Having visited Creepies seven times for dinner, I still remain intrigued by the restaurant. Five months after opening, it’s good—but still growing—and seemingly intent on finding its way without ever abandoning a fundamental weirdness: a distinct style (totally kindred with what goes on at Elske) that is part intellectual, part irreverent, and often unconcerned with easy pleasure.
Of course, the food is frequently quite delicious—just never at the cost of putting forth a singular creative expression. And it helps that the menu here has not only proven so dynamic, but that it is joined by cocktails and a wine list that rank among the city’s finest.
With the debut of lunch service, Creepies now has a chance to package its work for a more casual audience, and I find that facing this sort of restriction (the time constraints and tastes that drive midday dining) often forms a boon for kitchens in possession of such a strong voice. Indeed, it forces them to channel their zanier ideas into established, legible forms and, as a result, leverages familiarity to deliver textures and flavors that surpass any expectation of what a given dish (at this less gastronomically privileged time) is capable of.
That’s the hope at least, and I booked a table for the second lunch service with full confidence that the Poseys and chef de cuisine Tayler Ploshehanski were up to the task.
Let us begin.
Of the smaller plates on offer at this timeslot, only the “Lyonnaise Salad with Smoked Maitakes” ($18) is, at least right now, distinct from the dinner offerings. As the mushrooms in the title might suggest, this recipe represents a vegetarian take (keeping the poached egg while excising the lardons) on the emblematic bistro dish. It can be thought of as an inversion of, say, Obélix’s rendition (which, ranking as one of my favorites, utilizes a heap of duck confit to help flavor its lettuce).
Visually, the Creepies salad certainly looks the part: comprising a tangle of frisée offset by leaves of radicchio and endive, studded with darker segments of crouton and maitake, then topped with the generously salted and peppered egg. When punctured, its yolk oozes temptingly throughout the bowl, lending a warm, rich finish to each of the affected bites. Otherwise, the dish is characterized by the clean crispness of the lettuces opposite the resounding crunch of the toasted bread and the surprisingly meaty mouthfeel of the smoked mushrooms. The overall textural effect here is textbook, and the resulting flavor—tangy, sharp, a touch bitter, and bolstered by an undercurrent of umami—is just as true to type. Overall, this makes for a great Lyonnaise: one that elegantly strikes all the familiar notes despite the absence of any decadent pork.
Moving on to the entrées, I find a total of five new dishes to sink my teeth into. The first of these is a “Niçoise Sandwich with Smoked Beet” ($20) that, interestingly enough, also reinterprets one of the French bistro’s classic salads. Here, not only is the headlining tuna (or anchovy) totally excised, but the whole thing is stacked within a sesame roll. There’s the base layer of thinly sliced beet, then an application of tomatoey dressing, followed by an absolute thicket of trimmed green beans, some arugula, and a top layer of olive tapenade.
Honestly, had I really thought through what this recipe might entail, I would’ve likely skipped it. Who wants to eat a sandwich inspired by a salad that, adding insult to injury, has been stripped of its starring element? Who would willingly stick themselves with the booby prize of yet another vegetarian conceit? However, rather ironically, this preparation ranks for me as the best of all the lunch offerings.
Framed by crisp (but absorptive) bread, the smooth, juicy beets and crunching beans offer a beautiful push-pull of textures. You would think the latter element—so dense—would dominate. Nonetheless, there’s so much buffering moistness and fluffiness at hand (reminiscent of a vinegar-soaked Italian sub) that the whole package comes together wonderfully. Moreover, the accompanying sensation—marrying sweetness, tang, and earthy brine—totally calls a cold cut-loaded loaf to mind. Ultimately, the level of satisfaction achieved here is totally convincing, and (though it’s hard to believe) I’d put this sandwich right up against those being slung at a certain legendary shop right down the street.
Relative to the preceding item, a “Croque Monsieur with Ham & Mornay” ($22)—on which I decided to also “add egg jam” ($4)—carries much higher expectations. Indeed, this is not a recipe that the kitchen is trying to scale back or repackage (however skillfully). Rather, it is one they are looking to hone to the highest degree of decadence (while also giving diners the opportunity to double down on that effect via the supplement).
Though classic examples of this sandwich are rather oversized (not to mention overflowing), Creepies imagines its croque monsieur as a kind of impossibly slender grilled cheese. Yes, by cutting a loaf of bread lengthwise (rather than widthwise), the chef fashions a long rectangle of golden-brown, griddled goodness. Sliced down the middle (again lengthwise), this yields two distinct pieces that are each filled with the titular ham and cheese sauce (as well as the egg jam) then topped with a skewer of cornichons and piparra peppers.
