Ruminations on Mac and Cheese, Calgary and Chicago

Mac and Cheese (bubbling cauldren of) at Table 52
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

It’s possible that I may end my days by drowning in a bowl of mac and cheese.

Macaroni cheese wasn’t something my mum ever served when I was growing up. I would like you all to believe that my mum would only ever serve a perfect spaghetti carbonara, perhaps followed by a simple green salad and then a piece of reggiano she’d been maturing in the family cheese cave, but we were more likely to get an economy beef burger from Kwik Save. I don’t believe I even tried pasta until I was 13 years old. So really I have no right to laugh at the Canadian obsession with Kraft Dinner, because I am sure that this is the sort of thing mum would have loved. I’m just so anti food stuffs that come in packages and are jacked up with preservatives, sodium and e numbers, that I doubt I’ll ever try it.

Luckily, lots of places serve beautifully home made mac and cheese here, and I think I might have to try them all.

My mac and cheese of the year (so far) was at Table Fifty-Two in Chicago. I was somewhat suspicious at first, as it’s run by Oprah Winfrey’s personal chef, and I wasn’t sure if I was going to get Fat Oprah or Thin Oprah food. Luckily it’s the former, and Art Smith is aiming to be “the home of Southern hospitality in Chicago”. It’s a cute little space, with a counter in front of the open wood burning oven, where singletons like me can go and try and chat up a chef. It’s great, they *have* to talk you and you don’t end up feeling all alone in a strange city. Of course one downside is that you also end up talking to the people sat next to you, who are also generally sad singletons and use words like “toothsome” to describe the cat-fish (yes, I nearly stabbed the man to my right) or keep telling you that you’re a food writer because you’re taking photos (no, I am not, as this blog attests).

The food at Table Fifty-Two is well worthy of investigation. The menu was full of things that I wanted to eat, most notable of which was a side dish of three cheese macaroni. However, I also really wanted to have crab cake with fennel and Georgia peanut remoulade and cat fish with bacon braised collard greens, hush puppy and cheese grits, and sadly I’d forgotten to pack my extra stomach for the trip, so I tried to score a half-serve of the mac. “Art doesn’t do half-serves” said the waiter. So I had to give it up and set to enjoying the wood fired biscuit they served me, along with a little devilled egg amuse.

Table Fifty-Two isn’t perfect, although the food and hospitality are pretty exceptional. They serve Fiji water instead of tap water and make a big deal out of serving Australian lamb. I get a little frustrated by this sort of ecological wastefulness. But these are minor points and this restaurant really wants you to have a good time, so I am going to forgive them.

And, of course, just after my cat fish was served, the chef came over with a cheeky grin and a bubbling cauldron of macaroni cheese. “I couldn’t let you not try it” he smiled. And I really wished I had packed that extra tummy. It was outstanding; amazing baked cheese lid, with lots of gooey cheese sauce beneath. I was counseled to stir the cheesy topping into the rest of the dish, but I always prefer to munch the topping first, especially the bits where the pasta has peeked out and you get these crispy, cheesy bits. Then you can enjoy the luscious, soft, creamy pasta and cheese sauce afterwards.

Another good mac and cheese, and much closer to me at the moment than Chicago, is at the Avenue Diner in Calgary. Their philosophy is about supporting local farmers and growers and serving really good, simple food to their customers. We couldn’t resist a side order of “Dad’s aged white cheddar mac and cheese” to go with breakfast, although we did forgo the optional truffle essence or marinated chicken. I really think I am going to have to start carrying that extra stomach with me at all times.

Avenue Diner is at 105 - 8th Avenue S.W. Calgary. (403) 263 - 2673
Table Fifty-Two is at 52 W. Elm Street Chicago. +1 312.573.4000

De Cero

Chicago Nighttime
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

One of the best things about Chicago is the easy access to a great Margarita and exceptional Mexican food. I can be as relentless as an anteater in my pursuit of a well made cocktail.

I had been in Chicago for less than three hours before I headed to Chipotle for some of their carnitas. Chipotle used to be a guilty pleasure for me, what with formerly being majority-owned by MacDonalds, but they’ve been free of the golden arches since 2006, so you can visit without putting your morals on hold. It’s worth a visit (although probably not worth almost missing an international flight like I did after one visit).

I’m not here to tell you about chain restaurants though. Monday saw me head off to De Cero, a “modern-day tacqueria”. Modern-day signifies that the tuna is ahi, the raspberry daiquiri has basil in it and they’ve gone for a “stripped-down” design ethos. If I worked for Wallpaper*, I’d call it “”a raw-urban aesthetic…with a hint of rustic”, but I don’t, so I’ll call it brown and acoustically-challenged with a hint of I’m sorry I can’t hear you. The only things capable of absorbing the noise in this place are the tamales. It’s busier than a one-legged Riverdancer, but they accommodated me. Chicagoans are nice like that.

I’d been guided towards the duck taco, so that was ordered, along with the ahi tuna, some ceviche and a goat cheese tamale. Oh, and a Margarita, because it was Monday and I am instigating Margarita Mondays from now on.

Chef Jill Barron (who has some interesting tattoos), describes the food as “fresh coastal Mexican” and I would concur, but suggest she tones down the lime in the ceviche as the fresh flavours of the baby scallops and rock shrimp disappear. It’s about as unbalanced as Amy Winehouse’s Glastonbury performance this year. Luckily the tacos are much better, especially the duck. It’s partnered with roasted corn, and the juiceness and sweetness of two make a nice two-part harmony.

Then my tamale arrived. I realise that I am about to have a restaurant malfunction. I don’t actually know how to eat a tamale, I had been seduced by the thought of hot chilli masa. I start scanning the room for clues, but my vision is disintegrating from the noise. I can’t see, it’s so loud. I’m beginning to panic. I’m an autodidact when it comes to restaurants and am happy to make mistakes. That said, most people don’t spend as long as me researching exactly what to do when you’re seated at the sushi bar (use your fingers for nigiri, chopsticks for sashimi, don’t ask the sushi chef for soup, don’t mix your wasabi and soy together and don’t dip the rice in the soy, just in case you were wondering. Any of those will have you pegged as a savage, quicker than you can say irasshaimase). I never expected to be defeated by a tamale though.

The essential problem is that I don’t know if the wrapper is edible. I have encountered a problem like this before, when I nearly choked to death on some edamame in Yo! Sushi! I didn’t know you were supposed to pop the beans out, so scarfed the lot. I soon realized you’d need the teeth of a ruminant to get through one and attempted to swallow it, rather than spitting it out discretely. This caused someone to have to perform the Heimlich maneuver on me. A tentative nibble on the tamale husk proves that it is, indeed, inedible, and akin to eating macramé. Crisis averted, I can dig in. It’s OK.

Of course I had to order another Margarita to get over the panic. Luckily that was delicious.

De Cero is at 814 W.Randolph. Call them on 312 455 8114 but don’t expect them to be able to hear you.

www.decerotaqueria.

The photo is of Chicago. I thought the photos of the tacos were a bit uninspiring.