Chicago Dining - Charlie Trotter's

Charlie Trotter's is the first restaurant anyone thinks of when they think of Chicago dining. Chef Trotter has been at the vanguard of the Chicago food scene since long before he achieved household name status.

That said, many of the food cognoscenti warned me before my recent visit that chef Trotter, "has lost his touch," and worse still, they suggested that the restaurant is, "living on reputation alone." Nevertheless, I had two nights in Chicago and I just couldn't imagine passing through without having a meal at Trotter's any more than I could imagine visiting Rome and not touring St. Peter's.

Our party of six decided to more or less split the menus, with half choosing the Grand Menu and the rest choosing the Vegetable Menu, so as to maximize the tasting opportunities.

Amuse consisted of a more or less bland vegetarian maki on the one menu and tuna sashimi on the other. Both were beautifully presented and fresh, but otherwise uninspiring.

At about this time, one of our party who wasn't drinking asked for a Sprite. The waiter didn't miss a beat, but returned from the wine cellar with a bottle of "Amé," a slightly sparkling spiced fruit drink. As he poured it, he explained, "I think you will find that this goes much better with your meal." A little pretentious (what if she had really wanted a Sprite?), but the Amé was something new and interesting, and he was right - it paired much better than a thick, syrupy Sprite would have. He later swapped out the white Amé for a blush version as we moved into the meat courses (I didn't try either, but everyone else gave it high marks and I am told that Whole Foods carries it).

I should take this moment to mention that from the moment we arrived, the service was impeccable. Dishes arrived and were cleared in unison and servers were very knowledgeable about the ingredients and technique (at one point, someone at our table asked about how they make the "foam" on one of the dishes and the waiter launched into a lengthy explanation of emulsified sauces, proteins, suspended fats and immersion blenders). They also tolerated an endless stream of, "I think I taste X in this dish - am I right?" and dutifully returned from the kitchen with the answer any time that they didn't know it off the top of their head.

First courses consisted of a roasted hearts of palm with organic fennel and sheep's milk ricotta for the vegetable menu and a terrine of skate wing with artichoke, pickled grapefruit and cilantro oil for the grand menu.

The Hearts of palm paired nicely with the fennel, but like many of the vegetable selections, the dish was not terribly visually appealing and was fairly bland (in referring to the vegetable menu afterwards, we describe courses as the yellow course, the green course, the red course, and so on). The terrine was actually skate wing and fresh water eel, which offered an interesting juxtaposition of textures and married well with both the cilantro oil and oddly enough, the grapefruit.

Second courses consisted of a wild asparagus soufflé with fava beans and summer truffles on the one hand and Japanese hamachi with Indian pickle, Thai eggplant and lemongrass curry emulsion on the other.

The asparagus soufflé was the zenith of the vegetable menu. It was at once light and fluffy, full of concentrated asparagus flavor and finished with a bit of pistachio for texture (and to maintain the overall "shades of green" appearance of the dish). Paired with the truffles, it was earthy and rich and a completely pleasant surprise.

Similarly, the hamachi was a delightful combination of flavors. The fish itself was a bit over-cooked, but the combination of lemongrass curry emulsion (thick, rich) with the pickles (tart, refreshing) was outstanding. This was one of the best flavor pairings of the evening.

Third courses consisted of vegetable cannelloni with farro, kohlrabi and red wine emulsion (the "red course" for those on the vegetable menu) and Berkshire pork with braised salsify and chanterelle mushrooms.

The cannelloni weren't pasta at all. Instead, the chef used thinly sliced root vegetables (think of running a carrot lengthwise down a mandoline). He then wrapped these around a mixture of farro and kohlrabi and served them in a bath of red wine emulsion.

I know that farro is very "in" right now - it is hard to find (snob appeal), harder still to prepare (kitchen purist appeal) and it was supposedly used to feed the Roman legions (Classics department appeal?), but why serve it here? I mean really, take a step back - Trotter actually served a grain stuffed inside a vegetable as the pasta course.

Todd English is really quite good at this whole deconstructionist method of cooking, but for Trotter it simply did not work at all. The root veggies were not tender enough to easily manipulate with a fork, so that as you cut into them, they sprung open and expelled their stuffing. The sauce, however, was delightful. Next time, they should try serving the farro and root veggies (diced) in the same sauce for a sort of haute minestrone.

The Berkshire pork, on the other hand, was probably the best course of the evening. It consisted of pork tenderloin rubbed with cardamom, pork stuffed tortellini and a bit of braised pork belly. All three were excellent and I very much enjoy this sort of "Iron Chef" presentation - the same base ingredient prepared multiple ways.

The tenderloin was the most tender and flavorful I have ever had (later in the evening, in the kitchen, one of the line cooks confessed that the piglet had been alive not 18 hours prior, so that explains that), with the spice rub drawing out the flavors as opposed to competing with them. The tortellini were stuffed with ground pork - maybe a little confit - and were served naked. Finally, the braised pork belly was a rich and concentrated, melt-in-your-mouth, ooze resting atop a stack of salsify. Yum.

