Bird’s Nest – So Obvious; So Right

Whenever guests come to visit my apartment, I struggle about whether I should leave my New Yorker magazines in plain site on the top of the toilet. Visiting ladies, upon using the facilities, could either 1. be impressed by my well-read urbanity or 2. be disgusted by the implied duration of my BMs such that I would have the time to go through 10 dense pages on the emergence of blue grass folk singers in the Ukrainian industrial section.

This is how I feel as I write this review of Bird’s Nest (2500 N Southport). On first glance, it lacks GCL telltales such as location in either a hipster or ethnic neighborhood, non-traditional world cuisine, or gesture-driven ordering interactions with limited-English wait staff.

Lincoln Park is an anathema to some of my closest gastro-chums, noticeably Chlodnik, who requires of her bars and neighborhoods a high ratio of emotionally troubled yet strategically disheveled young men whose heroin addictions serve the functional purpose of helping them squeeze into their skinny jeans [1]. Sorry, Chlodnik, I will stop pigeonholing you as “my artist friend that lives in Logan Square” as soon as it stops being helpful for people to make accurate generalizations about you.
The fare is unapologetically bar food done greasy. They have the best wings in the city, with each of the five sauces equally good on different planes to lead to paralysis by analysis. I favor them in combination with the garlic fries and whichever their cheapest pitcher is for the moment (usually MHL).

As for the wait staff, they are by far the nicest hot waitresses I have ever encountered in any bar. And notice that I said nicest hot and not the other way around, a subtle yet significant distinction. Bird’s Nest made a friend for life when they put the Laker game on at my request in the back room. Sure, it was in the middle of a Sunday afternoon on a slow Chicago sports day, but I have been rebuffed enough times at other locations for similar requests that game must recognize game. Much of the credit goes to Kip the proprietor. He makes a conscious decision to make a locals-friendly environment. On any given night you can see people enjoying a drink while their dog naps at their feet. And no matter how crowded, the girls behind the bar flash you that special smile that makes you feel as special as your mom always told you you are (warning: you will experience pangs of jealousy when you see them do it to another table).

Of course, my love for Bird’s Nest is as much convenience as anything else. Within walking distance of my apartment, their bloody marys have been morning-after salves to a debauched Chittlins on more than one occasion. Bird’s Nest has been the background to many fond memories like the drunken shouting match with a bunch of douchey Midwestern puds for talking too loudly during their trivia night or the drunken shouting match with my douchey Midwestern puddy roommate [2] over objectivity in mainstream media (the only thing more idiotic than our argument was that we gave each other the silent treatment for a month afterwards).

This summer I can’t imagine anything more pleasant than knocking down a couple cold ones watching the World Cup. I’m still not sure whether you can truly review unabashed bar food. No culinary frontiers are pushed. No effort is made to pander towards either the Affliction or the American Apparel crowd [3]. Bird’s Nest: is comfortable with itself, but then again, why shouldn’t it be?

[1] This picture accompanies an article forwarded to me by Chlodnik about how Sizzlenutz and I are to her what PBR and blow are to hipsters. For chuckles I recommend reading the article
[2] Usually on GCL I work to come up with clever nicknames for the friends that make appearances. Samir is such a worthless piece of crap that I can’t even come up with a nickname that encompasses his entire douchebaggery.
[3] People in the know will point out that American Apparel already crested and could probably name more representative brands. That said, for metonymical purposes, it serves.

Friday night at Crisp

If you are given the choice between staying home to watch the Numb3rs season premier or grabbing a beefed up bimbimbop at Crisp – I would recommended putting on your best regular-guy polo shirt along with your Air Jordan Pumps (retro is back) and heading over to Crisp (2940 N Broadway) .

Lincoln Park, especially North Broadway demands a little more and a little less at the same time. For that evening I chose a chipper ‘Summer’s Over’ attitude that had been serving me well for the past few days but I came across an ‘Angry Man – old lady just ran over my foot with her tricycle’ attitude that I might want to try out next time. It turns out cursing at old people in foreign languages is far more satisfying.

Chittlins showed up late so I had to improvise when I got there. I wanted to take my critique seriously so I started testing out the confortability of some of the wooden benches when I began to get looks. Crisp went with the communal sitting concept, which is great except its communal. If you’re lucky you’ll get the bench partners we did and they will spend the entire time it takes you to eat to decide what they want to order. They will look at your food and point commenting on how they think they may like your order but without the carrots because carrots are for rabbits and they would add more egg and tofu because they need the protein, they’ve been working out recently and need to double their daily intake and … f’ing Lincoln Park.

Sorry, got carried away. Chittlins finally rocked up in what I gathered was a new O’neill hoodie; it still had that pre-wash sheen. It’s the type of anonymous apparel you see guys wearing when they walk out of the theater after watching Julia & Julia on their own. I never did get a reason for his tardiness. [NOTE FROM CHITTLINS: I HAVE THE TEXT FROM TOUCANSAM THAT HE WOULD BE THERE AT 7pm...HE ARRIVED AT 6:45pm. I ARRIVED AT 7:05pm. IT IS DIFFICULT TO SEE WHICH WAY THE BLAME ARROW POINTS IN THIS CASE] We ordered. I got the Original Bad Boy Buddha with Organic Brown Rice and Tofu. It came back all covered in Sesame seeds. I hate Sesame seeds. Why don’t people put that on the menu? Sesame seeds are like Bed, Bath & Beyond coupons, tasteless.

I’ve always had bimbimbop that is served unreasonably hot, this one is served cold, as if it is a brown rice salad. Despite my complaints, it’s a solid vegetarian option. The debate however continues, do you mix a bimbimbop or eat it by vegetable? Chittlins ordered the Seoul Sensation burrito and a side of Myon’s Kimchi. The burrito was had without too much comment so I’ll take that as a recommendation. It was also not the first time Chittlins had been to Crisp and had the Korean burrito. As for the Kimchi, it is apparently good enough you’d want to eat it off the sidewalk. Walking home Chittlins tripped over a leaf and dropped his plastic container of homemade Kimchi on the sidewalk. After having to pull out and throw away at least one piece of cabbage that leaked out, my friend couldn’t bring himself to throwing out more. So it ended up where so many other rotten cabbages have…