Food Coma curtesy of Kuma's Corner

I’ve done a burger place in a previous review. THIS is a burger joint. Unapologetic, no-nonsense, huge, juicy, meaty, make a man outta you burgers that will ruin you. Forever! This place speaks to my cactus sensibility, rough around the edges, but a satisfying center, if you can survive the 2 hour wait, ultra loud metal blasting, shuffling in between bodies in the 4 square feet of waiting space trying to get an aloof bartender’s attention to fill your stomach with something during which the rage hunger is building incrementally with each song, each minute, each burger that wafts by. Only the strong survive. And I mean the hours before, the 5 minutes you spend scarfing, and the hours after, for this better be a day off for you because productivity is out the door as soon as you commit to this place. I wish you luck, strength, and patience. It’s worth it. I could describe my first experience at Kuma’s, which you’d undoubtedly assume is where the most interesting story is. That’s simply not the case. Went with my mom, brother and husband, waited a bit as expected, ate, enjoyed, left, slept. The most interesting Kuma’s endeavor was with three other ladies, on a cold Sunday afternoon. Well, morning into afternoon truthfully.

A special friend from Minneawfulous (the well-known town in Minnesota) was visiting a warmer climate here in Chicago back in the grey days of March. I was stoked to see her, and my other smart and funny friends, but they were just obstacles, or I should say, avenues, on the way to an amazing burger. We left at 1115 in the morning. Luckily we drove, as it’s west of California so public trans is out of the question. Kuma’s opens “around” 12. Again, unapologetic.

We arrive minutes before noon to the shock and horror of an open and running restaurant, stuffed like sausage with people, and the scent of greasy meat and spilled beer. The best. You can barely walk in, that’s how many true fatties for food there are in Chicago and there is truly no better winter remedy than hot, melty, big food. So we yell our name to the girl with gauged ears and the asymmetrical hair-cut, she shouts something about an hour and forty-five minutes and we walk back outside, feeling stung by the cold air and excited about the relatively short wait.

After minutes of red noses and bouncy knees we decide to brave the crowd, force our way to the bar and spend this 105 minutes the right way, by drinking. We all have boobs, if we can’t make way and get served, something’s wrong with this country. Naturally, all is right and we had delicious brews in our now warm hands within minutes. It should be mentioned here that I deliberately went on an empty stomach. It was a Sunday morning at this point, I’d barely been up for significant amounts of time and knew I had a heaping hot mess of food about to enter my hot mess of a mouth. I do not recommend it as a diet plan, it’s actually counter-productive, but this is about taking advantage of an experience and I needed room to challenge the shit out of my digestive system.

Kuma’s is small. They proudly boast about a 16x6’ kitchen and implore, rather demand, patience. Shut up and wait, do it nicely, or go home. Seriously, I’ve included the link to their site, read it. So blunt and wonderful. What they lack in horizontal space they make up for in the vertical. This place has pretty damn tall ceilings, interesting and provocative art-work, including multiple breasts, the aforementioned borderline death metal breaking sound barriers, and maybe 45-50 seats, including the few at the bar, for the fortunate single or double who wonders in and lands a coveted stool.

Back to the booze. They have really fricken fantastic Bloody Mary’s. I’m a beer and wine girl and I tried a sip of my friend’s and fell immediately in love. I’m in awe of this drink. I stuck with beer as they have a unique and high quality selection on tap. I had 3 pints. On an empty stomach. Yeah.

The over two-hour wait flew by! We had fun catching up. And drinking. Now for my 1st favorite verb. Eating. We snagged a four top, a nearly as cool server covered in tattoos and attitude, more beer (don’t judge me) and the glorious menus. We started with their famous jalapeno poppers, keeping it classy. We continued with our genius burger selections, all with clever names, assaulting your senses, and intelligence. Most are metal inspired, the “Megadeth”, the “Black Sabbath”, the “Goatwhore”. You get it.