The fourth course was taro root cake with black trumpet mushrooms, braised Italian kale and orange lentil puree (which I later dubbed the, "black course") on the vegetable side and grilled Texas Wagyu beef with lobster mushrooms and red pepper/black cardamom puree for the rest of us.

The taro root cake was served at the extreme left of a large platter, with mushrooms and kale strewn about and a mysterious black orb off to the far right. As each diner poked at the object with their forks, they began to speculate wildly at what it could possibly be. It yielded a bright yellow gooey substance and tasted like someone had rolled an egg yolk in dirt (credit my wife with the description).

We asked the waitress what on Earth it was and she cheerily replied, "that is our six hour poached egg, rolled in dehydrated mushrooms.”

I will pause to let that sink in.

Like Yorick breaking the tension between murders in Hamlet, the egg - which was bizarre both in preparation and in presentation - reduced our table to giggles for the rest of the evening. As my wife said, "this must be what they meant when we heard that Trotter will do weird things, just for the sake of being weird." We never completely recovered from this incident.

The Wagyu beef was cooked to perfection, but like many high-end steer, it was more texture than flavor - if that makes any sense (i.e. unlike the truly sublime Mishima beef, the Wagyu lacked the fat required for real flavor). Nevertheless, it was excellent with the mushrooms and red pepper puree.

Our party had nearly recovered from the poached egg incident, when the sorbet course arrived. It consisted of rhubarb sorbet with sweet fennel, gooseberries and chervil for the vegetable menu and cantaloupe sorbet with yuzu and upland cress on the other. I actually thought that both were brilliant, but most of our table took the presence of fennel and chervil in their rhubarb sorbet and bacon and yuzu in their cantaloupe sorbet to be a continuation of the, "weird for the sake of being weird," theme.

The sweetness of the rhubarb sorbet played off the tartness of the gooseberries and the anise notes of the fennel cleared off the palate as well as providing a bit of crunch to the mouth-feel. The cantaloupe sorbet paired with bits of bacon was like a sweet, liquid concentrate version of jamon y melon and the upland cress and yuzu combined to close the dish nicely as a palate cleanser.

Dessert marked the first service gaff of the evening. We were supposed to be served raw Tahitian vanilla bean ice cream with red and black raspberries on the vegetable menu and New Zealand passion fruit with crystallized carrot and buffalo yogurt/white pepper sorbet on the other. Instead, all six of us received the same dessert, with the passion fruit and buffalo yogurt / white pepper sorbet on the left side and a layered "chocolate crepe" cake and lemongrass sorbet on the right.

The chocolate crepe was amazingly rich and, though we were initially skeptical, proved to be an out-of-this-World pairing with the lemongrass sorbet. The passion fruit bit was like a light, sweet pound cake covered in a passion fruit syrup that paired nicely with the buffalo yogurt / white pepper sorbet (the uber-sweetness of the syrup and cake was mellowed out by the heavy, dull, spice of the sorbet).

Then, there was the crystallized carrot.

Like the misplaced poached egg before it, the presence of a baby carrot alongside the passion fruit dessert (not incorporated in it, mind you) was too odd to be taken seriously. The table again erupted into uncontrollable laughter.

At this time, the wait staff realized the dessert gaff and promptly brought out three of the raw Tahitian vanilla bean ice cream with red and black raspberries dishes that were originally supposed to come with the vegetable menu. Extra dessert? No complaints here.

Full from the three hours of eating, capped by multiple desserts, we recovered again from our bouts of laughter long enough to order coffee and begin perusing the selection of mignardises. Each person at our table received a miniature bento box containing four mignardises. As each of us began to sample, they were met with choruses of "ooohs," "ahhhhs," and "what the hell is this?!?!"

The most obvious selection was the Hershey's kiss covered in gold flakes and served atop a sweet, lavender perfumed cookie. The lavender and chocolate paired nicely, but was overshadowed by the remaining three selections.

My wife had the misfortune of biting into what looked like a red cookie topped with jelly. Instead, she found a sweet red pepper salsa with rosemary topping. Huh?

Then, several of us tried the other cookie that appeared to be topped with strawberry preserves. It turned out to be strawberry and rhubarb compote - and would have been very nice - were it not for the presence of a caramelized onion underneath it. This was so surreal, that it took the six of us alternately sampling and discussing to arrive at the conclusion that there was, indeed, an onion there.

At this point, the rest of the table dismissed the remaining mignardises.

I alone forged on through the last offering and came away determining that it was a cookie topped with pineapple and baby basil. They were fun together, but not exactly the flavors I would choose to end the meal with.

Everyone else at the table was too afraid to try it at this point, reeling from the combination of poached egg, fennel in the sorbet, baby carrot in the passion fruit and onion in the strawberry rhubarb.

Overall, the meal was at times brilliant, at times just fair and at times, truly bizarre.

Sorry Charlie - you're living on reputation alone.