MORSEL: TABLE, DONKEY and STICK (July 2025)

One of the recurring themes I engage with in these shorter pieces is that of the “neighborhood restaurant.” Ultimately, I think almost every consumer, whether they care all that much about dining, can conceive such a place: a product of convenience, consistency, and value whose importance might later deepen due to a powerful combination of personal connection and nostalgia. However, for my purposes (that is, taking a top-down view of the Chicago market), this concept must be partially deconstructed.

The idea is not to negate what countless concepts, animated by innumerable souls, mean to individual communities. Conveying these stories forms one of the most fruitful avenues for food writing—a point where this frivolous endeavor actually takes on some meaningful literary, anthropological, or even sociological import.

Rather, taking a critical perspective, I ask to what degree a given restaurant satisfies and, even more importantly, transcends that “neighborhood” status: the goal being to strip each subject of its more contextual, relative attributes and see how it competes with the very best examples of the chosen genre.

Certainly, there’s good reason to write about what a new opening brings to its block—and to center discussions of quality around what can also be found in the same part of the city. I’m always quick to tell budding gastronomes to find their favorite local spots, be loyal to them, and look to grow together. Indeed, that is how any dining scene, bit by bit, reflexively develops its unique character.

Yet I already have my own neighborhood restaurants: ones, in privileged parts of River North or West Loop, that might feel “special occasion” to many but (by accommodating walk-ins and serving food à la carte) function as standbys, baselines, and shining lights within the industry. I consider many of these concepts to objectively be among the best in their categories, so I always hesitate to visit some other quarter (no matter how prized any one of its haunts) in pursuit of the same cuisines I know are being executed to perfection mere streets away.

I think my skepticism is healthy given that journalists and influencers alike are all too happy to milk new openings for content, to play to superficial novelty and the interest of the immediate surrounding community, without ever engaging in the kind of comparative analysis that reveals (to the rest of the city) whether a restaurant is really worth their time.

I don’t blame them—who wants to ask hard questions of those taking risks and starting businesses? Who wants to antagonize entire swaths of the city by saying that their favorite hangout doesn’t measure up to some other place over there?

Nonetheless, consumers are more than comfortable comparing tasting menus, stratified by price, across the full breadth of the city, and I think it is just as important to try to decipher how these neighborhood restaurants really compare to each other. For, by combining (at their best) a charming, easygoing nature with bold, seasonal cooking, these concepts can really rival fine dining. In fact, they really form any city’s lifeblood: a means through which food shaped by experimentation and unique personalities can reach the public without all the strictness and expectation of those starred establishments that hog all the glory.

By elucidating which of these neighborhood restaurants are worthy destinations for all Chicagoans (no matter how far one need travel), we may reward and support their work at a time when survival at this level remains perilous. By noting those, in turn, that do not really shine beyond the context of their block, we can highlight pathways for further growth and more effectively steer consumers—those who are willing to travel—toward the most unique, worthy experiences.

It feels somewhat uncomfortable thinking about these restaurants as being engaged in a zero-sum game. In a perfect world, patronage would flow from the most opportunistic chains toward any and every independent concept that is invested in its community. However, time has taught me that there’s only so much air in the room at any given moment. Regression—the longstanding loss of technical prowess and creativity within the dining scene—is altogether possible if too many passionately run, forward-thinking spots prove unable to survive. Progression, if the most deserving operators win enough patronage to expand, may be within reach too.

With all of this in mind, showcasing neighborhood restaurants and delineating their subtle differences in quality acts as a kind of triage. It forces us to define what we value most and to remember the standard set by places whose days as shiny new openings have long passed. It brings us into contact with that kind of enduring quality—whether based on signature offerings or a persistent process of reinvention—on which our foodways are based.

Let us begin.

Table, Donkey and Stick opened late in 2012 along a stretch of Armitage Avenue (west of Western, east of Humboldt) that has endeared itself to me: home to the Kyōtens and Middle Brow and Gretel alongside other, more longstanding spots like Parson’s, Osteria Langhe, and the former Dos Urban Cantina. Of course, there’s also Margie’s Candies (which has stood for over a century) and Redhot Ranch (the relocation of the original flagship), which already feels like it’s been there far longer than five years.

When one tallies up all the pasta, pizza, bagels, charcuterie, and beer being made by hand on these blocks—and considers the coexistence of burgers, fried chicken, and ice cream with some of the city’s best (and most expensive) sushi—it’s hard not to drool. We’re talking, perhaps, of a relatively narrow spectrum of cuisines being represented (all the more now that 90 Miles Cuban Cafe has closed). However, they are being executed with a level of thoughtfulness and care that seems almost to consciously eschew the spotlight. This makes for a special pocket of craftsmanship in the otherwise obscure confines of Palmer Square.