Structurally, the sandwich is a little tricky to handle without one of its ends flopping over. The kitchen’s intention may be for guests to further divide the portion; however, I can vouch that it’s entirely possible to eat the dish (as presented) without making a mess. On entry, the croque monsieur displays a lovely, crisp rigidity that seamlessly yields to a doubly gooey interior. Certainly, the ham here is perceptible, yet I’m impressed by the fact that no stringiness or errant fat detracts from the larger textural effect. When it comes to flavor, I find that the dish is driven primarily by a nutty note of cheese. The meat is not all that pronounced (though I appreciate the overall level of salt is kept in check), and the egg yolk generally serves to further enrich the mornay. The pickles and peppers, when incorporated, offer a key contrast. Nonetheless, while I think this preparation is amply seasoned, I almost want something to dip it in (or for the tangy toppers to be incorporated under the bread) in order for this sandwich to really soar. Still, this remains a nice example of the form.
Arriving next, the “Sturgeon Pie with Duchess Potatoes” ($24) stands as the most substantial, soothing (for the present cold weather) dish on offer. And, despite the clear French influence guiding Creepies’s cooking, the resulting serving (which one might place in the hachis Parmentier tradition) feels something like an amalgam of shepherd’s pie and chicken pot pie. On top, there’s a layer of eggy, faintly crisped potato purée (garnished with lemon zest) and, below, waits a molten layer of cubed sturgeon meat moistened with an allium-laced gravy.
Served piping hot, the preparation leads with a smooth, rich mouthful of potato before countering the tuber with the springy chew of the fish (that I hate to say, in this guise, is totally reminiscent of chicken). The sturgeon here is certainly moist and easy to get down. However, I find that the accompanying sauce is too thin and loose to really have any effect. Indeed, upon one scooping a serving of the pie onto my plate, the result is something of a mess. Despite the strength of the titular elements, this robs the composition of the binding mouthfeel and supporting flavoring that would really enable it to shine. In sum, while the recipe is not unpleasant, it falls short of its potential on this occasion.
The “Chicken Leg with Lentils, Parsnip, & Mustard Sauce” ($26) seems, at first glance, like little more than a regurgitation of the “Roasted Chicken with Liver & Wine Sauce” that headlines the dinner menu. Yet, much as I’ve come to love that latter dish, I just might prefer the lunch version.
Here, the bird benefits from the same air-chilling, curing, and overnight drying that makes the larger serving such a success. Nonetheless, in focusing so intently on the execution of this lone leg, the kitchen drives the crispness of the chicken’s skin to such an extreme that you’d be forgiven for thinking it was tempura-coated. Sprinkled with flaky salt, this supremely shattery exterior frames a wonderfully juicy, succulent interior. The softened onions and lentils that lurk below add to the fun, charging the flesh with savory depth that—in concert with the tangy-sweet mustard sauce—achieves a memorable degree of pleasure. In short, this is beautifully executed.
The last of the new savory fare on offer is a “Steak ‘Au Poivre’ with Confit Mushrooms” ($28), and, given the absence of beef on the dinner menu, it seems like this dish is meant to help lure in a “power lunch” crowd that craves something conventional and carnivorous with their side of hype. What arrives at the table certainly looks the part: seven sizable, blushing slices of meat (what looks like a hanger cut) sprinkled with flaky salt and set atop a creamy peppercorn sauce. Dense, wrinkled mushroom caps sit on either side of the steak while a side order of “French Fries” ($10), if desired, makes for a perfect bedfellow.
On the palate, the beef itself ticks all the boxes: being soft and juicy with a subtle, pleasing chew and just enough salt to unleash its latent flavor. The accompanying sauce does, indeed, smack of sharp pepper flavor (particularly on the finish); however, I find that its character is somewhat muted on the midpalate. Yes, while I suspect the recipe used here is unconventional, I miss the concentrated notes of stock, shallot, and mustard that might further enhance the steak’s savory character. The mushrooms, in contrast, are so plump and pronounced in their umami that I am left wishing there were more of them on the plate. If every bite of the meat was charged with that same intensity, we’d have a winner. Otherwise, as it stands, this preparation ranks as a merely good—not great—slab of beef in a city that has no shortage of exceptional examples.
