A weekend with my dad is always an adventure. One with food I mean. Never do we pass up a good meal for anything else, because in a city like Chicago, the food leads us everywhere.
My dad came to visit me in Chicago for the weekend with our good family friend and his daughter. Even though his friend is thoroughly familiar with the area and predicates himself on being a food connoisseur as well, I was able to pick out the restaurants. A challenge I always rise to, because never does it seem to fail that I impress my guests with my knowledge of where to go and when. Timing has a lot to do with it. Who you are with also plays a large part. I wanted an exciting atmosphere, radiating decor, but also perfection and presentation with maybe a flair of the Bucktown culture. Instantly, I knew we'd find this all at the Bongo Room (1470 N. Milwaukee Avenue).
We cabbed it down to Bucktown, where the new emergence of shops and restaurants take shift on North Avenue and Damen. Our stomachs were in need of a large brunch after a late night of competitive bowling. We arrived at it's uninviting rusted away sign with its chalky stone front that is less than appealing, but the line was out the door, as it always is. I ran in first to put our name in, which to no surprise awarded a response that it would be an hour wait, to which I smiled and said "Perfect!" I leaped back out into the frigid cold to announce to my guests of the time, where my dad's friend looked at me in disbelief and shot a glance to another restaurant as if to say lets eat there. However, I insisted we stay, as I pointed to the window table that had just been served their delicious concoction of the oreo-banana flapjacks. He smiled and agreed that it looked delectable.
We entered back inside to get some coffee at the bar. The cappuccino machines are impressive, filling you with a sense of Italy, while they serve you a cappuccino that is precisely how I assume cappuccino was intended. Looking like a picture of art as the foam forms to a point a few inches past the white brimmed edges of our mini coffee cups. Even standing in the packed, but not crowded, brunch place for almost forty-five minutes, it was an experience. We watched the food trail by on eager hands, we sipped the froth from our coffee's, talked about travels and life goals, and saw the precision behind the gleaming silver counter with the chefs that worked under no room for error. The restaurant is run like a diner, seated like an exclusive night club, and they must turn over a thousand tables before they close mid-afternoon. The high ceilings, large booths, and front window tables make it comfortable, but the art emulsion on the walls lures you into the facade of eating such artistically created food.
We cabbed it down to Bucktown, where the new emergence of shops and restaurants take shift on North Avenue and Damen. Our stomachs were in need of a large brunch after a late night of competitive bowling. We arrived at it's uninviting rusted away sign with its chalky stone front that is less than appealing, but the line was out the door, as it always is. I ran in first to put our name in, which to no surprise awarded a response that it would be an hour wait, to which I smiled and said "Perfect!" I leaped back out into the frigid cold to announce to my guests of the time, where my dad's friend looked at me in disbelief and shot a glance to another restaurant as if to say lets eat there. However, I insisted we stay, as I pointed to the window table that had just been served their delicious concoction of the oreo-banana flapjacks. He smiled and agreed that it looked delectable.
We entered back inside to get some coffee at the bar. The cappuccino machines are impressive, filling you with a sense of Italy, while they serve you a cappuccino that is precisely how I assume cappuccino was intended. Looking like a picture of art as the foam forms to a point a few inches past the white brimmed edges of our mini coffee cups. Even standing in the packed, but not crowded, brunch place for almost forty-five minutes, it was an experience. We watched the food trail by on eager hands, we sipped the froth from our coffee's, talked about travels and life goals, and saw the precision behind the gleaming silver counter with the chefs that worked under no room for error. The restaurant is run like a diner, seated like an exclusive night club, and they must turn over a thousand tables before they close mid-afternoon. The high ceilings, large booths, and front window tables make it comfortable, but the art emulsion on the walls lures you into the facade of eating such artistically created food.
Our waitress led us to the open booth, where we flopped down, already knowing what we were to order. I always stick with the basics. When I love something, I've gotta have it every-time. However, never does that mean you can't order a piece of the high-towered chocolate french toast for the table, which is exactly what we did. I stuck with my veggie egg-white omelet, with their infamous potatoes, and a fruit bowl (the greatest thing about wonderful restaurants is that no matter how many times you order the same thing it's always just as good or even better as it is the first time!) My friend ordered the breakfast burrito. To no surprise, her dad malled over the enticing listings that seem to captivate most newcomers, as the options are only things you can dream of on cloud nine. Chocolate and caramel covered pretzel pancakes, apple-pair and dried cherry french toast, banana-peanut butter chip pancakes, and pair-tart tar-tine hot-cakes are just a few of their favorite concoctions. He settled for the croissant sandwich and my dad ordered the salmon eggs benedict .. it was enough food to feed a small army .. but at the Bongo Room you never want to leave before every inch has been tasted .. or in our case .. devoured.
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