To Chicago for the weekend, Wendy and I celebrating our wedding anniversary with much architecture and adventure, and plenty of interesting eating. Alinea was a bright highlight, L20 more of a flickering glow (more of them both later) but the first thing we tasted in that famously toddlin’ town was a fine presentation of U.S. oysters at the venerable Shaw’s Crab House (21 E. Hubbard, 312-527-2722). No doubt it helped that we were both starving, having left our bags at The Drake hotel and then walked down Michigan in the teeming rain, ducking out from under our umbrellas to look up in admiration at the skyscrapers.
The posh side of Shaw’s (1940s-style, all polished wood, brass and white linen, the sort of place where you might see the police chief dining) is closed at lunchtime so we sat on swivelly stools at one of the comfortable wooden hightops in the much more casual oyster bar, chatting with the friendly waiter about the merits of the various Massachusetts oysters on the day’s board. In the end he bought us a selection, plus a couple of ringers from Rhode Island, helpfully writing each oyster’s identity on a paper napkin tucked under the shells. There was such variety! Thatch Island from Barnstaple Harbour, MA, was delectably sweet and creamily textured while Wianno from Cape Cod Bay seemed much saltier with an interesting bitter note; the renowned Cotuit from Cotuit Bay, MA, lay half way between the two in terms of texture and flavour. Rome Point from Narragansett Bay, Rhode Island, proved to be a great big meaty mouthful, not too salty but requiring chewing. Moonstone from Point Judith Pond, RI, was another sweet oyster – almost too sweet – almost bland, indeed, and benfitted from a dot of the incredibly tart frozen mignonette (like vinegar granita) that Shaw’s sets out on the ice tray. Our favourite oyster was the creamy Island Creek from Duxbury Harbour, MA, which stood out from its cousins with a delicious pepperiness and a hint of melon.
Patrick MacMurray of Starfish in Toronto had recommended Shaw’s for the oyster presentation, and we raised our glasses to him in thanks. And now that we had rubbed the sharp edge off our hunger we were able to look around a little more, watching the bar fill up with a healthy mix of tourists and locals. There were oysterly quotations on the walls and a framed photograph of M.F.K. Fisher, whose book Consider the Oyster remains a classic document. If we had wished to sustain the heavenly moment we should have stuck to oysters, comparing the other US varieties with the Canadian ones offered (a couple from BC, only Coupe des Anges from Prince Edward Island) but the menu at Shaw’s is long and tempting. Wendy ordered the lobster bisque which was thick and tasted of sweet cream and tomato with a hint of liquor and spice and enough of the flavour of benthic crustacea to satisfy. I ordered “blue crab fingers” which were the steamed, chilled, partially shelled claws of blue crabs and tasted of nothing at all.
We watched huge platters of fried fish and shrimp passing by, as well as battered halibut tacos and blackened swordfish with mashed potatoes. In the end, we asked for crab cakes which came lightly breaded and generously packed with juicy chunks of insipid crab. The presentation was almost aggressively artless, the plate crowded with a ramekin of industrial coleslaw, some garlic-laden creamed spinach and a pot of mayonnaise. In an effort to eat something local in the middle of the continent, we ordered oven-roasted Lake Superior whitefish. It was moist and rich, a lovely fillet crusted with horseradish-flavoured breadcrumbs and set over squeaky green beans and a timid caper beurre blanc. Decent food, but I couldn’t help glancing back to an hour before… There lay those oysters, just a memory now but still shining in a golden light.
Unfolding the map of the weekend we saw that L20 (pronounced ell-two-oh) awaited us – another restaurant specializing in seafood – I’ll get on to that soon.