Days after dining at Oliver’s, the posh South Loop restaurant homage to vintage Hollywood supper clubs, I’m still thinking about the bread and butter. The so-called toast royale involves dunking cartoonishly thick-cut slabs of Publican sourdough in truffled egg yolks then griddling them in beef fat till they’re charred outside with a custardy middle that stretches wispily like cotton candy. Smeared with caramelized shallot butter, each bite of this airily crunchy French toast exhales beefy, truffly umami with a piquant onion edge, like some chic burger phantasma. I wince only briefly as I recall that this oversized bread course set us back $17.
Oliver’s exudes the sort of celebratory vibes to catapult it into the realm of occasion dining—caviar on roe on oysters! truffles (in the gnocchi) and more truffles (in the potatoes)!—which arguably excludes it from hand-wringing price sensitivity. But the food is occasionally inconsistent and underwhelming, which punctures the escape.
The space, inside the bygone Acadia, elegantly merges polished concrete with gold-edged mirrors, Persian rugs and round-edged seats in lush, muted fabrics. Zhuzhed-up classic cocktails lean into this vibe. A glacial, pitch-perfect gin martini with house-blended vermouth arrives with a relish tray of assorted skewered olives, lemon twist and a boquerón, for a cool $24. A tequila Daisy riff with blanco tequila and clean, understated apricot liqueur is pretty but puckeringly heavy on the acid.
Creativity and beautiful technique suffuse plenty of chef Alex Carnovale’s (Entree, The French Laundry) tight menu, where mere mortal dishes undergo modern glow-ups. Consider the plump, satisfying roast half chicken, lovingly raised at an Indiana farming cooperative before Carnovale lovingly brines and roasts it till its skin crackles, while every iota of leg and breast meat beneath remains juicy. Said bird rests on a superb, cold green sauce of crème fraîche, dill and shallots, which tastes like sour cream and onion dip calibrated to an art form. In fact, Carnovale is something of a savant with those alliums. Savory dabs of fried shallot oil join juicy wild strawberry vinegar and gently smoky trout roe atop plump, mildly fruity Pacific Northwest oysters—uplifting their oceanic sweetness without overpowering it.
And yet, I’m unconvinced that three perfectly adequate, hard-seared diver scallops with an undetectable hit of calamansi vinegar served with puréed cauliflower should cost $39. And despite appreciating the layered umami and tang of smoked tomato risotto laced with deep, aged-Parm bass notes, the rice’s texture ranged from toothsome one night to mushy the second. In such moments, I caught myself making mental calculations for how to most reliably leave here feeling satisfied but not gouged—a chilly drizzle on an otherwise glossy fantasy.
This unease isn’t unique to Oliver’s by the way; it descends whenever I dine at one of many, dressed-down occasion spots populating our dining scene these days, where it’s standard practice to charge $18 for a cocktail, $27 for a cheeseburger, and upwards of $20 for a house salad or side. Maybe I’ll skip the vegetable. What if I don’t love the $46 chicken? Should I have cooked instead?
The South Loop clearly needs this kind of spot. On a recent Friday, Oliver’s packed a diverse mix of boisterous groups, dates and friend catch ups—as many of them mundane as momentous from my vantage point. Service was attentive and genuine—and notably more confident on my second visit. Our server enthused on finer details (“That’s shallot oil in the oysters you’re tasting!”) and nudged us toward excellent, if still pricey, wine choices. (I will dream of the supple, honeyed Couly-Dutheil chenin blanc.)
I believe in livable wages for every job, and I love supporting independent restaurants. I know they face a rising tide of costs, from exorbitant rent and insurance premiums to labor, reservation site fees and ingredients. But I talk to a lot of diners, too, who acutely feel how the price of dining out has skyrocketed since 2020. As more of us feel pinched, trying the next hot new spot on our birthday or friend reunion becomes a riskier calculation knowing it’ll cost us $150 a head. Oliver’s comes damn close to hitting the mark. Till then, might I recommend the toast royale and roast chicken?
The food: Classic American dishes get some clever glow-ups on this pricey menu. Don’t miss the truffle-soused gnocchi in rich comte sauce, Roman-style fried artichokes streaked with preserved lemon and black pepper aioli and impeccable roasted half chicken in dill- and shallot-scented cultured cream.
The drink: Luke DeYoung’s (Scofflaw) sophisticated menu of reimagined classics hits plenty of high notes. Twelve-year rum infuses mellow spice into a house spritz with falernum, passion fruit, caramelized Thai banana and pear cider. An orangey old fashioned bears soft nuttiness from oloroso sherry and brown sugary notes of demerara.
The vibe: Old-school Hollywood vibes abound at this handsome, low-lit destination restaurant. Up front, the sultry bar behind rolled-up curtains is a great place to post up for a date.