Table, Donkey and Stick represents an early touchstone for this community, yet the restaurant itself grew out of Bonsoirée: the “BYOB, prix-fixe, modern cuisine” spot that opened in 2006 on the “unpopulated block.” Under chef-partner Shin Thompson, the concept earned a Michelin star in 2011, with Bibendum praising “photogenic and flavorful dishes” like “scallop and peekytoe crab motoyaki” and “applewood-smoked pork cheek bacon with quail egg and star anise marshmallow.”

Thompson brought Beverly Kim and Johnny Clark on as chef-partners in August of 2012, yet they left less than two months after reopening the restaurant (calling it “a mutual parting of ways”). Bonsoirée retained its Michelin star that year but would end up closing permanently. Thompson had collaborated with Kim and Clark in an effort to step away from day-to-day operations at the concept. The chef’s next move, alongside Bonsoirée’s general manager Matt Sussman (now a managing partner), would be to transform the space into a restaurant cooking “simple, honest food” influenced by “the inns that reside in the Alps from southern France into Switzerland and Italy” (ones whose hospitality is “legendary”).

Table, Donkey and Stick took its name from “The Wishing-Table, the Gold-Ass, and the Cudgel in the Sack”—a Brothers Grimm fairytale featuring the titular motif of “a table that magically sets itself with fine food and wine.” And the restaurant took its chef on the basis of a series of pop-up dinners (open to the public, with comment cards provided, and 50% of proceeds going to charity) in which final candidates would “be given a night to run the restaurant…featuring their food.” That being said, it was already clear at the time that the final menu must include “sausage,” “charcuterie,” “whole animal butchery,” “great cheeses,” and “beautiful breads” (the latter being Sussman’s own specialty).

Scott Manley (“protege of Paul Virant and veteran of Vie and EL Ideas”) won out against five other candidates with a menu “built around a half boar he acquired from Slagel Family Farm.” He would steward TDS as executive chef (and later partner) from its opening at the tail end of 2012 through 2017: a period that saw the restaurant’s warm reception, launch of an annual offal dinner (hosted to this day), remodel (principally the addition of a bar) in 2014, awarding of a Bib Gourmand (which it has held ever since) in 2015, and expansion (via a charcuterie-focused sandwich shop called Danke) in 2016.

Under executive chef Justin Moser, the concept would win acclaim both for its “Duck Liver Mousse” and its “Burger” (the latter beating out The Loyalist’s to be named best in the city). By the time of his departure toward the end of 2019, Table, Donkey and Stick had seen a range of noteworthy talent come through its kitchen: names like Ryan Brosseau (of Dear Margaret), Caleb Trahan (of Schwa), and John Dahlstrom (of Nettare).

Sussman would weather the pandemic—keeping “all of his full-time staff at their full-time status”—by pivoting toward a pop-up titled Pizza Asini. Drawing on the talent of cook (and later chef) Corey Jordan, the team drew on “locally-milled grains,” “long-fermentation,” and their “house-made charcuterie” to begin producing pan-style pies within days of closing.

Chefs Brian McGrath and Matt Saccaro would lead the kitchen from 2022 on, a period that saw TDS tangle with a damaged water line and Sussman transform sister restaurant Attagirl (which opened a block over in late 2023) into Bar Parisette (which served to relaunch the space in mid-2024).

Today, Saccaro acts as sole chef of the concept, which Bibendum continues to praise for “cozy Alpine fare,” “whimsical, creative compositions,” and “out-of-the-box ideas” all in the same breath.

The Table, Donkey and Stick that now stands—nearly 13 years later—looks something like an outpost. Clad in cream-colored paneling (the restaurant’s name still scrawled, off to one side, on a frayed piece of wood), the restaurant is somewhat quaintly sandwiched between black-and-gray condo buildings that have sprung up (replacing single-family homes and an empty field) over the past decade. Across the street, it’s the same story: as factory buildings (home to silk and stationery manufacturers over the years) made way for apartments and a daycare.

This is certainly not a bad thing for restaurant owners who bet on this area so long ago (and whose peers, subsequently, have situated themselves a block over). Indeed, TDS retains an all-important sense of individuality—a certain quaintness—at a time when its surroundings are starting to look like any other street in a fashionable, “up-and-coming” sector of the city. Yes, the concept (with its three-table patio) feels knowable and approachable even as the neighborhood’s development (epitomized by The Freeze’s reopening as a Small Cheval) risks veering toward what’s new, shiny, and soulless.

I’ve only eaten here a couple times before, so I should probably resist opining on any larger shifts in the avenue’s character. Yet, walking through Table, Donkey and Stick’s front door, I can confirm how I feel: both cozy (being enveloped by wood, brick, warm lighting, and a titanic wall of bottles) and bohemian (the punctuation of colorful canvases, bunching of eclectic bar patrons, and fizz of natural wine that surely follows). I sense the patina of age—of nights gone by—but the space, alternatively, still feels well-tended and eager to meet the expectations of any newcomer.

