Rounding out this gastronomic month (and rising, perhaps, to the very top of all the menus I sampled) is this one-off meal put on by the Obélix team at Le Bouchon. This makes for the third stop, in quick succession, in what might be titled a “Tour de Poilevey.” And it’s not really my intention to boost these brothers to such an extent—their work is just so constantly evolving, so pursuant of pleasure, and so imbued with Old World hospitality (as well as a deep appreciation for wine) that I cannot stay away. It’s also not my intention to write about pop-ups filled with dishes that readers will never be able to try, but I understand the Poileveys want to make this meal a yearly tradition (and one of the night’s recipes, for what it’s worth, has already made its way onto Obélix’s actual menu).
The inspiration here is simple: replicating the kind of wanton feasts—stuff like “platters of thick-cut ham, sausage links, piles of crisp bacon, golf ball-size meatballs, meat pie, omelets, mashed potatoes and baked beans”—originally served as a “daily reward” for workers tapping and processing maple sap in Québec’s cabanes à sucre (or sugar shacks). Of course, the resulting syrup also features heavily, and these cabins have become family-run, public-facing gastronomic destinations since the 1980s.
Nicolas Poilevey admits the brothers haven’t actually been to a sugar shack (though they visited Québec last fall). Certainly, they want to, and they have a clear vision of the kind of excess and indulgence these meals represent (both in the popular consciousness and as a unique “France meets North America” culinary extreme). Given that this team (not just the Poileveys, but the rest of the Obélix kitchen too) is already so adept at pushing the boundaries of its chosen cuisine, I kind of liked the idea of them designing this menu with a blank slate. Of course, they had a sense of what this fare is about—what kind of ingredients and recipes typically feature—but they could go about shaping the experience in a singular way rather than being tempted to replicate exactly how it’s done in Canada.
Priced at $225 per person (exclusive of a 20% service charge), the menu wasn’t shy about charging fine dining prices for a meal geared so unapologetically toward pleasure: a surprising sum, yes, but one I trusted to amply deliver given the Poileveys’ penchant for value and general resistance to the “tasting” format. After all, the five courses (comprising 15 dishes in total) were already listed in a bid to get tongues wagging. But, as it happens, the set menu didn’t sell out, so guests were invited to walk in the night of and order any of the items (or the entire spread) à la carte.
This adaptability, given the richness of the chosen fare and perhaps some unfamiliarity with the sugar shack tradition, helped ensure a full house and a festive mood. Personally, I hope the brothers stick to their full vision (or, at least, make the same compromise with an à la carte option) rather than scaling back the menu for any future iteration of this meal. The inaugural event really represented one of my gustatory highlights of 2025, and that story—just how singular this fare felt—is best told through analysis of the food.
Let us begin.
Le Bouchon stands where it always has since 1993: a three-story brick building (now sandwiched between structures of the same—or slightly taller—height) near the corner of Armitage and Damen. Though the window frames and some of the signage (a strutting toque, taken from the original poster perched just around the corner, hangs over the street address today) has changed, the curb appeal remains the same. Green and red trim (matching the colors found in the dining room) suggest a certain lightheartedness and whimsy. The restaurant’s name—“LE BOUCHON” being rendered in blocky metal letters (and sometimes joined by a fluttering Tricolore)—promises something recognizable and reliable. Now that this “cork” has been open for more than three decades, it’s fair to say the name represents permanence too.
I’ve admitted before that I’m a relative latecomer to Le Bouchon. The bistro always seemed so classic that it almost begged to be overlooked—could it really measure up to the high expectations with which I approach this fare? It was also one of those neighborhood restaurants (recently honored with the “Best Neighborhood Restaurant” title at the 2025 Jean Banchet Awards) that landed outside of my own stomping ground.
Once the Poileveys opened Obélix in 2022, I would come to appreciate their way of doing things at a place far closer to home. But I still remember a rare visit to Le Bouchon before that time—a half-bottle of Mugnier and a whole-roasted duck to wash down a tasting menu at CLAUDIA (when the concept could be found a couple doors down). And, knowing the brothers’ work (if not that of their parents’ firsthand) a little better now, I can see the common thread: a generational commitment to hospitality of easy warmth, surprising depth, and near-unrivaled value. Indeed, it only takes a single exchange with the longtime staff, a quick glance at the wine list, or a wee taste of the parsley butter to know what this place is about.
