The Best Restaurant in Chicago

I now definitively know the best restaurant in Chicago.

This is not opinion. This is not a professional critic expressing a personal preference that the general dining population could care less about. This is not a social media-driven white lie created to generate clicks or subscriptions.

It’s facts.

The best restaurant in Chicago right now is…

Daisies. 

I know.

Michelin will probably reward Daisies one star.

The James Beard awards may recognize Daisies for the best “new” restaurant category next year, but maybe not, since this new incarnation of the restaurant is a reboot of the OG smaller Daisies that launched in 2017.

Even if Daisies and its chef/proprietor Joe Frillman make the finals they might not win because the James Beard awards, which were once given mostly to white male chefs are now rewarded predominantly to BIPOC folks, and a lot more women, (based on the last two years of awards data). This is not a dog whistle or lines to be read between. All I’m saying is that the trends for these particular awards are measurably no longer in pale dudes’ favor. Most everything else, for now, still is.

If you’re a critic playing by the “rules”, you’re not allowed to award the true numerical greatness of Daisies. You can gush of course, but you can’t give Daisies four stars because you been made to believe that rating is only reserved for certain kinds of restaurants and chefs, and only given out once a decade during a blood moon, and only after the ghost of Joel Robuchon has been spotted in its crater formations.

As a reader, you probably thought I was going to say the best Chicago restaurant was Valhalla, Ever, Esme, Oriole, Alinea, Kasama, Smyth or Elske. If you believed these to be the answer you might even be right, or at least true to your own heart. On certain days I believe these also to be the answer. All of these restaurants are operating at a level that is without a doubt not even in the same league as 99% of most restaurants in America. They are art in a world of craft.

But, in their price points, their pre-fixe offering, their very specific points of view, for one reason or another they are not for everyone.

I am not saying they are exclusive or elitist. Kasama has its brunch offerings. Esme has its bar. Elske has a very accessible a la carte offering. Their staffs and their clientele are diverse.

Valhalla is exquisite, but its environment competes with the ramble of the food hall below.

Oriole probably offers one of the most accessible hospitality staffs relative to the refinement level of their food.

Smyth and Ever and Alinea continue to push cuisine, their chef/owners pursuing flavor combinations and techniques not available anywhere else, but at a price point and in a very specific environment that can be intimidating for some.

If Daisies has exact peers, we might look to Boka, Galit, El Che, or Lula Café, restaurants with similar affordability and accessible environments, teams that “get it” serving superlative experiences that appeal to a much broader set of diners. They too should be in this conversation of the best restaurants.

Of all of those, though, Daisies is the only one I’m positive recent immigrants, Logan Square hipsters, tech billionaires, and heartland farmers will love with similar fervor.

In my bones, I believe right now Daisies is the standard. Every decision made and every aspect of the restaurant is so spot on (save one, and even then, that also might be perfect – we’ll examine it) it’s hard not to look at owner Joe Frillman and his team and wonder how they understand the restaurant game so clearly at this moment.

I saw a video this morning of Scottie Scheffler talking to Tiger Woods.  Unless you’re a golf nut, you’re probably like Scottie who?  He’s the current #1 ranked PGA golfer in the world.

The general population hasn’t heard of him because the guy he was talking to, Woods, played golf for almost two decades at a level that no one in human history, not even grand slam-wins leader Jack Nicklaus, ever had.  Wood’s performance and innovation casts a shadow so large, we can’t really get excited about whoever’s next if all they’re doing is convincingly imitating Tiger. 

But that’s just me. Scheffler, the number player in the world, watched the current almost-crippled Tiger (his legs have been destroyed and rebuilt multiple times now) practicing and realized that when hitting irons, Tiger’s swing is still so precise, he never made a divot in the grass below the ball.

I’m not talking about a ball on a tee. I’m talking about a ball lying in direct contact with the grass. It’s almost impossible not to take a chunk of grass out with your swing. Pros do it all the time, but even when a pro does it, often because they’re trying to get a specific launch angle, they are channeling some of the force of their swing into the ground.

The best way to hit an iron is not to divot at all, because this removes some energy that the ball would otherwise absorb, shortening the length the ball travels and or changing the direction the ball might fly.

In this video, Scheffler, THE #1 PLAYER IN THE WORLD, couldn’t process what he was seeing. He asked Tiger if he always does that? Tiger looked at Scheffler, like Scheffler had asked him something like, “How do you know how to tie your shoes?” 

