I first visited Maxwells Trading on the restaurant’s opening night: December 30th, 2023. Subsequently, I’ve eaten there more than a dozen times and even hosted a private event on the second floor.

Admittedly, I loved Pacific Standard Time back in the day: the sweeping dining room, the breezy aesthetic, the clever theme (joining so many beloved cuisines in a way that did not feel ham-fisted), and a wine list that was way more thoughtful—given the concept’s other strengths—than it had to be. I tallied up a couple dozen visits at that restaurant too before it fell to the pandemic.

I never really met Josh Tilden and Erling Wu-Bower at PST: the pair’s first opening under the name Underscore Hospitality. I knew the latter, as chef, had a strong hand in shaping what I tasted. But I also knew One Off Hospitality (where both men had worked for many years) was involved, and it was easy to see the restaurant’s success as an extension of a group I already knew and respected.

Tilden and Wu-Bower, as it happens, had exited PST as early as March of 2020—a savvy move, (one might say with the benefit of hindsight) for young restaurateurs faced with mounting uncertainty. One Off continued to run the concept until its transformation (at the start of 2021) into Avec River North. The creative force that had endeared PST to me had gone missing.

Over the intervening years, I watched and waited for Wu-Bower’s name to resurface. I feared the city had lost him to another market. Finally, in November of 2023, the news broke: a forthcoming restaurant in the Kinzie Industrial Corner, touting a menu that was “largely Italian with very specific Asian explorations,” reflecting the chef’s personal narrative of “growing up half Chinese and half Cajun in Chicago.”  

Tilden and Wu-Bower would open Underscore Hospitality’s second, resurgent concept little more than a month later, and the partners were on hand that first night to thank diners (including former PST customers) for their longstanding support. Certainly, I thought, they must have retained some data on who the regulars were. But I was equally—even moreso—charmed to be taken care of by one of my favorite servers from PST who had reunited with his former bosses.

Maxwells Trading impressed me from the jump. However, as much as I would have loved to be the one to trumpet its success, the sense of history and recognition there made me wary. It would be better to wait and let others have their say while quietly continuing to enjoy a restaurant I clearly knew was superlative (at a time when reservations remained easy to nab).

It did not take long for recognition to arrive: culminating, most recently, with the nomination of Wu-Bower and executive chef Chris Jung for the title of Best Chef: Great Lakes at the 2025 James Beard Awards.

With Maxwells Trading’s popularity at a peak (the concept is listed in Chicago’s Michelin Guide and on The New York Times’s own list of the 25 best restaurants in the city), my present format seems well-suited to writing some kind of evaluation. There’s a lot to say—especially regarding the wine program—that hasn’t yet been expressed. And, having not dined here in more than six months, I think I am positioned to perceive old favorites and new recipes alike with a sharper tongue.

Let us begin.

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When first announcing Maxwells Trading, Wu-Bower acknowledged that he was asking his customers “for a lot”—including “to come to a slightly new neighborhood.” Indeed, the Kinzie Industrial Corridor is not a term (representing a conservation area, a TIF district, a demarcated strip of land running through Chicago’s Near West Side) I am used to hearing thrown around.

It should be mentioned that Maxwells Trading, being a couple blocks south of Grand and a block east of Ashland, could technically claim to be a part of West Loop. Yet Wu-Bower himself acknowledged that “stepping over Ogden [Avenue],” away from the Fulton Market restaurants where he “made” his career, “seemed like the right thing to do.” And crossing that boundary, I agree, is consequential. It marks Underscore Hospitality’s second restaurant as something singular and separate.

What stands at 1516 W. Carroll Ave. represents a break from Tilden and Wu-Bower’s time at One Off and a wider West Loop dining scene that has increasingly fallen to outside chains and tired derivations. No doubt, this neighborhood is still home to the city’s best dining. However, it seems fitting that Maxwells Trading sits just beyond the area’s fringes: an extension of the quieter streets where Smyth and Elske and even Ever can be found—a zone where national brands and other bland developments have yet to really rear their heads.

Across Ogden, on blocks free of suffocating highrises, Tilden and Wu-Bower can count neighbors like an auction house, a distillery, a record store, a media production company, an art gallery, and a recording studio. Certainly, there are signs of the Industrial Corridor’s namesake: manufactures and wholesale suppliers of meat, leather, building materials, musical instruments, wooden pallets, furniture, incense, electroplating, and garage doors. But it’s an eclectic confluence—one sprinkled with architects, interior designers, engineering firms, and a USPS distribution center for good measure.

Maxwells Trading signals something of an evolution for this sliver of land located north of Union Park and south of the train tracks: a first restaurant—no less a destination restaurant—that punctures the neighborhood’s bubble more practical (if fairly specialized) businesses. The 1920s warehouse that the concept calls home had previously been renovated: adding open office space for a few corporate headquarters and a headlining urban rooftop farm. A subsequent renovation built out the restaurant space, providing Underscore Hospitality with the chance to partner with The Roof Crop (progenitor of the farm) and put its idea of the building as a “true food ecosystem” into practice.

Maxwells Trading, beyond reflecting Tilden and Wu-Bower’s own story (it’s named for the latter’s oldest son after all), can be thought of as the first real public-facing expression of this small community’s creative and craft-driven roots.