On my 2nd quest for burger nirvana I opted for the Kuma Burger, #1 on the list, right out of the gate, in your face, 10 ounces of ground beef, bacon, cheddar, fried egg. Now for whatever reason it didn’t read as enough fat to me, so I added avocado. Haha. I laughed when I recollected that little memory. What a fatty. Oh well. This isn’t everyday, its quarterly, like my taxes. It also comes with delicious french fries, which I ate. Naturally.

So I finished the burger, on my own, no sharing, no doggie bag, just me and my belly in it to win it. I’m so strangely proud of this accomplishment. In my food and beer delirium I forgot that I had a class to teach at 630 that evening. It never occurred to me as a factor because this was intended to be lunch; but by the time we finished our meal it was almost 3! I was done. Gone. Sto finito, as my beloved Italians say. I mumbled some goodbyes to my friends and immediately threw my wrecked body on the couch, waved so-long to my mind as well and took a nearly 3 hour nap. I had to be shoved awake and somehow made my way to the yoga studio. A hot yoga studio, by the way. Beer, beef, cheese, fried potatoes and jalapeno poppers all somehow trying to get along and make their way through my intestinal tract while flowing upside down, side to side, and god knows what directions in 97 degrees with 40% humidity is not a recommended combination.

All of the above considered it was still beyond worth it. The burger is so damn juicy. Did I mention it’s served on a pretzel bread bun? The beer is so refreshing, makes the waiting, and the chewing, much easier. This happened months ago and the memory is still so profound despite alcohol use and coma causing food. This is because of the defiantly bold atmosphere and flavors and who you choose to take it all in with. I can’t wait until my quarterly return.

Burgers are about $10-12 a pop, including fries, and if you’re not a glutinous pig like the author of this review you may stretch it into 2 meals, as the burgers are large. Perhaps you can split one and share their mac n cheese, which is as aggressively delightful as everything else at Kuma’s.

Life is too short to eat mediocre or boring food and the same goes with the company you keep. Set the standards high and your life will be memorable, to you, which is most important. There’s Dr. Danielle’s advice for the month.

Mmmmm!

Unlock your jaw. Bite into a high quality burger. Wipe your face. Wash it down with equally high quality beer. Enjoy.

Oh My Crust!

Oh my Crust! Pequod's! Three words: Chicago. Style. Pizza. This evokes a variety of reactions from people who, for whatever reason, claim some sort of expertise on the consumption and critiquing of pizza. There’s the classic debate, NYC v. Chicago, for many things other than pizza, but food seems to be on top of that list. I’ll come right out and say right now that I typically prefer New York style pizza, but as a foodie I find myself loving pizza in all forms, and I crave Chicago pizza strongly. It’s a very specific desire that only this style pizza can fulfill, and in my humble opinion only one establishment can truly satisfy. Pequod’s.

Yep, Pequod’s pizza. Strange name, even stranger meaning. Something to do with Moby Dick, the logo is a whale with a thong over it’s face? Try finding the metaphor or symbolism in that. Regarding pizza. No clue. As I’ve so eloquently stated before, I don’t care. And neither do you. I’m sure there’s some literature out there with the story, but I was too concerned smelling and tasting delicious pizza to care. The pizza is beyond excellent, and that’s all any of us really care to know.

Winning the genetic lottery as I did, I was born with Italian blood coursing through my otherwise American veins. I also lived in the blessed country for three years. This gave me the built in right to judge food on such a ridiculously high standard and therefore have pure disdain for anything mediocre and everything cliche. Sure, I’m cliche in many ways, but not with food. You’ll never hear me enthusiastically revisiting a delicious Pizza Hut pie I consumed, or McDonald’s hamburger, or Subway sandwich. Mom n Pop, individually run establishments are always %100 better than any chain. Of course this is a matter of “taste”, but I’ll just say I’m confident you as the reader can trust my taste because of the standards my family so lovingly instilled. I know pizza, trust me. And thanks to a local friend, we were lead in the right direction, straight to Pequod’s. Ask a local, always.

