Pleasant House

‘Twas twittered on a Tuesday afternoon that Pilsen’s Nightwood would be officially open for business. Chelsea would scoop me up from work, I would grab a Hacker Pschorr in case the license hadn’t gone through yet, and we would head down to our neighborhood for…get this, a chic dinner at a restaurant. We knew it would happen, sooner or later.

In all honesty, Chelsea and I had always hoped that it would be at our own restaurant in the neighborhood. In fact, I remember, years ago, asking some vendors that I shared with Lula Café if they thought the café owners would be receptive to a letter from me, or even a casual meeting, asking them what it was like to open a restaurant in a “fringe” neighborhood. If there were any jewels of wisdom, as owners of a Logan Square restaurant, that they could bestow on an eager pioneer like myself. I have looked at them, a husband and wife team, and their success as inspiration and motivation for Chelsea’s and my own endeavors. I never worked up the courage to approach them. I think back to how ironic it would have been, as the plans for their Nightwood might have already been set into motion.

But that was then, this is now, and the future is wide open and can only get brighter as Nightwood gets a chance to spread its wings. Chelsea and I pulled up to Nightwood this rainy evening and sandwiched our Mini between two others—a sign? Probably not, just an observation. But there was a sign on the restaurant, a simple tube of cursive neon, that spelled out its name. The entrance to the restaurant is through the small patio smartly appointed with Bertoia-esque seating and clever cube chairs comprised of stacked pieces of green deck posts. The inside of the space is cleanly modern, slightly Spartan, yet very comfortable. The design elements remind me of my ’70s and ’80s childhood, with dark oak-looking tables and naugahide-like banquettes; I imagined a knight’s suit of armor in the corner and orange shag carpeting, but I digress.

Good restaurant design can be as comforting as the food, and I’m glad that they went through the effort. The layout of the open kitchen is smart and efficient. Located toward the back of the space, the kitchen gleams brightly with a series of neatly spaced stainless-steel islands (peninsulas, really) surrounded by black ceramic-tile walls. A row of seats along the kitchen accommodate those who would like to watch the cooks do their magic.

Nightwood’s concise menu had a few appetizers, a couple of sandwiches, and a few entrées displayed in a neat hand-written, cursive font. Chelsea and I started with a green garlic soup, some morels stewed with a bit of beef short rib, and lamb meatballs atop handmade pasta. Each was nice, the garlic soup mild, the earthiness of the morels enhanced by the rain in the air, and the pasta and meatballs rustically refined. We shared our entrees: suckling pig ravioli and a simple pork-loin sandwich with crispy-on-the-outside, fluffy-on-the-inside fries and a spring green salad. A custardy, baked-rhubarb dessert with crème fraiche gelato capped off the meal in a quintessentially springy way.

It’s only appropriate that the first restaurant of this caliber in what I consider to be a pretty special neighborhood would make sense. What I mean is, it looks right, it feels right, and it tastes right. There was an eery sense of calm about the place for an opening night, which could in part have been because it wasn’t that busy, or because there was a sense of ease, knowing that the time is right for this kind of place in my neighborhood and everyone knows it. Right now I’m the outsider looking in, but so, too, is Nightwood, as it looks out its windows at a new and exciting neighborhood, wondering how their relationship will grow. It looks to me like we will all have something to gain.