When approached during the city’s cooler months, the restaurant can be confounding. Yes, for all its renovation, the former warehouse cuts a placid, somewhat imposing figure with its faded brick; oversized, black-framed windows; and only a whisper of signage (carrying a logo, so minimalist in its design, that passersby would hardly guess they’ve come across an eatery). Indeed, many a patron is drawn down Justine Street toward a wider set of doors that leads to the rear of the restaurant—as well as an “apothecary and design store” called Third Season (managed by The Roof Crop).

However, when it’s warm out, the largest of the building’s windows are opened: providing peeks into the dining room. The patio—narrow but lengthy, framed by potted plants, and brimming with guests—offers an even clearer confirmation that one has reached the right place. This outdoor seating is also staged mostly on Justine Street, so the temptation to head in the wrong direction remains. Nonetheless, the stated address is on Carroll, and the comings and goings there might offer a clue.

A side door, just under that hint of signage (which I am now realizing depicts the greenhouses on the roof), leads a half-step off the sidewalk and into a stairwell. There, one more door leads into Maxwells Trading: a concept of sweeping scale (just like PST) but far sparser design.

I’m almost tempted to label the space—so dominated by the white brick of the original walls, the gray flooring, the same black window frames, the shine of tile and stainless steel—as cold or cavernous. Yet it’s the surfeit of details, as one acclimates to the room and begins their closer inspection, that wins the day. I’m talking wood of all tones (sharply shaped to form the bar’s banquette, matched with metal to trim the freestanding tables, delightfully worn for a server station, slotted unevenly across the ceiling), leather (strapped to the back of barstools), ceramic (small flowerpots, vases), and metal (hammered ice buckets) to start. Then things like the light fixtures (hanging, irregularly shaped or otherwise subtly embedded), the centerpiece (with its towering branches), a record player (the chosen album always on display), a solitary painting (black-and-white sky disappearing into sea), and the depth effect of layered archways (toward the rear) to finish.

Aesthetically, Maxwells Trading is clearly the result of ample thought, yet Tilden and Wu-Bower have undoubtedly erred on the side of the understated. To that point, the space feels fresh without overworking or obscuring its foundational qualities. Comfort, when one sits and feels the furniture (or, more broadly, appreciates the distance between tables), is close at hand. But “luxury” does not scream for attention. Even the open kitchen (a point of pride at so many places) seems confidently utilitarian.

The result is a dining room—warmly lit, unpretentious, all too happy to fade into the background—that lets the faces of its patrons and the food being shared form the definitive touch. In quiet moments, there is still plenty to hone in on and appreciate. Yet, most of all, the restaurant succeeds in conjuring that elusive sense of energy: a feeling like one is here, ensconced and cared for, while also being part of larger, dynamic crowd. The concept, in short, is raw and open and feels of the city without playing to any of cosmopolitan culture’s worst tendencies. On this basis (being so attuned to mood and an almost leveling kind of minimalism), I think the design will age well no matter how busy the books or coveted the reservations.

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Practically speaking, even the warmest confines can seem awfully cold with the wrong approach to service. And Maxwells Trading, for all its detail and discretion, would become positively chilling if all the recent praise ever went to its head. Thankfully, that has never been the case.

Whether checking in with a reservation or angling to walk in (and yes, the number of seats set aside for this purpose at the bar and its accompanying banquette is a huge blessing), the stylish hostesses deliver an easy welcome. There’s no hulking maître d’ defending the door—silently judging those who dare enter the dining scene’s latest smash hit. Rather, matching the space, one finds a cool kind of professionalism that belies real sensitivity and consideration for the guests. Indeed, though it’s been some time since I’ve seen Tilden on the floor, he epitomizes those qualities: both precision and sincerity.

Upon being led to one’s table, the hand-off occurs. First to arrive is the busser, who offers his own greeting and goes about filling the party’s waters. These figures (the lifeblood of any good restaurant) don’t just execute their mechanical tasks with aplomb. At Maxwells Trading, they are particularly conversational: not just presenting and clearing plates but asking what you think about particular dishes and even offering detailed instructions on how to best enjoy the more involved recipes. This dynamic, through which the bussers demonstrated their ingrained knowledge of the concept, actually helps them in executing the rest of their job. For it establishes a rapport that allows these men, always standing at the ready, to form a true first point of contact for any customer request or concern. As a consequence, one never feels forgotten or even like they really need to ever wait.

The captains, to their credit, are not the sort to drop the ball anyway. Yes, they take on the weight of the evening’s presentational duties: walking diners through the menu (recommending the number of dishes that might suit the size of the party, describing any esoteric ingredient, noting what can be split or—like the griddle bread—doubled up on) while also clearing plates and replacing utensils as necessary. (Tonight, I watch my captain recognize and reject a dirty spoon before it ever lands on the table: great attention to detail at a concept where they certainly keep busy.) The tone of these interactions, in turn, always balances enthusiasm, patience, and an extra effort to transcribe everything correctly. The captains are also totally equipped to lead guests through the beverage side of the menu (including wine service). I am always left impressed by how well they recognize the name of a bottle without needing to have it pointed out—a sign of real familiarity with the list and corresponding staff training.

Managers here, by comparison, are more of a roving presence on the floor: taking notes on tablets (surely some advanced means of tracking turn times) but never afraid to jump into the fray (in fulfillment of some menial task) or stop by to see how things are going.