So I’ve had Uno’s, Lou Malnati’s, Gino’s and Giordano’s. All are well known pizza places here in Chicago with multiple locations and an underlying rivalry. Similar to Pat’s and Gino’s cheesesteak in Philly, all claim to have the #1 best pan pizza here in Chicago. To all I call bullshit. You’ll enjoy yourself, don’t get me wrong. I’m not a snob. In a real fatty moment I can slather garlic butter all over Papa John’s and force it down my gullet, but this is about quality, an experience, something you won’t forget. Having family in Philly, speaking for them I know there are better cheesesteaks than the famous Pat’s or Gino’s. And the same can be said for Chicago.

Pequod’s has two locations, on N Clybourn Ave, between Webster and Greenview, in the neighborhood DePaul, western Lincoln Park, so college kids are abound and certainly a large part of the clientele in this place. The other is in a suburb called Morton Grove, won’t be trekking out there any time soon. It’s essentially a sports bar. Plenty of flat screens to watch any Chicago team currently playing, a decent sized bar and surrounding booths on two levels. It’s always busy, but you won’t ever have to wait too long. Pan (deep dish) pizzas take a good 45 minutes to cook, so you have the option of placing your order while still waiting for a table and I highly recommend you do that. As soon as you smell the cheese and sauce combination and catch a glimpse of the beautiful masterpiece you will be ruthless in your pursuit. Grab one of Chicago’s many delicious local brews, something of a Goose Island variety perhaps.

I’m choosing to discuss the pan pizza, because I’ve visited Pequod’s 3-4 times now and I’ve never wanted anything else. It should be said; however, that they do offer thin crust. So order that if you must. I’ll be reviewing thin crust eateries soon. After 45 minutes of painful anticipation, a deep dish consiglieri will bring your pizza, place the pan on a thick, wooden cutting board, and cut through that crunchy thick crust himself and place it on your plate. I most often opt for mushrooms and fresh tomato on top of the cheese, but you can add any combination of fresh toppings, meat, veggie, or cheese. Dust the top with a little parmesan and you’re good to go.

What makes this pizza such a stand-out is the crust, as is often the case with any type of pizza. With deep dish it's essential. Pequod’s crust is buttery and carmelized and thick, but never soggy, never succumbing to the tall layers of cheese, sauce and whatever else you’ve chosen to challenge it with. You fork and knife this pizza, which may throw you off, but it’s worth it. It’s more than a pizza. It’s a visceral experience. The cheese is gooey and smooth, the sauce savory and not too sweet or overwhelming, and the extras are top quality, but they all pale in comparison to the crust. It’s so crunchy that it has syllables when you bite. C-c-c-crunch! Not simply, crunch! Like any impeccable pie, the crust is almost crumbly when you bite, but hugs and supports it’s ingredients valiantly.

When we have visitors here in Chicago, everyone wants a Chicago style dog and Chicago style pizza. And while most are ignorant enough to want Uno’s, my judgmental ass won’t let that happen. They’ll be visiting Pequod’s if I can help it, and they’ll slap me they’re so satisfied. I’m still a lover of all pizzas, thin crust usually winning out, and it should be stated here that this pizza is not the best left over. But stuffing yourself with a fresh, just out of the oven deep dish Pequod’s pizza will be nothing less than memorable. I hope you get the chance to eat here.

Pequod's

Bite. Chew. Crunch. Mmmm. Enjoy.

O.M.G.-D.M.K.

DMK I’m observing many acronyms in my restaurant choices, not sure why. It’s purely a coincidence and this particular establishment has no full name. I’m guessing DMK is the owner’s initials or the initials of each owner, I don’t know. I also don’t care, and neither do you. DMK specializes in burgers, so vegetarians and meat-phobics beware. Nestled in between Lakeview and Lincoln Park on the 3000 block of north Sheffield, near the Wellington Brown Line stop, DMK is the perfect combination of each neighborhood, both swanky and casual, vintage and modern, lively and understated. It’s situated in a brick and mortar building with large red letters out front donning its name, boldly drawing in customers with a craving. As with many of my favorite restaurants, the brick is also exposed on the interior, the layout is narrow with tall ceilings, a mixture of four and two-top black tables, dim lit modern light fixtures and loud music. Not so loud you have to shout, but let’s just say those who refuse to wear hearing aids won’t have issues enjoying the music. Not that they’re dining in, they’re most likely asleep by the time we’re eating.