In the past, I’ve always sat at the smaller two-tops set in the nooks opposite the bar: intimate confines that also allow one to feast on the front room’s energy. Tonight, with a bright greeting, I am led to a space in the back that centers on two communal tables awash with natural light. Even accounting for the lingering influence of the condo buildings, I like it here. The room is cool and spacious with a view of the restaurant’s tented, tree-topped patio and a couple hanging quilts (serving to impede a sightline that would have guests looking out at a brick wall and some refrigeration units).

Though this dining room certainly remains unpretentious (every nook and cranny below the ceiling is stuffed with boxes of wine), the furniture is solid and comfortable. Immediately, I feel ready to stay a while—and it’s kind of fun to look up and try to decipher what bottles are squirreled away too.

As someone who hasn’t visited TDS with any frequency, I nonetheless have kept an eye on its beverage program. It’s hard not to when exposed to the producers Sussman features as part of his “Terroir Tuesday” by-the-glass series: names like Bérèche, Clape, Clos Rougeard, Dauvissat, Feneuil, Fourrier, Labet, Lamy, Lauer, Laval, Montevertine, de Moor, Pepe, Phelan Farm, Radikon, Rouget, Schaefer, Tempier, and Valentini (often arranged in flights exploring grape varieties or regions).

I start with a cleansing—but also deeply flavored—“Alpine Martini” ($18) and pause in appreciation of the Stein “Palmberg” ($16) and Ardoisières “Silice” ($18) being poured by the glass at present. However, I can barely wait to get my hands on the extended bottle list.

Here are some representative selections:

2022 Jonas Dostert “Pure Dolomite” ($69 on the list, $39 at national retail)
2022 Weingut Keller “Limestone” Riesling Kabinett ($80 on the list, $37.99 at local retail)
2022 Les Matheny Arbois Poulsard ($85 on the list, $44.99 at national retail)
2022 Domaine Tempier Bandol Rosé ($85 on the list, $54.95 at national retail)
2018 Roagna Langhe Rosso ($86 on the list, $59.99 at national retail)
2021 Alain Graillot Crozes-Hermitage ($90 on the list, $48 at local retail)
2021 Leipold “Schilfsandstein” Silvaner ($95 on the list, $48 at national retail)
2020 Les Bottes Rouges “Léon” Chardonnay ($98 on the list, $66 at national retail)
2020 Emmanuel Rouget Bourgogne Passetoutgrains ($98 on the list, $96.99 at national retail)
2022 Wasenhaus Spätburgunder ($99 on the list, $44.95 at national retail)
2022 Domaine des Marnes Blanches “Macération En Quatre Vis” ($105 on the list, $56.99 at national retail)
2019 Domaine Belluard “Les Alpes” Gringet ($110 on the list, $57.99 at national retail)
2023 Pascal Cotat “Chavignol” Rosé ($110 on the list, $69 at local retail)
2019 Gerard Duplessis Chablis Premier Cru “Fourchaume” ($110 on the list, $61.99 at national retail)
2019 Enderle & Moll “Muschelkalk” Pinot Noir ($110 on the list, $64.99 at national retail)
NV Thomas Perseval Champagne “Tradition” Brut ($115 on the list, $78 at national retail)
2018 Famille Moussé Champagne “l’Anecdote” Brut Nature ($125 on the list, $69.98 at national retail)
2020 Domaine Guiberteau Saumur Blanc “Brézé” ($127 on the list, $59.99 at local retail)
NV Bérèche et Fils Champagne “Réserve” Brut ($130 on the list, $75 at local retail)
2023 Chateau Simone Palette Rosé ($134 on the list, $87.99 at national retail)
2020 Podere le Boncie Toscana “Le Trame” ($144 on the list, $62 at national retail)
2018 Nicolas Rossignol Volnay ($150 on the list, $99 at national retail)
2015 Fabio Gea Barbaresco Riserva “Notu andava a tartufi senza il cane” ($165 on the list, $120 at national retail)
2017 Comando G “Las Iruelas” Garnacha ($220 on the list, $140 for 2018 vintage at national retail)
2016 Roagna Barolo “Pira” ($240 on the list, $149.99 at national retail)
2008 Cos d’Estournel ($300 on the list, $195 at national retail)

First, while I’ve undoubtedly chosen to highlight many of the more expensive wines on the list, it should be mentioned that plenty of options landed in the $50 to $60 range (to say nothing, again, of a few by-the-glass options under $20 that truly excel).

Sussman’s chosen offerings—inspired by the Alps’ positions as a “fluid boundary that divides the cultures of Eastern, Western, Northern, and Southern Europe”—spans popular grapes from popular regions (Chardonnay from Burgundy, Riesling from Rheinhessen, Sangiovese from Chianti, Syrah from the Rhône) and those same popular grapes in more obscure settings (Chardonnay from the Obermosel, Chardonnay from the Jura, Sauvignon Blanc from Austria, Pinot Noir from Baden, Nebbiolo from Alto Piemonte).

