Latest Chicago restaurant reviews

How do you evolve a beloved cuisine without dispatching the tried-and-true traditions worth keeping? The answer may live at the bottom of Perilla’s brussels sprouts, which hit my palate with so many textures and levels of umami that I had to reexamine the vegetable I’d largely written off. Laced with anchovy paste, nutty brown butter, Parmesan and crunchy garlic chips, each bite was a delicious collision of a chef’s Midwestern training and his first-generation Korean-American upbringing. At this genial River West eatery, chef-partner Andrew Lim (The Bristol, City Rock) and partner-GM Tom Oh (Lettuce Entertain You) affably nudge us toward the cheffier side of Korean barbecue. Leading the pack is succulent LA galbi, a thin chain of short ribs cut crosswise, popularized by Korean immigrants in Los Angeles, which you cook yourself on inset table grills. There’s also marbled wagyu strip and tender Berkshire pork belly, plus appetizers like the delicate wagyu tartare with Korean pear, mustard seeds and pine nuts—framed with perilla (shiso) leaves. This being my date’s first-ever Korean barbecue experience, we stuck mostly to tradition. Tangy kimchi pancakes were at once crunchy and chewy, and fried pork dumplings’ bubbly-edged wrappers teemed with juicy pork. Steamed egg, a traditional custard banchan, erupted from its earthenware cauldron like a souffle made of sunshine—the eggs’ richness deepened with salinic beef dashi and a drizzle of sesame oil. Oh returned with the LA...

Chicago is home to a number of fine dining experience but few are able to match Oriole’s deft execution. Upon arrival, guests are escorted into a freight elevator and given a drink before the door opens to reveal the dining room. Though there’s no telling what chef Noah Sandoval has in store each evening, you can look forward to a minimalist style of cooking that puts the spotlight squarely on the premium ingredients. Acclaimed mixologist Julia Momose and beverage director Aaron McManus complement the food with inventive cocktails and an Old World-inspired wine list. The following review was published in 2017. It’s here, Chicago: Noah Sandoval has thrown down the fine-dining gauntlet with Oriole. It took some time wandering through River West on an icy, blustery night before we finally found the much raved-about Oriole—from industry vets Noah Sandoval, Genie Kwon and Aaron McManus. The door in the back alley is relatively unmarked, as if the restaurant knows it’s worth seeking out. And it’s not wrong. Here is a fine diner that gets everything right, right from the start: The moment we entered, the host whisked away my jacket and replaced it with a steaming cup of sochu-laced cider. It was like she was reading my mind. The room itself is a jaw-dropper—exposed brick gives a warm feeling, while tall wooden columns remind you that you’re in one of the trendiest neighborhoods in town. Pristine white tablecloths drape every table and napkins are folded perfectly. The first...

“You’re our advertising right now,” a server joked while uncorking a bottle of wine for my dining partner and me on a recent visit to Dear Margaret, a French-Canadian restaurant near the border of Lincoln Park and Lakeview. We were tucked into a cubby-like space at the front of the restaurant, our table framed by a window draped with gauzy blinds facing out onto Lincoln Avenue, where passersby might be able to sneak a look at our meal. There probably wasn’t enough foot traffic at 9pm to allow for many chance glimpses, but still—I’ll happily serve as advertising for Dear Margaret, which has provided some of my favorite dining experiences of the past year or so.  Helmed by executive chef Ryan Brosseau (Le Sud; Table, Donkey and Stick) and owner Lacey Irby, Dear Margaret opened in early 2021 as a takeout-only venture, when COVID-19 closures left indoor dining off the table. I’m told Dear Margaret’s food stands up well as takeaway, but I can’t imagine eating it anywhere other than the sweet little restaurant itself. Warm and nearly always bustling, it’s the type of place that gives you a good feeling the instant you step inside, with wide-paneled wooden flooring, honeyed lighting and a smattering of homey decor befitting of its namesake—Brosseau’s grandmother, the muse behind the restaurant’s French-Canadian menu.  Brosseau also draws inspiration for the menu from his upbringing in the agricultural reaches of southern Ontario, a region not entirely unlike the Great Lakes...