If anything, the managers take a backseat due to the headlining presence of Wu-Bower himself on the floor. Yes, with Chris Jung leading the line as executive chef, the chef-partner (dressed in a three-piece suit when the weather allows it) is free to act as a consummate host. Of course, that means recognizing regulars and offering the most memorable of welcomes (laden with the gravitas and pride only an owner can bring) to first-timers alike. It may also entail trekking over to the record player—probably the most striking feature of the dining room—and deciding what to put on next.

Most importantly (at least for my taste), Wu-Bower functions as both the wine director and floor sommelier at Maxwells Trading. His list clearly, deeply reflects personal taste (a medium of gustatory expression I am not accustomed to seeing chefs here engage with to such an extent). And working the floor in this manner—hand-selling bottles, guiding guests via conversation, expressing his passion for the fruits of the vine firsthand—does so much to affirm wine’s essential place alongside food. Considering the exact nature of his selections (as well as his concept’s overall popularity), Wu-Bower’s adoption of this role might very well represent a decisive moment when it comes to reinvigorating and evolving Chicago’s interest in fermented grape juice.

Here are the bottles from the present copy of the list that catch my eye:

• 2022 COS Frapatto ($78 on the list, $28.99 at local retail)
• 2020 Domaine des Carlines Côtes du Jura “La Vouivre” ($80 on the list, $25.79 at local retail)
• 2022 Brij Wines Grenache Rosé ($90 on the list, $36 at local retail)
• 2022 Cirelli Cerasuolo d’Abruzzo “Anfora” ($90 on the list, $34.99 at local retail)
• 2023 Lady of the Sunshine “Stolpman Vineyards” Sauvignon Blanc ($91 on the list, $35 at national retail)
• 2016 San Fereolo Dogliani Superiore ($98 on the list, $48 at national retail)
• 2023 Domaine Pêcheur Côtes du Jura “Cuvée des Trois Cépages” ($100 on the list, $32.99 at local retail)
• 2023 M. & C. Lapierre Morgon ($105 on the list, $34.79 at local retail)
• 2022 Jean-Philippe Fichet Bourgogne Côte d’Or Blanc ($112 on the list, $44.95 at local retail)
• 2020 Domaine Guillot-Broux Mâcon-Cruzille “Les Genievrières” Rouge ($115 on the list, $46 at local retail)
• 2021 Alain Graillot Crozes-Hermitage ($120 on the list, $48 at local retail)
• 2022 Weiser-Künstler “Steffensberg” Riesling ($120 on the list, $47.95 at national retail)
• 2020 Brendan Stater-West Saumur Blanc “Les Chapaudaises” ($123 on the list, $46.99 at national retail)
• 2022 Ridge “Geyserville” ($123 on the list, $52.99 at local retail)
• 2022 Frank Cornelissen “Munjebel” Rosso ($130 on the list, $39.95 at national retail)
• 2021 Arnot-Roberts “California Red” ($150 on the list, $69 at national retail)
• 2021 Domaine Rougeot Saint-Romain “La Combe Bazin” Blanc ($150 on the list, $64.99 at local retail)
• 2019 Francois de Nicolay Savigny-les-Beaune “Les Vermots” ($170 on the list, $70 at national retail)
• 2022 Jean et Sebastien Dauvissat Chablis Premier Cru “Vaillons” ($175 on the list, $61.99 at national retail)  
• 2020 Cascina delle Rose Barbaresco “Tre Stelle” ($190 on the list, $74.50 at national retail)
• 2022 Keller “Réserve” Spätburgunder ($190 on the list, $79.96 at local retail)
• NV Bérêche & Fils Champagne “Réserve” ($195 on the list, $79.99 at local retail)
• 2022 Emrich-Schönleber “Halenberg” Riesling ($195 on the list, $71.89 at local retail)
• 2019 Ferrando Carema “Etichetta Bianca” ($225 on the list, $79.95 at national retail)
• 2021 Château de Béru Chablis Clos Béru ($240 on the list, $120 at national retail)
• 2019 Corison Cabernet Sauvignon ($240 on the list, $129.99 at local retail)
• 2021 Montevertine Toscana ($315 on the list, $120 at local retail)
• 2008 Pierre Moncuit Champagne “ Cuvée Nicole” ($330 on the list, $145 at local retail)
• 2015 Hiyu “Moon Dog” ($550 on the list, $250 at national retail)
• 2018 Stella di Campalto Brunello di Montalcino “Bosco” ($595 on the list, $349 at national retail)

First, I must note that I usually cap my samples at 20 wines but just had to go up to 30 for this one. That number could easily have grown to 40 or 50 (so enticing are the options).

Structurally, I must praise the list for how it communicates style: white, rosé, and orange selections are grouped under the categories “refreshing & mineral,” “aromatic & centered,” and “rich & substantial” while red wines are labelled “chillable & smooth,” “subtle & focused,” “lively & engaging,” or “bold & intoxicating.” Short of appending annotations to each bottle (close to an impossibility for a program of this size), I can’t think of a better way to gently guide customers. In fact, by forming an initial signpost (toward a section, then maybe a price point), this system helps to encourage a more thoughtful conversation with the staff—one that need not start from zero (and all the trouble consumers might have in describing what they want) but can focus more on fine-tuning.

