Eddie Vedder Made Me Cry, Q & A with Chef John Manion of El Che Steakhouse and Bar

You're still alive, she said.

Oh, do I deserve to be?

Is that the question?

And if so, if so, who answers?

We knew it was coming for the grandparents. But, we have now reached the point of the pandemic where great chefs, teens and, sadly, even infants, are now dead. By the grace of something, we are, if you are still reading this, alive. And life as it was before this, and still is, especially given the perspective of the last two weeks, is a great gift.

Even when we’re sad, there is much worth. Like so many of you, I have been going on daily walks to get outside, metaphorically and literally. Physically, it’s working out. I generally only run when chased, but I have not missed taking at least a daily two-mile stroll for the last few weeks.

Metaphorically, I’m failing to get outside of myself. I like to listen to podcasts when I walk, and today I chose Bill Simmons’ Ringer pod with Pearl Jam’s Eddie Vedder and Jeff Ament. As I ambled between a spitting drizzle, Simmons asked Vedder when he thought the band really peaked or gelled together. Vedder meandered a bit, eventually saying:

People wonder if I still get nervous? Yes, I still get nervous, because anything can happen, you have to be in tune and open to something you can’t anticipate happening, whether it’s lightning at Wrigley, or a kid in the front row holding a sign with tears in his eyes.

(I’m paraphrasing above because real transcription is even more of a hell than quarantine):

As he spoke, you could hear a Zippo clink in the background, followed by Vedder’s soft exhale. I exhaled too, and became that kid he spoke of, the one with the tears in his eyes. Right there, on Diversey near the Green Exchange building, I burst, one, from the stress of these times, but also with respect to a powerful waft of nostalgia, recalling how Pearl Jam inspired the beginning of my creative life.

It was freshman year, the 90s, I was strolling down the back halls of Eisenhower High School in Shelby Township, Michigan, when, suddenly, I heard a whip crack buzzsaw guitar lick that sounded like a thrill coaster made of infinite hills, rolling up and down amidst a John Bonham-esque crash of cymbals. I poked my head into a classroom and asked what the hell I was hearing. Even though it was a handful of teenage band kids murdering Pearl Jam, I recognized its inherent beauty.

I ran to Best Buy because then they were the cheapest purveyor of CDs, threw a 10 spot at the cashier and ran home, and popped a disc into my dad’s Teac CD player and cranked Pearl Jam’s Ten over and over for a week. I loved Nirvana like everyone else, but nothing from the grunge era made me feel as electric as the track “Alive”. I didn’t pick up a guitar that day. I don’t even think I picked up a pen then, but I knew, in that moment, for whatever reason, I would leave math and science, the things I truly loved then, behind, and move toward creativity.

Today’s interview is with chef John Manion of El Che Bar, formerly of La Sirena Clandestina, and back in the day, the influential Mas. In a weird coincidence, John’s wife, Nicole, also graduated from Eisenhower High School a few years after me. Like me, John is also from Michigan, and again, like me, his dad worked for Ford Motor Company. Unlike me, John’s father’s job took John and his family to São Paulo, Brazil, where, as a young man, he kindled the South American-influenced cooking voice that has become his hallmark.

I’m gonna pay for this with embarrassment next time I see him, but Manion is lumberjack handsome, a sort of chef version of Nick Offerman with a dash of Russell Crowe. If you saw Manion on the street, you’d totally assume he could kill a grizzly with his bare hands. If you walked into El Che bar and saw him working his live fire kitchen set-up, a cross between a medieval forge and the closing night of Burning Man, you would not be disabused of that notion.

Stay awhile, and a bounty of flaky empanadas, quivering bits of sweetbread, blackened blood sausage, and caramelized slabs of ruddy-colored rare-interior meats will be your reward. No nonsense guy that he is, Manion and his partners decided to close up shop as the crisis crept to focus on the safety of their restaurant family until things passed. That being said, last week Manion ran a pop-up butcher market out of El Che, affording the chance to score some USDA prime meats that you’d have a tough time procuring at the grocery store if you want to whip up a killer snack during quarantine. Manion expects to keep the pop up going this week, so check his Instagram, @juanmanjuan for details.

How’s the pandemic impacting your business?

We closed last Sunday. I went to that meeting at Chef’s Special Cocktail Bar when Pritzker announced they were shutting down restaurants. I said immediately, listen, we’re done. I can’t have my people on the southside taking buses and trains and putting themselves in harm’s way.  A few days before the close we talked to staff, polled them, and some weren’t comfortable staying open. My thinking is the biggest goal here is for everyone to have a business to come back to from [this epidemic]. We weren’t really set up for it anyway. We do a little delivery for the one neighbor who wants a big ass steak and doesn’t want to get it, but what we do doesn’t translate that well for delivery. We figured if we closed we could get everyone on unemployment as soon as possible.

You were working at Mas when 9-11 happened? What was that like? How does this compare?

A lot of places closed for a day or two then. I remember we went to Best Buy and bought a TV and put it on the bar, so people could watch if they came in. Mas was such a part of the fabric of the neighborhood. We wanted it to be a place people could gather.

That was an American thing. Now, we’re so myopic. This [pandemic] is a global thing. The economic ripples are going to be everywhere. 

This hit quickly. I remember a couple weeks ago thinking about the spring break trip I was going to take to Disney World with my family. Now it’s like everything is on hold. The world has stopped. What kind of things were you planning before the virus hit?

Everything at Che was really awesome. Things were really happening, but you know, this seems like par for the course. Doing this for 25 years, you come to expect there’s always some catastrophe.

Because things were going well, we had so many plans. We were going to open up the façade to the whole dining room and redo the whole curbside appeal. Now that’s on hold.

What’s the upside of this time out?

I got an 18-month-old, and my wife works for Kinship restaurant PR, so she’s in crisis management mode, which means I’m in the unique position of being Mr. Mom, and that’s pretty cool. I just spent an hour playing under our kitchen table. I’m cooking. I just made enchilada pie, which was a feat.

This period also gives me time to think, clear my head. My wife and I have had dinner together nine nights in a row. I don’t know if we’ve ever had 2 or 3 in row. My dog is confused to see me so much.

I’ve also learned, this [Chicago restaurant] community is fucking amazing, the leadership we have. Some people I would literally follow anywhere. Jason Hammel (Lula Cafe, Superkhana International) should win some kind of award for what he’s doing.

What does it look like for you when we come out of this?

When we do come out on the other side, it will be a unique opportunity to ramp up like we’re opening a restaurant again. This requires capital and gives us a chance to do some team building. I’m not someone who asks people to work off the clock. A lot of that goes on in this business and it’s very wrong. When we reopen, and our goal is to keep our staff intact, we’ll be able to focus on paying people to train and get up to speed again.

You’re one of the first chefs I’ve spoken to since it was announced New York chef Floyd Cardoz died. Did you know him? Any thoughts?

I met him in the 1990s. His death makes it [the pandemic] so real.  The sad thing is he was such a big deal for a long time, hugely influential. He inspired the second wave of this kind [upscale Indian] of cooking. He opened up a lot of minds of what Indian cuisines could be. You feel like people forgot a little bit.

We did that here with Charlie Trotter I feel, right?

I feel Charlie was treated shabbily considering everything he did for our city.

Why do you think that is?

It’s our society now. It’s so fast paced. It’s always go go, what’s new and next, and a lot of that probably has to do with social media.

El Che bar is located at 845 W. Washington in Chicago, elchechicago.com