“Chicago has a new Italian restaurant.”
Hmm. Let’s try that again...
“Chicago has a new Italian restaurant from Billy Lawless boasting vodka-and-prosecco slushies, rosemary ham Neapolitan pizzas and local hogs butchered in-house. Also, this slideshow contains prosciutto meatballs.”
Much better.
You may now proceed to Coda di Volpe, a new establishment that’s open right now in the Southport Corridor.
More likely than not, this’ll involve you and a few good friends huddled around a tan leather booth facing Southport, sharing those prosciutto meatballs and a plate of Italian salumi (they have a curing room) before diving into the real thing.
“The real thing” being a round of good Italian beers and a pizza that’s been wood-fired in a tiled oven imported from Naples and topped with things like Calabrian chili and fennel sausage.
Or one of four deeply cared-for pastas including a squid ink garganelli with salt-cured tuna heart.
Or a Berkshire pork chop derived from a Midwestern hog they butchered right back there in the kitchen.
In conclusion: you’re never not eating Italian anymore.
Hmm. Let’s try that again...
“Chicago has a new Italian restaurant from Billy Lawless boasting vodka-and-prosecco slushies, rosemary ham Neapolitan pizzas and local hogs butchered in-house. Also, this slideshow contains prosciutto meatballs.”
Much better.
You may now proceed to Coda di Volpe, a new establishment that’s open right now in the Southport Corridor.
More likely than not, this’ll involve you and a few good friends huddled around a tan leather booth facing Southport, sharing those prosciutto meatballs and a plate of Italian salumi (they have a curing room) before diving into the real thing.
“The real thing” being a round of good Italian beers and a pizza that’s been wood-fired in a tiled oven imported from Naples and topped with things like Calabrian chili and fennel sausage.
Or one of four deeply cared-for pastas including a squid ink garganelli with salt-cured tuna heart.
Or a Berkshire pork chop derived from a Midwestern hog they butchered right back there in the kitchen.
In conclusion: you’re never not eating Italian anymore.