The one unique dessert offered during lunch service follows the same logic as the preceding steak, and I am happy to report that it delivers what is promised with total confidence. Indeed, while Anna Posey’s work on the pastry side (every bit the equal of her husband’s savory cooking) is singular in its style, it often sacrifices sheer decadence for the sake of combining textures and flavors in a way that diners have hardly ever encountered. When it comes to the “Chocolate Mousse Cake with Coffee Cream” ($14), there’s little question of intention. This is the kind of sweet that can (and should) guarantee the highest peak of pleasure, and Posey does not miss.
Structurally, the cake is composed of a dense, flourless base with a reservoir of cool, firm mousse running along the top and dipping down through the middle. On the palate, the former layer provides a rich, fudgy sensation while the latter (tempered by the temperature of one’s mouth) turns moist and melty. The sum effect is something like a frosted brownie, and the silky coffee cream (pooled to the side of the plate) serves to further moisten the crumb. When it comes to flavor, I am pleased to find that the expression of chocolate is medium and milky rather than delving into the bitter depths of a darker blend. The roasted character of the coffee, too, is carefully integrated: providing supporting complexity without in any way detracting from the enjoyment at hand. Truly, this is about as precise and crowd-pleasing as chocolate desserts get. The cake—in both intention and execution—is a triumph.
In ranking the evening’s dishes:
I would place the “Niçoise Sandwich with Smoked Beet” and “Chocolate Mousse Cake with Coffee Cream” in the highest category: great recipes that achieved a truly memorable degree of pleasure. I would love to encounter either of these again.
Next come the “Lyonnaise Salad with Smoked Maitakes,” “Croque Monsieur with Ham & Mornay,” and “Chicken Leg with Lentils, Parsnip, & Mustard Sauce”—good—even very good—preparations I would always be happy to sample again (but that just failed to elicit an extra degree of emotion).
Finally, there’s the “Sturgeon Pie with Duchess Potatoes” and “Steak ‘Au Poivre’ with Confit Mushrooms”—merely good items that fell a bit short when it came to texture and/or flavor. That said, the underlying ideas shaping these dishes were sound, and I actually found both to be totally enjoyable. They just demand a little more fine-tuning to impress in the manner that the rest of the menu does.
Overall, this makes for a hit-rate of 71%, with 29% of dishes landing in the “would love to have again” stratum and that same 71% of dishes meeting the standard of “would like to have again.” Contextually, I do believe that the steak served here would please any patron who is inclined to order it. Indeed, the recipe is technically sound and only (as I noted) struggles to distinguish itself in the grander scheme of Chicago beef preparations. Thus, it may be more accurate to say the hit-rate for the lunch offerings is actually 86%, as the sturgeon pie (despite some attractive elements) just didn’t come together as it should have.
Ultimately, this makes for an admirable showing from the team, who have managed to debut more than a half-dozen new creations that stand among the best things the kitchen has served. It’s also a great development for the neighborhood, which (perhaps barring The Loyalist’s Sunday brunch) lacks daytime options that look beyond mere sustenance to really offer some kind of creative, chef-driven culinary expression.
Now, I’m not certain Creepies lunch is going to lure me away from Obélix (which balances weekday lunch service with bonafide brunch dishes on Saturday and Sunday) just yet. But the Poseys and Ploshehanski have built a foundation that effectively captures what I love about their work at dinner, and, given that getting a table in the evening remains challenging, the team now offers consumers an easier entry point.
Even for someone like me (who has had his fill of the main menu), the prospect of enjoying Casillas-Rios’s cocktails and Sher’s natural wine selection alongside servings of gougères and fries early the day is immensely enticing. It helps shift the focus off of Creepies as a hotspot—a place one dines for two or two-and-a-half hours in expectation of the city’s finest food—and reorients the restaurant as a place for more fleeting, tantalizing, and routine visits. Lunch helps to align the concept even more with the bistro tradition, and (as anyone who’s grabbed a bite at Elske’s own bar can attest to) these spur-of-the-moment encounters with food of such singular quality are often the most memorable.
In the final analysis, I should probably admit that I was the only table in the restaurant for much of my lunch (there were two others by the time I left 90 minutes later). Maybe that had some influence on how precisely my items were prepared. Maybe it’s an omen as to how tricky it might be to convert nighttime popularity to daytime, winter indulgence.
Nonetheless, I really enjoyed what I tasted. I reveled in the usual Creepies charm. If the team brings the same dynamism to this timeslot that they have elsewhere, I will be a repeat customer. And Chicago, certainly, will have gained one of its most gastronomic lunch options in a long while.