I also really like the use of the “♮“ symbol to indicate those wines with a “natural flavor profile.” The vast majority of the items on the list are not marked this way. However, a handful are introduced by “♮,” “♮♮,” or even “♮♮♮” demarcations that allow Wu-Bower to stock these bottles (with all their volatile acidity, “crunchiness,” and/or funk) without demanding that captains warn guests about what they might be getting into. Considering Maxwells Trading’s identity as a fairly mainstream, approachable concept, the use of these symbols represents a smart way of accommodating geekier tastes without confusing or unpleasantly surprising everyday diners.

At a more granular level, the program does a nice job of balancing popular varieties (e.g., Chardonnay, Pinot Grigio, Riesling, Sauvignon Blanc, Gamay, Pinot Noir, Nebbiolo, Sangiovese, Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah) from classic appellations (like Burgundy, the Mosel, Sancerre, Beaujolais, Sonoma, Piedmont, the Rhône, Tuscany, Napa Valley, Bordeaux) with a mixing and matching of more obscure grapes (e.g., Arneis, Carricante, Chenin Blanc, Savagnin, Timorasso, Trousseau Gris, Poulsard, Dolcetto, Baga) and less prominently represented regions (like the Canary Islands, Columbia Gorge, the Jura, Lake Michigan Shore, Weinviertel, the San Luis Obispo Coast, Bairrada, and Umbria).

In the same manner, the producers represented span legendary names (Barthod, Corison, Keller, López de Heredia, Montevertine, Pingus, Ridge, Sandrone), cult favorites (Paolo Bea, Bérêche, Château de Béru, Frank Cornelissen, Foradori, Hiyu, Marcel Lapierre, Stella di Campalto), and up-and-comers (Brij, Anne-Sophie Dubois, Guillot-Broux, Jolie-Laide, Brendan Stater-West) alike.

I have sometimes felt like the markups on Maxwells Trading’s list are a little high; however, my analysis of the present sample shows that the average premium (on top of retail price) is 149% (with a median and a mode of 150%). Indeed, while some of the cheapest bottles can break 200%, the figures for some of the most expensive ones fall as low as only 100%, 85%, or 75%. Ultimately, at a time when many of Chicago’s most prominent restaurants still view charging triple or quadruple retail price on wine as their birthright, landing at that 150% number seems more than fair.

When it comes to à la carte dining, I cannot say that Maxwells Trading’s program is competing with those at Elske or Obélix just yet. I think, on the natural wine side, the concept could learn a lot from Cellar Door Provisions (particularly when it comes to sub-$100 bottles) too. Even Avec River North (which, frustratingly, must be benefitting from allocations originally earned by PST) comes out ahead in several categories.

Nonetheless, and especially considering how young the restaurant is, Wu-Bower has shaped a list of real depth and personality. I cannot say I’ve ever felt compelled to rush over to Maxwells Trading in order to nab a screaming deal, but I always look forward to seeing what’s new and know, without a doubt, I will get to drink something interesting or maybe even singular. One cannot ask for much more from a concept of such popularity and scale.

A savvy by-the-glass selection (featuring Cremant d’Alsace, a Languedoc rosé, Val de Loire Sauvignon Blanc, Petit Chablis, Beaujolais, Willamette Pinot Noir, Langhe Nebbiolo, and Napa Cab for $15 to $23) rounds out the program while covering all the traditional bases for those who’d prefer a smaller taste.

Corkage (a possibility that is always on my mind) is something I broached with Wu-Bower during one of my earlier visits. He seemed to indicate that it was permitted—though at what price (or whether allowed more as a favor to returning guests) I did not determine. Instead, I got the sense that bringing one’s own wine was not really preferred given how personal the list is to the chef-partner. With this in mind, I’ve never actually taken a bottle here, but I’d venture that doing so would be warmly received if one’s selection was truly special (rather than representing an attempt to circumvent the restaurant’s own offerings).

Otherwise, I’ve certainly enjoyed Maxwells Trading’s cocktail selection over the course of my visits as well. Tonight a “Pina Colada” from the $14 “interpreted classics” section (made with smoked pineapple, a coconut cream infused with The Roof Crop’s lemon basil, and lemongrass) tastes too boozy and salty relative to what I expected. However, I’ve had better luck with the array of martinis (each priced at $16) in the past.

I will defer from mentioning the beer or non-alcoholic options (both cocktails and wine), which are extensive in their own right but that I have not sampled firsthand. It is enough to say that, by catering to other tastes with the same level of detail, these categories bolster a strong wine program and cement Maxwells Trading as a great place to drink no matter one’s preference.

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With all of that said, the meal finally begins. Tonight, I sample 12 of 23 items offered across the menu (both savory and sweet), looking to balance creations I have come to know and love with a few that are completely new.

The “Suzuki Tartare” ($19) has been served at Maxwells Trading since opening, yet it’s not a dish I gravitated toward at first. Preparations of raw fish, whether billed as sashimi, crudo, or ceviche, feel so overdone within the amorphous “contemporary American” genre. Texturally, these recipes are never going to compete with concepts specializing in sushi (now predominant), and, when it comes to flavor, few chefs are motivated to push boundaries with ingredients that, in this format, are being celebrated for their purity.

