The Silver Palm - when less is more

There is an old saying that if you love something, you should let it go to Sweden for a quarter and use the interim to sample those meat-centered dishes that the presence of a vegetarian would prevent you from enjoying. I’m pretty sure that’s in the Bible - Old Testament or something.

The Silver Palm (768 N Milwaukee Ave) gained national prominence when Anthony Bourdain blew a gasket over the Three Little Pigs sandwich. Double smoked ham, fried pork tenderloin, two strips of bacon, an onion ring, gruyere cheese, topped with a fried egg, all nested in a brioche bun. If I were to write a novel about a rebellious Orthodox Jew, the climax of the story would occur when young Mordicai Moses Abraham Goldwater III sinks his teeth into one of these non-Kosh bad boys as potent metaphorical rejection of his forefathers’ faith. Unfortunately Tribesman Sizzlenuts was unable to make the trek, but Principal Blackman and Miss Piggy represented for my personal chosen people – Filipinos!

The converted rail car restaurant set a comfortable, subdued setting for a Sunday GCL evening. I was pleasantly surprised by the diverse and fairly priced beer menu. If I hadn’t been about to consume two pounds of pig flesh, I would have enjoyed sampling some brews.

Blackman and I, like the mainstream puppets we are, naturally headed Anthony Bourdain’s blessing of the Three Little Pigs. Miss Piggy opted for the more indie Duck Club Sandwich, which should be expected since she wears skinny jeans, duh.

The first two to three bites were a delicate interplay of flavors and textures. Halfway through the sandwich however, I could picture ToucanSam (ever looming), a horned helmet balanced on his head and a beer wench perched on his lap, guffawing as we slogged through our sandwich (are Vikings even Swedish, does anyone know? Am I just conflating Nordic with Saxon?). The smoked ham, which had seemed like a delightful friend in the beginning, became an implacable foe to be conquered. It was trench warfare the last quarter of the way. The demure Miss Piggy raised the white flag and retreated, with nothing to show for it except her shame and half a duck club in a box to show for it. Principal Blackman and I, bellies distended and bloated from pork flesh, were truly the evening’s winners.

The Silver Palm equation: one sandwich for every two people and use the savings on drinks.