Of Spring and Sprout--Dale Levitski Comes Into His Own

Possums, as you know only too well, we love nothing better than saying, “We told you so.” And possums, we told you so, and we’ll tell you again—Dale Levitski, of Top Chef: Miami, wuz robbed!

These aren’t just the ravings of a tottering-on-Louboutins fan. We have the evidence to prove it. Well, actually, we ate the evidence, but there is nothing we’d like better than to go in search of more at Sprout, the new Chicago restaurant headed by Dale. The meal we ate there was among the most delicious and stimulating we have had in years, and even though it’s been a couple of months since our visit, we think about that meal all the time.

From the fabulous, “crowdsourced” décor to the ultra-accommodating staff, I knew a mere six steps into Sprout, located in Lincoln Park, that we were in for an exceptional dining experience. The setting is relaxed luxury, and lives up to Sprout’s own philosophy of offering “upscale dining with a relax-your-shoulders vibe.”

The Executive Chef of Sprout is Amuse-Biatch favorite Dale Levitski, and while still in its infancy, Sprout has the feel of a well-honed, long-running operation. Sprout’s Sous Chef is the talented Sara Nguyen, also of Top Chef fame. Sara is as gracious and welcoming as she appeared on screen, and the best thing is that, together, she and Dale have the same culinary chemistry and rhythm they exhibited while dancing on the balcony in Miami during Top Chef.

While Sprout’s menu is geared toward an organic-focused $60 prix fixe tasting menu, including intermezzi, à la carte items are available as well. My dining companion and I both opted for the prix fixe menu. My first course was a cooked-to-perfection scallop, surrounded by freeze-dried corn, parsnip, and popcorn. This was a toothsome dish composed of a witty series of pairings, the texture and color of the caramelized scallop picked up by the parsnip, the sweetness of the scallop picked up by the corn, with crunch added by the popcorn. For her first course, my dining companion, a vegetarian, chose a pear salad featuring watercress, goat cheese, peppermint and shaved licorice root. It was an exquisitely composed plate of food, both visually and flavor-wise. (Indeed, the great thing was that my dining companion was able to find a superb vegetarian dish for every course.) In case we had any doubts, the first course announced loud and clear that we were in the hands of someone who is absolutely on his game.

For the main course, I selected the Wagyu beef. Set atop pillowy, rich brandade and haricots verts, with a garlic drizzle, the beef was luscious and vibrant. When presented with the opportunity, I could not resist sampling two additional courses. First there was chilled octopus served with white bean puree and arugula—the octopus perfectly cooked, and perfectly complemented by the richness of the puree and the slight bitterness of the arugula. Dale has a real talent for mixing not only flavors, but textures. There was also a course of veal cheek, which was richness and opulence distilled. We also had a tasting of gnocchi à la Parisienne, French-style gnocchi that are made with choux pastry rather than potatoes, which were new to me and which made me curse all the years I had gone without trying them.

In between the courses, the intermezzi included a shaved ice of passion fruit and Riesling, at once bracing and seductive. Speaking of which, the white bean butter served with the bread is nothing short of creamy crack.

My dessert course was called “lemon.” There are no words. The combination of the lemon curd, goat cheese mousse and sour cherry, while surprisingly new to me, rendered me speechless—a difficult thing—and is now one of my favorites. My dining companion opted for creamy melted chocolate with a dunk-worthy cookie.

The cheese course was witty and the ne plus ultra of comfort food, the cheese melted and sandwiched between two crêpe-like crisps, the perfect end to a truly memorable meal.

As reported elsewhere, Dale went through a great deal of difficulty and sorrow in his personal life in the period between Top Chef and the opening of Sprout, but you wouldn’t know it from the polished, effortless cooking. Or maybe you would. Perhaps food this joyous, this focused, this representative of earthly delight, could only come from a man who has emerged from a dark night of the soul. Sprout could not be more aptly named, and we are all the beneficiaries of those tender shoots. Speaking of which, the new spring menu should now be in place, so get thee to Lincoln Park, possums. Dale may have been robbed, but don’t rob yourselves of an extraordinary dining experience.

Sprout

1417 West Fullerton Avenue

Chicago, IL 60614-2011

(773) 348-0706

Find them online:

http://www.sproutrestaurant.com

http://thesproutcrowd.com

Sprout can also be found on Facebook and Twitter @SproutChi

Tom Colicchio: “You’ll Never Beat the Cast from Season 3”

This, at least, is what the Ursus Major told Dale Levitski’s mother at the finale of Season 3, held in Chicago just before filming on Season 4 started, as Dale recounts in a new interview with Chicagoist.

Oddly enough, we had of late found ourselves missing those Miami folks. Not that this photograph of Brian MFMalarkey (sans chapeau!) as the Karate-You've-Got-to-Be-Kidding-Me from this past weekend had anything to do with it.

And you know, possums, we did find it terribly telling that this season hasn't been the subject of hyperbolic praise for how much better the contestants are. Most telling of all: Tom saying during Judges' Table on last week's episode that we were in for a "nice" season. Ouch! Don't be so enthusiastic there, Papa Bear.