You can practically feel the soul oozing from the menu at this Hyde Park restaurant. It's because chef Erick Williams cooks with his heart, whether he's plating fried green tomatoes with tender shrimp and creamy rémoulade or he's fixing his famous collards, which arrive studded with hunks of smoked turkey meat. Second only to the food is the ambiance, which is sexy without trying too hard—perfect for a cozy date night. The following review was published in 2019. Erick Williams’ ambitious solo venture captures the depth and scope of Southern cooking with soul-satisfying results. When I ask Erick Williams, the chef/owner of Virtue, to describe the inspiration behind his effusively warm, broad-spectrum Southern restaurant in Hyde Park, he heaves a long sigh. “I want to be thorough,” he says, pausing again. “The food is inspired by the Southern experience of cooking.” That sentiment encompasses centuries of chosen and forced migration, strife and survival, and the collision of myriad regions and ethnicities—which Williams channels into satiating, elevated fare at his solo debut. The menu’s boiled-down dish descriptions (pork chop, salmon, shrimp) all but hide the intense attention to detail that he devotes to techniques and sourcing methods. It's a reminder that we're here to be fed, first and foremost. “What’s with this place? I keep dropping people off here,” our Lyft driver commented as we pulled up to the Hyde Park storefront that formerly housed A10. Inside, the soaring...

Translating to "my namesake" in Spanish, Mi Tocaya is a term of endearment that chef Diana Dávila has bestowed upon her neighborhood Mexican restaurant in Logan Square. Dávila recreates childhood memories through her food, offering guests a lineup of soul-warming dishes like duck carnitas and fish in mole rojo. The guac, which is dusted with chile ash, is still on the menu, and a slate of cocktails rounds out the mix (the Ancestral Old Fashioned is brilliantly balanced and truly unique). The following review was published in 2017. Plenty of new Mexican restaurants have set up shop in Chicago over the last couple of years, but Mi Tocaya in Logan Square is one to watch. Upon opening the menu at this buzzy, modern eatery, your eyes will go straight to the tacos (and you should order a few of those), but the antojos section is where you’ll find chef Diana Dávila’s best work, like the timeless fish con mole and the lobster-studded esquites. Start with an order of the house guacamole, which is showered in smoky chile ash and served with a generous helping of warm tortilla chips. The peanut butter y lengua appetizer—braised beef tongue with peanut butter salsa, pickled onions and grilled radish—is another crowd pleaser for first-timers and adventurous eaters alike. (Even if you're not a huge tongue fan, we recommend giving this dish a go.) A table of four hungry diners should be satisfied with three to four shareable antojos. Just know that you won't find typical Mexican-American...

Chinatown’s Richland Center mall is a Windy City favorite for cheap, authentic Asian eats: its food court counts excellent Filipino, Japanese and Chinese vendors among its yummy offerings. In the latter category, we flock to Qing Xiang Yuan, a sleek, recently renovated sliver of a restaurant steaming up delicious dumplings in a variety of flavors. The lamb and coriander variety, bursting with juicy, well-seasoned meat, is our fave, but we’re also partial to pork and zucchini and shrimp and leek dumplings.

John Shields and Karen Urie Shields’s two-for-one special in the West Loop offers elevated tasting menus upstairs and the city’s best burger (yeah, we said it) in the dark, sultry basement. But we're here to talk about what's happening on the ground floor, at Smyth, where diners can book a 2.5-hour, $285 tasting experience. The offerings change daily based on the couples' trips to a 20-acre farm located south of the city. The stunning and delicate dishes on offer incorporate fresh, seasonal produce, making every experience feel very, very special. The following review was published in 2017. The fine-dining sister to the Loyalist brings a comforting taste of Virginia to the West Loop. You’ll find some of the most interesting and indulgent dishes at Smyth. Case in point: On one plate, tender pieces of Dungeness crab are covered with slices of rich foie gras and scrambled kani miso (a.k.a. crab innards). It’s a small but powerful bite that oozes with opulent ingredients. It’s surprising, then, that it feels like you’re eating it in your best friend’s living room—if your best friend happened to be a particularly fantastic cook with impeccable taste in décor. It’s all part of the high-low mix that defines Smyth. The West Loop fine-dining destination is homey and welcoming with dishes that are truly over the top. That balanced dichotomy is all part of the vision for chefs and owners John and Karen Urie Shields (Charlie Trotter’s, Alinea), who dreamed up a happy, easy-going spot...