In opting for suzuki (or Japanese sea bass), Wu-Bower and Jung have already distinguished their work. But the bowl that arrives—a small portion filled with congealed chunks of flesh and covered by a few nasturtium leaves—seems to confirm my worst fears. Yet I take a spoonful, and the result is explosive: melty fish, punctuated by the fine crunch of peanuts, matched by sweet coconut, a jolt of lemongrass, and some sneaky heat (drawn from chili) on the finish. Yes, the combination (in accordance with its role as a starter) is bright. At the same time, there’s a convincing savory quality (further enhanced by the nuts) to be found here. By eschewing the light touch and tendency toward prettiness that mars so many raw fish renditions, the chefs have created something very special: a definitive example of the form that has earned its places a signature. This tartare never fails to impress.

The “Cucumber” ($19) that arrives next is entirely new to me, and, as a tacitly vegan recipe, it will take something special to impress. Truth be told, the combination of crunching cukes, housemade tofu, dried seaweed, black vinegar, and chili crisp (as I read it on the menu) did not immediately strike me as fitting the mold of any dietary restriction. It just seemed like a vivid, texturally engaging way to kick off the meal.

Indeed, in terms of mouthfeel, the preparation centers on the pronounced snap of the titular cucumbers, the firm (then smooth and soft) tofu, and the finer crunch of the chili crisp. It is this latter element that proves essential, for a few of my first bites taste rather bland. With the help of a spoon, one can better incorporate the pleasing nuttiness of the chili crisp and begin to sense its building heat (the kind that actually turns the milder, more absorptive character of the cucumber and tofu into a virtue). While, overall, I do not quite perceive the degree of savory power from the black vinegar that I desire, my last bites achieve an acceptable balance. Ultimately, though this item ranks toward the bottom of what I tried here tonight, I wouldn’t say I disliked it. Rather, under the right circumstances (whether having undergone some tweaking or simply served alongside a more forceful dish), I would give it another try.

A preparation of “Soft Shell Crab” ($30) has featured at Maxwells Trading seasonally since opening. Paired with an archetypal Singaporean chili crab sauce (known for its thick, tomatoey, and umami character) and an herb salad, the recipe promises a distinctive take on this prized crustacean.

However, in practice, the all-important texture of the crab just isn’t up to par. Some bites (i.e., the thinnest segments of the body) display crispness, and the interior flesh, itself, is perfectly tender. Yet the majority of pieces lack any real brittle, cracking crust, so the resulting mouthfeel of the shell lands more on the soft—almost spongey—side. The sauce, to its credit, brings its corresponding sweetness and heat to the party, but it cannot do much to a rescue a starring ingredient that has fallen limp. While this item ranks at the very bottom of the night’s offerings, it was not wholly objectionable. The crab simply suffered from poor execution, and I trust (because the overall idea is sound) that future renditions can and will show better.

After a couple lapses, the kitchen needs a clear victory. This is where the restaurant’s signatures come in: like a “Japanese Eggplant” ($17) from the “Griddle Bread & Dunks” section of the menu. This dish, served from the very beginning, marries chunks of the nightshade with confit tomato (à la Durham, North Carolina’s Magnolia Grill) and a garnish of basil and mint. The accompanying griddle bread—browned, almost blackened around its edges and topped with flaky salt—is thick and fluffy enough to resemble a kind of savory pancake.

On the palate, the eggplant displays an impeccable creamy, almost melting consistency that (and I have witnessed this firsthand several times) can make a believer even of those who think they hate the ingredient. Charged with the concentrated sweet and savory character of the confit tomato—as well as the more uplifting notes of the herbs—the nightshade strikes with a tremendous richness that amply coats the griddle bread (which delivers an intensifying dose of salt) and drives toward a full, satisfying finish. For my money, this has always been the best of the restaurant’s “Dunks.” More than that, the “Japanese Eggplant” ranks as one of the top renditions of this particular ingredient you will find anywhere in Chicago.

The ”Prosciutto & Gnocco Fritto” ($18) is another standby that has survived since the restaurant’s earliest days. The dish centers on the titular cured ham in combination with those fried pillows of dough that have become fashionable around town (often as part of charcuterie presentations) at concepts like Adalina, Daisies, and UMMO. However, Wu-Bower and Jung distinguish their own pairing of meat and bread by way of caprino (a fresh goat’s milk cheese I’d personally never heard of) and a blackcurrant jam.

Structurally, it is first worth noting that the prosciutto is sliced to an adequate thinness—not quite paper-thin (so it retains some heft) but unspoiled by any overly chewy streaks of fat. I must also declare that the gnocci fritti, crisp and golden-brown yet so airy throughout their interior, are of a superlative quality. Since my last visit (quite a long time ago at this point), the kitchen has really dialed in their execution of the fried dough. No other restaurant in the city matches this level.

Upon this stellar foundation, everything else flows easily. The warmth of each gnocco fritto helps to warm the ham and further melt the runny streaks of cheese. While the caprino offers a creamy, tangy flavor that helps to counter all of the recipe’s salt content, the blackcurrant jam aims straight at decadence. It provides a tart, grapey sweetness—tinged with spice—that, when joining the other elements, almost calls jelly donuts to mind. Nonetheless, it is the savory, porcine quality of the prosciutto that shines through: one that is modulated, yes, by the accompaniments but comes out tasting even more precisely and pristinely of itself. In short, this is a great expression of an ingredient that more jaded diners (like myself) might feel has little interesting left to say. This dish has earned its status as a signature.