Other interesting tidbits from Dale's interview:

* He's still living with Season 3's Sara Nguyen, but they don't have cable.

* Of Hung Huynh's victory: "I won, but he got the check."

* He was supposed to appear on Season 4, but had a conflict of interest because it was he who had recommended eventual winner Stephanie Izard to producers.

* His new restaurant still needs investment money. Perhaps certain men from certain Bravo reality shows would be better served by putting their money into a new restaurant venture from a talented chef than by spending it on life-sized plastic dolls who claim to be 29 (yeah, right). So come on, sugar daddies, pony up.

Va-Va-Bardeen: The Hawtness Makes a Fleeting Return

We admit, possums, that, being suckers for romance, we rather enjoyed the HoJo reunion of sorts this week (since all celebrity couples must have a revolting blended nickname, our math went like this: Howie + Joey = HoJo). As Miss XaXa put it, it was so Like Water for Chocolate, Howie sending out raw meat to his little NooYawk bear, since they couldn't actually be together anymore.

(Confidential to Joey in the black muumuu: Joey, possum, you may be taking the Eye-talian thing a bit far. Just because Sicilian widows dress all in black doesn't mean you have to. And black may be slimming, but, oy, horizontal stripes, possum, are not your friends.)

(And, well, isn't that Sara Nguyen? And what is she wearing? Why, it's high heels and a very low-cut top. Fancy that.)

But what thrilled and tortured us most this week was the fleeting return of Lia Bardeen looking, well, hot. Once you go straight, Lia, you never go back, eh? (We're speaking of her hair, of course, possums.) But oh, why so brief a look at her, Bravo? Why not lingering close-ups of her in her black haltertop as she ate, er, tuna tartare? Oh wait, never mind. She ate at the other restaurant; the close-ups would have been of her spitting out.

Still, Bravo, work with us. How about a little bonus footage--a hair-toss here, a burst of laughter there--in the slow motion so beloved of 1970's shampoo ads?

“Teddy” Allen Offers Apocalyptic Yet Strangely Titillating Vision to the Burly Gay Men of America

Possums, let it never be said that Ted Allen's Queer Eye is any less gimlet for being on Top Chef.

Following up on last week's controversy over whether it was sexist for Sara Nguyen and Casey "Beaver Boots" Thompson (hey, that's what she calls herself on her MySpace profile) to cook in low-cut tops and high heels, Ted tries in this week's blog to take a gander at what might just be good for the gander:

And, while I would love to see Tom cooking in stilettos and a teddy as much as the next guy, it’s not likely to happen -- at least, not on television. He’d lose all his cred with the “bear” community...

Not so fast, Mr. Allen. As we said last season, it's always the leather bears who have doilies at home, so Tom as a "teddy" bear would probably not lose him any woof cred.

However, if what you are looking for is a scenario that would level the playing field in terms of objectification, cooking, and habiliments, we have a perfect solution: Tom Colicchio cooking steaks in a leather codpiece and chaps. That would be sure to make him uncomfortable, retain his credibility with the burly gay men of America, and yet constitute a cogent critique of sexism. You might just want to drop it in Raggaydy Andy's suggestion box.

Sara N. Wrap: The Ghost of Cleavage Past

Possums, as we’ve pointed out before, on Top Chef the meek never inherit the earth. Neither, it seems, do the chic.

And so Sara Nguyen, the math genius who was blissfully unaware that Scotch bonnet peppers are hot, was sent home in her black low-cut top (presumably chosen by “gay boyfriend” Dale Levitski, who raided her closet before they went out, and who dismissed one blouse, if we heard correctly, as too “frumpy”).















Of course, the choice of blouse turned out to be a tragic one. Not that this came as a surprise to us. Sara, possum, gay boyfriend or not, never, and we mean never ever, take fashion advice from a Gay who wears manpris. It’s the blinding leading the bland, and it never turns out well.

Sara N. (and Sweet Potato Queen Casey Thompson) made much of the horrors of having to compete unexpectedly, in the midst of a celebration, and in high heels and low-cut tops.

This struck us as rather funny when we remembered this season’s very first episode, in which the cheftestants were forced to compete (unexpectedly!) in a Quickfire Challenge in the middle of a celebratory cocktail party at Gianni Versace’s mansion. And what was Sarah wearing?
















Why, isn’t that a low-cut top? And wait, if you look at the picture below, isn’t Sara N. wearing heels? (And Casey’s all turned out and purty, too, and in heels, though not showing as much cleavage). Dear, dear.















As much as we believe that bazooms and burning bras are feminist issues, we can’t help remembering how different Sara Mair’s attitude was. Lord love her for her courage in going braless on her baked Bries (ooze though they might, Miss XaXa suggested they nonetheless looked more like goat cheese crottins), but Lord love her even more for procuring a shirt to put those Babybels back in their cellar, where they belong, and getting down to work.

In the end, though, we predict a bright future for Sara Nguyen. Pourquoi? Well, because, as she tells Grub Street, “[Dale Levitski] keeps on asking me to move to Chicago to work with him when this is all done.”
















