#astuchwouldhaveit

I told my sister to look up the translation of the word balena, the restaurant we went to last night, knowing that it meant whale, which I thought was amusing enough in itself. She, of course, immediately saw the definition “barrel of lard,” which, well, fits just as well. 

Anyhow, our visit to barrel o’lard was prompted by the generous gift card I received to the restaurant as a thank you for watching my impossibly cute “niece” (cousin’s daughter, not technically a niece, but easier to say than my cousin’s daughter) a few weeks ago. 

First things first: the restaurant itself and the staff inside of it are gorgeous. Seriously, 3 people who could have been models greeted us at the hostess stand and I was in awe as I plodded away toward my table. The structure itself has probably 20-foot ceilings -- it’s very open and bright accented by an enormous vase and bouquet of flowers in the middle of the room. 

Time for the things we ingested: um, there were absurdly good little flatbread crackers instead of bread, and I think it’s rare that a cracker can surpass bread just, like, in general, but damn -- these herbed beauts with big flakes of sea salt were 2die4. We begrudgingly shook our heads when the waitress asked if we wanted more... it was probably a good call, though, as I easily could have downed 2 dozen of them. 

Sarah and I agonized over the wine selection, but not because we were torn between the peachier selection and the one with stronger notes of apple, but because we didn’t know what the eff we were looking at in the like 30-page book. We settled on a very balanced Slovenian wine (we are 1/4 Slovenian so it felt right) with a nice bit of mineral to it. Very delicious. 

I wrote about those things because they contributed to the experience and yada yada yada, but let’s be real I just want to talk about the food. As Sarah previously mentioned, we knew exactly what we were ordering before we arrived:

Chicken liver mousse bruschetta w/ schmaltz onions

Octopus w/ escarole, chili, & lemon aioli

Orecchiette w/ kale & lemon crema

Sardinian gnocchi w/ walnut pesto, chard & ramps

Hen egg tajarin w/ sage & brown butter

#nailedit

Seriously though, all amazing. I’ll start with the bruschetta:

Like, OKAY. “Margot, they call it mousse, but was it really that different from pate?” 

Imaginary questioner, you ignorant slut, yes it was. It was that different. This stuff was light and airy and dare I say FLUFFY. It had a fruitiness too it that made it so you felt less like a barrel of lard (courtesy of a balsamic reduction mixed in, we later learned, because OF COURSE) and then those SCHMALTZ ONIONS to bring you right back into lard barrel territory. I think this may have been the best thing I ate all night. Oh, and the bread was of course dense and perfectly toasted and brioche-y. Gr8 canvas for the mousse.

Ze octopus next: 

Pardon the bad photo quality, was very intent on getting it over with so I could eat. This was a surprising one -- the chili was far more dominant than I was anticipating, but in a good way. It had an awesome kick that was balanced by the refreshing lemon crema and lemon zest. The octopus itself was nice and meaty, but may have been a tad overcooked -- I would have liked it to be a bit more tender. All in all, though, delicious.

And then, of course, the pastas. 

Sarah took this picture which explains why it is pretty. 

From left to right: Sardinian gnocchi, orecchiette, tajarin. 

Starting with the gnocchi: very interesting. This was a very nutty dish, and not just because of the walnuts -- the pasta had a sort of earthiness to it that definitely made it a very unique dish. Hard to put a finger on. It’s almost like it was whole wheat pasta? At any rate, probably my least favorite pasta, but still tasty and a nice contrast to the other two.

Next, the lil’ earz. This is just like, yeah, okay, it’s lemon crema and breadcrumbs so it’s going to be delicious. And it was. Perfectly cooked and fantastic homemade pasta, creamy without being gloppy, little crispy crunchies in the breadcrumbs... mmm. So comforting. The kale wasn’t too kale-y, which is a good thing for kale to be. Deliziosa

And last but not least, the thing that had brown butter in it, which, surprise surprise, was like a big warm hug. Tajarin, as it turns out, is taglierini (a long noodle) in what I assume to be Piemontese dialect, because it’s apparently a Piemontese noodle. #pastafacts. I’m mad at myself because we saved this one for last, so it wasn’t piping hot when we ate it, but still. It’s as good as you would expect given the ingredients, which is really effin good. Just so cozy. And I said to my sister, “I could totally recreate this,” but then she, with her infinite wisdom, was like well yeah, but it wouldn’t be as good without this specific pasta. And she was right -- the homemade pasta was so key to the whole experience. Tender homemade noodles are just as good as it gets.

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.