There are also more obscure grapes being featured in their classic homes (Gringet and Jacquère from the Savoie, Chenin Blanc from the Loire, Silvaner from Franken, Poulsard from the Jura) as well as at least one of these varieties (Trousseau) being interpreted by Stolpman Vineyards in Ballard Canyon, Santa Barbara. Throw in a half-dozen bottles of Champagne (priced from $78 to $130), another eight bottles of rosé (perhaps the widest assortment I have seen offered in Chicago), and a couple aged Bordeaux (each featuring a healthy dollop of Cabernet Sauvignon for those so inclined), and it is safe to say that the embrace of a geographical theme—rather than restricting the program—delivers options for all tastes.

More importantly, these options transcend questions of grape or place altogether. They represent a “who’s who” of classic (Bérèche, Cotat, Guiberteau, Keller, Rouget, Tempier) and cult, up-and-coming (Belluard, Comando G, Fabio Gea, Leipold, Roagna, Wasenhaus) producers whose mere names do more to assure quality than any vagaries of technical information. It is on this foundation—not just picking the right styles of wine but the right people to represent them—that the list really shines. For, if the selection sometimes embraces bottles that could be considered more “natural,” it does so with the moderating effect that respected, conscientious vintners bring to these processes.

When one takes a look at the markups TDS is charging, the picture becomes even rosier. For this sample, the restaurant is charging as low as 1% and as high as 131% on top of retail price (a starting range). However, considering the mean value of 72% and the median value of 71%, it becomes clear that markups here—as a rule—are among the lowest in Chicago.

Certainly, some of this has to do with the fact that many of these bottles are aged (and, thus, not widely available on the market anymore). Others are simply allocated (and scarcely found for the same reason). Nonetheless, in an era when some restaurants are more than happy to continually revise their pricing upwards to keep pace with the market, simply cellaring wine (while simultaneously resisting the temptation to charge customers more for the courtesy) deserves respect. Add in a fair corkage policy—$25 per 750mL (with no stated limit)—and Table, Donkey and Stick clearly shines as one of the city’s best destinations to celebrate wine.

Yes, without holding onto a huge amount of stock (the list amounts to 64 bottles, spread across two small pages, with associated boxes crammed wherever they will fit), Sussman has built a beverage program that deeply satisfies—but also totally transcends—a merely neighborhood clientele. His work, both in terms of quality and value, is of a caliber that can reward oenophiles traveling from anywhere across Chicago. By doing so, TDS outdoes many a concept touting bigger budgets and flashier branding but, in turn, totally missing the same sense of spirit or discernment behind what they serve. Bravo!

Any associated wine service at Table, Donkey and Stick (i.e., the presentation, opening, chilling, and/or decanting of bottles) falls under the purview of the servers themselves. Given the approachability of the concept, this is a fitting system: one that demands a certain degree of staff education and technical aptitude but retains a casual, easygoing mood that would not necessarily be improved upon by the formal bearing of a sommelier. Tonight, I can affirm that my bottles are treated with confidence and care. Top-ups are never more than a moment away either.

This accords with an overarching display of hospitality that feels warm and effortless yet never lacks attentiveness or precision. It helps that TDS, despite its spaces being small, is well-staffed. There are eyes in the dining room almost constantly (helped by the movement back and forth from the patio) without anybody being overwhelming. Rather, service is practiced in a way that feels fluid and conversational—as well as sensitive, even “inn-like” in its ownership.

Mechanically, there is nothing I can fault here. My dishes tonight are smartly combined into groups of two or three (displaying real intention with some of the combinations), with each of these courses landing after perfect gaps of 10 or 15 minutes. This suggests sharp communication between servers and the kitchen as well, and it makes for a meal in which everything just seems to flow. My experience, overall, is eminently comfortable, and I get the sense that everyone here—guests and staff alike—feels buoyed by that atmosphere.

With that, the meal begins. Tonight, I sample four of eight charcuterie items on offer along with four of eight small plates, five of seven large plates, and one of two desserts—an extensive tour of the restaurant that (now that I’ve availed myself of a couple bottles from its wine list) I am more than happy to take.

“House Charcuterie” has been a pillar of Table, Donkey and Stick from the very beginning, and it forms a category (as these cured meats and even the practice of making them in-house have proliferated over the past decade) that the restaurant should, having specialized in the craft for so long, impress with. When it comes to presentation, the resulting platter—strewn with spiced nuts, pickles, honey, an orange blossom mostarda, and two types of bread—certainly does so.

