The Loews hotel opens Monday in Streeterville. It sounds pretty nice.
Lobby bar. Seventy-five-foot lap pool. Four hundred rooms spread among 14 floors.
We guess you’re just wondering one thing:
Does it have a rustic Argentine steakhouse inspired by a South American cattle-judging society and helmed by a real live Iron Chef?
Of course it does, silly. Of course it does.
It’s called Rural Society, a Buenos Aires–style meatopia where Jose Garces gives the cuisine of Argentina his full attention, now taking reservations for Monday’s opening. (Here’s the slideshow and here’s the menu.)
Now, you already know Garces can do great things with tapas thanks to Mercat a la Planxa. Here, he’s set up shop in what can best be described as a swanky 4-H club where you’ll entertain friends and clients over charcoal-grilled ribeyes and tenderloins.
You’ll pass wood-paneled lockers that double as coat storage and see ribbons given to the most congenial bull (or whatever), then pass the front bar—remember that bar for simpler nights fueled by malbec and fugazza, the pizza of Buenos Aires.
Eventually, though, you’ll settle in, request the chef’s parrilla tasting menu and welcome any meats that appear in front of you.
It’s just what you do with meats.
Lobby bar. Seventy-five-foot lap pool. Four hundred rooms spread among 14 floors.
We guess you’re just wondering one thing:
Does it have a rustic Argentine steakhouse inspired by a South American cattle-judging society and helmed by a real live Iron Chef?
Of course it does, silly. Of course it does.
It’s called Rural Society, a Buenos Aires–style meatopia where Jose Garces gives the cuisine of Argentina his full attention, now taking reservations for Monday’s opening. (Here’s the slideshow and here’s the menu.)
Now, you already know Garces can do great things with tapas thanks to Mercat a la Planxa. Here, he’s set up shop in what can best be described as a swanky 4-H club where you’ll entertain friends and clients over charcoal-grilled ribeyes and tenderloins.
You’ll pass wood-paneled lockers that double as coat storage and see ribbons given to the most congenial bull (or whatever), then pass the front bar—remember that bar for simpler nights fueled by malbec and fugazza, the pizza of Buenos Aires.
Eventually, though, you’ll settle in, request the chef’s parrilla tasting menu and welcome any meats that appear in front of you.
It’s just what you do with meats.