For Tiger, who spent his entire childhood trying to achieve perfection (unlike my favorite NBA player Allen Iverson) through practice, not making a divot was now simple, a fact of life that always was.

To everyone else, including those who practiced more than most, but not more than Tiger, nor at the foot of ex Vietnam-vet and Army Special Forces Lieutenant-Colonel Earl Woods, this was extraordinary.

Would you believe I hate golf?  I do. But I love what Tiger Woods performance on the course signifies.

Is Frillman the Tiger Woods of restauranteurs. Not yet. But, like Woods, he and his team are currently doing stuff that makes me shake my head in disbelief.

There have been chefs and owners whose food has been accessible to everyone, chefs who have been technically inspiring, chefs who chose art over profit, owners who chose profit over art, and owners and chefs who built restaurants that were good in at least one of the categories of food, drink, hospitality, or ambience, but it is rare that you find a chef, his team, and restaurant dominating all of these areas.

We have already established that Daisies might even struggle in the awards or traditional ratings game, because what Frillman is doing is not part of the expected greatness template.

Certainly, Frillman who studied under Rick Tramonto, inventor of the caviar staircase at Tru, traveled around Europe, and apprenticed at Heston Blumenthal’s Fat Duck (then one of the best restaurants in the world) could have gone the pre-fixe arty high-end route.

But, Frillman also worked with Chris Pandel (at The Bristol and Balena) and Paul Virant (at Perennial Virant), masters of executing popular accessible and local and seasonal ingredient-driven cuisine at profit, scale, and with longevity.  

Instead of leaning on one of these guys heavily, Frillman is basically like a chef version of Voltron. He has taken the best traits of these mentors and influences and distributed them equally within himself, and added his own Midwestern sensibility and regard for traditional European foodways to create a style that is greater than the sum of all its inspiring parts.

I see all of this in a raviolo on the current menu, a green silky giant pasta packet stuffed with ricotta and a rich runny egg dripping in brown butter and garnished with the lifting acidity of pickled ramps. It is of course a nod to the raviolo served at The Bristol and the raviolo served at Schwa which were a nod to the raviolo from the Italian restaurant San Domenico. The dish was basically perfect at those places, but Frillman not only made a good call back, but he improved the dish.  

To execute this raviolo, the chef has to make perfect pasta. They also must possess the finesse to cook that pasta without overcooking the egg.  Frillman’s pasta is not just a standard dough, it’s infused with local ramps from Mick Klug farms in Michigan. Paul Virant was a master of preserving the harvest through pickling. Frillman definitely learned a thing from Virant, because he pickled Klug’s ramps and sprinkled them like a confetti of lifting acidity to cut through the richness of the pasta.

In this one bite, I can taste Midwestern spring, Italian winter, and feel the souls of Pandel, Virant, Michael Carlson (Schwa), and Frillman. Dramatic as fuh, I know. But seriously this is what I felt. I could see my entire career and the thousands of meals I’ve eaten culminating in the knowledge of what this moment meant. I also know my efforts would be better off inventing something to make the world better, but what can I say, my passions lie in culinary things.

The most extraordinary part is I almost did not order this dish, because I was the cool critic. I was all like, “Yeah, yeah, famous egg raviolo. Been there. Done that.” It was my twelve-year-old son who wanted it with the same fervor he reserves for certain limited drop Jordan kicks.

My son eats well, but he is not precocious or even a foodie. But he loves pasta, he loves cheese, and he loves eggs like a lot of 12-year-olds. He also likes to play with his food and insisted on being the person to breach the egg. He did not blanche at the ramps. Certainly they were unfamiliar, but even he realized their tartness made the pasta better. 

My son also gravitated toward the rigatoni, asking me, “What is nduja?” All I had to utter were the words, soft spreadable salami. He lost his mind and was in on this dish as well. Daisies rigatoni is not your usual sausage and peppers or traditional Bolognese-dressed situation. The nduja here imparts a salty beyond beef richness carried high by the fizz of fermented tomato.  Me and the kid died over this one.

There are actual pierogi on the Daisies menu, but we skipped them in favor of pepper and spruce-tip flecked morel-larded parmesan cream-drenched gnocchi.

You know how some people make a martini by heavy pouring gin and just staring angrily at a bottle of vermouth that never gets near the glass? 