So, too, has the “Japanese Sweet Potato” ($22): a hallmark of Maxwells Trading that has, at the same time, been subject to a bit of evolution since launch. The recipe continues to center on a sizable serving of the titular tuber, which is roasted until soft and crowned with an eye-catching brûléed crust. However, the chefs have played with the accompanying sauce: serving a “northern-style Thai curry,” a “Siam-style Thai green curry,” and now a “Siam-style Thai red curry” (all accompanied by basil) at different times.

Considering how well the team has mastered the cook on the sweet potato itself—brittle, but fluffy, with enough caramelization to accentuate the nutty, sugared depth of the tuber—it makes sense to tinker only with the supporting flavors. Whereas the green curry aimed more at contrasting the dish’s richness courtesy of fresher, more herbaceous notes, the present red curry leans into the sweetness—amplifying it (via creamy coconut milk)—while providing essential balance courtesy of some underlying heat. For my palate, this is the best version of the recipe to date. It ranks as one of the highlights of the night.

After getting back on track with a few of the kitchen’s signatures, I encounter another dish that is entirely new to me: the “English Pea Ravioli” ($24). If I am being honest, the pastas at Maxwells Trading—while imaginative—have never struck me as tasting anything more than merely “good.” With this recipe, the chefs have a chance of impressing me with something relatively more classic and streamlined.

Here, the ravioli are stuffed with ricotta, dressed in brown butter, then paired with the titular peas, some leaves of mint, grated parmigiano, and a bit of black pepper. The only curve ball comes by way of mirin: Japanese rice wine marked by its residual sugar and hint of umami. On the palate, the pockets of pasta display a trace of structure on entry but prove soft and oozing with further mastication. The peas, studded throughout, are pleasantly plump, and they join with the brown butter, the ricotta, and the mirin to build a flavor that balances sweet, nutty notes with a trace of freshness and just enough savory backing. I do think this dish suffers a bit by following the richer, sweeter sweet potato. Nonetheless, thanks to the quality of its textures and relative restraint, the preparation ranks as probably the best pasta I have yet tried here.

Now, if I am being honest again, Maxwells Trading has never really need a showstopping pasta dish in the past due to the reliable quality of its “Clay Pot Rice” ($39): the signature dish here (from a presentational standpoint), and one that has also undergone a bit of evolution over time. While the inaugural recipe centered on Yamagata Koshikari rice, pork belly, and an assortment of vegetables, the present “Clay Pot Mushroom Rice” ($40) nixes the meat and embraces fungi wholeheartedly.

Visually, the blend of local shiitake, maitake, chestnut, and blue oyster mushrooms, laced with truffle butter and chives, makes quite an impression when the weighty pot is unveiled. Guests are instructed to mixed the vessel’s contents (being cognizant of the crispy layer of rice that lies along the bottom) and incorporate the accompanying condiments— housemade yuzu paste, sriracha, and soy sauce—as desired. On the palate, the grains blend a prevailing softness with the odd brittle—highly pleasing—crunch. Against this canvas, the various mushrooms feel chunky and satisfying. Further, they build a baseline of umami that can be further amplified by the sauces. Namely, I speak of the soy sauce; however, the sriracha (with its spiced sweetness) and the yuzu (bitter, salty, but invigorating) help too.

Even though I quite enjoyed the version of this dish with pork belly, I believe that nothing is really lost by the substitution. Instead, a wider range of customers can now appreciate the full recipe: one that, by concentrating the flavor of mushroom so successfully, works better as a companion to the restaurant’s actual, dedicated meat preparations. In sum, this remains one of Wu-Bower and Jung’s most reliable and memorable of hits.

Moving, at last, toward what the menu titles “Substance,” I find another totally new creation. The “Salt & Pepper Asparagus” ($23) is the only vegetarian dish of the bunch, but I order it with the sense that it can act as a kind of premium side. The recipe combines lightly charred, blistered spears of the titular vegetable with slices of fried lemon and jalapeño. Green goddess dressing (smeared across the bottom of the plate) acts as the sauce while bits of crispy garlic (along with a generous sprinkle of the namesake salt and pepper) form the seasoning.

Texturally, I appreciate that the asparagus—fleetingly crunchy yet ultimately tender—is not fried in the same manner as the lemon and jalapeño, which deliver the crispness one might expect from form with enough (albeit moderated) tang and sharpness to justify their inclusion as something more than filler. The garlic, representing the finest of the mouthfeels present, also works to ensure that each of the spears (even if they lack their own fried coating) lands with some accompanying brittleness. When it comes to flavor, salt and pepper are indeed well represented. However, the key here is how the green goddess, though creamy and vibrant, almost tastes bland on its own. Thus, the pronounced seasoning of the asparagus, when it meets the dressing, serves to unlock more of its rich, allium, and anisey depth. In this manner, the dish (rather than representing a fried frivolity) actually achieves real savory complexity. It ranks as perhaps the most intellectual preparation of the night and a clear success.

The last savory item of the evening is also new to me: a “Heritage Pork Belly” ($38) that seems to make up for the fact that this porcine delight was extricated from the “Clay Pot Rice.” Here, the meat is prepared via a so-called “bossam braise” (referencing the traditional Korean preparation of pork boiled with ingredients like ginger, garlic, and fermented soybean paste) then given a Steen’s (Louisiana pure cane syrup) and chili glaze. A handful of Manila clams and some leafy greens complete the preparation.

