After spending some time discussing PIZZ’AMICI—the small, hyped tavern-style spot from a couple of young entrepreneurs—it seems serendipitous that I can sample, compare, and contrast the same product from some of Chicago’s most interminable restaurateurs. Certainly, Boka Restaurant Group has had a rough go of things lately, with Le Select’s implosion inspiring a retreat toward spin-offs, pop-ups, new markets, stadium food, and brand partnerships that could better guarantee success (i.e., profit).
Chicagoans aren’t quite foolish enough to associate BRG with forward-thinking concepts anymore. (Tre Dita, from Lettuce Entertain You, certainly had its problems, but at least it was ambitious! And that group has now somewhat redeemed its reputation for quality and value with Gus’ Sip & Dip.) But there is reason for hope.
Boka’s takeover of food and beverage operations at the Chicago Athletic Association provides them with a sweeping, historic canvas on which to debut concepts that can build on and contrast each other. Yes, it’s “hotel dining” (often a fraught category), but I actually thought the company’s work at Somerset (in the Gold Coast’s Viceroy Hotel) was impressive back in the day—at least when Lee Wolen wasn’t parading around the dining room in his running shorts.
BRG’s upcoming collaboration with Brian Lockwood (who worked as the chef de cuisine of Frasca, The NoMad, and Eleven Madison Park) is probably the most exciting development. Gingie, the concept he is set to open in the old GT Prime space, is described as an “ingredient- and technique-driven American restaurant” with “standout dishes” like eggplant (with young ginger, miso-egg, and shiso) and baked gnocchi (with Wisconsin cheddar and summer truffle). On paper, this doesn’t sound all that notable, but it’s a start. Lockwood represents an injection of outside culinary talent that the city sorely needs. With all his attention devoted to this spot—and to the faultless execution of otherwise approachable fare—the chef can really transform and elevate this genre beyond Boka (the flagship) and Bellemore have tried to do. He can make a case for outside chefs (if they are fully engaged) succeeding and enriching the dining scene after everything that happened with Daniel Rose.
Zarella, which itself occupies the former GT Fish & Oyster, feels more like a sideways move: an extension of the Alla Vita formula, reimagined for a new neighborhood, with the added draw of tapping into the style of crust (long a cult favorite here) that has now reached national prominence. Yes, though Chris Pandel and Lee Wolen (chef-partners of the concept) have put together a menu that includes Italian-American appetizers (fried zucchini, calamari, mozzarella sticks) and larger plates (chicken parm, eggplant parm, chicken picatta, pastas), tavern-style headlines as something totally new for the group. That remains true even if it shares the stage with what they call an “artisan” crust (reminiscent of the pies served at Alla Vita).
It would be easy to malign this opening as cynical trend-chasing (with BRG, despite its resources, arriving late to the party after smaller businesses like Middle Brow, Novel Pizza, and PIZZ’AMICI stoked enthusiasm for this thin-crust form). But, as I said when writing about the latter concept, the opening of more pizzerias, each serving a smaller segment of the community, helps combat the more pernicious effects of hype and allows for the development of greater stylistic distinction. Plus, it’s nice to see Boka take a break from shilling its Michelin star at every opportunity and begin to accept its identity as an unimaginative, opportunistic restaurant group. There’s nothing wrong with only giving the public what other operators have discovered it wants (so long as one does not posture as a hospitality luminary). There’s also nothing wrong with delivering middle-of-the-road fare (so long as one does not pretend to represent excellence).
Surely, there’s plenty of room to excel in the creation of tavern-style pizza: a pie of humble origins, haphazardly made to induce imbibing. Pandel and Wolen are distinguishing their work with toppings like artichoke, arugula, Calabrian chiles, spinach, pickled peppers, mortadella, and soppressata that are less frequently adapted for this particular form. Specialty offerings like the “Spicy Vodka,” “Mushroom & Truffle,” and “Carbonara” pies (that latter two featuring a white sauce) further transcend tavern-style’s more conventional combinations. Of course, pepperoni and sausage (the latter being ignominiously sourced from Hormel despite the chefs claiming they use “only the finest ingredients”)—as well as green peppers, black olives, mushrooms, and giardiniera—can also be found. But a trio of dips (Calabrian chile oil, garlic ranch, and the inescapable hot honey) ensure that even these classic toppings can be enjoyed in a new way.
Add in an interior from Anna Filatov (former design director for Hogsalt), and Zarella seems totally capable of putting some appreciable stamp on Chicago’s pizza scene. I trust BRG, even in its hobbled state, to successfully execute food that is unpretentious and comforting. I might even trust the group to use its heft to deliver a level of service and range of beverage options (and maybe even a degree of value) that surpass the smaller businesses that have enlivened the genre. Yes, concepts of this scale and dependability form a natural antidote to pizzerias stricken with hype. They help consumers accept—and love—what is available in their own backyard rather than jealousy chasing what others say they must be eating (and, after all the trouble required to do so, almost being destined for disappointment).