Tonight, the Maple Leaf hangs over Le Bouchon—matched, on a smaller scale, by a half-dozen blue-and-white stick flags (Québec’s Fleurdelisé) peeking out of the restaurant’s front planter. Upon entering, I am met with the bistro’s familiar charm: wood, tile, patterned plaster, and leather yes, but also the ceramic roosters, prized bottles from nights gone by, an expansive mural (over the bar), and other bright canvases depicting those most quintessential French pastimes (smoking cigarettes and drinking wine). Further marking the occasion, a couple of nondescript plastic jugs—the kind used to bottle good maple syrup (no fancy packaging required)—sit atop the waiter station. A couple pennants (again celebrating Québec and the Basilica of Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupré more specifically) also hang over the kitchen window, flanked by photos honoring Jean-Claude and Susanne Poilevey.
With all hands on deck for the special menu, Nicolas greets guests himself and expresses a palpable excitement for the food that is set to arrive. It is early in the night, but some enterprising patrons have already secured the bar seats and spare tables that can be used to order à la carte. The rest of the crowd, in for the full experience, will trickle in over the coming hours: bringing the intimate space to a crescendo of duck liver and revelry befitting the theme. Running into servers, sommeliers, and chefs from other restaurants (not to mention other dyed-in-the-wool gastronomes and oenophiles) is almost a given here. But there also exists a prevailing mood, no matter how close the confines, of being lost among the crowd: joined in a kindred spirit of enjoyment (within the eternal bistro format) yet free to enjoy these pleasures in a private, personal way.
Having chosen the full tasting menu, I only need to decide what to drink tonight. Le Bouchon’s wine list is impressive in its own right: shorter than Obélix’s but no less sweet and only really hampered by the fact that the former restaurant offers half price all bottles on Mondays while the latter limits the discount to sparkling only (meaning that the rest of the selections can retain slightly lesser markups). However, for this occasion, Nicolas has raided the cellar of the sister property and put together a small list attuned to the sugar shack fare.
The chosen wines are as follows:
- NV Domaine Labet Crémant du Jura ($100 on the list, $54 at national retail)
- 2018 Anne & Jean-François Ganevat Côtes du Jura “Montferrand” ($125 on the list, $102.99 at national retail)
- 2021 Hervé Souhaut Saint-Joseph “Clos des Cessieux” ($125 on the list, $84 at national retail)
- 2021 Hervé Souhaut Saint-Joseph “Sainte-Epine” ($135 on the list, $79.99 at national retail)
- 2020 Domaine Bachelet Gevrey-Chambertin Vieilles Vignes ($200 on the list, $154.95 at national retail)
- NV R. Pouillon Champagne “Les Terres Froides” ($200 on the list, $99 at national retail)
- 1973 Domaine des Baumard Quarts de Chaume ($225 on the list, $299 at national retail)
- 1989 Domaine Huet Vouvray Moelleux “Le Haut-Lieu” ($250 on the list, $160 at national retail)
- 2008 Domaine Parent Corton Blanc Grand Cru ($350 on the list, $219 Wine-Searcher average)
- 2005 Bonneau du Martray Corton-Charlemagne Grand Cru ($500 on the list, $580 at national retail)
- 2021 Hubert Lignier Clos de Vougeot Grand Cru ($600 on the list, $570 at national retail)
- 2019 Domaine Dujac Clos de la Roche Grand Cru ($625 on the list, $989 at national retail)
Stylistically, I think the decision to pair the flavors of maple syrup (not just sugar, but often a deeper nutty and woodsy character) with aged white Burgundy and sweeter expressions of Chenin Blanc is right on the money. Jura (both sparkling and still whites) was another apt choice. Champagne, of course, goes with everything (especially the crisp Blanc de Blancs chosen), but expressive examples of Pinot Noir and Syrah would also be right at home with all the pig head, pâté, duck confit, and sweetbreads used to frame the menu’s later courses.
Most importantly, these bottles were offered at markups ranging from 102% (the low end of the industry standard) to -37% of retail pricing, with a mean of 33% and a median of 39%. As always, the Poileveys make a point of celebrating wine (rather than viewing it purely as a profit center), inviting their guests to splurge on vintages that would only cost moderately less—or maybe even more—outside of a restaurant setting (to say nothing of what it would cost to ship these products, many of them fairly rare, from somewhere else in the country). Add in selections from the regular Le Bouchon list (as well as a couple maple-based cocktails), and one finds a beverage program every bit worthy of marking this special occasion: matching the kind of excess and generosity that characterize real sugar shacks.
