Sun Wah BBQ
5039 North Broadway
Chicago, IL

Date of Last Visit: Wednesday, May 4, 2011

The Victims: Aileen, Bob, and their two young doppelgängeren.

The Background: Fact: On my birthday, I like to eat Chinese food. I think it’s a childhood thing. We always used to go to Hunan Dynasty back on Strong Island and my brother and I would split the “Pu Pu Platter” which involved fire and multiple sparklers. Kids like fire, what can I say?

For my actual birthday this year though, I was in London. No Chinese food. (Not that there’s no Chinese food in London…it’s just that I have this certain set of friends that will only eat at a certain level of restaurant.) So we went to the very white and very pristine St. John Hotel instead. (More about that sometime soon.) But the desire for Chinese food was still there…so once back in Chicago, I rallied up my troops for what I was hoping to be an onslaught of DUCK.

Problem #1: Aileen and Bob have never had crispy duck or Peking duck before. They seem unsure of the concept. Bob admits that he’s never had any sort of duck before! I pause momentarily…to get to this point in life and to have never had Peking duck or duck rillettes or any sort of duck?? I think I would die.

Problem #2: If you want real Peking duck, you have to order it 24 hours in advance. Whoops. There goes that idea.

Combine Problem #1 and Problem #2 and I order a quarter duck and proceed to drink all of Aileen & Bob’s Pinot Noir. (Note: it was not a full bottle!)

Bob let me have some of his hot & sour soup. Normally, I think sharing soup is WEIRD. But Bob’s small was so huge, there was no way he could finish it all, even with the doppelgängeren. Plus, I think the doppelgängeren are a little too young for hot & sour. This was pretty excellent and it was also super CHEAP. $4.50 for the huge bowl? Wow.

There is no vegetable I love more than Chinese broccoli. But you know what? This just wasn’t very good. I felt like it tasted bad…like it was just about to go off. Aileen and  Bob kindly gifted me the leftovers; I woke up the next morning, opened the fridge, and was struck with the gaseous stink of broccoli gone bad. Yuck.

The egg rolls were good though. Hard not to like deep-friend anything, I suppose.

OK, so back to the duck. I thought for sure I could convince them to give me some pancakes/buns with my 1/4 duck. NO DICE. They gave me plum sauce. They gave me veg. They refused me pancakes. Only, apparently, if you order the Peking duck. We debated asking the table next to us if they would give us any of their pancakes. I even told our server I would take someone’s leftovers. No love. No love at all.

The Decor: It all felt just a little bit dirty. Again, I’m all for a good hole-in-the-wall (although Sun Wah is so big it could never be consider a true hole-in-the-wall), I’m getting a little concerned by the number of Chicago restaurants which have never seen the end of a high pressure water hose.

The Verdict: Meh. Everyone seems to love this place, but my experience was just not so compelling. And to refuse me pancakes! Blasphemy.

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Everyone loves the Hopleaf. I love the Hopleaf. I remember in the old days, we would trek up Clark Street in the dead of winter, when the snow was more than a foot deep–and the Blizzard of ’99? Let’s talk two feet of snow with drifts of three to four–and we’d have a couple of Chimays at Hopleaf and then some glögg at Simon’s to warm ourselves up for the trek all the way home again after waiting in vain for the 22 bus. It was always so cold. So cold.

And the guy behind the bar at the Hopleaf? He was not a people person. We would bet on who could get him to be nicest to us. No one ever won that contest.

The Hopleaf had the best juke box. It only played 45s and it was old 45s at that. If it wasn’t Ella or Louis (Jordan), it didn’t get played. (Sadly, the old juke box has since been removed.)

When I used to go to the Hopleaf, it was just one tiny front room. Many many beers, but just one tiny room. Now it’s huge. Cavernous even. Last Friday night, we sat upstairs in the back, looking down at the main floor, wondering where the space had come from. Had all this space existed in the old days, but was used for some other purpose? Was this newly built space? Questions. Many questions.

Now the Hopleaf serves food, although I vaguely remember them introducing food not too long before I left for London so it’s not like this is a brand new thing. I remember people telling me about the mussels and the frites.

I didn’t have the mussels last Friday. I had a ham sandwich. With some fries.

And it was just a ham sandwich. Bar food. Bar food always has its place. I’m not saying it doesn’t. I like bar food. A lot. (Officially, the ham sandwich was toasted Nueske ham on pumpernickel, gruyere cheese and apple-tarragon coleslaw.) But a Bib Gourmand for a ham sandwich? Of that, I am not certain. (Actually, I am certain. That’s crap.)

The Verdict: Beer (many, many beers) and bar food.

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-AND-

Tweet
5020 N Sheridan Rd
Chicago, IL 60640

Date of Last Visit
Caravan: Monday, August 2, 2010
Tweet: Sunday, August 8, 2010

The Victim
Caravan: Me
Tweet: Aileen, Christina

The Damage
Caravan: £12ish?
Tweet: $20 USD each

The Background: I’m writing this with the benefit of hindsight. You see, today, I’m sitting in my corporate apartment in Chicago, just returned from brunch, American style. And brunch was bad. Bad bad bad. Too much food. And not enough good food. And it had me longing. Longing, longing, longing. For the chorizo baked eggs at Caravan. Wait, let me rephrase that…the chorizo baked EGG–singular–at Caravan. Because you can choose…one egg…or two eggs. I chose one.

Compare this to the four egg omelette (FOUR! For the love of God! FOUR!) my friend Aileen had at brunch today and well…THIS IS WHY YOU’RE FAT, America. And the tomatoes…who grows tomatoes like this and what sort of government subsidies are we giving them because it is TOO MUCH!