On the palate, the pork belly is not just tender but actually (when one hits the fat) gooey. Yes, it is masterfully prepared, and the meat’s latent sweetness comes through quite clearly. The bivalves, by comparison, deliver more of a briny, savory note. The flesh of the clam is yielding in its own right (an accomplishment), and the shell—just as the greens do—serves to soak up and deliver more of the accompanying broth. That “bossam braise” brings more brightness and tang to the equation while displaying notable underlying umami too. I’m not sure either the clams or the sauce do all that much to improve upon pieces of pork that are already so sublime. In fact, if I could rate the belly separately, it would score a notch higher than the overall recipe. That being said, the accompaniments here are pleasant enough (if not memorable), and this dish certainly felt satisfying.

Dessert has never formed an afterthought at Maxwells Trading, and, tonight, I sample two of the three listed options.

First, something new: a “Red Bean Brownie Sundae” ($18) that combines the titular baked treat (inflected with earthy, nutty adzuki beans) with vanilla ice cream, peanut fudge, banana, notes of rum, and a torched marshmallow fluff. Though these red beans (say, in their steamed bun form) can be polarizing, their flavor here is perfectly integrated into the chocolate. With that serving as a foundation, the interplay of rich brownie, creamy vanilla, salty peanut, sticky-sweet fluff, and banana (backed by the tropical notes of the rum) achieves its expected result: crowd-pleasing decadence with just enough intrigue to avoid feeling hackneyed. In short, this is a triumph.

Second, something familiar: the “Basque Butter Cake” ($19) that stands proudly alongside Chicago’s best desserts. Having appeared on the menu since opening, this heavenly cylinder has been paired with accompaniments like confit apple, miso caramel, and apple cider sabayon or blueberry, lavender, and prosecco sabayon. The present version draws on strawberry, Thai basil, and Green Key (a Chartreuse-inspired herbal liqueur) sabayon. No matter how this cake gets dressed up, it always strikes with a subtle crust and a rich, almost batter-like consistency with deep, nutty sweetness with a finish that lasts nearly a minute. The juicy berries and honeyed, citric, anisey tones of the liqueur add to the fun, but they never infringe on the starring element’s essential appeal. This retains the dish’s power—and approachability—no matter the season. I cannot remember it ever tasting better.

To close things out, I order a “Grasshopper” ($18) from the after-dinner section of the cocktail menu. This blend of The Roof Crop chocolate mint-infused vodka, Sicilian pistachio oregeat, coconut cream, and cocoa is beautifully formulated: marrying a soothing mouthfeel, a sense of refreshment, and enough sweet, nutty backing to appeal to drinkers who might otherwise not favor the mint-chocolate combination. After a disappointing “Pina Colada,” this was quite a pleasant surprise!

All told, the meal lasts an hour and fifteen minutes. That might sound a little fast for some 12 dishes, three cocktails, and a bottle of wine, but it accords with the pace at which the party was eating. I’ve never felt rushed here, and other customers could certainly linger over dunks or salads and stretch the experience toward that two-hour mark. For me, the quick turnaround tonight indicated a front of house and back of house in perfect sync.

When it comes time to pay, the captain brings over one of those newfangled POS systems. Maxwells Trading “take[s] pride in being a no-tipping restaurant” and has settled on a service charge of 20% in order to “offer equitable wages to both our front-of-house and kitchen teams, without the need for additional tipping.” Given the attentiveness of the staff (and the bussers especially) that I described earlier, I think this system is fair. When, after running your card, the terminal asks if you’d like to leave an additional 2%, 3%, or 5% tip (or nothing), the captain also clearly looks and steps away. This degree of conscientiousness helps to ensure that, true to what the restaurant claims, additional tipping is not actively (or even passively through social pressure) sought. Personally, I always leave dinner here feeling that an extra couple points (or say a flat $20) has been earned.

Otherwise, the time finally comes to leave: through a cavernous space that now, during the peak of service, teems with life and back out onto a block, in this dormant corner of the city, that hosts what seems to be an endless parade of Ubers.

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In reflection, there’s always some trepidation involved when I decide to discount a dozen positive experiences at a restaurant and write about a single snapshot taken far later in the concept’s life. I do not get to indulge in all the excitement that surrounds a new opening: free to appreciate recipes for their novelty just as much as their deliciousness. I have to judge the food in its maturity—does it not only live up to my memory but continue to evolve? And, while wine lists may improve with time, chefs or servers may no longer feel the need to try so hard when their work has already been judged a success and the books are filled.

I am happy to report that this meal at Maxwells Trading lived up to my past visits. It did so without Tilden or Wu-Bower working the floor (always a great sign) yet also without necessarily quieting a couple longstanding criticisms.

The first is fairly minor: I like the wine list, and I think it comes close to the best selection possible for a young concept making its way without prized allocations. For some reason, I still don’t love it, and I am often left scanning page after page trying to compromise on a bottle rather than really getting excited about what I find. The markups (two-and-a-half times the price of retail) still strike me as high for the chosen selections even if I think that premium, in theory, is fair enough. Maybe I’m too partial toward what I know could be stocked and what I’m more comfortable paying that little bit extra for. Admittedly, it’s a good thing that many of the bottles here are a bit more obscure, and it’s really Wu-Bower’s hand selling—his charm and engagement—that adds an extra degree of value which transcends price alone.

