Tango Sur

This is by far the longest I've ever waited for dinner, save for one famous Thanksgiving when my aunt scorched the bird and we were all left to a makeshift buffet of side dishes. If the pilgrims had been vegetarians, they would've gleamed with pride at our quick-fix spread. But this was not Thanksgiving and I wasn't plopped on aunt Mimi's sofa in front of the game. Instead it was the end of march and I was standing in the cold with a few friends outside of Tango Sur.

When we arrived to the restaurant around 7:30 p.m., the host told us it would be a two hour wait (they don't take reservations). We were already toting around our wine and beer and didn't know of another BYOB in walking distance, so we settled in at Rye Bar down the street and waited. And waited. And. Waited. Finally, some room cleared in Tango Sur's lounge so we cracked open our drinks and started the wait all over again.

Had we known that two hours really meant three (and change) we might have reconsidered. But there's a reason why we weren't the only one's crammed awkwardly into the minuscule waiting room. These people were here because they happened upon something good and they weren't about to let a little thing like time get in the way.

When we were finally seated around 11 p.m. we wasted no time ordering; the waiter arrived and we were ready. Empanadas all around ($1.75 each) to start, and various plates of meat and potatoes for our entrees. The three empanadas (beef, chicken, ham and cheese) were served around a small tin of chimichurri that amped up the already flavorful pastries. These palm-sized treats were surprisingly filling, probably because they're stuffed to the very folds with nothing but meat.

As the waiter placed our entrees on the table, my first thought was, holy shit-- who's going to eat all that? Fortunately I was in the company of those who thrive on leftovers, so the heaping portions posed no direct threat. Nonetheless, I was surprised to see that the "ideal for two" Vacio plate ($35) could've actually fed the entire room of people still waiting for tables.

Tango Sur
3763 N. Southport Ave.
(773) 477-5466

Smoque'n

A friend of mine is married to a vegetarian. She says it doesn't bother her at all; she has no problem cooking up hippie hash or testing the latest eggplant recipe. She's down with tofu, garden burgers and she's well versed in the language of seitan. But every now and again she gets the primal urge to sink her teeth into the real thing and when this happens, she knows the only fix is barbecue.

Lately she's been hankering for the stuff and yeah, she knows a handful of places in the city where she can dine in peace with her meat-shunning man-- but not for barbecue. No, if she's going to roll-up her sleeves and relish in a tender slab of beef, she wants to be in the company of someone who gets it. Not someone who's going to be left ordering from a side menu of cobbler and coleslaw. So she left the leaf-eater behind and asked me to meet her for some southern fueled fare at Smoque in Albany Park. Lip-curled and appetite in tow, I happily agreed.

The two of us, famished and ready to sling back some brisket, headed over to the restaurant's small (seats about 50) corner location. I knew nothing about the place so my expectations were nil. Upon walking in I was greeted by a staff person who, rather forcefully, told me to get in line. Lucky for him, I'm down with this kind of demanding behavior, so I followed suit and took stance amidst the seemingly starving mess of people. Every table was full when I arrived, but the turnover rate here is ridiculously fast. Maybe it's because of the order-at-the-counter and then cross-your-fingers-that-there's-an-empty-seat dining style. By the time I ordered (about 12 minutes later) a few spots had already been cleared. Now all I had to do was sit and wait for the husky cook to call number 75.

It was only a matter of minutes before I was walking back over to the counter to grab a metal tray full of sliced brisket, barbecued baked beans, cornbread and coleslaw (just under $12 after tax). The beans were a notch above that canned guy's "secret recipe" and were doctored up with hearty bits of pork and onion. The dried out cornbread served in a small aluminum ramekin almost smacked the smile off my face. I love cornbread and I didn't even want another bite after the first taste (dipping it in the soupy red barbecue sauce didn't help either). But the pile of sliced brisket brought me back to a happy place. It was tender and fell apart effortlessly when I stabbed a hunk with my fork. Thank God I only went with the half order; by the time I finished it didn't even look like I made a dent. My friend had the brisket sandwich and left nothing but the bread behind.