I can’t compare my day of visit between the two establishments. At Caravan, I visited on a dreamy and warm Monday at 8:30 a.m. where there were just a few entrepreneurs (Americans, of course!) talking business. The music was soft and light, and the service was sweet and attentive. At Caravan, I felt calm, cool, and collected. (Check out the lead photo and you’ll get the drift.)

Tweet, in contrast, I visited on a drizzly and cool Sunday at 11 a.m., where there were 20 parties before us on the wait list and I managed to throw my champagne and peach schnappes all over myself with the assistance of our friendly server. I felt wet.

But I can compare the menus. Caravan’s menu is small and compact. I can choose from this. Now take a look at Tweet’s menu. How can they possibly do all of this well? (Although of course, in America, we have the benefit of an army of short order cooks.) This is a menu with velcro, by the way.

And then I can compare the food. Here is my baked egg with chorizo. It’s inventive (Greek yogurt! And chorizo! Combined! Deliciously so!) and lovely. The only fault I can find is with the bread. It’s not very delicious. It looks nice and healthy and grainy. But it’s missing something…maybe salt? It tastes like cardboard. Ah…and the orange juice was too large and had too much ice in it and had that taste that reminds me of drinking orange juice from a can when I went camping with my family when I was a child. I’m not saying this was tinned juice at all…I’m just saying it tasted funny to me.

And then here’s my crabcakes hollandaise at Tweet this morning. This is a heart attack on a plate. The English Muffin the eggs and sauce rested on was flabby and soft, perhaps toasted, but just barely. (And you know how I feel about toasting. Particularly English muffins, which are just begging to be toasted!) The crabcakes didn’t seem to be cakes but rather just a pile of crab. In some ways, this was not a bad thing. I like crab. But I could barely see the crab through the hollandaise so can’t tell you if it was fresh or tinned. My guess is tinned, but this is just a guess. But it was all just so…blah. (The hollandaise itself was very bland. I’ve had better. Much better.) There were two saving graces: a lovely fresh fruit bowl and the hash browns. The hash browns were nice.

And now let’s talk about the bill. I paid by cash at Caravan, but I am positive they take cards. At Tweet, they don’t take cards. At all. Cash only. BUT…they will direct you to their ATM which charged me $3.00 for the pleasure of providing me cash. Yuk. Here’s my thought…if even a nail salon can take cards, so can you.

Although I did not visit the loo at Caravan, I can tell you squarely…never, never ever visit the loo at Tweet. Because there is a sign in there that explains how the door doesn’t lock well and that you really need to make sure that the door is locked while you’re, um, taking care of business. So you spend ages trying to make sure the door is locked but you’re not sure it is so and of course…the door opens up INTO the restauarant….

Apparently, no one at Tweet has ever heard of a locksmith. Or Home Depot. Let me just say…if you need a sign, surely–SURELY–there must be a better way.

To be fair, the service was equally sweet at both establishments.

The Verdicts
Caravan: Go! Now! But be careful on the weekend, because I’ve been thwarted before.
Tweet: I’m sure many people will like it here. Just not people who have had the baked eggs at Caravan. (Sometimes less is more, you know?) And that whole no cards thing is BS. Big time. (And you know it.) You are a large restaurant, and this is the 21st century. And well sometimes, people want to see a man about a horse and not put on a show at the same time.

The post Caravan, Exmouth Market (London) vs. Tweet, Uptown (Chicago) first appeared on Passport Delicious | Solo Travel Blog | Solo Female Travel.

M. Henry
5707 N Clark St
Chicago, IL 60660
USA

Date of Last Visit: Sunday, October 18th, 2009

The Victims: Christina, Kent

The Damage: $15 each + one $50 parking ticket.

The Background: I miss pancakes. And french toast. Home-made blueberry muffins. Corn muffins. Grits…I love grits. (And I’m a Yankee by birth. A southerner only by my parents’ retirement–and many would argue that South Florida doesn’t “count.” But whatever the case, me liking grits is saying something.) Ah, and I miss American bacon, crispy crispy American bacon. I never knew there was any other sort of bacon until I arrived upon these shores and was handed ham when I asked for bacon. So my first stop last week when I arrived in Chicago was breakfast with my good friends Christina and Kent at M. Henry on Chicago’s northside.

The Entrance: I’ve somehow convinced Christina and Kent to meet me at 9 a.m. for breakfast. This is way early for brunch. Even for the States. But we know M. Henry doesn’t take reservations and we also know they’re super-popular. And I also know that I’m super jet-lagged.

We arrive at 9 and already, there’s a 15 minute wait for a table. We power through it and nearly exactly 15 minutes later, we’re seated and ordering. Christina and I opt for the pumpkin and pecan pancakes, topped with blackberries, apples, and caramel syrup. They’re pretty outstanding…soft and warm and delicious. Ah, and two sides of crispy American bacon, of course. My only possible recommendation is the pumpkin…pumpkin on it’s own isn’t so exciting. I think they could have tarted the pumpkin up a bit

Kent opts for the breakfast sandwich. That’s toasted sour boule layered with two over-medium eggs, applewood bacon, sliced plum tomatoes, gorgonzola, & fresh thyme and served with house potatoes. Apparently, every time he goes to M. Henry, he tries to order something else, but he can’t. It’s always the breakfast sandwich. I have a moment of sandwich envy. But just a moment.

The Verdict: I like M. Henry. They do good breakfasts. Constructively, I felt our silverware could have been cleaner. And I felt a little rushed, but that’s probably only because I’ve lived in the U.K. too long and am just not used to having my bill arrive unasked for. I’d also say that if you’re visiting Chicago, you should only go to M. Henry if you’re up for a field trip…5700 North Clark is way north of downtown. (9 miles?)

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