A ”Duck Liver Mousse” ($9) described as a “TDS classic” more than lives up to that status. The shining quenelle, topped with a ribbon of berry compote, is immaculately smooth on the tongue and delivers an equally pristine expression of foie gras. Yes, there’s nothing rough or jarring about the resulting flavor: just mouth-coating richness matched by a staggering depth of umami that reveals itself via the fruit or any other sweet accompaniments. This is about as good as duck liver gets.

The ”Finocchiona” ($9), in turn, is the sort of item for which one can easily find points of comparison. Even Jewel-Osco stocks a version of it! Here, I am struck by the salami’s moist, tender mouthfeel (that nonetheless retains a slight chew). The namesake fennel comes through clearly—its notes of anise seeming particular bright—yet a bit of garlic and black pepper help anchor the pork on the more savory, satisfying side of the spectrum. Ultimately, this is a good but not life-changing example of the form.

In ordering the “Beef Heart & Pork Belly Summer Sausage” ($9), I hope to try something a little more challenging—something, if not executed properly, that could leave me with that queasy sensation (in which offal suddenly goes from delectable to disturbing). What I find is actually one of my favorite bites: a meat of striking moistness, succulent fat, and a perfect kick of black pepper to play off of the robust flavor of the heart. This is a real treat.

Finally, there’s the “Tête de Cochon en Croûte” ($9)—another preparation that demands a bit more involvement (and, as a consequence, runs the risk of falling flat). However, I find the crust of this pie-slice sliver to be soft and flaky. The braised pork head filling is smooth and homogenous in its own right too. While the accents of shallot and thyme are well-judged, I’m just missing a tad more flavor. Yes, if anything, I’d just like to enjoy this item with a dab of mustard, for pairing it with honey or mostarda just doesn’t seem to fit. Still, at the end of the day, I liked this.

When one factors in the quality of the accompanying baguette (warm, crusty, seeded rye crackers (dense, earthy), pickles (snappy, not too sour), and orange blossom mostarda (sweet but also tangy and a touch bitter), the charcuterie program at TDS really shines. Admittedly, I threw a slice of “Délice de Bourgogne” ($9) into the mix as well. But I do not think it is unfair to say that, on the back of the wine list and these cured meats alone, the restaurant already offers one of Chicago’s most rewarding gastronomic experiences.

Moving toward the heart of the menu, I find a “Fresh Corn Salad” ($15) that looks to confirm the kitchen’s faculty with simple, seasonal ingredients. Here, the kernels are combined with tomato, feta, and basil in a fairly conventional manner. However, some julienned radish ups the textural contrast while the addition of padrón peppers (a Galician variety that irregularly displays its heat) and a cherry bomb pepper hot sauce serves to amplify the dish’s flavor.

On the palate, the corn feels crisp and juicy—being matched nicely by the bursting quality of the tomatoes, the more pronounced crunch of the radish, the blistery pieces of pepper, and the denser, absorptive cheese. The resulting sensation here is expectedly, satisfyingly sweet. Nonetheless, a nice trace of spice and an uplifting, almost minty quality drawn from the basil add to the recipe’s depth. The heat of the hot sauce (which might have easily overwhelmed proceedings) is softened by its pepper’s fruity qualities. Thus, the resulting burn is noticeable—but not bothersome—and the salad, bold but also cleansing as one cycles through the various components, achieves a memorable degree of balance. This is beautifully composed.

Serving alongside the salad, the “Potato Latkes” ($8) have been described as “one of a few items that have been on the…menu for all 12 years,” and they have undoubtedly earned that place. At TDS, the shredded mounds of potato and onion are formed into neat, thick squares. Fried to golden brown (bordering on mahogany at certain edges), the latkes come about eight to an order and are paired with a horseradish aioli.

Texturally, I do note some variation from piece to piece. The largest are fleetingly crisp then fluffy and tender through the middle. The smallest, in turn, deliver a heartier crunch, yet both sizes play well against each other. This subtle contrasting effect is helped along by the perfect application of salt and the cooling, sweet quality of the accompanying aioli. These dual seasonings serve to tease out the latkes’ deeper allium notes, marking each bite (which can very well rival the best fries) with a unique, eminently snackable finish. Ultimately, I must join in the chorus of countless customers who have praised this dish over the years. I just can’t get enough of these!

The ”Ricotta Gnocchi” ($23) stands as one of three pastas on the menu tonight—as well as the only one that is listed among the small plates. Its arrival on the back of the preceding two items (as the start of a new course) strikes me as clever: the chosen sauce (a sweet corn soubise) builds on the notes of the sauce while the pasta itself (even if not made from potato) drives the substantive, allium-tinged character of the latkes toward refined notes of chive, chanterelle, and bay scallop.

