Family Histories on the Plate
Three Chicago chefs share dishes rooted in their childhoods
Close your eyes. Taste your childhood and think about how you might serve that to your guests—to connect them with the people, foods, and experiences that shaped you as a chef. What can you alter, and what is sacrosanct? Where does your inner grandma insist on saltines, and your training dare you to drop a briquette of binchotan into a vat of oil? In Chicago, these three chefs have mined their taste memories and melded them into soulful, satisfying dishes. There’s no real blueprint for expressing soul on the plate, it just takes a confident leap, bridging the gap between Grandma Lillian and James Beard.
A Cabbage Embrace
“This dish is a big hug,” says Chef Sarah Grueneberg. The hug is a generational one, passed down from her grandma Lillian, a Texas native of German ancestry, who expressed love through stuffed cabbage. At Monteverde, Grueneberg relies on her grandma’s technique but updates some of the ingredients (well, most of them) to bring the dish into the realm of Northern Italy and modern restaurant dining. It’s the binding that’s non-negotiable: “Saltines are the secret to the filling,” she says. Along with the Premium brand crackers, Grueneberg-the-younger stuffs the cruciferous packages with egg, onion, parmesan, and herbs. A rich, earthy porcini bolognese takes the place of a beefy ragout, and a fried egg and wedges of crunchy fried polenta top the dish. Grandma Lillian isn’t as concerned as her granddaughter with texture and presentation, but she did pass along the exacting standards and work ethic that have helped Grueneberg develop into one of the city’s most important and beloved chefs. “When [Lillian] ate at the restaurant, she told me, ‘You needed to do more of this.’ She’s critical. She likes my food, but she’s never satisfied.”
Chifa Childhood
Jesus Delgado grew up in a Chinese-Peruvian household in Lima, and every day after school the would-be chef helped at his grandpa’s small market. Each night, Delgado trailed his grandfather to different Chinese restaurants. “We always went to his friends’ restaurants. He wanted to cook dinner for his family and would go back to the kitchen and prepare a meal for us,” says Delgado. Seeing the men in his life cook and nurture inspired Delgado to pursue cooking professionally, and he has spent the last 13 years working with Gastón Acurio.
Flavors from those Lima kitchens flood back in modern format Acurio’s Tanta. For Delgado’s vegan broccoli pachikay, he builds a sauce with a lomo saltado backbone by smoking red peppers and onions in a screaming wok, and then blending and emulsifying them with soy sauce and vinegar. At pick-up, he wok-chars broccoli and garlic chips, nestles them in the red pepper sauce, and finishes the plate with pickled chiles and sauce pachikay.
That last element nods to his grandpa’s favorite Chifa dish, gallina pachikay—poached chicken with a Chinese chimichurri of confit garlic, ginger, ají amarillo, bell pepper, and sesame oil. The smoke, funky broccoli, sweet peppers, and hit of ginger evoke Lima in a Chicago kitchen that Delgado has made his own.
Slushies on the Beach
“Fresh avocado, citrus, and good fish remind me of my childhood in Miami, doing homework on the beach. My mother would get a spiked slushy, and I would get a virgin one. We’d ice-up avocado and citrus and eat.” Having moved to Miami from Detroit made these dreamy days even more indelible to Ryan Burns, an Alinea alum who’s now chef of The Blanchard (near the lapping shores of Lake Michigan). He doses guests with the vibrant flavors of Miami, along with the aroma of backyard barbecue, in a fresh red snapper crudo. He dresses the composition—snapper, Florida citrus, Espelette, wild lemon vinegar, sea beans, and avocado— with charcoal oil made by dropping a burning hot piece of binchotan into neutral oil. For Burns, the dish represents purity of ingredients and a memory crystallized in sand and salt. Just sub in Sauvignon Blanc for a slushy, and you’re there on Miami Beach.
