Ants on a log is a good walk spoiled.—Mark Twain
Twain sits in an old auto body shop in Logan Square, along the stretch of mostly quality clubs, bars, and restaurants that have sprouted like mushrooms over the last few years in what is subsequently becoming a place to avoid on weekends, when it’s descended upon by people who don’t live in the city, much less the neighborhood.
On a large menu to match the sizable 90-seat dining room, Graham indulges in all sorts of improbable-sounding dishes, more than a few of them so unexpectedly successful that you wonder what other secrets the churches and ladies’ clubs of central Missouri have been quietly disseminating among themselves.
Desserts—which, in full disclosure, appeared en masse one evening unordered–are by former Travelle/Langham Hotel pastry chef Stefanie Bishop, and they hit the same target as the savory side of the menu does, with an intensely bittersweet mud pie, its chocolate crust nearly as thick as its dark mousse topside. A tottering cream puff barely contains blueberries and a full moon of hand-cranked corn ice cream. The iconic, gooey butter cake of Saint Louis is here a risen puck, half as gooey as your mom’s, set on a smear of peach sauce and topped with rosemary-scented roasted peaches and a tangy yogurt mousse.
2445 N. Milwaukee 773-697-8463 twainchicago.com