A couple of weeks after Brendan Sodikoff opened Bavette’s, I started hearing reports. “It’s just like all his other spots,” a friend told me. “It’s exactly the same,” another said. Having now made a few visits to Bavette’s, I’m guessing these reports were based purely on conjecture. Which isn’t fair, except that, well, Sodikoff does have something of a track record. His first three restaurants act something like triplets, all with similar looks and personalities and food, but slightly different interests. Gilt Bar’s the clubby one. Maude’s is the aesthete. Au Cheval’s the hipster. Throw Doughnut Vault in there as the (pudgy) black sheep and you have a strong, if somewhat predictable, family of restaurants. Bavette’s messes with this metaphor. Contrary to the reports I heard, it’s a deviation, or, to put it in terms closer to my opinion, an evolution. The room is lit differently; golden light bounces between tufted red-leather booths and the mirrored bar. Like his other spots, the place is highly conceptual, but the concept—jazz-era steakhouse with light French touches—is more sophisticated. Sodikoff’s other spots are taste-specific; the loveliness of this one is, I believe, close to universal. You don’t even have to like steak. In fact, I had better luck with the chicken. The fried chicken is crazy good, the juicy wings encased in a flaky and crunchy crust; the roast chicken is otherworldly, with skin a very dark amber, delicate and moist flesh and a thickjus on the plate....

Italian food is meant to be shared, and at Monteverde, that's never an issue. Fill your table with a smogasboard of small plates, handmade pastas and shareable mains (read: they're freakin' huge). You absolutely mustn't skip the burrata e ham starter—which comes with warm English muffin-like rounds called tigelle—nor the spaghetti al pomodoro, a simple but soul-affirming dish that stars Grueneberg's spot-on roasted tomato sauce. The following review was published in 2016. A top chef serves her own take on Italian classics Sarah Grueneberg left Spiaggia to open her own restaurant, Monteverde, in late 2015, but while she brought along the masterful Italian techniques she honed there, she left the fine dining trappings on Michigan Avenue. At Monteverde, the Top Chef alum's wonderfully relaxed West Loop restaurant, assistant servers wear Blackhawks hats, a TV flips on when the hockey game starts and a gluten-free menu is featured prominently on the website—a nice touch for a pasta-focused restaurant.  That menu is important, since the pastas are the main draw. Made in house, they’re all perfectly cooked and accompanied by sauces and ingredients that look surprising on the menu, but make sense once you’ve taken a bite. The cacio whey pepe ratchets up the classic with four peppercorns and whey, so it’s creamy and intensely peppery. To make the wintery tortelloni di zucca, Grueneberg stuffs squash into delicate pasta, then serves it with apples and bacon. If you sit at the bar,...

Beyond the whole eating-for-survival thing, what endears so many of us to food on a deeper level is its ability to tell a story. In Tzuco’s quenching ceviche verde, for example, you can almost taste pure, cold Pacific Ocean in pearlescent slivers of hamachi, which are paired with three expressions of cactus, a plant that thrives in the most unforgiving locales. The prickly flora is served cured, iced and juiced with mint, lime and a whisper of serrano chile. Together, the elements sing of Mexico’s varied bounty. Each bite I savored at Tzuco seemed to smack of deeper meaning, sparking curiosity about the storied place that inspired this restaurant and its name, along with its famed chef/owner who has roared back into Chicago’s dining scene following an 18-month hiatus. Chef Carlos Gaytán hails from Huitzuco, a town in southwestern Mexico aptly named for the Nahuatl word “huixochin,” meaning plants with abundant thorns. When he was 20 years old, he came to the U.S. on a borrowed passport and worked his way up from dishwasher and cook to eventual chef/owner of Mexique, his French-infused Mexican restaurant that helped make him the first Mexican-born chef to receive a Michelin star. Vowing he’d be back again one day, Gaytán closed the award-winning destination in 2018 and left town to open a restaurant in Playa del Carmen. He made his triumphant return late last year with three eateries that showcase the breadth of Mexican gastronomy. Commanding the entire southwest corner of...

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....

Our first attempt to dine at Parachute HiFi, the casual, no-reservations remake of the James Beard Award-winning Korean restaurant, was thwarted by a formidable, if good natured, line that stretched out the door onto Elston Avenue, where a chilly wind howled.  “Actually, this is the line to put your name in,” someone told me, as I ’scused my way through the disco-lit entryway toward the host stand. Instead, my starved companions and I begged off down the street to Anelya, the terrific Ukrainian restaurant owned by the same couple, chefs Johnny Clark and Beverly Kim, where a few bar seats still remained after 6pm on a Saturday.  We showed up much earlier on our second, successful, attempt, around 5:30pm, on a Wednesday. Suffice to say, you’ll want to arrive early if you’d rather not wait at Parachute HiFi, which is proving to be as popular as its predecessor. Then again, to experience this Tokyo-style listening bar as intended, you’re better off braving the wait at a later hour—then immersing yourself in the din, served with refreshingly informal drinking food and quirky cocktails. A bracing Greek Salad Martini with cucumber feta vodka and vermouth tasted less like its namesake than a pleasantly sweet and balanced take on the pickle martinis cropping up everywhere. The Pickled Ginger recalled a tiki-flavored Dark ’n Stormy. Prickly, sweet Milkis (the creamy Korean soft drink), caramelly dark rum and warming turmeric mellowed the clean, bright one-two punch of ginger and...