Personally, I opted for corkage on this occasion—being inspired to try and pair the dishes myself and landing, similarly, on a medley of brut nature rosé Champagne, aged white Burgundy, aged (oxidative) Chenin Blanc, and younger (but transparent) red Burgundy.
With my cup amply filled, the feast begins—with a bread course, of all things, that would seem to run the risk of spoiling one’s appetite for all that’s to come. However, Obélix’s appearance at Le Bouchon does not only bring both Poileveys and executive chef Nathan Kim over the kitchen. The talents of executive pastry chef Courtney Kenyon and head baker Lou Turner are also on display.
The ”Laminated Brioche” that arrives—intricately ridged and knotted—at the table, is a testament to all the croissants and danishes I have come to appreciate as part of Obélix’s brunch fare. When torn apart, the bread displays a beautiful flakiness (one that avoids shattering into too many crumbs) married with a fluffy, mildly sweet crumb. The accompanying chili-maple butter (flecked with flaky salt) builds on this base note with more sugar (with a darker, mapley tinge) and an undercurrent of spice (that nonetheless avoids any perceptible heat). If I were to make a critique, I do wish the brioche was served just a little warmer. However, the butter is beautifully tempered and creamy, and this bread course—both delicate and decadent—ranks among the best I have encountered in Chicago.
The first formal course of the night comprises four distinct dishes that arrive (slightly staggered) in sequence.
The “Beausoleil Oysters” are dressed with maple gelée, some trout roe, and a maple-seaweed water. The prospect of pairing sugary syrup (however its transformed) and briny bivalve gives me pause. However, this first bite confirms that this menu will offer flavors that are much more nuanced than mere fat and sweetness. On the palate, the oyster feels clean and plump and leaves one with sensations of smoke, salt, and a mildly nutty, caramelized expression of umami. Indeed, the touch of maple here is quite light, and the bivalve—perfect on its own—is still able to shine.
A ”Stroopwafel,” coated with duck liver mousse, a drizzle of maple syrup, and some maple sugar crumble, arrives next, and the bite (at least in theory) pursues the kind of unabashed decadence I came to expect from this meal. On the palate, the waffles themselves are slightly thicker and more crumbly/cookie-like than what I’ve come to know from this form. However, the two layers are adequately moistened by their syrup filling. The accompanying mousse does even more to distinguish the texture, offering a rich, creamy mouthfeel that feels totally smooth and clean. Though I expect a punch of maple sweetness to steal the show (veering the preparation toward sickly “waffles and syrup” excess), the duck liver displays surprising salty, savory depth. Yes, the offal absorbs some of the sugar’s intensity and emphasizes more of the nutty, toffee notes that marry nicely with the meat. Overall, this makes for a dish that really honors the character of the foie gras despite its lighthearted stroopwafel form.
The ”Maple Cured Lox” offers another surprising seafood indulgence—one that (relative to the oyster) I find easier to conceive of given the smoky-sweet notes that often feature with salmon. Here, the fish is prepared in the titular manner (a combination of brine and syrup) then paired with maple-inflected, chive-laced crème fraîche, maple-pickled red onion, some cleansing cucumber, and a handful of crispy capers. Bagels sourced from Mindy’s Bakery (flecked with poppy and sesame seeds) act as the vessel, delivering crispness on entry and a slight chew that helps to marry the toppings.
Of these, the lox displays a smooth, moist texture that joins well with the subtler crunch of the red onion and cucumber. The salmon’s resulting flavor shows a rounded depth of sweetness that is well matched by hints of tang, nuttiness, allium (from the chives), and (with the incorporation of the capers) bursting salt. Again, I was tempted to think this preparation might go overboard in expressing the sweeter side of the maple. However, it delivers a balanced, surprisingly savory expression of the starring ingredient whose measured dose of sugar actually makes this familiar platter all the more irresistible.
Arriving last, the “Grilled Cheese” delivers the kind of wanton sweetness I thought, had it reared its head in the other dishes, might have come off as clumsy. Here, it fits the bill perfectly: taking the form of a maple-truffle gastrique used to soak a toasted sourdough and raclette sandwich that is given a final touch of freshly shaved black truffle. On the palate, the grilled cheese is crunchy on entry but oozing and well-integrated with further chewing. The resulting flavor (led by the richly nutty and pungent raclette) is certainly decadent but not overbearing. Instead, the most pronounced expression of maple (both sugar and caramelization) I have tasted yet tonight joins with the haunting, earthy quality of the truffle to deliver all the deep pleasure and excess the sugar shack theme promised.