The restaurant's website boasts some schpeal about rivaling the smoky staples of Texas, which I'd say (at least for someone with her roots in the sticks) is a little far-fetched. But as far as Midwestern barbecue is concerned, Smoque definitely holds its own. Maybe next time we'll head a little farther South. After all, nothing--not even marriage--should come between a girl and her barbecue.

Smoque
3800 N. Pulaski Rd.
(773) 545-RIBS

Carnivale

I had lunch here a few weeks ago and I'm still salivating over the interior of this place. Typically I would note the food first, but the burnt orange and scarlet red walls covered with oversized photos of painfully gorgeous people left a bigger impression than the fresh guac and raspberry mojitos.

According to the lovely hostess, Carnivale's concept is a celebration of women and shoes. Now, if you're having visions of Sarah Jessica Parker hailing taxi cabs in frilly dresses trying to get to Mr. Big, rest assured that this is not an episode of Sex and the City. Actually, Carnivale is more like sex in the city; it's an excellent place to bring a date, or really anyone you want to impress. Even if your dinner companion bores the hell out of you, you can still leave this restaurant with a strange sense of elation, thanks to the lavishly seductive decor and Latin infused fare.

Before even thinking about appetizers (and ignoring the fact that it was barely noon), my friend and I ordered up some drinks. She went with the waitress's suggestion; Carnivale's signature raspberry mojito. I kept it simple with a flute of Yellow Label Champagne. The drinks arrived and I immediately had cocktail envy. The fresh berries muddled with mint, rum and lime juice were reminiscent of a smoothie joint I visited with Laura in Atlanta, except this thick concoction had an indulgent kick.

After getting over my lame drink choice, we moved on to some guacamole, made-to-order and served with fresh lime wedges (it's amazing what this stuff can do when squeezed over warm tortilla chips). Apparently everyone else in the place had done the same (the servers push the app pretty hard, but you can't argue when it turns up just as good as promised).

It was then time for some real food. And by real food I mean salad. But this wasn't your average bowl of greens thrown together in a vinaigrette and topped with some shredded cheese and stale croutons. No, this was a beautifully prepared beet salad. The ruby hued veggies were sliced thick and neatly lined on a long white rectangular tray. Sandwiched between each glistening circle were huge triangles of aged manchego. Tart, tangy and healthy-- a nice balance after those sugary beverages.

I plan on heading back to Carnivale soon, this time for a sexy dinner date. Stay tuned.

Carnivale
702 W. Fulton Market
(312) 850-5005

Media Tasting: Deleece

Last night Tighe and I had cocktails and a 5 course tasting menu at Deleece in Lakeview. The drinks weren't like anything I've tried before and the dishes packed enough flavor to cure my tuna-from-a-can-with-day-old-lettuce lunch funk. The restaurant's exposed brick interior, dark cherry floors and warm lighting didn't hurt either.

After arriving (and convincing Tighe that the photographer was not going to destroy her food writing career by plastering her face all over the internet) we parked it at the bar and were given two different cocktails made with Shochu. The first was a mix of blood orange (the sexiest fruit ever, next to pomegranate) and coconut milk. Normally I'm not a fan of cream in my alcohol, but I am a lush and it was free so I gave it a go. The milk was so subtle that I probably wouldn't have detected it had I not been told the ingredients beforehand. The second cocktail was not at all to my liking: apple and leche; I let Tighe handle that one on her own.

It probably didn't hurt that the Shochu drinks were complimentary, but the people here were loving this obscure import; a good sign for owners, Lynne Wallack and John Handler, who are naming their newest restaurant after the stuff. Shochu is slated to open this April and, much like Deleece, will offer eclectic fare (mostly contemporary American with a Japanese twist) using fresh ingredients and novel concepts. Executive chef Josh Hansen (culinary mastermind behind Deleece's menu) will be manning the kitchen.

If the menu at Shochu is at all similar to our 5 course tasting, I'll be adding it to my list of favorites.

Here's what we ate:

1. Polenta layered with smoked shallot mushroom duxelle
2. Salad of morels and grilled asparagus in a white soy pancetta vinaigrette
   
3. Seared diver scallop with braised fennel, pimenton risotto and a light basil aioli
4. Grilled NY strip with truffle mashed potatoes, baby carrots and port wine demi-glace
5. Blueberry Basque cake

Deleece
4004 N. Southport Ave.
(773) 325-1710