A new record in tardiness
Remember that time, like, 2 and a half months ago when my sister took me to EL ideas and I didn't blog about it because I am the a pathetic excuse for a human woman? Me too. My memory is not exceptional enough to allow me to document all twelve courses here, but there were four that I assume I'll still be tasting even when all my other motor skills, cognitive abilities, etc. have failed me. So, to honor the 2nd anniversary of this unkempt blog of mine, I shall do my best to convey the joy brought to me by these fabulous plates.
One dish never leaves the EL ideas menu: the fancy-pants embodiment of a high twenty-something's or a normal 10-year-old's or really anyone's junk food dream: french fries dipped in a frosty. First, the waiters bring out a bowl of an innocuous-looking soup with bits of crispy potato in it. AND THEN, they come out with this badass bucket with dry ice steam stuff pouring out of it. And they plop a scoop of magical dry ice ice cream (dry ice cream? what's the protocol here) into the soup and it sizzles and then your bowl becomes full of smoky and sultry and somehow still edible stuff.
Time for a spoonful, no? It defies the logic of people with no knowledge of how science works, but somehow, the soup is still PIPING HOT and the ice cream is still ICE COLD. And it tasted JUST like fries in a frosty. The perfect little crispy squares of potato reminded me that I was not floating in an imaginary Wendy's in the sky where ice cream is smoke and soup defies science; rather, I was still sitting, mouth agape, in a sketchy-ass building in Pilsen. What luck! More food to come.
This next dish, if I recall correctly, was listed as "french onion soup," and where on other items, ingredients were listed with slashes in between, here the only further information provided was "in/one/bite." They were not messing around. Very little labor required on this one—in fact, they specified that it MUST be eaten in one bite. Who am I to argue? Biting into this little blob that for some reason vaguely reminded me of Toad from Mario Kart released a gush of perfectly warm french onion soup that was hidden inside a crispy bit of bread, tucked under the melty brûléed cheese you see below. SO MUCH FLAVOR in one little bite!!! Witchcraft, etc. I was in heaven.
Also, can we just take a beat to discuss how clever it is to put it all on the spoon, but still put the spoon in the bowl? These are the artsy instincts I will never have.
This next one really got me feeling verklempt. One of my favorite culinary memories with my sister is making toad-in-the-holes for breakfast on weekend mornings. So this little number, a toad in the hole PLUS WHITE TRUFFLE? Too much to handle for me. An amazingly simultaneously spongy and crispy cube of bread, a sous-vide egg yolk, shaved white truffle on top. Not much more to say. It was decadent and homey and fancy and comforting all at the same time. If only I had white truffles lying around at home... maybe I could make this for myself (probably not)
Dessert: more smoky stuff. As the chef described it, this dessert embodied Christmas and the sweets one is wont to eat at Christmastime. A dense bite of fudgey chocolate cake, crushed candy canes, some sort of delicious crumbled cookies, and a quenelle (I googled "ice cream shape plating" to figure out what that thing was called) of peppermint ice cream over some sort of caramelly sauce. But the real kicker was, in between the two dishes, sprigs of pine tree with more sciencey dry ice so pine-scented smoke was pouring out from under the plate. EATING CHRISTMAS!!! It's a thing!
The whimsical experience of this meal was made all the more lovely by extensive girl talk and a bottle of wine apiece, all followed by a shot of Malort by Sarah, the chef, his hot female sous chef, and me. I had so much fun I left my purse at the table and the Uber driver had to go back so I could sheepishly reenter the restaurant and swipe it back from the back of my chair under the judgmental eye of the chef.
Sorry this post was so late, Sarah. Thanks again for my Birth-mas present.
