Spoon - What we talk about when talk about Chicago Thai

Are there any gastro-frontiers left in major cities? Have Yelp, Chowhound, et al mapped even the darkest corners of metropolitan food-dom? In another era Thai Sticky Rice and Spoon might have been gems reserved for only the most cognoscenti Chicagoans. Western Ave’s unwelcoming blocks of strip malls and muffler repair shops would have proved wilderness enough to deter most would-be Louis and Clarks.

Instead, one can expect overflowing crowds at either location on most weekend nights (the weekends starting, naturally on Thursday - the new Friday). Dear restaurants: when your web site states no reservations, please do not reprimand us for not making a reservation. This should have been a review of Thai Sticky Rice, known as the premier Chicago restaurant for Northern Thai cuisine. Instead, a long wait forced us on the entitled, young white people version of a Trail of Tears: up a few more blocks on the same street for an equally celebrated Thai spot.


Neither did we make it easy on ourselves with a rotating cast that could swell to over a dozen or dip precipitously into the lowly half dozen. Sizzlenuts brought several of his Austin/cognitive science crowd, with Pointers and Chłodnik making their second GCL appearance, Manners and Chasing Amy their first. For my entourage, Mumbles and DiaBetty represented last year’s roommates, and Sags this year’s, and Chuckles, well, no one can figure out exactly what he represents.

To order anything but the fish dishes at Spoon (4608 N. Western Ave) is to cheat yourself of two simple joys: absurd deliciousness and the wait staff’s inability to orally communicate their own menu to customers. The Philadelphia fish didn’t have any cream cheese but it packed philly attitude; the same for some salmon dish whose name escapes me; the pork neck salad is unreasonably good; the green chicken curry was more than adequate; the spicy sausage appetizer however was shrug (oh Sabai-dee, will you forevermore haunt my Southeast Asian sausage experiences?).

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Isla Pilipina - yes, there's meat in that too

Somewhere between watching a small Filipina girl consume a deep fried pig knuckle the size of her head, and squeezing into Q-size women’s stockings (a not wholly unpleasant experience), I realized ManDates had careened beyond either mine or ToucanSam’s control. What had begun as a straightforward plan to sample Chicago’s Filipino cuisine with a pair of actual Filipinos snowballed into a logistical and scheduling task worthy of our nation’s finest autistics.

But it is only when meals move beyond the purely functional that the power of food to create a socially unifying sensorial experience becomes apparent (holy shit, that would have just won a 7th grade essay contest). Nine people of varying familiarity gathered together at a non-descript strip mall in Lincoln Square; two and a half hours later, a group of friends dispersed, bellies full and the pleasant sensation of an evening well spent.

Isla Pilipina (2501 W Lawrence) is far from the culinary center of the city, but the joy of GoodCleanLicks comes from exploring different areas, expanding our gastronomic chops, and talking shit about other people in classic tribal-binding behavior.

The décor is simple yet intimate, belying the fairly-priced menu. Stop by the adjacent liquor store or bring your own spirits to this BYOB venue.

It is a testament to the generous portions that in a family-style sharing situation; this writer could not muster enough space for the Kare-Kare (ox tail, tripe and green beans in peanut sauce) or the Tortang Talong (eggplant omelet) despite their obvious cultural cache. A fair warning: in a group of well-traveled eaters, only Argentine food was considered less vegetarian friendly. Even the ostensibly vegetarian Pancit Palabok (noodles in tofu sauce made with garlic, egg and onion) contain fish. This set off what I thought was a clever play on pesco-pollo-tarian by saying that I only eat vegetables and Presbyterians (a Presbyterian-tarian). Fortunately Principal Blackman’s humor hurdle rate remains easy to clear.

The Lumpia Shanghai are a generally agreeable if safe appetizer. The Crispy Pata (deep fried pork knuckle) is as much a visual as a gustatory. In my limited Adobo experience, Isla Pilipina’s award for its chicken Adobo is justly deserved. The genuine Filipinos seemed happy with the Dinuguan (chunks of pork served in a blood-based gravy) and the Bicol Express had an aroma and complexity reminiscent of Thai curry.

The Gulaman Sago was outdone only by the sweetness of my dinner companions: Kermit and Miss Piggy shared the deets of their upcoming nuptials; Charades – understated and enjoyable as ever; Uninvited 1st Year a credit to her people; Mr. and Mrs. Pink a pleasant new addition; and Principal Blackman a source of quiet cool.

And of course my partner ToucanSam absorbed the scene, providing running commentary, chuckling in that Bill Cosby-like manner unique to him and Bill Cosby.

The kind people of Isla Pilipina allowed the whole scene to unfold, not pushing us out when the post-dinner conversation stretched past closing hours, or badly time silences coincided with my saying something wholly inappropriate for mixed company. All ManDates have been memorable, but this one had the distinct feeling of a pleasant buzz from good wine. Our earlier foray with Hole-in-My-Sock and Huggy Bear unlocked the possibilities of stepping-out of the pair ManDate format: Isla Pilipina brought it to fruition.

All in all, good food, better company…which says a lot about the company.