"I’ve lost track of how many meals I’ve had at Bob Chinn’s Crab House over the years. For my family — and also just about everyone else I know who lived in the Northern Suburbs — Chinn’s was the place we went for birthdays, graduations, visits from out-town-guests (including my friend’s French husband, who considered it the only decent restaurant in the area). After Bob Chinn himself died on Friday, April 15, and I went to pay tribute. Aside from the memorial sign attached to the lobster tank, it was the same as ever — although because it was lunchtime, there was no line, and the network of hosts communicate through iPads now instead of walkie-talkies like they used in the pre-Wi-Fi era. I ordered a mai tai to go with the complimentary garlic rolls, which, as always, came drenched in olive oil and sprinkled with raw minced garlic. One of the daily specials was opakapaka, a pink snapper flown in from Hawaii. A rule at Chinn’s: if there’s opakapaka or onaga on the menu (or any other Hawaiian snapper, really), you order it. It has the smooth soft texture that is generally described as “buttery” and falls apart at the touch of a fork. The top is perfectly browned for a touch of sweetness. Whoever applied the blackening seasoning did it with a light hand; the dominant flavor was the fish itself, and the smoke from the grill, complemented by the tanginess from the tartar sauce. I could have eaten it forever." - aimee.levitt
