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 lamps and drippy tapered candles—feels invitingly worn in.
Like a lot of newish places I like (Bar Parisette, Mariscos San Pedro, Brasero), Void has a knack for striking a balance between familiar and higher-concept cooking while keeping the vibe relaxed. Somehow, this generation just seems to know that we want to slurp luscious tuna crudo bathed anchovy aioli then house a couple of sticky pork ribs with cabbage slaw and creamy polenta, all washed down with prickly, dry Lambrusco.
The Lambrusco (fresh, nuanced, brilliantly red Medici Ermete Concerto) was popping like hotcakes on a recent Friday night, when my date and I posted up early at Void’s long butcher block bar. (Thirteen of the bar’s 20 seats can now be booked; Void just started taking reservations here.) I started with the since departed Hard Maybe, an elegant tomato gin Gibson with bittersweet bianco vermouth that tastes like tomatoes and their vines. (It’s been overtaken by a Pizza Gibson with woodsy gin, “pizza-fied” olive brine and onion.) While I understand this trendy impulse to iterate with the seasons, I long for the days of static cocktail menus. Regardless, Void’s drink menu slaps. Ray, who worked on the beverage programs at Sepia and Violet Hour, curates a sophisticated mix of classics like a shochu-infused lemon sour with musky bergamot and smooth and a brown-sugary Old Fashioned, and stranger birds like the Arch-Nemesis, a funky, sweet and bright tiki aperitif with boozeless Malört, Smith & Cross rum, baking spices and grapefruit.
We started with the house focaccia, a move I’d consider essential. It’s crisp edged and stretchy-soft inside, best dragged through the olive oil-slicked, fermented garlic honey butter with abandon. I love the wedge salad, too; a finishing sprinkle of crispy garlic lends toastiness to the fresh crunch of iceberg and seasonal veggies and the higher-pitched tang of pepperoncini rings and creamy garlic dressing.
The shrimp scampi toast—in which slabs of housemade pullman bread are smeared with shrimp paste and caramelized—was buttery and brilliant, like garlicky, sea-funky french toast with a satisfying crunch and fine hit of citrus. We sucked every delicious drop of flavor from the head-on prawn garnish.
Nduja-spiked tomato sauce sported peppery heat in the octopus fra diavolo with silky housemade fettuccine, mussels and tender octopus showered with herbs and golden breadcrumbs. Though maybe wanting for more oceanic nuance, it was a delicious heap all the same. The lasagna was likewise something of an in-your-face cheese bomb—a bit much even for my inner child. Thankfully, she always saves room for dessert. That evening it was a scoop each of fragrant Bartlett pear sorbet and velvety dark chocolate-olive oil gelato, washed down with a bittersweet nip of amaro montenegro, because she can.
The food: Red-sauce classics mingle seamlessly with cheffier, seasonal dishes. Think roasted cauliflower with roasted and fresh grapes, white pesto and pancetta vinaigrette; and half-a-chicken parm doused in six-hour tomato sauce beneath an oozy, blistered mozzarella lid.
The drink: Elegant and balanced cocktails range from classic to funky. Wines from Michigan, Italy and the Pacific Northwest are fresh and food loving.
The vibe: Housed in a former neighborhood bar, Void feels established despite only being open a couple months—leaning into the dark wood palate through vintage artwork and stained-glass hanging lamps.
Note on getting here: Void sits on a torn-up stretch of Milwaukee Avenue, owing to a two-year Chicago Department of Transportation reconstruction project; buses and cabs still run, but parking is a pain for the foreseeable future. (The team has been hilariously venting its frustrations on Void’s Instagram, documenting parked steamrollers obstructing the front door and hanging restaurant signage on construction fencing.)