Then again, I had high hopes for Dicey’s Pizza & Tavern: Land and Sea Dept.’s replacement for the West Town location of Parson’s Chicken & Fish that opened in October of 2024. (How ironic that Zarella Pizzeria & Taverna debuts with such a similar name just as BRG takes the other group’s place at the Chicago Athletic Association.) Though the Dicey’s concept originally debuted in Nashville, I saw no reason it couldn’t succeed back home—blending a beloved form with the depth (especially in terms of beverage) and attitude that LSD is known for. Certainly, the restaurant’s branding was on point, and toppings like vodka sauce, parmesan cream, bacon, banana pepper, eggplant, poblano pepper, creamy pesto, Calabrian chile oil, herb-roasted chicken provided some of the same creativity that distinguishes Zarella’s menu.
However, despite visiting at a time when the restaurant was nearly empty, my Dicey’s pie was a sloppy, limp mess—a prototypical example of tavern-style gone wrong. I have every reason to believe that the restaurant can do better (for how hard is it to top the dough more lightly and leave it in the oven a little longer?). But who has time for second chances when my favorite examples of the form are also unerring in their consistency?
Dicey’s major problem also seems like it could form a possible pitfall for Zarella: who is actually making your pizza on any given night? Places like Middle Brow, Novel Pizza, and PIZZ’AMICI succeed in part because each pie is made by a motivated chef-owner (or, at least, a fanatical band of locavores). Their work forms a point of pride—clearly associated with a “face” (or “faces”)—and excellence flows from having the concept’s master craftsperson manning the oven (or at least the pass) whenever the restaurant is open.
I think it is safe to assume that Pandel and Wolen won’t actually be involved in making customers pizzas here (beyond the occasional photo-op). The chefs also haven’t empowered any kind of named deputy to take ownership over the experience in their absence. Zarella has its figureheads, but the restaurant’s ultimate quality will rest on the partners’ ability to train staff and maintain standards from afar. They could not do so at Le Select, but, likewise, making tavern-style pizza at this scale is not rocket science. The pies just need to be perfect, time after time, in order to justify coming here (in lieu of the independent pizzerias in one’s own neighborhood) for a slice. Otherwise, BRG will be doing little more than lazily jumping on the latest bandwagon in order to more effectively monetize one of its old spaces.
I will look to answer this question and hope that, if quality and consistency are to be found, this simple pizzeria signals the group is ready to start really trying again. They may, indeed, be regrouping and building the kind of momentum that (actualized at the Chicago Athletic Association and at Gingie) will restore BRG’s reputation as a progenitor of the city’s best and boldest dining experiences. There is only one way to find out.
Let us begin.
Or not.
Zarella would have been my first trip to a BRG restaurant since June of 2023 (the final meal I had at Boka when writing about the flagship that summer). Given my sense of the group’s decline—as well as the fact that I rarely visit Hogsalt or Lettuce Entertain You properties when I’m not writing about them (despite respecting these restaurateurs more)—there was little temptation to pay any of their concepts a visit. The value propositions did not appeal to me, and there was no point in patronizing places I expected to disappointment me without an indication (e.g., a new chef, an updated menu, the right wines) that something had changed. Zarella, being new and part of a broader “tavern-style renaissance” narrative, better fit the bill.
However, to be honest, I had no intention of writing about the pizzeria. A friend wanted to give it a try, and I figured it would be a pleasant experience—not mind-blowing but also not worth rehashing the same arguments I made about Alla Vita. I do enjoy holding large restaurant groups to a higher standard than small operations (believing this perspective to be key in shaping a robust dining scene), but beating a dead horse gets boring. BRG isn’t charging The Alinea Group’s prices, so why skewer an unambitious opening when I could simply write about PIZZ’AMICI and the other tavern-style spots I do like?
In trying to go to Zarella (however innocently), I learned that I’ve been permanently banned from the group’s restaurants. Contrary to the way the e-mail is written, this was never previously communicated to me nor was the original decision “upheld” because it was never known about (let alone contested). Rather, at some point after publishing my Boka retrospective/critique in July of 2023, I had my Black Card status stripped and must have been added, more generally, to a “do not seat” list. This unsigned e-mail—more than a year and a half later—is just boilerplate: a generic response to a customer who (in their system) is supposed to know they are banned with no grounds for appeal. Certainly, learning about it in this way takes some of the punch out of the gesture. But, in reality, BRG would never explicitly say they are banning me in retribution for writing a bad review and undermining the reputation of their “star” chef.
