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Monday, December 31, 2001
As the waning minutes of 2001 pass us by, Luke and I, along with a couple of friends, will be dining at Andersonville's Kan Zaman. This is not a $60, last-night-of-the-year hoopla. This is a evening out at a cozy restaurant before we flock to the parties to toast the year away. And while I expect there will be an added charge to the atmosphere at Kan Zaman, there won't be to the bill. I never could understand the appeal of spending 60 bucks for a $20 dinner, a couple bottles of champagne, and a dining room crowded with strangers. Wouldn't you rather spend a third of that and hang out in a room crowded with your friends?
A bar in Lakeview that I'm particularly fond of, Guthrie's, has been inviting patrons to celebrate the New Year with them for free. Beer and spirits cost the same, but champagne will be handed out at midnight gratis. In their words, it's a "Free Neighborhood Event." I like this, and I hope we can afford to do the same. People shouldn't feel that they have to pay extra to share in our revelry. If we can make it into a night to give something back to the neighborhood we inhabit, then that's even better.
Happy new year to all of you! May the upcoming year be everything you hope it to be....
posted by Sandor Weisz at 5:29 PM | Comment?
Friday, December 21, 2001
Jish found a story about the Blindekuh Restaurant in Zurich, Switzerland, where the dining room is completely dark. "Part attention-grabber, part disability rights platform, the mission of Blindekuh (Swiss German for 'blind man's bluff') is to show people just how much they take for granted their sense of sight, and what it might be like to do without it."
The bathrooms, however, are lighted. The story says this is a concession to the patrons, but it seems more of a concession to the janitorial staff.
I love it, especially how it elegantly nullifies the hobgoblin of presentation. If nobody can see their plates, nobody can see whether they've been plated well. I'll have to check this out if I pass through Zurich on my February trip.
We could start the world's first sensory-deprivation restaurant, a place where a person's focus is on nothing but how good their food tastes. No sight, no noise, no smell or touch but that of the food. How would it work? Perhaps we lay patrons in a float tank. Then we train our wait staff to move in silence and have them reach into the tanks and scoop food directly into the patrons' mouths. Does this make any sense at all?
posted by Luke at 9:59 AM | 2 comments
Tuesday, December 18, 2001
I know you've been itching to talk back to us about all these crazy ideas, and now, thanks to the geniuses at DotComments, you can. If you read a post here that strikes an inspiration in your head -- or even if it drives you to strike a two-by-four on our head -- you may express yourself in the comments link beneath that post.
So go on now, speak up!
posted by Sandor Weisz at 2:43 PM | 3 comments
Monday, December 17, 2001
Mighty Bob, our resident librarian-in-training, read the following post on his librarian listserv and forwarded it to us as a YACMI suggestion:
"my favorite pub is right down the street from my apartment -- delaneys. they have this thing called 'The Mission.' you get this card with the 20+ beers they have on tap (and the stuff they have in the bottle) written out. i think there are 36 or so beers total. if you drink all of them (not in one sitting, of course), then you get a free t-shirt (which, oddly enough, one could buy for $15). i was definitely up for the challenge of the mission, and got to sample a lot of interesting things. zima included."
Foreseeing a long haul toward the acquisition of a liquor license, perhaps we could apply The Mission in a different manner. Take, for example, side dishes. We could make a name for ouselves by offering an impossibly large number of side dishes -- say, 75. Upon consumption of each different side dish, a customer would get that item crossed off her tally card. Anyone who holds a card showing 75 crosses would not only get a free t-shirt, but would get her face on our wall, thus earning the admiration of millions.
Of course, it wouldn't be a real mission without a real struggle. Among the collection of small dish delicacies, we'd have to throw in a few Zima-style zingers. Brussel sprouts come to mind. Anchovies. And the crowning acheivement: a big, steaming bowl of rocky mountain oysters. No ketchup allowed.
posted by Sandor Weisz at 7:02 PM | 1 comment
Friday, December 14, 2001
News from Chowhound: "(La Cumbamba) has a sign that it WILL CLOSE DECEMBER 31, and reopen April 5 as a 'Normal restaurant.'"
Well, shoot. Just what Chicago needs: another "normal" restaurant. Lettuce bore you!
posted by Luke at 4:33 PM | Comment?
Thursday, December 13, 2001
An otherwise enjoyable meal at Bolat tonight was marred by the blare of a large-screen TV in the living room. I've noticed this on Argyle Street, too: Rare is the house of pho that doesn't crank up a television as big as a walk-in refrigerator.
I adore Chicago's family-run restaurants and their quirks, but Jay Leno's monologue screaming in my ear (it was a late dinner) came pretty close to spoiling my normally unflappable appetite.
What's the deal? Don't restaurateurs realize that people eat out in order to escape the outside world, not to be assaulted by it?
posted by Luke at 10:06 PM | 3 comments
Chas Bayfield's terrific idea a day project is one of my new favorite daily stops online. Every day, he publishes an original idea for the benefit of the public domain. I was browsing the beginning of his archives when I came across idea #3: a concept for a ziggurat-shaped restaurant.