Overall, this is a pretty composition: one in which tones of cream, yellow, orange, and green dance together. On the palate, the gnocchi display a faint sense of chew that marries well with the plump pieces of bivalve, crisp kernels of corn, and tender (though still more structural) mushrooms. The creamy sauce serves to tie these disparate elements together, imbuing each bite with a rich, luscious quality that calls chowder to mind. The dish leads with a punch of sweetness (drawn from the corn and supported by the ricotta) that helps to perpetuate the comparison. However, hints of pepper, onion, and nutty depth drive the recipe back toward the savory side without sacrificing any vibrancy. Yes, for all its creaminess, this pasta actually feels rather light. It is also impressively cohesive even if this blend of prized ingredients does not prove quite as memorable as their status might suggest.

Joining the gnocchi as part of this course, one finds the ”Beef Cheek Croquettes” ($16). Though this recipe might sound better suited to colder weather, these stuffed bites—laden with bone marrow—form an important decadent peak within the confines of the menu’s small plates. Arriving three to an order, the fried orbs are topped with chive, onion, rosemary, roasted mushrooms, and drizzle of saba (a syrupy grape must reduction).

When they meet one’s teeth, the croquettes display a crisp exterior that, nonetheless, yields to a rich, tender interior where strands of cheek and oozing marrow seem to melt away. Here, the garnish—all those crunching bits and brittle leaves—does a good job of extending and enhancing the fun. But it’s the saba, so distinctively sweet and tangy despite its careful application, that sets this recipe alight. This ancient condiment, so concentrated in sugar and acidity, cuts the richness of the beefy filling and helps to delineate a clean, savory quality that provides much of the dish’s satisfaction. Indeed, it is the latter note (through the finish) that draws me back for another bite: one where the same bold flavors will combine and contrast in fulfillment of the same, memorable pleasure. Delicious.

Closing out this course, one finds the “Roast Carrot Risotto” ($29): a seasonal, vegetarian option among (though by definition apart from) pasta dishes that otherwise opt for meat. Here, the grains of rice are paired with three different expressions of the produce. There are pieces of shaved carrot, tangles of carrot string, and dabs of carrot top pesto to be found alongside a dollop of whipped feta and some hazelnuts.

On the palate, the risotto is appropriately creamy and further distinguished by the varying crunch and crispness of the vegetable components. I do sense some subtle sweetness from the carrots on the finish; however, I find the flavors of the dish to be somewhat undistinguished. The whipped feta and the pesto are present but almost seem neutral. The hazelnut, for my palate, is hard to pick out. I think more salt would certainly help these ingredients pop, yet seasoning can be a tricky question. Instead, while I admire the thinking behind this dish and think the textures are nicely crafted, the flavor of carrot—sweet and earthy—should come through more convincingly. That kind of concentration might carry the recipe, further accentuating the other elements, without bringing salt content to a level that would polarize diners in the opposite direction.

Though the risotto represents a low point for the evening (one that, in all honesty, is not that low at all), the “Pappardelle” ($29) that arrives next is a highlight. Heralding the next course, this pasta combines the familiar ribbons with a rabbit ragù, whole pieces of pistachio, some grated pecorino, and chives. Visually, it comes as somewhat of a surprise that the sauce, drawing on game meat, is made in a bianco style. At the same time, there’s an elegance to this method that really allows the chosen ingredients to shine.

In terms of texture, the headlining noodles are well worth “gobbling up.” They strike with a textbook al dente quality that is enhanced (but in no way obscured) by the lighter, cheese-thickened ragù. The flesh of the rabbit, when it enters the fray, breaks apart into soft, tender threads. The pistachio, in turn, is given full opportunity to crunch and contrast the pasta (without ever being jarring). Flavor here is slow to build, and I am almost left fearing that dish will again be underseasoned. However, after a couple bites, the latent sweetness of the meat—in combination with the sharp, salty quality of the pecorino and pristine notes of nut (earthy-sweet in their own right)—takes hold. Add in some savory undertones from the sauce along with a touch of allium, and this preparation absolutely sings: honoring tradition while also elegantly invigorating it.

Paired with the pappardelle, I find the “Pork Schnitzel” ($28): a dish that is emblematic of that Swiss, Austrian, and German side of the Alps (and whose longstanding presence at TDS, along with all the French and Italian inflections, forms a bonafide draw). True to type, the meat is pounded, breaded, and fried then paired (in somewhat of a spin on the standard accompaniments) with beurre blanc, a parsley salad, some capers, and a squeeze of grilled lemon.

On the palate, the schnitzel offers a most satisfying exterior crunch (marked by a fine, breadcrumby finish) and a soft, homogenous interior layer of pork. While the crisper components of the accompanying salad help to double this textural effect, the butter sauce further moistens the meat and forms a most welcome dressing. The resulting flavor, courtesy of the briny caper and sweeter, smokier touch of lemon, is fairly robust. However, if I am being honest, I think a touch more salt—again—would really bring this preparation home: centering all the other components around a lip-smacking, savory expression of pork. That being said, this kind of criticism can be rather subjective. I ultimately still enjoyed this schnitzel and would not hesitate to order it again.

