Rick Bayless is known for many things: his television show, his award-winning cookbooks, and his line of chips and salsa. But sometimes people forget that when it really comes down to it, he is not just "Rick Bayless, Cookbook Author." He is first and foremost a chef.
The first time I ever saw Bayless on television, he was on an episode of Julia Child's show, In Julia's Kitchen with Master Chefs. Out of curiosity, and literally just a minute ago, I looked up the original air date of this episode. I was not even two years old when this episode debuted, my friends. And Bayless had already been in the industry for a good ten years or more before that. Obviously I didn't watch the show on its original air date, but I have seen it nonetheless, and it's really interesting to see that Bayless's take on food hasn't really changed much since then.
My real interest in Bayless's cooking came about as a result of his PBS show, Mexico: One Plate at a Time. I love Mexican food, and it has always been fun for me to see how it is made. I knew that he had two restaurants in downtown Chicago, Topolobampo and Frontera (he's recently added a third, Xoco), and ever since I really got into watching his cooking show, I had wanted to try the food at one of the restaurants, even though for some reason I thought I would never get the chance.
My opportunity came at the most unusual of times. My parents and I had just finished a college visit at Loyola, and were looking for someplace to eat. I casually threw out Frontera as an option, and my parents essentially said, 'Hey, why not?'
The first thing I noticed when we went inside was the look of the restaurant. It is just cool. Just inside the front door, there was an orangey-yellow wall festooned with paper monarch butterflies, meant to represent the migratory route that the butterflies take during the winter. I mean, how awesome is that?!?
When you walk through the bar area (pictured at left), one of the more unusual pieces of decor are the large, brightly-colored statues perched atop shelves. They are examples of traditional Mexican folk art, and I'm not entirely sure what they're called. They look like demons, dragons, and animals, and as bizarre as they may seem at first, they are really beautiful.
There was about a fifteen-minute wait, even though it was about one-thirty in the afternoon on a Wednesday, but boy, was it worth it. We were seated in a prime spot near the bar, in an elevated alcove where we could oversee the entire room.
The dining room is a cool space. The walls are that same yellow-orange, which really gives warmth to the space. The ceilings are industrial-looking, which works for me because it gives a certain openness to the space, which might otherwise have been overwhelmed by the rich paint color and vibrant artwork on the walls.
Now, since this is, for all intents and purposes, a food blog, maybe I should start talking about the food.
As soon as we sat down, we got a bowl of mixed...well, they weren't really mixed nuts. There were pumpkin seeds, peanuts, pine nuts, and what looked like either lima beans or fava beans. Whatever you want to call this mezcla, it was delicious, albeit screaming hot. I do not know what they put in the seasoning, but it was so spicy that I probably downed about three glasses of water before we even got our appetizer. I didn't care. It was yummy, so I kept right on eating it.
For our appetizer, we had chips and guacamole. There it is on the right. You may think that chips and guacamole is, well, boring. Maybe it's too predictable for you. But to say that, you, my friend, would be wrong...so, so wrong. The chips? Made fresh in-house and just salty enough. The guac? Laden with cumin and unbelievably fresh. The unroasted tomatillo and roasted tomato salsas that come alongside? Acidic enough to lighten up the rich guacamole. The price tag might be a little off-putting, but believe me, Bayless knows how to do guacamole, and it is a wise investment. The portion was really perfect for my parents and me: enough to whet our appetites, but not so much that we had no room for our entrees.
I tried the tamal of the day (yes, perhaps tamale to you, but at Frontera, it's a tamal). It was a tasty little packet of fresh corn masa filled with sweet, tender pork, and the whole thing was smothered in a smooth, sweet guajillo chile sauce. It was served with a smear of black beans and a watercress salad (you read that right: watercress) dressed with a sharp, citrusy lime dressing that cut perfectly through the fatty richness of the pork tamal. The guajillo sauce was so delicious, so well balanced, that I think I literally could have had it as a drink with my meal.
Halfway through the meal, my mom caught a glimpse of a white jacket. With the demeanor of a twelve-year-old girl spotting the Biebs at the mall, she seized me by the arm and said, "Did you see him? It's him!"
I thought, no, that's probably not possible. He's a chef, an author, a television show host...why would he be walking around his restaurant on a Wednesday afternoon in October? But sure enough, Rick Bayless himself walked right past our table, carrying...his lunch?
And then something amazing happened.
Rick Bayless walked through the dining room of Frontera Grill, sat down at one of the tables, and ate his lunch. I mean, how cool is that? He's well-known nationwide, but he still sits in the dining room of his restaurant to chill and eat lunch.
I'll admit, I snapped a photo of Bayless (shown on the right) from across the room, probably much to the chagrin of the two women at the table between Bayless and myself. But, after all, I am a huge fan.
I will never look at him the same way. He is not some distant celebrity chef. He's a normal guy, really. A normal guy who just happens to own three restaurant spaces on Clark Street in Chicago, and whose food I just can't wait to eat again. Be ready, Bayless. I'm coming back.
Course one, the Huitlacoche Enchiladas, had an interesting balance of flavors. The French-fried red onions on top presented a glimmer of familiarity in a dish otherwise entirely unique and foreign to me. The huitlacoche itself wasn't too assertive, something I appreciated since I'd never had it before. I mostly tasted the black beans, with a hint of...huitlacoche funkiness. Not bad funkiness, just funkiness. It's one of those flavors you can't quite put your finger on. The tomatillo sauce was sharp and acidic, a welcome attribute in a plate of rich beans, fried onions, and crumbled cheese.
Next to arrive at the table was the phenomenally beautiful Gunthorp pork with apricot mole. The apricot mole didn't scream apricot, but it complemented the pork in a way that only a stone fruit could. As in any good sauce, the heat in the mole doesn't hit you in the first bite; instead it builds over time, nuanced and complex. Atop the pork was a grilled apricot salsa, something I had difficulty identifying when the dish was put in front of me. I enjoyed it immensely. The salsa's texture contrasted perfectly with the tender pork and smooth butternut squash. The spinach gave the plate the bitterness it needed to counteract the sweet squash and sweet-spicy mole.