We were having one of those Tuesday night cravings for unhealthy food. The kind that would soak up remaining alcohol from the previous night, if you had any. In our case, it was soaking up alcohol and whatever else from Saturday night, so this food had some serious work to do. We braved wicked wind and rain to walk about .7 miles in order to reach our chosen burger joint. Upon entering, I was impressed and horrified by the decor and clientele, mainly because I was grossly underdressed, just gross. I had a burger joint in mind and what I found was a more of a combination of bistro and bar. I love this, I just wasn’t expecting it. We arrived around 8 and the place was hoppin, but luckily we were seated in a cozy two-top right away. It’s very Chicago or New York, where you either have to squeeze in between two tables to sit, as the seats against the wall are boothed, or you physically pull out the table to ensure there’s no drink spillage or coats dipped in food situations. I chose the squeeze option, as I like a challenge.

Great beer selection, we each had a Fat Tire for $3! That’s damn good, especially here. You can’t just have water with a burger, especially not at posh place like this. The wait staff we’re all above average adorable (I also enjoy alliteration), ours resembling Michael Cera’s ex-girlfriend from Nick and Nora’s infinite playlist. Another walked like she was auditioning for America’s Next Top Model. I’m nothing if not referencey.

Let me just relieve the beef haters and strict vegetarians right now...there’s a veggie burger, turkey burger, and salmon burger options, all very popular and highly rated. We did not opt for these options for the aforementioned reasons. And because we’re occasionally meat-eating, selfish assholes. I ordered the patty melt. It was like a heavenly version of Steak ‘n’ Shake’s frisco melt. Grass fed beef, smoked bacon (not sure what that was fed), burnt onions (holy hell in a hand basket, those were SO good!), Leroy’s Remoulade (I’m not sure I want to venture a guess there, but it was good, thousandislandy.), smoked swiss (duh!), on griddled rye bread (yowzah). So if you got through all that and still understood then well done to you. Fancy words and ingredients mean nothing. Did it taste good? Hell yes it did! Could I have eaten another one as I hoovered it in about 90 seconds? Yes, shamefully, I could have.

My partner in tasty murder that evening was Derek, the husband to my wife, and he had the #4, a burger also accompanied by bacon and cheese, but also including a fried farm egg and green chile sauce giving it a really fun kick. His was good too. Now, you can’t have burgers without fries, unless you’re some freedom hating nazi, and we’re freedom lovers proudly wearing our patriotism on our sleeves. DMK has a great selection of fries, including a basic fry, sweet potato and then some fun options you’d expect from a place of this calibre. We opted for the parmesan fries with truffle cream. They were better than they read, crunchy enough, fresh, dusted in actual parmesan shavings and the truffle cream we slathered over them like sloths was the perfect compliment. It should be mentioned here that they have home-made mac ‘n’ cheese that I had trouble resisting and I plan to order it next time. Like their burgers, it’s also highly rated and recommended.

Besides the varied selection of beers to wash down your burger, if you want to be a real American, you also order a shake. As we did. One for each of us. It was one of those nights for sure. And it was 38 degrees outside, we could not be deterred. Like everything else, it was very satisfying.

Each burger is $8, unless otherwise specified and a small order of fries, enough to feed two, is $4. With a big appetite, you’ll make it out of there spending about $25-30, not bad for a burger with a side of swank. I’ll give DMK the highest compliment I can and say, I’ll definitely be back.

D.M.K.

Eat. Drink. Eat. Eat. Gulp. Enjoy.