The last savory course of the evening starts off with the third and final pasta. This “Spaghetti alla Chitarra” ($26) is uniquely rendered with a parmesan broth, some leaves of Swiss chard, smaller chunks of prosciutto, and a generous serving of lima beans. Cured and grated egg yolk, as well as the ever-present chives, complete the presentation.

Here, I am again impressed by the mouthfeel of the noodles, which feel slick and creamy on entry but retain a certain resistance and succulence against one’s teeth. The salt content here (no doubt courtesy of the cheese, cured meat, and cured egg yolk to boot) is also more than ample. That being said, the dish’s flavors remain on the understated side—I think in a good way. Yes, for all the concentration of parm and pork, it is really the earthiness of the chard and building sweetness of the beans that come to define the recipe. Though some of those beans end up being a little chalky, the overall sense of richness they provide is highly satisfying. This weight (textural, yes, but also something of a base note) acts as a vehicle for the other savory elements. Their savory characters all seem to meld into the beans, persisting on the finish and delivering more and more enjoyment through the last bite.

Joining the spaghetti, I find a preparation of “Confit Duck Leg” ($36). Paired with beluga lentils, fresh peas, chunks of lardon, a few slices of summer squash, the odd tart cherry, and a squeeze of lemon, this bird ends the meal on a decidedly French note.

With at least a few great Chicago restaurants operating with this form, there’s little room for error here. However, I find the meat of the leg to be beautifully tender, and, while the skin isn’t dramatically crisped, it does offer enough contrast to add to my enjoyment. With a good cook on the duck as a base, the dish impresses with its smooth, well-salted lentils, the pop of the peas, and the sweeter, vegetal tones of the squash. The cherries, soaked in the plate’s accompanying jus, see their own ripe and tangy notes integrated smoothly. In this manner, the fruit takes the recipe’s soothing richness to a higher plane, enlivening—and enhancing—the savory flavors in a skillful manner. Though it cannot quite compete with the schnitzel in terms of nostalgia, this composition demonstrates some great technique.

Closing out this dinner, I opt for one of two desserts: a “Black Forest S’more” ($12) that references the famous German cake. The resulting skillet boasts a bottom layer of graham cracker crumble surrounded by yellow chartreuse-soaked cherries and melted dark chocolate. Crowning the dish are three larger marshmallows (themselves flavored with green chartreuse) that have been brûléed.

Texturally (and in terms of temperature), this recipe satisfies one’s expectations of a s’more: crunchy base, melting chocolate, oozing (and caramelized marshmallow). It is the introduction of those stewed fruit and herbaceous, almost spicy notes that catches me off guard. Personally, I love Chartreuse, but I’m not sure I can reconcile my affection for the liqueur with my nostalgia for how this combination (otherwise) should taste. Admittedly, Black Forest cake also wouldn’t be my first choice of dessert either. That being said, I still enjoyed the novelty of this construction and think those who are more partial to these flavors will find more pleasure here.

When the check arrives, I note one of those dreaded 3% surcharges. However, this is not the kind (as high as 3.25% or 3.5%) some larger groups append “as a way to offset rising costs associated with the restaurant.” Rather, TDS is a small concept with a proven track record of caring for its staff, and the menu explicitly says that the fee is used “to help us provide health benefits for our full-time staff.”

Considering how affordable the food is here, that 3% has little impact. So why not just raise prices? Well, the person buying a $100 or $200 bottle of wine might feel the influence of this added premium a little more, but it’s still just a drop in the bucket for that kind of customer (who has already come out way ahead in terms of the low markups). As it stands, I think this thorny issue is handled fairly here. There’s a certain credibility to a neighborhood place looking to take care of its employees. Gratuity, otherwise, is left entirely to the diner to decide, and I feel that it is well earned tonight.

With that, roughly two hours later, it is time to leave: a handful of paces that bring me past the bustling back patio, beyond the kitchen, through a teeming bar area, and out onto Armitage—where only a couple, haphazard table give any hint as to the revelry that roars inside.

Nearly 13 years later, the block has changed tremendously. Yet this cozy Alpine inn continues to burn brightly, glowing in a way—so thoroughly its own—that any Chicagoan, from any neighborhood, can appreciate.

The crux of this piece—and of any attempt to evaluate a place like Table, Donkey and Stick—is that same set of questions I asked at the start: how does this restaurant distinguish itself relative to what else can be found in the area, and (more importantly) how does it transcend this geographical advantage to appeal to consumers who might travel anywhere to eat?

Now, at a basic thematic level, Alpine cuisine (a paradigm that allows for the conglomeration of several beloved food cultures) is not easily substituted in Chicago. One can find Italian food at Osteria Langhe, more of a French inflection at Bar Parisette (itself a sister concept), and a bit of everything (charcuterie, pasta, a burger) at Gretel. One can certainly find great wine lists (within those same cultural parameters) at the first two restaurants too.

