Illustration: Greg Clarke

A little more than six months ago I poked my nose into a new Thai restaurant in Bucktown that had replaced a mediocre Thai restaurant that had, in turn, replaced a pretty bad Thai restaurant. The new spot was called Eat Fine Design by Khun Kung, which gave a clue to the chef’s past as a caterer. I wrote up a little piece for the February issue of the magazine and recommended many of the tasty, fascinatingly different dishes I had ordered as carryout. 

Since that article ran, the restaurant stopped taking to-go orders. It put up a neon sign with its new, abbreviated name, Eat Fine. I tried walking in but would always hear it was booked solid. Soon it stopped accepting walk-ins altogether. Now, if you want to book a table at Eat Fine you have to text the phone number on its website well in advance of the date you want. When they confirm they’ll ask you to choose a menu a day before your visit. (Editor’s note: The restaurant said they are again taking to-go orders and will accept walk-ins when it’s not too busy.)

My advice? Assemble a group of at least six people and go, because dinner here is a blast and a half. This restaurant specializes in two things: delightfully over-the-top presentations and regional dishes from around Thailand. 

My group of six probably ordered twice as much food as we needed but wouldn’t have done it any other way. The highlights for me were a Massaman curry made with nuggets of sweet/funky durian fruit and a hilariously over-the-top fried noodle dish erupting out of a Cup Noodles container. It was delicious, to boot, with tender pieces of braised short rib and fistfuls of green peppercorns. Jumbo prawns served inside a flaming volcano dome also merited that one-two reaction: first, peals of laughter and then mmmmm sounds as we attacked the enormous crustaceans lurking under the dome. The restaurant is BYO and just a block down from the terrific Door 24 Wine

Greasing the Lily

I’m all for a yummy fat bomb now and again, but to me a BLT is all about the tomato; while the season is winding down, it’s still summer. Photo: John Kessler

I obsess over BLTs the way others do with cheeseburgers. My ideal version involves Nueske’s bacon cooked just shy of crisp, a homegrown Cherokee Purple tomato, iceberg lettuce, Duke’s mayonnaise, toasted sourdough, and enough black pepper that you can taste it. What I crave is that mixture of dry and gushy, crisp and slick, acidic and fatty, warm and cold, bright and smoky. 

The BLT at West Town’s Nettare has been calling my name because I know the restaurant puts a lot of effort into baking and sourcing local produce. Plus, they use Nueske’s. I finally went and really liked the sandwich, which cost only $11 for a lot of satisfaction. But it wasn’t really a BLT. The bacon was cut super thick and served hot and wobbly with a generous smear of “golden tomato aïoli,” a thin slice of marinated green tomato and a flaccid wisp of green leaf between two thick, toasted, heavily buttered pieces of bread. I’m all for a yummy fat bomb now and again, but to me a BLT is all about the tomato; while the season is winding down, it’s still summer. 

This also brings up a point of contention with most restaurants I’ve long harbored: Why is toast always slathered in butter or oil? More and more hamburger buns are buttered on the top now as well as the cut side. Charcuterie and cheese plates come with sliced bread that has been doused in olive oil and slapped on the grill, often adding an unpleasant gas flare up flavor. It seems to me that if you’re eating something fatty or greasy you want something dry and crisp as a contrast. The one exception to this rule, in my book, is a grilled cheese — also a sandwich I obsess over (I’ll die on the ‘brush the bread with mayonnaise’ hill), but maybe that’s a topic for another time. 

The Mouse That Roared

Have you ever been to Topo Gigio — that stalwart Italian restaurant that has occupied the same Old Town spot for 35 years? I hadn’t either, but man that side patio is a little slice of heaven. It’s a wonderful place to soak up the slanting rays, appreciate the smooth service from old guys who’ve been there for decades, and to watch regulars getting tanked at lunch (One lady: “I’d better not have another martini but bring me a white wine with a big glass of ice.”) I was super happy with a $13 appetizer order of grilled calamari served with a huge basket of different kinds of warm bread.