

I guess there was nothing to worry about. In recent months a number of banh mi shops have popped up in still more neighborhoods around town, and more are on the way.
Ba Le itself may have started the trend, moving across the street into expanded and brightened new quarters in 2010. Since then it's opened a Chinatown location and, most recently, a downtown spot catering to the Loop lunch crowd (and accordingly more pricey).

This process is fun because it's so weird—like wandering through a developer's scale-model mock-up of a planned community. I remained hopeful; I'd recently visited a lovely French restaurant located somewhere else inside the gray block. Would two make a trend? Could this artificial, blandly wealthy cityscape foster an unusually good restaurant scene?
Unless you methodically worked your way across the menu how would you know what other treasures it held? Friend of the Food Chain Rob Lopata applied Standard Ordering Procedure to suss one out. On a recent visit he noticed the majority of customers were huddled over steaming bowls of beef soup. Caldo de res doesn't get much mention in the broader literature either (in English anyway). Diana Kennedy doesn't bring it up in any of her books, and neither does Bayless. There are plenty of digital recipes but little information on its provenance in the universe of regional Mexican cooking. Maybe that's because it's so elementary—stock, beef, and an assortment of vegetables. What culture (excepting Hindus and Chinese Buddhists) doesn't have a beef soup in its history? What else are you going to do with the tough, bony cuts of beef that won't grill well?

Jack Jones wasn't happy. "What a piece of shit," he said in full view and earshot of a handful of customers. "Look at that." He was standing over a hotel pan full of baby back ribs that had emerged from the gleaming Ole Hickory smoker in the open kitchen of his new barbecue joint. I couldn't overhear precisely what went wrong, but Jones, a part owner and onetime chef at Jack's on Halsted, declared that the offending slabs would have to be trashed. At the very least it demonstrated an awareness that's it's easy to make barbecue commercially but difficult to make it well.
That's been proven over and over in recent years with the rash of barbecue spots, high- and low-end, that have opened across town but have so far failed to meet the high standard set by more tested joints such as Uncle John's, Honey 1, and Smoque. In scope, Wrigley BBQ is only a bit more ambitious than the last, offering baby backs, chicken, pulled pork, and brisket, sliced or chopped, and the usual sides. It's counter service, and BYO, and with the exception of a handful of burgers and a couple salads is dominated by the typical barbecue canon—except Jones is working with natural pork and Amish poultry producers.

A Pilsen perfumer has created a tamale scent, says DNAinfo.
The nation's first makgeolli brewery is revving up in Niles, according to Guys Drinking Beer.
Goose Island Brewpub brewer Jared Rouben is only the latest to jump ship since the Anheuser-Busch purchase, says RedEye.
A former head of security at Underground is suing Billy Dec and his partners for racial discrimination, says the Trib.

Dear Kate,
Earlier this week I discovered that Mizu Yakitori, 315 W. North Ave., is shuttered.
This is a most regrettable development—it was the best restaurant in my neighborhood. Why don't some of the mediocre ones go out of business instead?
Bob
Good question. Particularly, perhaps, when it comes to izakaya-ish restaurants—or at least some of the ones Mike Sula favors.* Chinatown's kooky Lure Izakaya Pub: gone. River North's Union Sushi & Barbeque Grill, described by Sula as "a David Chang-style confluence of carnicentric excess and pan-Asiatica": alive, well, and still periodically lit by the "cinematically hellish flames" of its robata grill. ("Wanna hit Union?" I overheard a dude on the Brown Line at rush hour ask a buddy not long ago.)

The Fireman's Brew website has one of the cheesiest Flash intros I've seen in a while: an animated background featuring a blazing fire with the slogan "Extinguish your thirst" printed on it. Naturally, it comes complete with a crackling fire soundtrack. The names are pretty corny too—Blonde, Redhead, and Brunette. Still, the company does donate some of its proceeds to the National Fallen Firefighters Foundation (though they don't specify what percent).