mussels and pate

My coworker, Young Finance Guy, invited me and Tyler to double-date with him and his boyfriend for Chicago's Restaurant Week. I don't know if YFG has been to Restaurant Week before, but it was Tyler and my first time going to any sorts of restaurants like these.

For those unfamiliar with the concept, Restaurant Week is basically a week where all these restaurants showcase a couple of their best items (appetizer, entree, dessert) for a flat rate. Most of these places are a bit fancy so, traditionally, Restaurant Week is a way for us peons to get classy food for a bit of a discount.

We decided to go to the Bistro Bordeaux in Evanston, a very charming little French place where actual French people seemed to dine. It's quite small and cozy, with a coat-check near the front. A lone votive candle on each of the tables and a few small wall sconces seemed to be the only sources of light in restaurant. Very dim, very romantic. I'm afraid to say that I didn't take any pictures worth reproducing here b/c I didn't want to ruin the romantic atmosphere with my camera flash. (I have some decency, you know!) So you're just going to have to trust me on how delicious and beautiful everything was.

For the appetizer, I had the Pâté de foie de Volaille, or chicken liver pate.

Oh. My. Goodness. All I have to say is, whoever invented the pâté was either a genius or the devil. There is no in-between. The pâté arrived in a substantial glass clamp jar about the size of my fist, covered in a layer of solid fat sprinkled with chopped chives that you have to break through to get to the delicious rosy-grey liver, as soft as cream cheese. There was enough to spread through at least 2 loaves of bread. I barely got through a quarter of it on my pieces of toasted baguette. It felt a bit wasteful since like...I mean, the solid fat was basically a seal, right, which showed that they made each serving individually. This was not something they just squeezed out of a tube and slapped on a few pieces of bread.

I picked the Moules Frites au Piment d’Espelette for my entree, which was like a ridiculous number of tender mussels cooked in this outrageously yummy wine sauce and topped with shredded turnip and green olives. The wine sauce was so delicious, I could've eaten it like soup. The mussels came with a giant cone of skinny French fries and some sort of garlicky, tangy mayo-type sauce. Just in case my arteries weren't clogged enough from the pâté!

For dessert, Tyler and I shared the Profiteroles au Chocolat and Brioche Bread Pudding. I'm not a huge fan of cream puffs, so I definitely liked the bread pudding better. It was two squares of soft, custardy brioche that seemed to have been torched on one side for an intriguing, bitter, caramel-y edge. It was topped with a dense vanilla ice cream, caramel sauce, pecans and two slices of baked apple.

I almost passed out right there and then. It's actually what I am on my way to do, but I thought I ought to record the experience while it was still fresh in my mind.

On a slightly more historical note, Rahm Emanuel is now the mayor of Chicago. He looks like the type of scary, intense man that you never, ever, ever want to be stranded on a desert island with, b/c he will kill you and eat you with his bare hands so he can come back to rule Chicago. I mean, this guy is that driven. Who knows, maybe that's what this city needs: a guy who, if he really put his mind to it, will figure out how to shoot lasers out of his eyes. Maybe he won't be able to balance the budget, but gosh darn it if he couldn't turn himself into Cyclops.

And now, bed.