If one zooms out a bit further, places like Cellar Door Provisions (broadly Mediterranean cuisine, natural wine list), Daisies “2.0” (creative, seasonal Italian), Lardon (housemade charcuterie), and Le Bouchon (cozy French cuisine, great wine list) enter the conversation. At a certain point, why not break with any semblance of similarity altogether and just run to Elske (soon to be joined by Creepies), John’s Food and Wine, or Obélix for a meal that is cozy and loaded with quality from top to bottom?

Dish for dish and bottle for bottle, I might admit that I favor a couple of the aforementioned spots. However, they’re not really competing directly. Each one, though there is some overlap, occupies enough of a niche and offers a sharp enough value proposition to not only tempt diners but actually coexist.

Indeed, TDS has the housemade charcuterie yet pairs it (compared to say Lardon) with a noteworthy selection of wine. The list may not delve as deeply into French producers (as Bar Parisette, Le Bouchon, or Obélix do) or cult natural names (like Cellar Door Provisions or Elske). However, the markups are among the lowest in the city, and Sussman’s work occupies a perfect sweet spot at the intersection of Champagne, Baden, Burgundy, the Jura, the Loire, the Savoie, the Wachau, Provence, Piedmont, Tuscany, and the Rhône. Many of the chosen bottles can hardly be found elsewhere.

The rest of the food menu balances established classics like the “Potato Latkes,” “Beef Cheek Croquettes,” and “Pork Schnitzel” (other renditions of which cannot easily be found elsewhere) with something like the “Slagel Farms Burger”—a dish that faces plenty of competition but has already carved out an award-winning status. When it comes to the seasonal salads, pastas, and larger preparations like the duck, other examples do abound. Nonetheless, I think Saccaro has developed a unique style that combines unerring textural precision with thoughtful challenges to tradition. (I might tweak a couple of the pastas, but there’s no question that the recipes manage to be distinctive within a crowded genre.) At the same time, the chef does not completely subvert expectations (as, say, Cellar Door Provisions might do), meaning that his cuisine retains an approachable, comforting quality that is fitting for the concept.

In ranking the evening’s dishes:

I would place the “Duck Liver Mousse” in the highest category: a superlative item that stands among the best things I will be served in any restaurant this year.

Next come the “Beef Heart & Pork Belly Summer Sausage,” “Potato Latkes,” “Fresh Corn Salad,” “Beef Cheek Croquettes,” “Pappardelle,” and “Pork Schnitzel”—very good (even great) bites I would always be happy to sample again.

The “Finocchiona,” “Tête de Cochon en Croûte,” “Ricotta Gnocchi,” “Spaghetti alla Chitarra,” and “Confit Duck Leg” occupy the next stratum: good preparations that I wouldn’t mind ordering again but that also did not prove too memorable.

Finally, the “Roast Carrot Risotto” and “Black Forest S’more” land at the bottom: merely good (or above average) recipes that fell a bit short when it came to flavor and, thus, did not measure up to the rest of the meal.

Overall, this makes for a hit-rate of 86% (and, given that I think other diners might enjoy the “S’more” more than I did, that number could be as high as 93%). Either way, this is an excellent score for a restaurant that maintains such approachable pricing and an atmosphere (quaint, cozy) that instantly enriches one’s dinner no matter how larger or small.

Considering how much the menu at TDS has already changed since my visit (both new items and smaller tweaks to recipes that have remained), there’s no reason that the restaurant, caught at the right moment, cannot achieve 100% satisfaction or see a greater proportion of recipes land in those upper echelons. Factor in the natural evolution of the wine program, and there’s no reason not to make this Alpine inn a part of one’s regular rotation.

Yes, in the final analysis, I can only admire Table, Donkey and Stick for navigating so many years—so many changes to its neighborhood and to the industry itself—without losing sight of its core identity. Upon rudiments of bread, cheese, cured meat, and wine (always at friendly prices), Sussman and generations of staff have honed that rare, timeless sort of place. They’ve built a foundation that, to this day, empowers a bold, ever-changing interpretation of seasonal cuisine (along with pizza and donuts for good measure too). But constant evolution (the lifeblood of why TDS remains so exciting) has been supremely balanced by a steadfast desire to please (the reason why the concept so effectively guarantees satisfaction).

Table, Donkey and Stick, by finding this middle ground, transcends its neighborhood status and maybe even the confines of its chosen theme altogether. So many years later, it’s a restaurant that knows just how far to push its guests’ palates before reeling them back in with a nice, warm hug. This is the level (as much as I respect those places that occupy the furthest extremes of texture and flavor) at which the dining public is most effectively influenced. And it stands as a model—across any and every genre—of how much a neighborhood place can and should do.

TDS has carved out a place in the pantheon of great local restaurants: ones that may not fulfill the expectations of “destination dining” but, through quiet excellence, do the most to shape our city’s character.