The second course of the night brings with it three more dishes that are also served (with only a minute’s delay between them) as a set.
The first of these, a preparation of “Tête de Cochon,” represents one of the starring items on Obélix’s menu. However, for the occasion, Kim has paired his classic crispy pig head terrine with maple ssamjang, some crispy shallots, an apple kimchi, and a shiso-inflected sauce ravigote. Perilla leaves, in the usual manner, are used to fashion a complete bite: one that marries crisp—then tender—porcine flesh with a concentration of caramelized sugar, chile spice, crunching allium, tangy fruit, complicating anise, and uplifting mint. This wide range of flavors achieves a shocking degree of cohesion, building toward a finish that is unmistakably savory yet backed by layers of sweetness that seem almost impossible to untangle. Despite my familiarity with this recipe, it proved particularly memorable tonight—ranking as one of my favorite items.
The ”Tarte Tatin” that follows might be the only dish to beat it. Though ostensibly referring to the famous caramelized apple pastry, this recipe really only forms the foundation for an ode to foie gras. Yes, the tart’s crust is beautifully flaky, and its filling (making use of the Pink Lady variety) is brightly sweet despite its sticky richness. However, it is the perfectly crosshatched and seared lobes of duck liver—dressed in the same maple gastrique (sans truffle) that featured in the ”Grilled Cheese” and dusted with chives—that commands my attention. The foie gras, so often manhandled, reaches its apotheosis here. The sizable portion melts immaculately (no trace of the connective tissue that can spoil its texture), spreading across the tongue and deploying its concentration of umami as a foil for the recipe’s double dose of caramelization.
Yes, while the maple and apple get to show their sugary side here, there remains enough acid, enough buttery crust, and an interesting onion note on hand to keep both richness and sweetness in balance. The resulting combination is immense in its decadence but somehow still feels finessed. It stands as a great accomplishment in an era when fine dining’s use of foie gras almost seems hackneyed, reminding one of the ingredient’s singular quality and its essential place within this festive context.
I thought the “Country Pâté” might get lost among these two heavy hitters, but the dish (a variant of the “Pâté en Croute” found on Obélix’s menu) actually does well to keep pace. While the latter version of the recipe comes encircled in its titular pastry crust, the present iteration opts for a surrounding layer of maple-smoked bacon. Otherwise, the blend of pork and duck comes studded with the same pieces of pistachio and served with the same side of cornichons, pickled shallots, and Obélix French Pale Ale mustard—though this version of the condiment is also spiked with a bit of maple.
Some more toasted sourdough serves as the vessel, imparting a bit of crunch that frames the smooth, rich pâté. Sweetness—from the maple—remains in the background, but it works (along with those sharp and sour notes) to make the meat particularly alluring. Comparing this dish to the two hot plates served at the same time, I’m surprised I found myself reaching for bite after bite. If anything, the mustard and pickle elements probably worked as a kind of palate cleanser (by way of charcuterie) that, without fully divorcing from the maple theme, actually readied my tongue for what else was to come.
The third and final savory course of the evening looks to take the meal’s richness and meatiness to an even higher peak. Nonetheless, these three dishes (again served as a trio) actually harmonize in a way that doesn’t leave one feeling gluttonous.
The starring item of the flight is undoubtedly the “Tourtière de Canard,” a traditional French-Canadian meat pie that is rendered here with a filling of duck sausage, duck confit, mushroom, potato, and melted brie. Just for good measure, some foie gras and veal sweetbreads serve as a topping while a maple-mustard jus helps to moisten everything up. On the palate, the pie’s crust is reminiscent of that used for the “Tarte Tatin,” being buttery and flaky with some absorptive structure but lacking (for my taste) just a little more exterior crispness. Still, the shell breaks apart cleanly and unveils an interior that feels smooth, rich, and deeply meaty.
Despite such an assemblage of duck and offal goodness, the degree of fat is not overwhelming. Rather, the mushroom and potato serve to moderate the decadence from the inside while the jus (really more like a gravy) tinges the dish with sweetness and sharpness from the outside. Taken together, the ingredients run the gamut of savory, funky flavor without the recipe ever seeming overdone. Yes, this “Tourtière” is adeptly constructed and oh-so-satisfying—ranking among the best dishes of the night and earning a place on Obélix’s permanent menu.
