Scenes of Evanston

"The walls are covered with shining copper dishes, round and oval, deep and shallow. They have strong handles; some are made in the shape of pudding or a fish. There is a clock and stone jar with fresh parselely in it, lots of big and little knives, wooden spoons, beaters, mashers, cleaners, sieves and, on a shelf, long rows of jars that hold nutmeg, bay leaves, vanilla sticks, raisins, paprika, cinnamon and cloves." –Ludwig Bemelmans, from "The Kitchen of the Golden Basket"







There are some little restaurants out there in the world that reside on big city corners, all lit up in such and such away that it owns the block. The diner, seeking not merely a landing zone, but a place one could call home... if for only a couple of hours. At these city corners you might find a seat near the corner of the place and watch the traffic outside – cold outside, breath puffing up by the passers-by – but that very well adds to the fact that you are in a new seat overlooking the pristine bar, warm inside and out, and wonder what it would be like to turn this surriptisious little joint your own, as a regular. There is much of this at the Farmhouse in Evanston, attached as it is to a hopping hotel, its little turn-in for incoming guests abuzz with the plop of new luggage and valets so busy nothing more than a thin hotel jacket is necessary. Some hotel restaurants get it right, dead on, others become something of regretful connections. I remember very well the wonderful French Restaurant Brasserie Jo attached to the Colonnade in which the restaurant became the point of gravity, not the hotel lobby, as it too was set along Huntington Street where the long lights of taxis could be watched for hours in delight. The Farmhouse is the kind of loud of a city bar where locals might gather on a friday night for their local watering hole as well as well as the travelers. Here the ambience doesn't tend too far away from its storefront namesake, Farmhouse; all things that the imagination could wildly conceive, with a padded budget, has been done here, but not overdone. You are temporarily suspended inside a two story luxury barnhouse, all the accoutrements picked up with taste but not so exclusive as to dim the desires of the patrons to treat is a comfortable place to eat and blurt out. The food is nearly perfect in conception, offering local flavors from local farms that are named in the titles of the menu. The duck I ordered here the first time I tried was roasted as a confit with a berry glaze that was subtle and a perfect match to the rich and dense meat. At that hour, it was considerably earlier in the day, before the entree hour, and I sat nearly alone along the side of the bar and watched over the taps selection with special interest: you can find out a lot about any restaurant by where they're getting the beer from. A wonderful tap by Nectar carried a mead, what I found to be a wonderful concoction of ale, wine and honey. As they eyes closed and the duck lingered in among the soft palate of honey, I wondered if I might soon become a farmer.