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clark street restaurants

Get Above and Beyond at Uncommon Ground

Organic. Local. Natural. Sustainable. These are all widely used buzz words in marketing campaigns and grocery store chains. Somehow the 50 scientific ingredients utilized in the process of making what appears to be a cheese flavored cracker can also be organic. Who knew? I call bullshit. You’re not going to dupe me with your prototypical advertising rhetoric, not for food, not for clothing, not for yoga, not for anything. I can definitely admit when a product or store backs up their sales tactics by walking the walk, I’m just not so easily bought, and you shouldn’t be either. What a big city does well, at least what Chicago and the others I’ve experienced lives well, is making genuinely healthy, delicious food grown, bought and then made right in your environment. I do not concern myself with where exactly this farm or garden is located (this isn’t an episode of Portlandia, man they nailed that demographic perfectly), precisely how large the area is the animals can roam, how old it was when it died and how long it’s been dead before entering my very live body. It may sound cold. It’s not. I love animals, have tremendous amount of compassion for them, and am a long-time flexitarian. I cry at those ridiculous Sarah McLachlan commercials, I’m not dead inside! I just don’t delude myself into thinking those facts matter or that they’re accurate. If you are, you can receive that information while you enjoy a seasonal dish at Uncommon Ground. It’s been 19 months and nearly 7 full seasons and somehow I’ve neglected to write about UG. I’ve been there nearly 10 times now, had a great experience and even better meal every single time. It’s right near my apartment, which is fortunate and also dangerous, as realistically I should spend less money eating out and choose instead to eat in. But who fucking wants to do that? Not me. This is my work. Food is my muse and someday, someone will put a dollar amount on these words and I will turn in my receipts to the IRS for a full refund. Until then, I will continue to eat most meals at home, some at my favorite cheap spots, and some at the cool kid restaurants, where people with money and people who somehow manage without it go, where a beer is $6 and it’s organic, and I’ve never heard of it, and I’m sitting near a crackling fire, and there’s some genuinely cool looking light fixtures, and they actually make gnocchi (enyokee white people, not noki, just a lesson in pronunciation for your infotainment), and other special treats not carried by most restaurants. It’s gooooood, you should go.

Uncommon Ground’s friendly green sign lies humbly at the corner of Clark and Grace just north of Drunkville, USA, technically in Lakeview. It’s a little big for Wicker Park, little small for downtown, expensive enough for Lincoln Park moms to make the trek and inexpensive enough for other north-sider folk to ride the redline down. Despite my light-heartedness here, I genuinely can’t recommend it enough. The exposed brick, wood floors and various odd shaped rooms gift U.G. the charm of an old house, with modern spins on comfort food sealing the deal. They eat/feed as if they live in Europe, or that crazy country California, seasonally. What a notion, eating food that’s currently growing prosperously, during this particular time of year, in this climate. Forcing myself to eat numerous fruits and vegetables that taste like mealy, textured water does not equate to eating a balanced, healthy diet. It’s a lot of effort to figure out what’s in season where you are at this time but I’d be willing to bet there’s a handy chart out there, or a million books with words about nutrition. Or you can do what I do. Every season, make it a point to eat one breakfast, one lunch and one dinner meal at Uncommon Ground. Study the menu, notice how savory and succulent everything tastes, take actual notes or mental notes and then stock your fridge with similar ingredients. The rest is up to you. I’m not Sandra Lee.

Back to the intention of this article, yes there is one, no it’s not obvious, sometimes you have to work for what you get. And this shit is free. You get what you pay for. The best things in life are free. Wait...yeah, that’s right. Anyway, geez, Uncommon Ground has friendly, knowledgable staff, with senses of humor and personalities and everything. Their mixed drinks are awesome. I’m not much of a drinker, especially liquor drinks, but their Basilica Limon is so refreshing and their bloody mary is lick the inside of the glass worthy. They’re currently combining forces with a Chicago initiative, for every Agripolitan (a new eco drink) they sell, 50 cents goes toward the Chicago Rarities Orchard Project. They have great beer and wine as well, and unlimited glasses of Lake Michigan’s finest. The more you drink, the better the cause. Bottoms up.

important than the atmosphere, cocktails, projects or even staff, is the extraordinary taste and execution of every single appetizer, soup, salad, side, entree and dessert. Regardless if something is your taste or not, you can rest assured the item is fresh, high quality, cared for and then made to taste as fantastic as possible, blending unusual ingredients in the most creative and inspiring ways, leaving you pleased and also perplexed, what the hell is this and why is this the first time I’ve ever had it?! I’ve had meat dishes, vegetarian entrees, cheese dips, sweet treats and savory delights. I wish I could recall and somehow share in every meal I’ve had, through any season, but you’ll just have to experience it for yourself. Last week, after a sweaty yoga class, we all went comfortably dressed and stinky to a well lit corner in one of Uncommon Ground’s many cozy four tops. It was brunch, which comes with it’s very own menu and very own demographic, a diverse one at that. I ordered their take of biscuits n gravy, two eggs over easy laying so beautifully over said B&G, dusted with crumbled bacon and scallions, served with breakfast potatoes. My partner in sharing was one of my favorite fellow travelers and foodies, always willing to grab something sweet so we can share each other’s and have a balanced experience. She got the pomegranate and mascarpone french toast. I can still feel those tangy seeds bursting in my mouth. Wash it down with a PB&J latte. Oh yes, that’s a thing. And it is damn good, like everything else.