A search for all restaurant-based posts brings up fifteen marvelous ideas, from table-top electronic consoloes to a weight-based payment system called Heavy. My personal favorite: the biblical Garden of Eatin'.
posted by Sandor Weisz at 12:43 PM | Comment?
Wednesday, December 12, 2001
There are strange things being written over at Chowhound regarding William and La Cumbamba.
And I can no longer find La Cumbamba, formerly a three-R restaurant, listed among the Reader Ratings. Even when a place closes, the Reader usually maintains its listing.
What's going on? I was last there Nov. 14, and everything was normal and wonderful.
posted by Luke at 3:02 PM | Comment?
Monday, December 10, 2001
Between taking pictures and taking notes at Q, I'm pretty sure their hostess thought I was a food critic. This is not the first time it's has happened, and I feel I may be inadvertantly onto something: the notebook comes out, and suddenly the service moves up a notch.
Frankly, I'm not sure how critics can get away with disguising their identity yet still be able to retain enough detail about their meal to write a column about it. Wouldn't taking notes blow their cover? Who takes notes at meals, besides food critics and schmos attempting to fulfill their current pipe dream?
I'd suggest we devise a system to root out any critics, but actually, I feel that's the wrong strategy to take. This may sound idealistic, but it's the truth: we need to treat each customer as if she's a critic. As if it's upon her opinion of our restaurant that the entire future of our enterprise rests. If we manage to do that, we should feel no pressure when the actual critic comes along to report back to the masses.
posted by Sandor Weisz at 7:37 PM | Comment?
Friday, December 07, 2001
The New York Times tells the delicious story of the 25-year feud between Sal and Jimmy, two brother restaurateurs: "The five daughters of Sal do not speak to the three sons and three daughters of Jimmy. This, despite the reality that both families spend all their days, and not a few nights, working on either side of a common wall that is two bricks thick... A small hand-lettered red and green sign outside Sal's Grosseria says it all: 'Hero-Boy is not affiliated with us!'"
It inspires a great idea for a restaurant.
Two restaurants, in fact.
But first, one restaurant -- a large, beautiful restaurant that we both are proud of. After about a year, however, we invent an altercation, a dispute so unyielding that we must forever end our partnership. As our friendship is cleaved, so is the restaurant, split in two like a grapefruit. Up goes a wall, in come the sign painters, and voila : "Luke and Sandy's" becomes "Luke's" and "Sandy's."
And then it gets fun. Although in private we remain buddies, in public we're an obstinate pair of bickering rivals. We spit on one another, we throw things, we yell and curse down the sidewalk. We plot shenanigans worthy of Spy vs. Spy.
Come for the feud, stay for the food. It would be a shtick so convincing that diners would drop by just to see us fight. "It was great!" they'll say to their chowhound friends. "Luke called Sandy a cow, so Sandy slung a slab of sirloin in Luke's face and screamed, 'Who's the cow now, huh?!' I can't wait to go back!" Even though we'd serve identical food -- unbeknownst to our diners, we'd maintain a cooperative kitchen -- people would swear one was superior to the other. It would be as though each of us were the Tide to the other's Cheer.
A pox upon Sandy's! Ptooey! Eat at Luke's!
posted by Luke at 7:57 PM | 3 comments
Tuesday, December 04, 2001
Methinks that's a bit of a stretch. Wouldn't Al Calzone be better?
More suggestions: Hare Jordan. Spuds Turkel. Sears Tuna. Saul-ty Pretzel with Bellow Mustard. Fried Oprah.
(The last one reminds me of an idea my father had for the supermarket he used to run: a contest to give away okra. The posters would say, "Okra: Win Free!")
posted by Sandor Weisz at 11:39 AM | Comment?
Monday, December 03, 2001
No, no. Al Cup o' Noodles would be a nod to Al Capone.
Kup gets his due in our "Ice cream with peanut butter cups in it."
posted by Luke at 11:40 PM | Comment?
Don't you mean Irv Kup O' Noodles?
posted by Sandor Weisz at 10:18 AM | Comment?
Would it be too corny to incorporate Chicago locations and lore into our menu?
Yes.
But if it weren't, here are some things we could feature: Belmont Steaks. Chicken Cordon Bleu Island. Beef Wellington. Miso Leary Soup. Lincoln on the Cob. LSD Orange Juice. Cermak 'n' Cheese. Sheffield Salad. Our Daley Bread. Filet of Soldier Field. Al Cup o' Noodles.
posted by Luke at 7:54 AM | Comment?
New strategy: we kidnap Mama and force her to spill her secrets. Anyone who can make patrons line up outside her restaurant on a daily basis -- in the pouring rain no less -- has to be doing something right.
posted by Sandor Weisz at 12:04 AM | Comment?
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