The Brittany Turbot with chanterelle mushrooms, sweet corn flan and bacon cider jus at NoMI, 800 N. Michigan. Katy and I ate here for our anniversary dinner and it did not disappoint. We scored one of the primo tables overlooking Michigan Ave and Water Tower Place and from there it was on. We let the our white haired/white gloved waiter (think Jeeves sans accent meets A-Team era George Peppard) do our ordering for us and he didn't steer us wrong. Besides looking great, my fish was cooked perfectly, and Katy's veal tenderloin was the kind of dish that R. Kelly writes ballads about. The foie gras stuffed quail appetizer was perfectly fine as well, although Katy and I came to the joint conclusion that foie gras is horribly overrated. While that proclamation may cause angry foodies to hurl their balled up ascots at me while doing a spit take with their craft beers, I stand by that statement like Elliot Spitzer's wife stands by her man. To me, it merely tastes like chocolate mousse mixed in with gristle, with a dash of mayo. I'd rather have an extra serving of this next dish...
The La Sphere. So Peppard comes out, slaps this dessert down on the table, which at the time resembled Epcot Center, and with a wry grin pours hot strawberry salsa on top of the white chocolate dome, melting it away ("Come back!") to reveal banana creme, peanut ice cream and more strawberries. I begin fanning myself like an old southern belle, Katy immediately smashes her face into the plate and starts licking up the melted chocolate and an overweight, mustachioed man from the 1920's at the table next to us immediately upends his table and cries, "Good Lord, I'll have two of what they're having!"
The Pork Belly Virmicelli soup at XOCO, 449 N. Clark. Pork belly, noodles, woodland mushrooms, zucchini, avocado and salsa. Rick Bayless can do no wrong and I won't hear otherwise. This is our favorite lunch spot in the city, hands down. Besides serving up the best tortas in town, he now seems to have cornered the soup market as well. Yet with his winning smile and finely manicured goatee, no one will ever confuse him with the Soup Nazi. More like the Soup Jesus, turning water into Pork Belly Virmicelli. 
The deconstructed S'more at Graham Elliot, 217 W. Huron. An old classic made better with the addition of peanut butter ice cream. I love this spot. Creative, gourmet food made fun and comfortable. Aged cheddar risotto with Cheeze It's, truffled popcorn, and Bloody Mary oysters...there's a lot to love about this fat son of a bitch and his wacky creations.
The pumpkin pancakes at Big Jones, 5347 N. Clark. Topped with granola and creole cream cheese. I literally almost cry looking at this picture. I go to bed clutching a frayed, tear-stained print out of it, and then smooth out the creases the next morning, whispering words of affection and telling it that it will all be okay. Someday soon, we'll be together again. We even have our own song.
The "naan-wich" at Gaztrowagon, 5973 N. Clark or a food truck near you. They were out of the wild boar that everyone raves about, so I opted for the pork belly with pickled onions, which was great (lawd, that bread!), but paled in comparison to the veal picatta that I got on my second trip there a couple of weeks ago. Even Lily gave that one her two-tooth seal of approval.* It was more moist than (edited for family content). If Bayless has the best sandwiches in the city, this place is nipping at his Kenneth Cole Reaction wearing heels.*This seal is relatively easy to achieve. Just ask her friend, "frozen peas".
The half chicken and frites at The Publican, round two. For the love of Chic-fil-A, just look at it. I should think that I hardly have to sell you on this. While Katy and I are generally of the same mind that chicken is wildly overrated (you're off the hook for now foie gras), this dish is certainly the exception to the rule. 
The pizza pot pie at Chicago Pizza & Oven Grinder, 2121 N. Clark Street. We waited nearly 20 minutes to be seated at 4:30pm on a Saturday, and normally the wait can be up to an hour and a half. To tell you truth, I'm not sure that the wait is really warranted. Sure, the interior feels like you're the distinguished dinner guest of Bilbo Baggins, but I found the pot pie to be merely average and I didn't really care for the giant, uncooked mushrooms inside. Not terrible by any means, but with Peaquod's a stone's throw away, you can definitely do better. 
Better? You mean like this giant garlic bread frisbee? I gotta give it to em'. Size really does matter. It doesn't necessarily make it taste better, but it does give it a certain awe factor that makes it both appealing and appalling at the same time. I was able to fashion a rugged looking football out of the leftovers which throws a nice, tight spiral, though it does leave your hands smelling a little garlicy.
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