Well, Frillman’s gnocchi are so light, I suspect he just laughed in the direction of a bag of double zero flour, because these are pure potato clouds with barely a whisper of gluten to keep them square. They also invoked the filling of my babcia’s potato pierogi. In one bite I was suddenly seven years old again, her hands on mine pressing a yellow plastic cup (no fancy ring mold cutters for this Polish gangster) into fresh dough.

Speaking of children and child memory, many local restaurants look at you sideways if you have a baby carrier or in my case a 12-year-old in Crocs and a ratty t-shirt in tow. Daisies embraces children not only with their food, but also in its hospitality and design.

Our server, Yazmine with the sweet red eyeglasses, cares what the adults think, but the first thing she does before we order is look my son straight in the eye and ask him what he likes or if there’s anything he’s not ok with. He is an equal in our feast.

The bright white ceilings, the maple wood slat flooring, and the cushy c-shaped banquettes have a warm and inviting softness. The art at Daisies, like a vibrant yellow lemon wedge taking a high dive in to a bluish-tinged glass of clear liquid captures the youngster’s zen for primary colors and high resolution, while the splashing of the liquid makes adults want to drink everything at the bar.

And you will. It’s extraordinary if a restaurant has a wine list in 2023, but that GM Katherine Sturgill’s wine curation is so deep and wide on affordable natural food-friendly whites and reds is superlative.

Oh, man, and the cocktail program overseen by Seth Marquez features a fermented mushroom-infused Margarita that is bright and lip-smacking, but also finishes with a sating rich tongue-coating umami. 

If you are a staunch bourbon guy who measures your manhood by how neat you like your spirits, I implore you to run the fruity gauntlet of the “Raspberry Dreamin” anyway. The whiskey’s caramel and vanilla-tones are compliment by the nutty oxidation of cream sherry and spicy ginger and lifted by the contrasting punchy notes of lemon and raspberry.

This drink pairs well with Frillman’s “tongue” dish. Which is to say, yeah there’s plenty of pasta and cheese and stuff your picky dad or kid might love on this menu, but Frillman knows and believes in the glory of offal too.

He’s not just rewarding his selfish chef sensibility. He’s offering accessibility in the hopes of encouraging discovery by grilling thin slices of tongue with serious backyard Weber-chef-vibe-cross-hatches. He buries these beauties like treasure at the bottom of grill-charred dill-adorned mountain of cabbage ribbons glistening with bracing vinaigrette. The tongue is smoky and delicate like the love child of a flavorful ribeye and tender filet mignon

My greatest regret visiting Italy last year is that we missed fried artichoke season, but I rectified that with Frillman’s airy tempura-battered fritto misto: a bowl of fried mushroom, artichoke, and melting cheese curds that kicks the hell out of my previous favorite crispy curds from the A&W in Kenosha, Wisonsin.

Which is to say (ok, maybe the amazeballs tarragon aioli dip would trip them up) there is nothing in this dish a blindfolded red stater wouldn’t absolutely rave about on his barbeque-joint-review YouTube channel the next morning.

If bubba were still blindfolded and served Frillman’s fish fry, hunks of flaky white fish coated in a mahogany-dark cracker meal wrapper swimming in the tastiest of tartar sauces, he would swear he’d just been transported to his favorite supper club. That is until he dipped his fork in the vinegar-punched potato salad. Then he would know he wasn’t in Wisconsin anymore, but he would love it so much, he’d make the return trip to Logan Square every Friday during lent.

By the way when I say “Frillman” I am also giving credit to Thomas Leonard, Daisies’ “Head of Culinary” for he is certainly ensuring consistency in everything coming out of the kitchen.

If there’s a “secret” to Daisies’ success, it’s probably highlighted in the fact that I’ve named so many names so far in this review other than Frillman’s. Every restaurant is a team effort, but it’s clear in how Frillman shares credit in interviews, on his website, on his menu with everyone he works with that Daisies is not an extraction or exploitation of the team, but a truly equitable arrangement.

And while no member of the team is likely above anyone else, if a restaurant succeeds in almost every other area, the one certain place it will fall is that its pastry is rarely ever the equal to the savory food. That one of Frillman’s partners is Leigh Omilinsky, one of the best pastry chefs working in the city right now, well there are a hundred metaphors or comparisons to famous duos to be made.