How do you evolve a beloved cuisine without dispatching the tried-and-true traditions worth keeping? The answer may live at the bottom of Perilla’s brussels sprouts, which hit my palate with so many textures and levels of umami that I had to reexamine the vegetable I’d largely written off. Laced with anchovy paste, nutty brown butter, Parmesan and crunchy garlic chips, each bite was a delicious collision of a chef’s Midwestern training and his first-generation Korean-American upbringing. At this genial River West eatery, chef-partner Andrew Lim (The Bristol, City Rock) and partner-GM Tom Oh (Lettuce Entertain You) affably nudge us toward the cheffier side of Korean barbecue. Leading the pack is succulent LA galbi, a thin chain of short ribs cut crosswise, popularized by Korean immigrants in Los Angeles, which you cook yourself on inset table grills. There’s also marbled wagyu strip and tender Berkshire pork belly, plus appetizers like the delicate wagyu tartare with Korean pear, mustard seeds and pine nuts—framed with perilla (shiso) leaves. This being my date’s first-ever Korean barbecue experience, we stuck mostly to tradition. Tangy kimchi pancakes were at once crunchy and chewy, and fried pork dumplings’ bubbly-edged wrappers teemed with juicy pork. Steamed egg, a traditional custard banchan, erupted from its earthenware cauldron like a souffle made of sunshine—the eggs’ richness deepened with salinic beef dashi and a drizzle of sesame oil. Oh returned with the LA...

Of all things, it was a fried corn silk garnish that made me well up during the fourth “Ravioli” course at Cariño, Uptown’s spectacular Latin American tasting menu restaurant from co-owner/executive chef Norman Fenton.  What’s maybe more noteworthy about this dish, in which al dente ravioli stuffed with puréed huitlacoche laze in truffle beurre blanc beneath a wave of corn foam, is that truffle isn’t rained on top like dollar bills. Rather it’s deployed subtly to enhance the corn smut’s woodsy, fermented qualities. Adorning the bowl’s edge with dehydrated corn and “popped” sorghum, the corn silk looked like little singed hairs. It tasted grassy and toasty, unlocking a childhood taste memory of eating ineptly shucked, grilled corn on the cob with butter. This stuck with me as I unearthed the grain’s diverse expressions one by one, then in a chorus—buttery, minerally, toasty, earthy like mushrooms, gently acidic, sweet as if sun dried. And I cried, just a little.  This was one of countless moments that solidified my sense that Cariño might be the best dining experience in Chicago right now, and a redemption of the tasting menu, which too often feels like it’s reaching for Michelin stars to the point of wanton tedium. Yes, you’ll find some fine-dining hallmarks: molecular gastronomy, occasional Wagyu and a truffle or two. Yes, there’s a hint of chef-bro one upmanship, namely a dessert in which a perfectly fried churro is doubly overpowered by foie gras mousse and a spiced...

My inner child protested the first couple bites of Spaghetti Uh-O’s in vodka sauce, the delightful reimagining of Campbell's canned pasta rings, at Void, the cheffy Italian-American newcomer in Avondale.  “These anelli pasta are al dente, not mushy and waterlogged!” she objected. “The tomato sauce tastes rich, tangy and complexly sweet, not like tinny V8 juice! And these luscious little meatballs taste homemade, not like feedlot beef and filler!” The dish itself is comforting and familiar, deep with the long, slow caramelized flavors good chefs coax out best—making this an especially delicious trick to play on our nostalgic palates. No wonder I’ve watched more Spaghetti Uh-O’s leave the kitchen than any other dish each time I’ve eaten here, and that servers seem to genuinely relish the tableside flourish of emptying the Void-branded can into a bowl and showering the pasta with ground Parmesan. It’s giddy fun but not gimmicky, encapsulating what I already love about this easygoing neighborhood restaurant.  Owners and friends Tyler Hudec, Dani Kaplan and Pat Ray have been in the restaurant and bar industry for 15 years; they met while working at Analogue, which closed in 2016. The trio opened Void (named for the absence of preconceptions—and maybe the only thing I don’t like about Void) in August in the bygone Moe’s Tavern. They used the bar’s old bones to their advantage since the restaurant—low lit and dressed in warm, earthy wood tones, antique paintings, stained-glass...

