Nov. 21st, 2013 10:11 pm
It's not bragging
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muckefuckWe need a new computer chair. ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu purchase from when we first moved in here (and which I always hated) has finally fallen apart and the old dining room chair I'm sitting on now simply doesn't cut it. With this in mind, we met up at the Office Max in downtown Evanston and surrendered ourselves to their maladroit attempts to sell us one. The first clerk didn't know the stock and kept trying to close a sale despite my obvious dissatisfaction with each of the scanty choices. The second was astonished (and apologetic) to see that more than half of the floor models had been sold over the past day or so. The best she could do was tell us that another, much less convenient location had more.
But the evening was saved because we followed up our shopping follies with a visit to Found, a newish restaurant with a lot of good buzz. It has pretensions but--astonishly--it lives up to them. Every new place claims to be seasonal and locally sourced, but here the root vegetables actually tasted like someone had just dug them out of the backyard to mandolin them for our hummus flatbread. Though what really impressed about that dish was that it was balanced and flavourful with no "cheats"--no bacon, no carmelised onion, no goat cheese, no heavy doses of spice or sauce. Everything was present in every bite and it all added up to more than the sum of it parts.
And that wasn't just the flatbread. I felt the same about the meatball appetiser and the peameal bacon sandwich. (When's the last time you had a bacon sandwich where the pork was an equal partner with the other ingredients?) And--for once--flawless execution on everything. Literally my only complaints were (1) the dark and stormy was a little light on the rum and (2) the pecan ice cream was served too hard and I had to wait for it to soften. Uncommon Ground, next to Found, you are no better than Bennigan's. Go find your fair trade handwoven sustainably-raised organic cotton handkerchief and weep into it!
In particular, one of the things I admired about their taste palate was that they weren't afraid of sourness. In a world where almost everyone else errs on the side of too much sweetness, this was a refreshing change. Their house-made ginger beer, for instance, is miles away from any bottled brand you've ever had (which generally contain enough sugar to put Mountain Dew to shame). The thinly-sliced pickles on the sandwich kept in check the richness of both the meat and the sauce dijonnaise (which was too light to make you think it had anything in common with ordinary mayo). The only thing without a sour note was the pecan ice cream I finished with, and this had pleasant hints of bitterness.
The one stain on the evening (well, apart from the hideous painted animal heads in the loo) was the service style. The servers were everything you could want--knowledgeable, snappy, attentive, etc.--but they were also annoying. Overhearing the chirpy shpiel from the neighbouring table, I secretly prayed I hope she's not our waitron. She wasn't--but her counterpart spoke to us in precisely the same irritating style. Who the hell in this world thinks that greeting someone with "How are we doing this evening?" is appropriate to anyone who's not a boorish superannuated health care provider? (And since that fell short of ludicrousness, he followed up with, "And have we dined with us before?" Um, yeah, I'm going to presume you've eaten in your own fucking restaurant.)
But the cheery chumminess was undentable. I answered, "How are we enjoying the sandwiches?" with, "Mine's fine--how's yours?" And without missing a beat, he told me he'd been "chomping away" on one behind the bar. As I was leaving, I caught the eye of a server who was trapped by the bar with two plates to deliver and pointed with my head to indicate she should cross in front of me, which she did with a shrug and a smile. It's noisy (though not nearly as bad as many trendy places I've been) and too spendy to be more than an occasional treat. But as long as they don't get complacent and start to lose their game, they'll be seeing us again.
monshu purchase from when we first moved in here (and which I always hated) has finally fallen apart and the old dining room chair I'm sitting on now simply doesn't cut it. With this in mind, we met up at the Office Max in downtown Evanston and surrendered ourselves to their maladroit attempts to sell us one. The first clerk didn't know the stock and kept trying to close a sale despite my obvious dissatisfaction with each of the scanty choices. The second was astonished (and apologetic) to see that more than half of the floor models had been sold over the past day or so. The best she could do was tell us that another, much less convenient location had more.But the evening was saved because we followed up our shopping follies with a visit to Found, a newish restaurant with a lot of good buzz. It has pretensions but--astonishly--it lives up to them. Every new place claims to be seasonal and locally sourced, but here the root vegetables actually tasted like someone had just dug them out of the backyard to mandolin them for our hummus flatbread. Though what really impressed about that dish was that it was balanced and flavourful with no "cheats"--no bacon, no carmelised onion, no goat cheese, no heavy doses of spice or sauce. Everything was present in every bite and it all added up to more than the sum of it parts.
And that wasn't just the flatbread. I felt the same about the meatball appetiser and the peameal bacon sandwich. (When's the last time you had a bacon sandwich where the pork was an equal partner with the other ingredients?) And--for once--flawless execution on everything. Literally my only complaints were (1) the dark and stormy was a little light on the rum and (2) the pecan ice cream was served too hard and I had to wait for it to soften. Uncommon Ground, next to Found, you are no better than Bennigan's. Go find your fair trade handwoven sustainably-raised organic cotton handkerchief and weep into it!
In particular, one of the things I admired about their taste palate was that they weren't afraid of sourness. In a world where almost everyone else errs on the side of too much sweetness, this was a refreshing change. Their house-made ginger beer, for instance, is miles away from any bottled brand you've ever had (which generally contain enough sugar to put Mountain Dew to shame). The thinly-sliced pickles on the sandwich kept in check the richness of both the meat and the sauce dijonnaise (which was too light to make you think it had anything in common with ordinary mayo). The only thing without a sour note was the pecan ice cream I finished with, and this had pleasant hints of bitterness.
The one stain on the evening (well, apart from the hideous painted animal heads in the loo) was the service style. The servers were everything you could want--knowledgeable, snappy, attentive, etc.--but they were also annoying. Overhearing the chirpy shpiel from the neighbouring table, I secretly prayed I hope she's not our waitron. She wasn't--but her counterpart spoke to us in precisely the same irritating style. Who the hell in this world thinks that greeting someone with "How are we doing this evening?" is appropriate to anyone who's not a boorish superannuated health care provider? (And since that fell short of ludicrousness, he followed up with, "And have we dined with us before?" Um, yeah, I'm going to presume you've eaten in your own fucking restaurant.)
But the cheery chumminess was undentable. I answered, "How are we enjoying the sandwiches?" with, "Mine's fine--how's yours?" And without missing a beat, he told me he'd been "chomping away" on one behind the bar. As I was leaving, I caught the eye of a server who was trapped by the bar with two plates to deliver and pointed with my head to indicate she should cross in front of me, which she did with a shrug and a smile. It's noisy (though not nearly as bad as many trendy places I've been) and too spendy to be more than an occasional treat. But as long as they don't get complacent and start to lose their game, they'll be seeing us again.
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