Bogey & Bacall, Nichols & May, Ohtani & Trout, Gretzky & Messier, Jordan & Pippen, Brady & Gronk, Tversky & Kahneman, Fellini & Martelli, Basquiat & Warhol, and Mos Def & Talib Kweli. Take your pick. The Daisies culinary lineup is sick.

Omilinsky makes the unfamiliar familiar and the familiar unfamiliar.  I know, you think I’m high. But who amongst you has a had crackling sugar-crusted sweet rhubarb-larded crostata surrounded by a flower-perfumed moat of chamomile crème anglaise on the regular?

No one. But, many of have had a sugared-lattice-top rhubarb pie sprayed with whipped cream. Omilinsky’s crostata masterpiece might be wearing an elegant black dress, but it also channels that kind of springy gingham-accessorized goodness.

We have of course all housed whole boxes of commercially processed and industrial-stabilized Lil’ Debbie oatmeal cream pies, but very few of us has had them made with oven-warm oatmeal cookies and fresh pastry cream like Omilinsky does them at Daisies.

For at least a century, fancy restaurants have been giving out tiny free post-dinner sweets called mignardise. Omilinsky has created a whole confectioner’s assortment of these tiny bites including a perfect chocolate chip cookie, jiggly dark-chocolate bread pudding, hazelnut crunch bars, gooey butter cake, jam-filled kolaczki and raspberry pretzel “salad.”

They’re $4 for “bites” easily shared by two. It’s a genius commercial move and a pure hospitality-forward offering for those with a sweet tooth. I can’t imagine not dropping $28 bucks for all seven one night if want to feel like a dessert baller without dropping baller cash.

Speaking of the monies, this brings us to the one point of contention with the Daisies experience. There is a 25% service charge on top of the check total whose proceeds are split evenly between the kitchen and service teams to provide a fair wage and benefits to employees. I fully support this.  I believe in it. It might be the right way to do it.

But, because it is a different approach than many restaurants are taking, there are signs and notes on the menus and websites explaining everything. If you book a reservation through Tock, you have to check a legit waiver acknowledging that you know this fee will be assessed. This all introduces a layer of friction and momentary pause in an experience that is otherwise natural and frictionless.

There is another way to do it, which is to fold the service charge into the menu price and eliminate a tip line on the final check. This is what Thattu does and I prefer it. 

I know the argument is that people complain less about line item fees than they do about menu prices, and therefore the separate line item is more effective for the business to capture revenue and endure less grief.  I think this is true if your restaurant is similar to everyone else’s, but Daisies is extraordinary and well differentiated in almost every way.

The patrons here are mostly like Apple customers, which is to say they’re willing to pay more and believe in a service included menu price, because the value and the experience offered by Daisies is not replicated by anyone else in Chicago right now. 

Will people still complain if they shifted to a menu price model? Absolutely. There will always be price whingers and their voices will likely be much louder than the majority of people who quietly appreciate that the business is pricing their goods accordingly and managing the funds those prices achieve behind the scenes without confusing or pushing it to the forefront of the guest’s mind.

However, I respect that I am not paying the real estate fees, the employee salaries, and the insurance that Frillman is. His call here is the only one that matters. He does so many smart business and team-facing things I know he has the best interest of every one in mind. Like I haven’t even mentioned that a lot of the produce comes from his brother Tim’s farm. It’s a smart vertical integration on the business side but also a beautiful way to partner with family and procure quality food from the community.

I do believe Daisies is an outlier and they can get the revenue however they wish with little to no negative outcome, except of course the usual inconsequential pushback from pesky food newsletter writers parsing what it all means, and the few vicious Yelp trolls taking their life frustrations out on those who serve them food.

In the end, you can skip the 3000 words that came before this and understand that my Daisies experience boils down to this:

I don’t believe in God, but because of the excellence of places like Daisies I do believe in restaurants.

Like a deity, if a restaurant is really good, it gives you what you need when you need it:

Sustenance.

Succor.

Inspiration.

Life.

I have been in particular need of all four. My life as of late has generally been a very bad country song. In the last month, my father almost died. My hamster did. My “real” job has been under general economic threat, and well there’s also the usual travails of being a dad and husband. 

Sometimes, you just need to get away from all that and be in the moment, be human, be inspired, be fed, and be alive. That is what Daisies, the best restaurant in Chicago, gave me, and I know it will absolutely provide the same to you.

Daisies is located at 2375 N. Milwaukee in Chicago