Pleasingly piggish

Now for your weekly food porn: On Wednesday we dined at the Purple Pig. I'd been hearing about it for over a year, but it's so rarely that I make the trip downtown any more. I was also still feeling trepidation on account of our disappointed visit to the Publican, which even if it lived up to its buzz still wouldn't be my favourite place to hang out. Like them, the Purple Pig has "communal tables" which says to me "noisy and crowded". The lack of prices on their menu wasn't exactly reassuring, nor was the fact that they don't take reservations.

But it all worked out better than expected: They have outdoor seating, and there was no trouble getting a deuce at 5:15 on a weekday. (That would've been easily done as late as 5:30, but by 5:45 all spots were taken and by 6 p.m. there was a line.) And there was no sticker shock: the highest-ticket item I noticed was $19. Even after stuffing ourselves and splitting a bottle of wine, the bill was ⅔ what it had been at the Custom House a couple months back.

The concept is "nose-to-tail", but the theme is "Mediterranean small plates". So we started off with Catalan sausage and head cheese, plus a selection of cheeses: blu di bufala, chevre noir (a Quebecois goat-milk cheddar), and délice de Bourgogne (which our server quite accurately described as "cheese butter"). monshu was especially pleased with the fuet and the bleu. I never would've thought head cheese could be described as "buttery", but that's what it reminded me of.

The pleasant bottle of South Tyrolese Gewürztraminer which the GWO, thinking of me (and the heat) ordered for us could only do so much to cut the richness, so we figured we should order some vegetable dishes. The charred cauliflower looked good; in fact it was excellent. Tiny slices of cornichon added just the right amount of sourness, and they used purple and green florets to give it some visual appeal.

But what I'd really been aching to try seen reading the first review was the fried pig's ear. The presentation is inviting: It comes in a pig-shaped crock, topped with a sunny-side-up egg. Before you dig in, you mix everything together--egg, thin slices of deep-fried cartilage and kale, and slivers of pickled cherry peppers. It's a perfect balance; without the bitterness of the kale and sourness of the pickles, it would be too much, a generic fatty snack. As it was, I wanted to order another immediately after finishing it.

And I would've, too, except there was more to try. We were anxious to see if they might be the first Chicago restaurant to get calçots right. They weren't. Has no one eaten these in Spain? If so, why do they insist on using scallions rather than something more appropriate, like cebollitos? Toss in a bowl of the blandest romesco I've ever had and you have the one real misfire of the night.

The favas were close behind. monshu didn't find them overcooked, but I did. They were also--incredibly--the only dish that tasted too salty to me. (I'm notoriously sensitive when it comes to salt.) But what saved that dish was the morcilla, great big unctuous chunks of it. We wondered if it might be house made, since it wasn't like either the Spanish or the Latin American varieties we've had, but we forgot to ask.

I thought we might go elsewhere for dessert but I couldn't remember the name of the dessert place nearby his_regard had recommended. Besides the wine list had the largest selection of amari we'd seen anywhere. I think we'd only heard of half the varieties. I thought a full glass would be too much after all that wine, so I only sipped a bit of the Old Man's Sa. Maria al Monte. That was enough: it's a fernet-style, too strong (80 proof) and bitter for my taste. But he loved it, so expect to see another addition to our amaro bar.

Meanwhile, I glanced through the dessert list and recalled a reviewer's rave about the "Sicilian Iris", a Berliner filled with chocolate chip ricotta. Like the ear, it justified its hype. I think the Old Man was serious when he asked, "Could you learn to make this?" With practice, I think so. Brioche isn't hard and neither is deep frying, but getting the timing right (so that the exterior crisps without the interior becoming magma) and the proportions (so that it doesn't burst) would take some practice. It's a sacrifice I can see myself making, however.

Service was excellent throughout. It's informal, so I didn't deduct for letting the water glasses run dry at one point or waiting a while to wipe up the mess I'd made. The important thing was that we never needed more than a minute or two to catch her eye, not even after it got busy. The crush didn't even affect the kitchen as much as we expected: we went from crazy fast to no more than ten minutes.

In short, we have to come up with excuses to come back to this restaurant. There's still so much to try--the sweetbreads, the pig's tails, the cured lomo, the St Agur, a half dozen more amari. Maybe even the mussels. Even I don't live on pork alone!