Rationally, the ban makes total sense. Apart from my visits to Le Select and Boka in 2023, my spending at their restaurants (after years as a bonafide “regular”) had fallen to $0. I’m no longer a loyal customer, and there’s nothing to gain from allowing me to dine at any past or future concepts. Of course, tacitly, BRG is admitting their caliber of work will never be good enough to impress me. Yet why wait to find out if, in exchange for a few measly hundred-dollar checks, they run the high risk of having me take another one of their establishments (and the group itself) to task?
(I may pop up every now and then with a critique of The Alinea Group or Ever, but I’m still spending thousands of dollars—and communicating some small sense of hope—whenever I give these concepts another try. Perhaps that’s why they tolerate me—and, if I’m being honest, treat me with a truly admirable degree of warmth despite everything that’s been said.)
It’s flattering to think that my writing moves the needle on consumer behavior at all when the barrier to entry (length, stylistic choices) is so steep. The Boka piece, in particular, delved so deeply in the restaurant and group’s history—chef after chef and menu after menu—that it can hardly be considered a drive-by derision (even if my conclusion, looking at the flagship 20 years on, was not wholly positive). Yes, this ban feels more personal than anything, and maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. Lee Wolen had me blocked on social media before I even wrote about Boka (assumedly in response to my piece on Alla Vita), and ensuring I am never served at a BRG property seems like a natural next step.
Readers will have to determine if anything I said crossed the line. Mentioning the “running shorts” scenario (given a throwback earlier) may seem personal, but it’s strictly a professional criticism. It is meant to highlight a chef—forming the figurehead (with his Michelin star) of a restaurant group that has increasingly sold out—who has totally given up. Despite possessing one of the cushiest culinary jobs in Chicago, Wolen takes no risks at Boka—uses none of his institutional power to evolve the city’s conception of American cuisine or even deliver quality that goes beyond “good enough.” Instead, he sinks lower and lower into monetizing casual fare with the same hallmark mediocrity. He does not even respect the dress code at his own establishments (the real point of the Somerset story): the telltale of how little he cares (or, worse, that he assumes diners don’t).
Ultimately, I’ve said much worse things about much better chefs who have shown thicker skins and gotten on with their work. If Wolen is not comfortable serving me, I can respect that. But it confirms he’s only here to make a paycheck (any love of cooking long having died) and, in a strangely humanizing turn, that he actually feels some shame and embarrassment in doing so.
If my ban came from higher up, well I understand that too. Wolen is just a patsy—a fall guy—for how Kevin Boehm and Rob Katz have chosen to run the group. The chef’s Michelin star provides a sheen of respectability from which the BRG honchos now shape lowest common denominator concepts and squeeze consumers for more (at existing spots) while offering less. The founders are entitled to cash out, but do they have to so shamelessly self-promote while doing so? Do they have to posture as hospitality luminaries and stand proudly on stage when they are not fit to shine a Melman or Meyer’s shoes?
I’ve said all this before and, it seems, flown too close to the sun in doing so. The point is never to disparage the people on the frontline, running BRG’s restaurants, or consumers finding convenience and reliability from these establishments. It is more about holding Chicago’s biggest names accountable: noticing—and saying something—when they trade on the goodwill earned in a foregone era but begin delivering diminishing returns. Groups like Boka do not only represent this city to the world, they use their weight and marketing advantage and coterie of influencers (now in combination with a predilection for punishing dissent) to suffocate other, smaller restaurants. Once they begin using their eminence for evil (greed rather than value, mere competence rather than enduring quality), these larger entities have a pernicious influence on the overall dining scene.
Chicagoans have traced the downfall of beloved chains like Portillo’s and Lou Malnati’s. They chafed at Tre Dita (though some have certainly found the venue suitable for special occasions). And they have found suitable replacements—independent, motivated operators—worth celebrating instead.
BRG’s rot runs all the way to the top, and Boka itself acts as a microcosm of the group’s problems: a lack of imagination, an erosion of value, a desire to ride the present wave as long as possible, to offer products that are less and less distinct, and care not for what it leaves behind when the music finally stops. Zarella, by all accounts, seems like more of the same: a middling attempt at capturing an audience that should be supporting smaller pizzerias and Italian-American restaurants. Gingie, on the other hand, could represent the turning of a new leaf: the revitalization of BRG’s reputation in the hands of a chef who’s actually hungry, who really wants to impress and please this market.
I won’t be able to say for sure. I can only fire a warning shot, assert that Chicagoans deserve better, and talk about those places I do think are worth supporting instead. I can only wear this ban as a badge of honor: a reminder that I face consequences for what I write and that by spurning monetization, the need for access, or any kind of symbiotic coverage these consequences mean nothing. In fact, I’d rather be banned than dull a single one of points: that’s how happy and how secure I am in the hospitality offered by the city’s restaurants and chefs I do admire. Boka, as it now seems happy to admit, will never reach that caliber again.