourists who'd have no way to know the difference between the fake and the hearty, quintessentially-Chicagoan reality. I KNOW I'm glad that the Berghoff was so much a part of my early life -- used to get in there once a week, or once a month, as the exchequer allowed, when I worked in the Loop. (Now that I'm not Loop-based, it's more like once a year.) There was a period in the middle 80's when that was my regular Friday night treat: a book and a happy evening dining and reading in the downstairs dining room at the Berghoff. But damn all, I am seriously not glad that the family's personal decision is going to take a cherished chunk of Chicago history away from the people who have respected and loved it. I wish there could be some other resolution that honors the Berghoff family's need for downtime after so much wonderful work AND honors over a century's tradition. I'm with you, Maggie: Damn. Damn. Damn.

Silly me: forgot to mention Konditorei Lutz, out a ways west on Montrose. A fast Google will get you the precise street number. Wonderful pastry, and coffee service, and some nice if maybe not masterly sandwiches, soups, and salads around the lunch hour. But go for the finest-kind Viennese pastries, do.

You may also want to spend a little time walking around either (or both) of the two Chinatowns -- the older, larger one at 22nd and Wentworth, or the smaller and newer one on Argyle Street on the North Side -- to sample cha' siu bao (steamed buns stuffed with Chinese barbequed pork) at Chiu Quon Bakery, for example. Superb way to put a foundation under sweeter fun to follow.

A closing with a ray of hope: apparently, Pasteur on north Broadway in Chicago is only closing for two to three months for redecorating, not closing for ever. This is a good thing!

Quesadillas of a sort, I guess: built from the bottom, that would be a flour tortilla with good green salsa to start. Then come the last of the good plum tomatoes from a friend's garden (sliced) and cut-up brown mushrooms, with a chiffonade of basil fluffed over all. Top with shredded pepper jack cheese to taste (mixed with chopped parsley to taste), and bake at 375 degrees F around 20 minutes. Eating these with a bunch of seedless green grapes, and drinking a fun New Zealand cava. And reading eGullet. Very cool. These depend on what's in the produce drawer on a case-by-case basis, but I am one full and happy lady right now.

Not forgetting the reason you underwent this fast: am I to understand that your scan is clean, your health immaculate, and your serenity complete, now that the frappin' MDs have finally permitted you to get yourself on the outside of some food? Yes?

I suspect that it's 'preaching to the choir' to warn anybody who cares about the provenance, quality, and nutritional capacities of what they eat -- and I would call that the minimum-standard description for folks who come here -- against a product that makes unsubstantiated (as yet, anyhow) claims like these. I have no intention of touching this stuff until both the scientists AND the critics of taste have weighed in on it.

Woof. Wow. If I didn't have Bennison's Bakery a block from my place (home of an international viennoiserie competition winner, not that I'm bragging on Jory or anything!), I'd be on the next train south to Sweet Home Chicago to see what Sarah's about. Then again...that may not stop me. To be continued --

The last time I visited Trotter's to Go on Fullerton, they had a lobster bisque that was truly amazing. Try that if/when it's available; also, the salads tend to be beautifully fresh and the breads inventive and tasty. The sticker shock is a hazard, though, and I frankly don't go there often for that reason.

I love rooting for underdogs. It's only that I don't see one on either side here...I am a singer, however, so go Kathleen and Sam! Show 'em how serious singers do cuisine! *Settles in for seriously cool blog*

Can't help but notice that the tattooed, brilliantly skilled, overwhelmingly profane, Hispanic crew of KC seems to be elsewhere for this series. Edited to add: Looks like everybody saw the same thing at the same time!

Ms. Peel, I would dearly love to be wrong. I'm Chicago-born, and I know and cherish the mind-blowing variety and quality of restaurant food here. I encounter far too much disdain, though, from people on the coasts (including some here at eGullet, occasionally) who assume they know more about our food scene than we Midwesterners do ourselves. Every now and then my temper erupts on the subject, and never more than for something like this: Ruth Reichl has every reason and right to expect that Ms. Pickett -- a journalist, after all! -- knows where to eat joyously in this town, and was instead taken to a neighborhood joint that doesn't even really represent well the standards of most neighborhood joints around the city (and yes, I've been to Karyn's Cooked, and have my own private list of favorite joints as well). It would be wonderful to think that Ms. Reichl has been to Chicago before and has, in her own thinking, simply added Karyn's Cooked to her list of places-she's-been-in-that-genre without letting the experience drag down her opinion of the whole city's standards I hope that's so. In the meantime, however, I do feel that Ms. Pickett's let down the side, big time.

Thank you too much, Ms. Pickett: thanks to you, yet another New Yorker leaves our town convinced that this is Flyover Country, a bloody culinary backwater that can't tell a shallot from a pencil eraser. You've guaranteed that Reichl's going to look down her famous nose at Chicago -- and probably write about it with that kind of condescension -- for a long time to come.

I need to check my Ravinia performance schedule, and also the state of the budget. I'd love to do this, but gotta deal with some other commitments. Then again, how often do I get to brain fellow eGulletarians with a bottle of Maker's Mark? Call me a "maybe," for the moment.

They may offer even before you ask.