Possums, we smell sitcom gold: Will & Grace meets Kitchen Confidential meets All-American Girl (which, as Margaret Cho bitterly—and justifiably—complained, the network wanted to call Wok on the Wild Side). Our proposed title: Nguyendy City. Just remember, we’ll be expecting a cut of the profits, or at least an executive producer credit. You heard it here first.

In the Midst of a Dissociative Fugue State, Raggaydy Andy Promises Bombs Over Fag-Hag and Wonders About the Size of Hung Huynh's Geoduck

Among our guilty, lowbrow pleasures--pork rinds, the movie Bring It On--we always like to save room for those occasions when Bravo blogger cum VP Raggaydy Andy enters one of his dissociative fugue states and starts talking to himself.

Fortunately for him, he is doing his muttering in Aspen, Colorado, while the Top Chef finale films, rather than wandering through the East Village shaking his fist.

(How do we know he's in Aspen? Call it an educated guess. Andy--well, one of the Andies (Andes?)--says it is 2:55 a.m., and he is "on the set of a hit Bravo reality show" and, as we mentioned yesterday, Top Chef is filming in Aspen right now. Besides, as Scooter Libby so famously wrote, Aspen is turning, and turning in clusters, because its roots are connected.)

The nice thing about these dissociative fugues of Andy's is that his filters are even less effective than usual. And so, we get to watch him play with himself in a game of word association. The most revealing (and not just in terms of being placed right next to each other):

HUNG: hung? LISA RINNA: sphincter

Well, maybe we're leaping to conclusions. After all, as Dr. Freud must have said, "Sometimes a dick next to a sphincter is just that." (We were going to go for a cheap Cheney-Bush joke, but we're feeling cheap enough this morning as it is.)

Andy also reveals that tonight's episode of Top Chef will feature tears (well, duh; after all, Casey Thompson's still in this, but maybe she'll be crying for herself tonight), and we "find out who is Dale's best galpal in the house" (ah, so maybe Casey will be crying because she's been out-faghagged; possum, we warned you about those highlights). In a fight between Casey Thompson and Sara Nguyen, though, our money's on Casey. That pseudo-Pucci scarf she's always wearing? We're convinced it's a garrote. And that smile? It's pure Kathleen Turner in Serial Mom. In other words, we can't wait.

Yee Haw! Woot! Casey Thompson Has a "Doosey" of a "Deriven" Fan Club!

Sad but true, possums. It seems we are not the only ones who have come to appreciate cheftestant Casey Thompson for her impeccable sense of geography, and her prize-worthy efforts on behalf of hawtness for her work with a hair dryer and Lia Bardeen.

And so we are happy to introduce you to The Chef Casey Thompson Fan Club! [sic]. The Fan Club! is full of fascinating details. The About Casey! [sic] section, for example, informs us that Casey used to work "Marketing Jet Fuel"! (exclamation point added by us).

Most intriguingly, the Fan Club! appears to have inside information. As today's post reminds us: "Tonight’s the Night! A real, new Top Chef tonight! My sources tell me it’s gonna be a doosey! [sic]"

Our curiosity is certainly piqued. After all, given that the meek inherit the earth only in the Bible and never on Top Chef, we figured that walking tear duct Casey or Sara Nguyen would be DiSpirito'd tonight. But surely the Fan Club! wouldn't have called the episode a doozy if Casey were going to be cut. Therefore, Casey must be safe.

Of course, the similarly competent spelling on the Fan Club!'s site and in the comment left by "Casey Thompson" that we mentioned yesterday gave us pause. But nah. Even we're not that suspicious.

Anyway, Fan Club!, do let us know when the meetings at the club house take place, and we'll bring the French toast!

Cheftestant Sara Nguyen Attacked by Angry Tam-o’-Shanters!

Well, at least according to the translator who renders Carlos Fernandez's blog into Spanish for Yahoo! Telemundo.

We're beginning to suspect that the Spanish translation of Carlos' blog is being done as a collaboration between Google Translator and Thomas Bowdler.

As regards Sara and the Tam-o'-Shanters (not a bad name for a band, Miss XaXa points out), Carlos' original text reads, "Oh, those raging Scotch Bonnets. They look so cute, but ouch." The Spanish reads, "Ay esas rabiosas gorras escocesas se ven tan monas, pero ¡ay!" The translator apparently doesn't know that Scotch bonnets are chile peppers (the Spanish equivalent would be "chiles habaneros"), and has translated the term literally. Thus, to a Spanish-speaker, the sentence seems like a tag line for the remake of Brigadoon as a horror film. Beware the rage of the tam-o'-shanter!

And while we're at it, since when are "webisode" and "wrap" (as in "wraps de lechuga") Spanish words? And, of course, there are spelling mistakes (and FYI, blood orange is supposed to be translated as "naranja sanguina," not just "naranja"; an orange and a blood orange are not the same thing).

Perhaps most annoying of all is the bowdlerization. The translator (presumably) has edited the blog to remove even Carlos' mild attempts at ribaldry, and has excised all mention of Carlos' husband Chuck and their Monday evening outings. Do they not want people to know Carlos is naughty and gay? Chica, puhleeze!

Somebody get our Chulo Chef a better translator, pronto.