John I.
Yelp
I've pretty much given up on Taste of Chicago. In earlier days, you could "taste," for the first time, a variety of tidbits you'd never tried from restaurants where you'd never been. When did "The Taste" turn into huge heaps of fried food, turkey legs you could get at any renaissance fair in the country, or... Chicago dogs & pizza?
Ah, but the taste of Chicago survives in places like Chicago Distilling Company. I had bookmarked it and forgotten about it until friends said to meet them there, and when I went inside, I realized what it was. It was that ode to craftsmanship that I had read about, if I might use a term I would normally save for a woodworker's furniture, rather than the shot of moonshine required after that rare hit of the tack hammer on his or her thumbnail. Ouch.
There weren't many people there when we arrived a little after 8 pm on a Friday night. I had expected it to be packed with hipsters, but simply the thought that hipsters would be packing a place as early as 8 pm makes me decidedly un-hip, and especially undeserving of the "ster" designation.
We didn't go for a tour; we just went for some solid advice and some solid liquids (no oxymoron intended). And then solid Sarah came into my life. Sarah reminded me a little of what a roller-skating carhop (hold the traditional uniform & give her a stylish summer dress) with a sassy repartee and a vast knowledge of how the menu is grown and prepared would be like, if drunk driving weren't dangerous and you could have cocktails in cars served by carhops at bars. While the menu is quite small, she knew just about everything about anything we asked about. And I'm a nerd; so that's a tall task.
I had never known that white whiskey is whiskey that hasn't been aged. It appears to be to be at that awkward age, where it needs a mixer to tamper its unrefined, youthful enthusiasm. I'm a big fan of Old Fashioneds, and this one with their Shorty's white might have arched Donald Draper's eyebrows a bit with mild, tasteful, incredulity. I also tried the Finn Tini (Finn being the name of the gin). Also delicious, and luckily stirred rather than shaken. Didn't James Bond realize that gin can be "bruised" if shaken? I want my martini straight-up, not beaten up!
Maybe it should be called Da Chicago Da-stilling Company. It is a taste of Chicago, and dis is da city of da Bears, after all. In any case, I'm looking forward to returning to dis still, as I never made it to the vodka. Any bar that has "riff-raff" inside that is their namesake for spiked raspberry lemonade is a summer party waiting to be tasted.