Speaking of the Obélix menu, the “Salade Lyonnaise Canard” has certainly become one of its fixtures. For this menu, the chefs have reimagined their beloved recipe: retaining the frisée, the escarole, the duck egg and duck fat croutons, but substituting the defining shreds of duck confit for pieces of crispy maple pig ear. On its face, the change promises to bolster the salad with sweet, porky notes that might even elevate it to a higher level.
In practice, the pig ear is powerfully crisp and brittle. It punctuates the lettuces—perhaps even more to the croutons—but does not lend the preparation much more than a subtle dose of sweetness. Ultimately, being so accustomed to the version of this dish with the duck confit, I find the substitution of the warm, delicate meat for the shatter of the ear strips to be jarring. This does not make for a bad dish by any means (in fact, it still offers a sense of relief opposite the heartier fare), but it does rank among the weakest of the night.
Closing out the third course, one finds the “Roasted Bone Marrow.” This quintessence of meaty richness (offered as a special at Obélix earlier this year) is executed in an especially hedonistic fashion courtesy of a maple brûlée and a few dollops of golden Kaluga caviar. The resulting spoonfuls are to be spread on heartily toasted bread, yielding a bite that is faintly crunchy, then melty, and persistent in its combination of concentrated umami and sweetness. To be honest, the texture of the roe gets kind of lost in the shuffle. However, there’s nothing wrong with gilding the lily on an occasion like this, and the caviar’s hints of nuttiness and brine do help to further accentuate the character of the marrow. Ultimately, this makes for a clever close to the savory portion of the meal: one that aims at a supreme degree of decadence without burdening diners with too much actual food.
When Nicolas offers the opportunity to take a “luge” of Chartreuse or French whisky poured down what’s left of the marrow bones, the sense of occasion tonight is wholeheartedly confirmed.
With the arrival of the fourth course, the menu turns toward dessert.
Of the three dishes listed here, I only tried one of them: a “Paris-Brest” comprised of a choux pastry shell, a maple-sweet potato cream filling, a scoop of maple-ginger ice cream, and a coating of pretzel crunch. On the palate, the dish displays a soft, profiterole-like consistency that I think could be a bit crisper but, nonetheless, whose interior is soft and fluffy. The blend of flavors—rich, slightly earthy sweet potato and uplifting ginger joined by the pervading sweetness of the maple—is cohesive. However, this item is just missing an extra degree of precision and power to really be memorable. Indeed, it probably suffers from being compared to The Loyalist’s longstanding rendition of this recipe.
Otherwise, I saw the “Maple Croquembouche” in all its glory, but, perhaps owing to my earlier seating, I do not think the pastry tower was being deconstructed and served at this point in the evening. The absence of the “Mignardise” (small maple candies) might have been a legitimate oversight, but it was one I didn’t rue thanks to the timely arrival of the fifth and final course.
The ”Maple Snow” is one of the real symbols of the sugar shack tradition: a means of appreciating the starring ingredient, in harmony with the frigid setting, at its purest. Here, snow is substituted for a pile of ice, but Kenyon still facilitates the experience with care. The pastry chef ladles syrup over the mound while looking to concentrate the mapley wisps in a few distinct pockets. Guests are instructed to twirl the cooling liquid using the provided popsicle sticks, yielding a misshapen mass of brown, sugary goodness. On the palate, the “snow” is slightly chewy on entry but quickly begins to melt in one’s mouth. The resulting flavor is sweet—deep with all those nutty, caramelized tones that many of the other dishes have only hinted at—and shocking in its length. This is the money shot: the morsel that ties the entire meal together, and it’s executed with a degree of finesse that ensures I do not lament those couple missing desserts.
With this last taste of syrup, the menu reaches its conclusion. Yet there’s no rush to turn the table, to seat another party, to cram in another tasting, or make some money off the à la carte fare. I sit and sip my wine (a much-needed digestif) and soak in the last moments of this celebration: still ongoing for some, just about to start for others, no-holds-barred in its decadence, and destined to be everlasting in my memory. I make a point of asking for Oliver to come out of the kitchen and sign my menu—a request I like to think I’m above making, that kind of makes me cringe, but that seems like the only adequate way to express the pleasure this over-the-top occasion has yielded.
In the final analysis, I have learned over many years and many tasting menus to be suspicious of any meal that seems like “too much of a good thing.” It’s the hedonic treadmill in a nutshell: a surfeit of extravagance not only risks making one sick, it actually lowers the perceived pleasure that the constituent parts of the experience could show—would show—if appreciated alone. Yes, balance within a menu might be even more important than the balance struck by any discrete plate. And though sugar shacks do exist and thrive in serving patrons year to year, a set meal (looking to justify a high price point without the same self-paced banquet style seen in Canada) seemed like a risky proposition.
