Conscious Choice: Funky Food

April 2001 | Conscious Dining

Funky Food

by Lauren Malloy

There’s nothing else quite like MOD in Chicago. It’s the kind of place I’d take out-of-town guests, just to show them something unusual. The strangeness begins with the orange motif and extends all the way through to the space-age décor and Andy Warhol-like art renderings. From the moment I entered the mirrored hallway that precedes the restaurant’s entrance, until later when I got lost on the way to the bathroom, I had the feeling I was in some kind of adult fun house.

Even food is delivered in odd shapes and sizes — no one at the table will have quite the same serving vessel. A pasta dish, for example, was served in the kind of crock usually reserved for baked artichoke dip, while a lamb dish arrived in a wok-sized rice bowl. On the other hand, two shapes that did show up consistently throughout the restaurant were circles and squares, which manifested in endless varieties, from the rectangular apron "strings" fastened by Velcro to the circular parking garage mirrors suspended over tables.

But if MOD were simply a funky experience, I probably wouldn’t go back more than once or twice. Fortunately, the chef is every bit as creative as the restaurant designer. Each menu item was either an eclectic take on a popular American dish or an inventive concoction of familiar ingredients. Every time a course arrived, it was kind of like opening a present. While some results were better than others, it was always fun to see what the chef would do next.

To give chef-partner Kelly Courtney the freedom to unleash the full force of her creativity, the menu changes frequently, but not according to any set schedule. She changes it "whenever she feels like it," according to one server, which could be twice a week or once a month. In reality, only certain items on the menu change, with popular items remaining on the menu for either as long as people want them or until the seasons change.

While Courtney describes her food as "pure and simple," on the menu, most dishes are anything but simple. Granted, the original character of the ingredients usually shines through, but not always in ways most diners have previously experienced. For example, her Artichokes "Fritto Misto" was a deep-fried tangle of artichoke and fennel tendrils tossed with whole lemon slices fried with the skins still on, interspersed with thick shavings of Parmesan-Reggiano cheese. Like fried calamari, it was served in a straw basket and accompanied by an orange-rosemary aioli. Not exactly what you’d call simple.

Where the "pure and simple" designation does come into play, however, is in the use of fresh ingredients. I kept getting the distinct feeling that I was eating Californian cuisine, which made sense once I learned that the chef had trained in San Francisco for ten years. Like California cuisine, many dishes make use of fresh, quality ingredients. Unlike California, many of those ingredients are not grown locally. In fact, many times, I felt like I was eating a refreshing summer dinner in the middle of winter. (The menu does have plenty of heartier selections, but most of them are meat dishes).

The Roasted Black Mussels appetizer, in particular, brought back memories of summer clambakes. It was my favorite item on the menu, both in terms of presentation and taste, and a steal for only $8.50. Servers foreshadow its arrival by setting up a deep dish pizza-like pedestal and bowl for empty shells. Before long, a steaming platter of twenty to thirty mussels arrives on a cast iron skillet. The mussels, which tasted as if they’d been roasted on the open fire, were even better when dipped in the clarified, herb-flecked lemon butter that arrived with them. Rather than provide a bowl big enough to contain all the empty shells, servers and bussers replace full ones on regular intervals.

Another summer-themed dish I tried one night was the pasta special. The secret ingredient was fried bread crumbs and parsley that had picked up all the garlic, lemon, and fresh herb flavors and spread them throughout the dish. Big chunks of artichoke hearts cut into the shape of mushrooms were the star ingredients and didn’t run out until the bitter end. A gold mine of tender folds of spinach was buried under a hood of homemade pasta capped by a flurry of bread crumbs. A delicate broth nicely melded the flavors and textures.

The pasta special on another evening was less successful. The Risotto-Mushroom Pasta, Asparagus and Belgian Endive were all fairly decent on their own, but seemed to have nothing in common with each other. Strangely, the pasta was not risotto at all but rather a tiny ramekin of pasta shells floating in what tasted like too much alfredo sauce and too few mushrooms. A skewer of grilled fennel tasted good on its own, but clashed with the pasta.

The menu always includes a vegetarian course, which inevitably is some form of pasta. Of the two I tried, one was a hit and the other a miss, but neither seemed worth $17, especially as neither portion was very large. A mix of appetizers, salads, and side dishes might be the better bet for vegetarians. Almost all of those I tried were more interesting than the vegetarian entrées.

The Butter Lettuce, Apples and Roquefort salad was made to look like a flower, with lettuce leaves shaped into a blossom, apple julienne arranged into stamen, and "fire dried" pecans cut into tiny black seeds. While less creative than the rest of the salad presentations, the Sun-Dried Tomato Caesar was nonetheless lent dramatic flair by its presentation on an oversized square glass plate. It was also distinguished by the use of whole romaine leaves, and reddish dressing individually brushed on each leaf. The Roasted Bay Beet and Goat Cheese salad was less a salad than an ode to goat cheese. A large round of warmed goat cheese rolled in crusty bread crumbs was perched high atop a tower of a frisée and baby beets. A drizzle of truffle oil put the finishing touch on the already intense duo of flavors.

Dessert veered from inventive to just plain strange. The dessert menu reads like a cross between breakfast and an old-fashioned ice cream parlor menu, with newfangled twists on old themes apparent in such items as Chocolate-Cornmeal Waffles, Rocky Road Ice Cream and Clementines, or Pistachio Doughnuts, Blackberry jam, Gianduja Hot Chocolate. As it was no more than 20 degrees outside and I wasn’t in the mood for either breakfast or ice cream, none of these options seemed particularly appealing. I settled for the Baked Alaska: Banana-Caramel Ice Cream, Chocolate Expresso Cake, Soft Meringue, since at least the dish would include some chocolate.

Boy, what a bitter disappointment that was. A firm puck of bland chocolate cake was slightly improved by too small a portion of the banana ice cream topping. The meringue was so hard it reminded me of one of those fake fruits people keep in a basket for a decoration. After I removed the inedible meringue sculpture, there remained only around four or five small bites.

Vietnamese coffee, beware, takes a long time to prepare, so it may arrive well after your dessert is finished. Every meal culminates with the arrival of an orange cotton candy cone, a gesture that never seemed to fail to elicit a gasp of surprise or hearty chuckle from guests new to the MOD experience.

MOD, 1520 North Avenue, Chicago, 773-252-1500.

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