![]() ![]() The oil added an interesting element to the bittersweet balance of a chicory and persimmon salad with candied hazelnuts and Castelfranco cheese, and it perked up the earthy bass notes of a generous plate of roasted carrots and parsnips not much boosted by a dull sheep’s-milk cream sauce.Ībout the only dish that didn’t seem to beg for that chile oil was the aforementioned chicken diavola, a perfectly roasted half bird lacquered in a light sweet-and-spicy glaze. I applied that oil to nearly every little plate I tried: the seared spice-crusted tuna, topped with a cool celery-heart salad, already fragrant with orange oil the smoky charred grilled octopus, as tender as its accompanying fingerling potatoes the soft but pliable mortadella and prosciutto meatballs the crispy deep-fried bucatini pasta fritters. It’s a commendable version: a high, blistered crust descending to a thin plain of pliable dough leading to a soft, gooey center, with a judicious application of fatty cheese and acidic sauce riding the surface. With it I doused my margherita di bufala pizza-the baseline variety for evaluating any pizza operation. Either way, there was little I ate at Coda di Volpe that wasn’t improved by it. Or maybe Thompson errs on the side of caution, suspecting the default Lakeview palate has a capsicum tolerance well below the southern-Italian standard. It shows a remarkable lack of ego in an accomplished chef that he would arm his guests with the unlimited ability to alter the flavor of his food. One thing that clearly sets this menu apart is the presentation of a bottle of house-made Calabrian chile oil. ![]() It’s in this environment that Thompson presents a familiar menu template: small plates, antipasti, nine pizzas, five pastas, and a short selection of customary secondi (roasted branzino, chicken diavola, and a dino-size 16-ounce pork chop). ![]() If you find yourself overfed on them, a fun-house mirror above the steps leading to the bathroom will reinforce your bloated form, something that might have a negative cumulative effect on dessert tickets. Here, a long dining room divided by spacious clamshell booths sits between a bright and busy bar in the round (where a chummy bartender complimented a pal’s inaccurate pronunciation of chitarra) and one of those hulking tiled wood-burning ovens that have become compulsory for anyone wishing to sell Neapolitan pizza. Lawless, along with partner Ryan O’Donnell ( Gemini Bistro), brought in chef Chris Thompson, who for two years helmed the celebrated A16 in San Francisco, which focuses on the food of the southwestern region of Campania. Lakeview’s Southport corridor is the scene of his second Italian effort, Coda di Volpe, which unlike the generalized Acanto at least specializes in something-southern Italian. My instinct is to disregard these restaurants in favor of any kind that smells even remotely original.īut when a restaurateur as seasoned as Billy Lawless (the Gage, the Dawson) goes Italian, as he did at the nontraditional Mag Mile crowd-pleaser Acanto, duty calls. While there are fresh things to write and be excited about ( Osteria Langhe, Animale), I fear the oversupply of new, formulaic, pan-Italian pizza-pasta-piattini pushers might be creating an impression among unseasoned eaters that one of the world’s greatest cuisines is molto repetitivo. In terms of word slinging, the battle between steak houses and Italian spots for Chicago restaurant hegemony throughout the last few years has me running low on ammo.
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