I was not worried about the value this meal might provide so much as I feared maple on maple on maple would descend into gimmicky excess. After all, this is the chef that served the “Joe Beef-style Foie Gras Double Down” last year—and he pulled it off (albeit in a leaves-you-feeling-dirty kind of way). With only one night to celebrate, why not amp everything up to 11? However, what I discovered in actually tasting this menu was a high degree of forethought, harmony between dishes, and even restraint.
While the actual sugar shacks host comfort food feasts, the Poileveys approached this night more like a gastronomic study of maple. The brothers certainly did not shy away from the kind of sheer enjoyment those attending the event might expect, but they also resolved (through the chosen wines and diversity of supporting ingredients) to display the starring syrup’s range of expressions rather than hammering the same sugary, caramelly notes over and over again. Certainly, the latter meal—paired with drinks that were even more free-flowing—would have been a marvelous time. But I admire how the team rose to the occasion and meaningfully translated this theme through the Obélix lens. That is to say, the chef pursued extremes of texture and flavor without forgetting about the valleys (i.e., the dishes of nuance and meditation) that allow peaks of pleasure to fully be perceived.
Tallying up the evening’s dishes:
I would rank the ”Laminated Brioche,” “Tête de Cochon,” and the “Tarte Tatin” as the stars of the night: dishes of refined texture and bold flavor that spoke to the sugar shack theme while also totally transcending it. These are excellent preparations that shine among anything I’ve tasted this year.
The “Maple Cured Lox,” “Grilled Cheese,” “Tourtière de Canard,” and “Maple Snow” come in right behind them: recipes that indulged in the theme wholeheartedly, delivering some of the evening’s highest peaks of pleasure, while also not quite escaping this context. Still, these were great dishes that I would love to have again—just not (save for the lox and bagels) with much frequency.
The “Beausoleil Oysters,” “Stroopwaffel,” “Country Pâté,” and “Roasted Bone Marrow” are next: good (even bordering on very good) bites that touched on the theme well without totally blowing me away. Indeed, some of these dishes functioned more as the kind of subtle, transitional items that helped the bigger guns fully impress. In that role, they succeeded, and I certainly wouldn’t mind encountering any of these creations again.
Finally, the “Salade Lyonnaise Canard” and “Paris-Brest” rank somewhere in the above average to merely “good” range. I’m not even sure I would note specific flaws (given that the preparations mostly suffered in comparison to other versions of the recipes). Instead, while these dishes delivered some degree of pleasure, they did not do much to command attention or totally convince me of their balance. I won’t say they should have been omitted (as they did encourage some creative work in accordance with the theme); however, these items were a clear step behind everything else served.
Overall, this makes for a hit-rate of 85% (that could arguably be considered 100% given that the “Salade Lyonnaise Canard” and “Paris-Brest” certainly weren’t bad), with more than half of the dishes (54%) landing in the “would love to have again” or higher category. For a one-night-only affair, this is a massive success, and I think these numbers help to explain why I am so desperate for this tasting menu to become a yearly tradition.
I am also eager to see how the Poileveys might tinker with the format and recipes if and when they experience a sugar shack firsthand. I see no reason for things to wildly change (after all, approaching this theme from a place of remove might have actually allowed the team to be more creative than if they had had a very clear reference point), but I do think there’s more room for growth.
Québec’s cabanes à sucre served as a jumping-off point for this particular gastronomic experience, but the resulting fare—loaded with game and offal—also spoke to the kind of “prairie cuisine” that defined early Chicago dining. The relation here is obvious: hearty food, cultivated from a challenging environment, meant to amply (if irregularly) feed those engaging in physical labor or sometimes even struggling to survive. In this manner, the sugar shack theme can actually offer a window into pioneer cooking and Midwestern identity as much as it might celebrate a distinctly French-Canadian practice.
I imagine that many of the night’s ingredients were already sourced from closer to home (and Illinois, for the record, cultivates maple syrup too). But I think this avenue—a sugar shack by way of the Midwest (even if such fusion is implicit in the fact that the meal is staged here)—could be a meaningful one to explore. I think it also helps explain why the Poileveys’ work on this meal—not just food and wine but mood and spirit—struck a deeper chord. The occasion has certainly stuck in my mind, and I will be counting down the days until I can celebrate it again.