National Culinary Review

Anthony Tahlier

Gimme more

Dining in the great tradition comes alive at Henri, where stellar service complements chef Dirk Flanigan’s accessible food: here, smoked steak tartare with quail egg and potato chips.

Taco Joint Urban Taqueria and
Cantina
1969 N. Halsted St.
(312) 951-2457

If you want to see how restaurateur Edgar Castaneda will turn tacos and tortas into gold, meander on down to tiny, seemingly unobtrusive Taco Joint. This place packs one charming punch while leaving your budget intact. The menu is tacos, tortas, huaraches, guacamoles and a few other street-food snacks slipped into a slim railroad-car-shaped space with distressed painted walls and groovy floor tile work. But smallness didn’t stop us from dreaming. Or from experiencing rewarding, complex flavors.

HENRI
18 South Michigan Ave.
(312) 578-0763

bar drinking a heavenly juice squeezed from blood oranges.

Nobody can beat Chicago architect Louis Henri Sullivan for his ornamental hymns to nature. And nothing can beat Henri, the Michigan Avenue restaurant named in his honor, for its downright magisterial service, a stunning example of how hospitality should be done instead of just talked about. This is dining in the great tradition, with charming owner Billy Lawless smiling upon you as you dine in a room comparable to a comfy French salon, with buttery-pastel sea-foam-green chairs, glittery chandeliers and chocolate walls of velvet plush.

Be prepared to shell out for shellfish, chilled
lobster salad, truffle-poached lobster, roast
veal loin or a lovely array of daily specials.
But after a leisurely evening of brilliantly
orchestrated dining, you’ll believe life is
glorious, ordered, harmonious, mellifluous
and oh, so friendly. Henri is the kind of place
you’d like to dine with Bette Davis, and share
her take on the male sex, or with Marlon
Brando, and see how he orchestrates his
oysters mignonette or escargots Bourgogne,
or whether he takes off his gloves to eat his
rabbit consommé. If you’re solo, sit at the
Diving into savvy chef Dirk Flanigan’s totally
accessible, comforting flavors, we nibbled
on a crispy, salted, smoky stone-oven
pissaladière topped with caramelized onions
and curly green leeks—the best croque
monsieur ever to climb onto a pizza. John
Dory came bedecked with a crispy potato
galette, a dollop of white sturgeon caviar and
delicate droplets of sauce vert. Scooping into
milky-white whipped potato made us feel
like a flirty French coquette happily eyeing
her dining companion’s handsome portion
of elk paired with black trumpet mushrooms,
butternut squash purée and a frivolity of
shaved Brussels sprouts pretty enough to
twine around one’s neck as an edible scarf.

Let the lip-smacking begin. In fact, where is the magician/surgeon who can attach an endless flow of $2 and $3 tacos to our fingertips, including rajas—strips of poblano peppers and red onions sautéed in tomatillo salsa and served over black bean spread—one of nine choices that also includes pulled pork from the Yucatan and marinated shredded chicken from Mexico City. And where is the economic genius who dreamt up a yummy $5 huarache, a masa flatbread available three ways, ours piled with sautéed mushrooms, roasted corn, queso fresco and tangy citrus guajillo salsa.

Enjoy the utterly affable Sean, Dan, Rodrigo and Renee, servicing every culinary wish à table while orchestrating Flanigan’s symphony of comfort and taste. Add the impeccable guidance of director of operations Terry McNeese. Then, top it off with a silky crème brûlée—pastry chef Carly Sullivan’s touch of perfection—for a sumptuous evening of gorgeous, civilized dining.

Could grilled corn on the cob, soft as a baby’s skin and topped with tempting Cotija cheese and chile piquin, be a permanent replacement for lollipops? We say, si. And with mini tres leches cake for dessert, tiny moments of goodness (with more to come) add up to one giant winner in a small Mexican hideaway spattered with logos of liquid refreshments, where more than 50 types of tequila flow from the bar.