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Custom House

Excuse me, Shawn McClain, but I don’t know what you want from me. First you pluck me from my protein-packed universe and drop me in Green Zebra, asking me to forgo my unbridled love of beef for a meat-free meal. You woo me with wilted greens at your wunderestaurant and show me the power of cabbage as course centerpiece, and all of a sudden, I’m waxing lyrical about the noble endive. Pork? What pork, I say. And then you remind me.

Enter Custom House. As in, McClain’s other other (the former other being Spring – but I’ll get to that later) restaurant. As in a sexy, sophisticated South Loop eatery. As in a steakhouse. And a spot where I can (/did!) meat my heart out.

But this isn’t your average carnivore-embracing chop-shop. First of all, it isn’t merely about steak – more of a protein democracy, Custom House is a restaurant where one can just as easily snack on sweetbreads and swine. That is, if I’m using “snack” as a euphemism for “shovel down unabashedly.” Take those veal sweetbreads, for example (which, BTW, is another euphemism of sorts – for veal pancreas. I digress.). Served with creamy white polenta and glazed bacon, it makes for a dish fatty, firm, and salty with a bit of slop. Another adjective that comes to mind: delicious. And impossible to not finish.

Again playing with unconventional parts is CH’s veal cheeks (a euphemism for…veal cheeks) number, a refined take on pot roast that smartly pairs recognizable flavor profiles with a protein none-too-familiar. Those once throwaway bits – of pancreas, tongue, kidney and heart – have made quite the culinary comeback, but a number of restaurants miss the essence: the key to offal is to make it not taste awful. Custom House, however, does bone marrow (among other things) beautifully. If you need an introduction, this is it.

The seafood isn’t to be missed, either, the scallops (with salsify puree and crispy wild mushrooms) proving a high point of our meal. Admittedly, I’m a sucker for mollusks, but my boyfriend-slash-epicure-counterpoint isn’t so easily impressed – and by this dish, he was. More mediocre were the beef tartare and the brussels sprouts, each pleasant but a bit bland. With mini cabbages at near menu saturation, a restaurant is going to win neither innovation awards by pairing the IT veg with bacon, nor execution accolades by being too light-handed on the salt. That said, it doesn’t merit excoriation for a side dish, either; I’m just particular about my brussels.

More traditional touches manifest in sides like the gnocchi, a garlicky übersauced indulgence that seems to be Custom House’s answer to creamed spinach. Right, and then there’s the steak…though, come on, you know what I’m going to say. It’s carnivorous heaven.

The space mirrors the food in its both classic and contemporary design, a sexy and masculine steakhouse with a smattering of spa-like touches. In reference to the massive limestone wall encasing the kitchen window, this is a good thing. When it comes to the all-too-soothing, embarrassingly elevatoresque music? Bad. I had to engage in some gastronomic voyeurism (focus on the expediting. Focus on the expediting!) to help me ignore it. You bump TV on the Radio and Bon Iver at Zebra, Shawn. You know better than Muzak.


But when it comes to gourmet dynamism, you know best. You had me relinquish my meat-loving ways at GZ only to send me back into the arms of bacon at Custom House, and I know you have some serious seafood tricks up your sleeve at Spring (readers, expect an ever-so-cheeky write-up shortly). So what is it you want, McClain?

Oh, I see – you want me to eat it all. Well, okay. With relish.

-S. Brahney