Walking into John’s Food & Wine on a busy Thursday night, I spotted a couple of open seats at the long marble bar. Normally, I’d make a beeline for this increasingly rare walk-in’s gift, but having just entered the back of the line at this upscale, fast-casual bistro, I hesitated. Was such self-serving behavior frowned upon?  Bar seats are indeed fair game for walk-ins at John’s, as I learned when a group behind me snagged the stools and commenced the ritual of dining out as we’ve all traditionally known it. But if you’re after a table at this Lincoln Park newcomer, you’ll queue up in front of a countertop tablet where (the night I was there) beverage director and sommelier Jonas Bittencourt takes your coursed, dinner order in one nerve-wracking go, then leads you to your table, where you choose your own pairing adventure by snapping a QR code and scrolling through Toast. There are no designated servers. Rather, a small crew helmed by co-owners and chefs Adam McFarland and Thomas Rogers breathlessly does a little of everything—hence the 20 percent service charge automatically applied to every check.  I acutely felt the lack of human touch throughout my meal—not just because this is a wine-focused restaurant full of cool, ever-changing pours that warrant a little storytelling. It also manifested in the harried pacing of courses and disconcerting sense that the main shepherd of our experience was the restaurant’s POS system. I longed for those small leisurely moments, like...

What is the function of dining out? Most literally it restores, providing something delicious we didn’t have to make, which we eat in the company of people we love, or at least find interesting. It can surprise us, by pushing creative boundaries; it can be a place to see and be seen, and even offer a kind of cultural currency, like following a certain band or artist.  Lately this diversion has gotten increasingly costly for everyone involved; its working conditions are being scrutinized like they should have been all along. All of this throws the question of what restaurants are for into a harsher light.  I thought about this question on a recent Saturday at Warlord, a hipster fine-dining restaurant in Avondale that serves some of the city’s most exciting food. My two companions and I were being aurally pummeled by a dark-synth song called “Humans Are Such Easy Prey” while eating a transcendent bite of 12-day aged fatty ora king salmon paired with a perfectly ripe rectangle of cantaloupe. We’d waited two-and-a-half hours for that bite, a sensual yet restrained harbinger of the spectacular food to follow.  Was it worth it? I’m still not sure.  Chef-partners Trevor Fleming, Emily Kraszyk and John Lupton—who’ve worked in acclaimed places like Kasama and Table Fifty-Two—debuted Warlord in April and quickly soared to critics’ darling status on the back of their bold, elemental cooking, which changes constantly. Every choice, from the name and enigmatic online presence to the...

We've rounded up the best chefs in the city to join us at Time Out Market Chicago, a culinary and cultural destination in the heart of Fulton Market. The 50,000-square-foot space houses more than 15 kitchens, three bars and one drop-dead gorgeous rooftop terrace—all spread across three floors. Our mission is simple: Bring Time Out Chicago to life with the help of our favorite chefs, the ones who wow us again and again. You'll find delicious dumplings from Qing Xiang Yuan, mouthwatering burgers at Gutenburg, fried chicken from Art Smith's Sporty Bird and extravagant milkshakes from JoJo's shakeBAR. If you're thirsty, sit down at one of the Market's bars to enjoy a menu of local beer, a robust wine list or a creative seasonal cocktail. And keep an eye out for events, concerts and artwork within the Market throughout the year—we're keeping our calendar packed with things to do.

A couple of weeks after Brendan Sodikoff opened Bavette’s, I started hearing reports. “It’s just like all his other spots,” a friend told me. “It’s exactly the same,” another said. Having now made a few visits to Bavette’s, I’m guessing these reports were based purely on conjecture. Which isn’t fair, except that, well, Sodikoff does have something of a track record. His first three restaurants act something like triplets, all with similar looks and personalities and food, but slightly different interests. Gilt Bar’s the clubby one. Maude’s is the aesthete. Au Cheval’s the hipster. Throw Doughnut Vault in there as the (pudgy) black sheep and you have a strong, if somewhat predictable, family of restaurants. Bavette’s messes with this metaphor. Contrary to the reports I heard, it’s a deviation, or, to put it in terms closer to my opinion, an evolution. The room is lit differently; golden light bounces between tufted red-leather booths and the mirrored bar. Like his other spots, the place is highly conceptual, but the concept—jazz-era steakhouse with light French touches—is more sophisticated. Sodikoff’s other spots are taste-specific; the loveliness of this one is, I believe, close to universal. You don’t even have to like steak. In fact, I had better luck with the chicken. The fried chicken is crazy good, the juicy wings encased in a flaky and crunchy crust; the roast chicken is otherworldly, with skin a very dark amber, delicate and moist flesh and a thickjus on the plate....