 Mod
Like a lot of cool places, Mod is not as cool as it once was—the first time I went there the crowd was mostly hip and faux-hip citycrawlers; a return visit months later saw a much older-skewed clientele; and now it's much more the domain of not-so-young urban professionals and toe-in-the-water city explorers looking for a taste of "funky" Wicker Park. With its eggshell chairs, pseudo-marbe vinyl cushions, arrestingly-placed mirrors, and bubble-textured bathroom doors, it's the kind of place that impresses mightily upon first visit. Connoisseurs will smile knowingly; more sheltered folks will be delighted by the "funkiness" and say things like "This place is so WEIRD!" As such, it's become my favorite place to take people who don't get in to the city very often. One recent dining companion said it best: "They don't have any bad food here!" True that. No matter what you order, from seemingly simple to intimidatingly gourmet-sounding, everything is, as Dennis the Menace would say with the chocolate-dipped DQ corporate gun to his head, "Scrumpdillyumptious." Or was that "Scrumpdillyicious?" Well, anyway, you can pretty much just choose at random, even if you have no idea what something is, when someone asks you for a recommendation. They're bound to be pleased. That's the situation I found myself in on my most recent visit, dining with my LifePartner™ and her parents on our dime. Social correctness on the part of the parents and indecisiveness on the part of LP™ forced me into selecting the wine, appetizers, and desserts, in addition to consulting on everyone's entrées. What do I know about wine? Only slightly more than jack shit, but I was completely open about the fact that I selected based on a hazy formula taking into account name recognition and, moreso, price. Go with not the cheapest, nor something ostentatiously expensive, and relatively familiar yet not obvious or pedestrian; that'll do ya. For the record, it was a Grant Burge shiraz, from Australia, for like $33 (the second-or-third cheapest on the list). Initially LP™ did not seem to like it, erroneously believing me to have chosen the cheapest one, and upon my correction this misbelief, she immediately began to taste the wine's bold body and multifaceted fruitiness. I assured her that later in the evening, she would experience my bold body and multifaceted fruitiness. For appetizers, we had smoked mussels (delicccccccious) and grilled porcini mushrooms (more subtle, yet still delicious). Entrées 'round the table: two Steak au Poivre, one King Salmon, and mine, the Grilled Pork Chop. Everything was excellent, leaving our tastebuds dancing the Lambada, the Boot Scootin' Boogie, and other not-yet-hilariously-dated dances. I get the Pork Chop every time, not only because it is so tasty, but because it is accompanied by Marscapone Mac & Cheese (truly, God's semen) and the freshest, crispiest, tangiest corn you'll ever have. Everyone was all "Mac and cheese????" And I was all, "Don't laugh—it's fucking good." I didn't say that out loud of course. For dessert, we all split an apple rhubarb tart and a chocolate trio, just like that time I was in that Nevada brothel and ordered up pretty much the same combination. Both desserts were outstanding. Too bad they didn't have the pumpkin créme bruléé, which I have only seen here on one visit. That was possibly the best thing I've ever eaten … including Mary-Kate Olsen's taut virgin minge. Coffee and espresso as a final apertif, and then they bring out a basket of cotton candy for their final whimsical gesture. You see, Mod doesn't take itself too seriously, despite doing everything exceptionally well. Service was attentive, knowledgeable, and unobtrusive—all the right things. $180 all told. Impressed the future in-laws, had outstanding cuisine, and somehow managed to avoid one of those clichéd scenarios wherein the credit card gets declined at the least opportune moment. Mod may never again be the true hotspot it was for a brief time, but there's no foreseeable decline in that. If anything, maybe this illustrates that the truly great (as opposed to the merely cool) is always discovered by outsiders and interlopers eventually. Same thing happened with Tom Berenger.
Review by Abel Packaday, May 2003 |
