Once in a while, the Curry Fiend fiends for something else. A recent addiction to microwavable popcorn aside, sometimes a hankering starts brewing for something familiar, something hearty, a meal that sticks to the ribs.
I am no longer a vegetarian.
The meal started innocently enough. After a brief snafu entering the front door (it was locked...we briefly thought a private party was being entertained), we walked into a classic Chicago environment that more resembled a favorite aunt's home than a business. Family photos adorned the mantle, harried waitresses carried steaming plates of seafood and marinara and in-the-know patrons sipped house chianti at the small ristorante located in the tiny strip known as Heart of Italy. Settled in the early 1900s, the community is also referred to Little Tuscany in reference to the many Northern Italian immigrants who lived in the now predominantly Mexican area a few miles Southwest of downtown.
This place was about as homey as you can get, with waitresses speaking heavily affected Chicago English who'll touch your arm while you order and call you "honey". We were greeted with a fantastic freebie - a plate of delectable roasted garlic, which you can spread on freshly baked bread with a dab of olive oil and parmesan. I settled on the simplest dish, a bed of spaghetti with marinara sauce. I have this theory on restaurants that the best way to evaluate them is to order a really basic dish, like pad thai or a dosa or a plain cheese pizza, and if they execute the heck out of that, the rest is probably pretty good too.
But my pasta marinara never came. Instead I was given spaghetti meat sauce, which looked to be about the most fantastic concoction I'd ever seen. Generous chunks of meat market ground chuck floated in a sea of tomato red. My food libido flickered like an old Miller Light sign. "Send it back!", my companion urged. "You are a vegetarian, for crying out loud. You haven't eaten meat in 4 years, you could get sick". My eyes, wide as saucers, were enraptured by this exotic, animal flesh delicacy. If I send it back, they'll just throw it out, and it will be wasted, I rationalized. People are starving; I'd just seen them myself in parts of Asia. Just this once, I'll eat some meat. Hints of garlic and oregano were hitting my nose and the spiced devil flesh lured me in.
I dug in. That was one of the best pastas I've ever eaten in my life. All of the notes were hit and the Ignotz fare was a perfect representation of Chicago Italian, just as they've been doing for decades. No tricks, no trends, just perfect Italian the way Grandma makes it. After scarfing down that plate in the time it would take a dog to lick clean an ice cream cone, my companion offered up some of her lasagna, which I nibbled down in a second moment of rapture. Absolutely fantastic.
After we asked for the check (which was something like $28 for two, a heck of a deal), we were treated to a second freebie (USA, how I love thee!), a couple of chocolate-covered cherries drenched in homemade whipped cream. That put me over the edge, with my toes curling and my eyes rolling back into my head. In the words of the governor of California, I'll be back.
Ignotz Ristorante
2421 S Oakley Ave Chicago, IL 60608
(773) 579-0300
9/10
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