As if all this wasn’t enough, Uncommon has become somewhat of a home and platform for bourgeoning artists. They hang pieces of art made by local artists. They don’t stay long because U.G. has an eye for genuine talent. I’ve been fortunate to experience a few of their open mic nights, showcasing some of the most beautiful voices, instrumentals and all around truth I’ve ever seen. To watch these human beings be so vulnerable and honest, and feel so at home on the very modest stage with a supportive crowd is uplifting and encouraging. They have open mics nearly every night of the week, no obligation to eat or even spend a lot, just be a warm member in the environment. These artists are all worthy of your attention, including those working hard in Uncommon Ground’s bustling kitchen.

I believe deep within my gut that real food, that was once alive, from the ground and trees, is the greatest form of medicine, equipping us to not only live a fun, balanced life, but a healthy one as well; where we feel energetic everyday and sleep well at night, armed to deflect any negativity that comes our mind, body, and heart’s way. Take the energy you use in opening a can, jar, box or container and wash some produce. Your digestive system, and much more, will thank you.

Uncommon Ground is a place to absorb nutrition through every sense. Open up.

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Savory Sweet Pockets of Heaven: La Creperie

I enjoy food that comes hidden behind some gluten filled pleasure pocket. Man that sounds strange. Oh well, I’m leaving it in. Calzones, Stromboli, tacos, burritos, enchiladas, and any other Spanish word with delicious Mexican ingredients are a staple in my weekly diet. Beyond the above, along with various derivations of pizza, pasta and sandwiches, my ultimate ingredient stuffed pouch of carbohydrates lies with the French, in a crepe. Adding to the list of influences in my upbringing is my honorary father’s (I love that word over step-father, clearly it’s his honor to step in and be my father when I’m with my Mom. Being a step parent sounds fun for no one, but he did it well, and that’s why he’s my honorary father, my Daddy Don, Dad) French blood. At various times during my childhood, our Dad would spend hours in the kitchen preparing a very French, gourmet meal. Being a big breakfast person, he soon channeled his culinary discipline into making crepes, and boy were we happy for it. Our quarterly treat sparked a passion in me, and at times, I get tunnel vision and must have crepes.

When living overseas I’d grab a crepe, mostly sweet, wherever I could, and upon traveling to France and at another time to Greece, my love affair grew as I discovered crepes of the savory variety, and branched out on the sweet as well. Why am I rambling incessantly about one specific genre of food? Because when done well, there’s almost nothing better. Since returning home to the States, I’ve had excellent crepes in NYC, Florida and now Chicago, but none thus far have amounted to the greatness available at La Creperie.

I’d ridden and walked by La Creperie hundreds of times since our move to Lakeview. Each time I’d pass, I’d think, damn, I need that in my life. For whatever reason, through exploration of several other restaurants in every neighborhood in Chicago, I’d continually overlooked and bypassed what was sure to be a favorite. Last week, while contemplating and commemorating freedom, I thought of freedom fries, and how stupid that expression is, and so I set my sights on La Creperie, finally.

Two bikes and a skateboard road a little over a mile on a cool summer day. We walked into the very Parisian looking cafe, walked down the narrow hallway lit only by the sun, out to a beautiful patio to sit under an umbrella. I was immediately overwhelmed by the incredible descriptions and ingredients composing each crepe. The three of us were hungry so we each opted for our own savory crepe, leaving the potential to share a sweet one open. I ordered chicken with a creamy herb sauce and mushrooms. The men folk ordered ratatouille, and a tomato with onion and garlic, each also wrapped in the thin, buttery, salty envelope.

All I can say is you should see the faces we were making and the sounds emitting from our throats. I love how, similar to a piece of music, a flavor, an herb, a bite, can fill you with nostalgia, bring you back to a memory, a place, an emotion. Those crepes were unique, made with love, prepared with quality ingredients and expertise, and even though I hadn’t tasted the likes of them before, they felt familiar, they filled me up, in belly and heart. We were full, satisfied, high off of taste, ready for a nap. I wasn’t quite finished yet. It’s a sacrilege to eat crepes and deliberately ignore the dessert options. This isn’t about need or not being full, it’s about giving your taste buds a well-rounded meal, a rainbow of flavors, and making room in that second stomach to squeeze in just a little bit more.

And so we did, of course. We opted for the creme caramel, a crepe topped with flan (a dessert my grandmother makes expertly), home-made whipped cream, a clear, vanilla drizzle, and some fresh blueberries. Each component, individually, was top-notch and a satisfying treat in and of themselves. But like most successful entrees, the whole is better than the sum of their parts. Crepe, blueberries, flan and the corresponding sweet condiments was something resembling a religious experience. I cannot wait to go back.

For a slew of complicated and simple reasons, many Americans have misconceived notions about the French, France and probably French food, claiming they only eat frog legs and other bizarre ingredients. Let me say now that frog legs are delicious and so is almost every bite of food I was lucky enough to eat in that beautiful country. The people were friendly, sarcastic, artistic and interesting, nothing like the stereotypes perpetuated in the last 10 years. And before you über patriots get up in arms over this being a two-way street, I recognize the judgements and stereotypes involving Americans are not always right either. I respect their history, people, food and way of life, and I’m proud to have French influences adding to the fabric of who I am.

Explore your ancestry, and others. Food is love, knowledge, and community. Enjoy.