You've got to love the little guy.
Deep in the heart of Bud country, Schlafly is sticking it to The Man one all-American ale at a time. Launched in 1991 and bearing a subtly audacious tagline, "The Saint Louis Brewery," the microbrew mecca turns out six no-nonsense beers year round (a pale ale, a pilsner—almost as if the brewmasters were trying to prove simple beer can still taste good), as well as a lengthy roster of more adventurous seasonals, including...
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You've got to love the little guy.
Deep in the heart of Bud country, Schlafly is sticking it to The Man one all-American ale at a time. Launched in 1991 and bearing a subtly audacious tagline, "The Saint Louis Brewery," the microbrew mecca turns out six no-nonsense beers year round (a pale ale, a pilsner—almost as if the brewmasters were trying to prove simple beer can still taste good), as well as a lengthy roster of more adventurous seasonals, including...
" />
You've got to love the little guy.
Deep in the heart of Bud country, Schlafly is sticking it to The Man one all-American ale at a time. Launched in 1991 and bearing a subtly audacious tagline, "The Saint Louis Brewery," the microbrew mecca turns out six no-nonsense beers year round (a pale ale, a pilsner—almost as if the brewmasters were trying to prove simple beer can still taste good), as well as a lengthy roster of more adventurous seasonals, including...
" />
You’ve got to love the little guy.
Deep in the heart of Bud country, Schlafly is sticking it to The Man one all-American ale at a time. Launched in 1991 and bearing a subtly audacious tagline, “The Saint Louis Brewery,” the microbrew mecca turns out six no-nonsense beers year round (a pale ale, a pilsner—almost as if the brewmasters were trying to prove simple beer can still taste good), as well as a lengthy roster of more adventurous seasonals, including…
After spending more than a month recuperating from knee surgery, I finally kicked the couch last weekend and hobbled back onto the scene—and I couldn’t have picked a better spot to remind me just how much I love nightlife in Chicago: Rebar. You might have heard of it. It’s that little joint from Trump and his kids in a building they’re putting up along the river. Opened last month, the bar—whose name nods toward the more than 50,000 tons of rebar, or reinforced steel, used in the tower’s construction—is gilded and sceney, with an over-the-top drink menu. In short, it’s everything we want a Trump bar to be…
From BB’s to Brigitte Bardot
The owners of BB’s (22 E. Hubbard St.), a pub that lasted less than two years, are in the process of reconcepting their River North space into Madame Tartine, a 1960s-style French brasserie. “French food is too serious in Chicago,” says Donnie Kruse, a partner. “We are going to have a lot of fun. Hubbard Street will become the Côtes d’Azur.” Kruse describes the décor as “feminine and realistic European,” and the food from chef Jon Foster (Savarin, Le Passage) as “approachable, honest, hearty French food.” (Think escargots, steak tartare, and plenty of rosé.) ETA: late June, says Kruse. “We’re just waiting for our trunks to get…
For May 2008: Union Pizzeria, Summer Noodle & Rice, Soul, Shochu
The new dance club Mannequin dolls up River West nightlife
Twenty-one restaurants, countless thrills. Several of this year’s top new spots bend rules and influences; others give classic genres much-needed shots of adrenaline. Either way, all 21 of them loom large in a booming restaurant landscape where it’s getting harder and harder to do that.
Foie’d Logic
Chicago’s city council repealed the infamous two-year-old foie gras ban on Wednesday by a vote of 37 to 6, thus ending one of the stranger episodes in local politics. Alderman Tom Tunney (44th ward), along with cosponsors Emma Mitts (37th) and Bernard Stone (50th), introduced the repeal with no debate, reportedly over the strenuous objections of Joe Moore (49th), who, according to the Sun-Times, said it would be “the first time in my 17 years on the city council that a matter was…
Seven great tacos that make a celebration seem in order
My evil plan is working.
Writing about beer means that globe-trotting friends now feel compelled to lug choice brews—beady-eyed customs officials and baggage weight limits be damned—across land and sea to satisfy my beer tooth. Insert devilish cackle here.
My pal Venus spent the last nine months in Paris eating pastries and writing a dissertation on French agricultural history. I spent the last nine months trying not to kill the plants she left behind. When she returned last week, she came bearing beer as a thank-you. But not just any beer. The one that got away: Adelscott…
Marcus Samuelsson lets his food do the talking.