That being said, I think if Maxwells Trading wants to represent natural wine thoughtfully, it needs to follow the lead of Cellar Door Provisions or Elske and work with a couple other portfolios that are stocking the best producers in this genre at prices (even post-markup) that represent a tremendous value. (I’m talking Angeli, Chavost, Pataille, Péron, Rousset-Martin, Steen, Stein, Tissot, and Tricot to name a few.) As someone who is more open to this style than most, those “♮“ symbols aren’t really leading me to items I covet. Still, I recognize that the producers I named may be more limited than I imagine and that expanding the wine program by much more is a luxury for any young hospitality group.

The second criticism is more consequential. It has to do with how resolutely Maxwells Trading has stuck by so many of its opening dishes (i.e., the “Suzuki Tartare,” “Prosciutto & Gnocco Fritto,” all four of the dunks, the “Japanese Sweet Potato,” “Clay Pot Rice,” “Turbot,” “Half Chicken a la Brasa,” “Basque Butter Cake,” and “Forbidden Rice Pudding.”) Yes, out of 23 items on the menu, 12 (a slim majority) are still there more than a year-and-a-half later.

Of course, I will acknowledge that a few of these (like the “Japanese Sweet Potato” and “Clay Pot Rice”) have undergone some notable tweaking. Others (like the “Basque Butter Cake”) shine by acting a blank canvas for whatever other ingredients might be in season.

But, truthfully, it took me so long to return to Maxwells Trading because I had grown a bit burnt out on the kitchen’s classic preparations. At the same time, I also wasn’t seeing enough movement elsewhere on the menu to get excited about.

A six-month lapse positioned me perfectly: both to try a wider variety of new creations and really take a hard look at how the chefs’ signatures hold up.

In ranking the evening’s dishes:

I would place the “Basque Butter Cake” in the highest category: a superlative item (so moist, so sweet, so incredible in its length) that stands among the best things I will be served in any restaurant this year.

The “Suzuki Tartare,” “Prosciutto & Gnocco Fritto,” “Japanese Eggplant,” “Japanese Sweet Potato,” and “Red Bean Brownie Sundae” would follow, forming a stratum of great dishes—boldly blending textures while offering memorable concentrations of flavor—that all land among the best preparations I will eat this month. I would love to encounter any of these again.

The “English Pea Ravioli,” “Clay Pot Mushroom Rice,” “Salt & Pepper Asparagus,” and “Heritage Pork Belly” come in one step lower: good—even very good—recipes that delivered ample enjoyment (as well as a bit more substance) without quite rising to the level of being memorable.

Finally, the “Cucumber” and “Soft Shell Crab” come in last: dishes that were merely good or average (the latter suffering from a bit of a textural flaw) and, thus, disappointing given the standard set by everything else. By no means are these recipes irredeemable. Indeed, given that the core ideas are sound, they could easily be fixed.

Ultimately, this makes for a hit-rate of 83%, with 50% of offerings landing in that “best-of-the-year” or “best-of-the-month” caliber of quality (an immense showing).

However, to return to the tension between the menu’s older and newer recipes, I must mention that only one new dish (the “Red Bean Brownie Sundae”) ranked as part of that upper 50%. Only one signature dish (the “Clay Pot Mushroom Rice,” which I’ll admit could easily be moved up a category) ranked outside of it. This means that, almost unanimously, the kitchen’s newer creations formed the weakest part of the meal.

I would stop short of calling this trend troubling, for I would certainly order the “English Pea Ravioli,” “Salt & Pepper Asparagus,” and “Heritage Pork Belly” again. Rather, it demonstrates just how well Wu-Bower and Jung’s classic recipes continue to perform (even for someone, like me, who had almost gotten sick of them).

Thus, as much as I want to see the chefs take risks and continue to develop recipes that might match (or exceed) the standard they have set, I leave this meal feeling a bit more understanding. Those dishes that can be tweaked (the “Basque Butter Cake,” the “Japanese Sweet Potato,” the “Clay Pot Rice”) have successfully maintained or even improved on their usual quality. Disparate elements—like the gnocci fritti served as part of the “Prosciutto & Gnocco Fritto”—have been honed to the point of perfection. Do I really want to abandon favorites like this, the “Suzuki Tartare,” and the “Japanese Eggplant” that all but guarantee pleasure?

I have to trust that any major change, if it ever comes, will be thought through carefully in order to preserve (or even multiply) the sense of enjoyment that the restaurant has achieved through these items. I trust, too, that the kitchen will continue to use the other half of the menu to try out new things, shape a seasonal canon, and maybe stumble upon new signatures that can join up with (or unseat) the others. No concept—if it is truly firing on all cylinders, confidently pleasing patrons old and new alike—needs to reinvent itself in accordance with any critic’s schedule.

In the final analysis, Maxwells Trading more than deserves all the high praise it has won. Tilden, Wu-Bower, Jung, and their team (strikingly so when the first two aren’t around) are operating at a level and a scale that is without equal in Chicago’s dining scene. They are doing so with a singular sense of style: conveyed through an easygoing (yet all-seeing) brand of hospitality, a sneaky depth of beverage offerings, a thoughtful blending of personal cuisines, and a visual flair (carefully conceived) that never feels contrived or gimmicky.

Maxwells Trading was—and continues to be—a huge accomplishment: one I look forward to tracking (and further discussing) within this format.