A Trip To The Purple Pig, Chicago.
I don’t know much about the history and accolades of The Purple Pig, but what I can tell you about are particular luxurious details of my experience sitting at the bar there last week.
I’ll keep this brief: Business trip to Chicago. 24 hours. One meal out. One recommendation from a local.
Here’s the thing about a plate of bone marrow being set in front of me. Clouds part, the train doors stay open an extra second so I can hop in, my dream car cruises by and turns my head, and I forget about the other six plates I have sitting before me at a small-plates joint. Let me be clear: bone marrow has a powerful effect on me. My only option was to photograph it and then eat more than my share of it because I was supposed to be sharing, with a colleague, no less. Greedily digging around inside the formerly life-giving contents of a bone takes either a really hungry person or a crazycakes palate. I exhibited gluttonous attributes of both.
Primed by sunchoke salad, pork fried almonds and marrow, by the time we got to the plates that would have been called small entrees we were both bordering on full. The milk-braised pork shoulder on a bed of mashed potatoes and chicken thigh kabobs served on a bed of tzatziki threw us into full-on late-night puppy tummy with a client meeting waiting on the sunrise side.
The casual, dark-wood bistro feel, the squeezing through the bustle for a piece of real estate at the bar of a haute comfort food establishment were all blissfully distracting fronts for a playground called a kitchen for some pretty spectacular chefs. You will wait for it, but everyone wins.
The Purple Pig
Michigan Avenue, Chicago
Prepare to spend $25 – $50 per person.