Grilled Pigeon and Coffee Anyone?

If you're clueless about what flavors will amp up your apple or you're looking for something to serve with that stinky hunk of blue cheese that's been sitting in your fridge, you'll love the foodpairing tree by food for design.

Just click on one of the categories (herbs, spices, dairy, etc.) and you get a scientific layout of other foodstuffs that should pair appropriately. The site makes some snide remark about still needing the "craftsmanship and experience" to turn these "inspirations into a good recipe." But I'd say you just need a giant mixing bowl and a cabinet brimming with herbs and spices.

I checked out coffee and was not surprised to see chocolate in one of the most closely related groupings, but I never would've thought to drink the stuff with grilled pigeon, tortillas or oysters. Though, I can't say I've ever actually had grilled pigeon. Also, I didn't see cardamom branching out anywhere from the coffee root, which is one of my favorite morning treats. Take a few whole cardamom pods, crush and throw the seeds into some freshly ground beans and brew, brew, brew.

Pork Pastries

I'm not a fan of pork. If a friend invites me over for some pork-fueled fare, I'll happily indulge, but when given the choice I'm more likely to opt for beef, fish, or poultry. Hell, I'd even pick the one vegetarian dish on the menu if it saved me from gnawing away at a slab of pig all evening. At least those were my sentiments toward the stuff before I entered Chiu Quon, dangerously tucked just around the corner from my studio.

This Chinese pastry shop uses pork in almost everything, even cookies. My first trip to Chiu Quon was daunting, the minuscule storefront was jam-packed with Cantonese speaking patrons who knew exactly what they wanted. And then there were the little plastic containers of sweet and sour chicken feet staring me right in the face.

I quickly scanned the translucent case for anything that looked familiar. There were a few variations of nutty cookies--walnut, almond, sesame-- that were much lighter in color and crumbly in texture than the sugar-rich rounds you'd find in a standard American bakery. But this would've been taking the easy route and I was in the mood for something more adventurous (though not quite ready for the cackling images of chicken feet parading around my stomach), so I ordered up a pork sesame cookie for a whopping 60 cents. Everything was so damn cheap I was tempted to try it all, but first I had to taste this meat-filled treat.

Chiu Quon only has three tables and they were all full, so I grabbed the goods and headed home. Thank god I was eating this in solitude because I think I moaned after the first few bites. And a few bites were just about all I could take of the thing. The flavors were spectacular and I would've gone straight down to the crumbs had it not been for the cookie's extreme density. No worries though, I wrapped up the other half and had it for breakfast the next morning.

All heaviness aside, the pork sesame cookie was strangely brilliant. Once you bite through the first crispy layer, it becomes a chewy concoction bursting with toasty, honey-esque notes. Any expert pastry chef would probably cringe at this comparison, but, it reminded me of baklava. Baklava in cookie-form stuffed with meat and sesame, that is. While it's certainly more sweet than savory, the pork adds a healthy dose of salt which harmonizes quite nicely with the heavy-handed sugar.

Chiu Quon has quickly nestled itself into my list of Chicago favorites. It may have something to do with the fact that I only have to step a few feet from my apartment to get there, but for anyone off the radar, it's definitely worth the trip.

Chiu Quon Bakery
1127 W. Argyle St.
(773) 907-8888

Flourish

I stumbled upon this Edgewater bakery a few weeks ago on my way to Metropolis, and finally decided to give it a try. Painted in pastels and adorned with retro kitchen gear, stepping into Flourish was like entering a Brady Bunch re-run. And when I saw the cases neatly lined with rows upon rows of enticing pastries, I was just as giddy as Marcia that time Davey Jones asked her to the prom.

Flourish's old-school charm filled me with the hopeful assumption that indulging in the goods here would spark a similarly sweet nostalgia to those evenings spent in my grandmother's kitchen--always redolent of some just-baked butter-slathered treat. There was only one problem; how was I supposed to choose just one thing?

Seeing as it was still breakfast time, I ruled out cakes, cookies and brownies (not that these have never found their way into my morning routine). Muffins are easy to come by, so those were out too. At this point it was a toss up between a hearty chunk of monkey bread or a cinnamon roll as big as my face. I flirted with the idea of ordering both, but quickly nixed that after calculating how much time I would have to put in at the gym. Figuring that monkey bread is more of a rare treat (unless of course you live in Texas), I settled on that. And then the chipper man behind the counter said what'll it be? And I hesitated. Of course, I, hesitated.

I have become one of those annoying ladies who holds up the line and rides the very last nerve of servers everywhere because of my own indecision with food. This was never a problem until I experienced entree envy that time at Hopleaf when Laura ordered the CB&J and I was left poking around some glorified lettuce leaves. One bite of her sandwich and I was ruined. I'm so worried now that I'm going to regret my order (even when I'm not aboard the health-conscious train). So worried in fact, that I need my server to double as a nursing mother who reassures me that I have indeed made a good choice--and that, yes, it's all going to work out for the best.

So after asking the patient Flourish pastry man which of the two he would pick, he responded, today, I would definitely go for the cinnamon roll. And so I did. Flakey dough covered in earthy flecks of cinnamon and topped with thick swirls of creamy icing-- it was a satisfying start to the morning. That is until I spent the rest of the day wondering, what if I had gone with the monkey bread? Would I have been happier?

(I'll keep you posted-- I'm planning another trip next week. And this time I'm leaving hesitation at home.)

Flourish Bakery Cafe
1138 W. Bryn Mawr Ave.
(773) 271-2253

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

Candy hustlin'

Kids in California are making bank off their peers sugar addictions. Check out the story on the Daily Press.

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

Confections of a white chocolate fiend

My friend Phil is obsessed with white chocolate, in fact I think it's safe to say he's an even bigger fan than myself (and I've been known to have a few ravenous binges with the stuff). So whenever we meet up for coffee, we make it a point to scout out a new dessert incorporating this painstakingly sweet confection. Let me just say that Phil and I have met for coffee on an almost weekly basis since I moved to this city in August; together our sugar intake could keep the mills in business for years to come.

One thing I've noticed in our scavenges is that white chocolate has done some serious growing up over the years. These milky chunks, once a mere staple for Easter bunny molds and pretzel coating, are now the shining star in a whole mess of sugary concoctions. Some of our discoveries have left maddening cravings while others, overpowered by stronger flavors, barely made an impression.

Here are a few of our favorites:

• White chocolate peanut butter cheesecake at Panes Bread Cafe
• No further explanation needed.
  
• Raspberry white chocolate peanut butter by PB Loco at Southport Grocery
• This one is like death for me. I can't even keep a jar of plain peanut butter in my apartment-- throw white chocolate into the mix and I'm done for.
  
• Choclatea bar with pistachio and green tea by smile chocolatiers at The Coffee and Tea Exchange
• White chocolate takes the lead here-- disappointing for green tea fans, but that stuff's for drinking anyway.