My second visit to Enemy (what Warlord titles its “live fire multicourse dining experience” with “wildcraft pairings”) was a largely successful one.
I didn’t like having to wait so long to be seated (something I learned, subsequently, had to do with a menu printing problem), and I didn’t find much to write home about when looking at the restaurant’s wine list. However, the cuisine Trevor Fleming, Emily Kraszyk and John Lupton crafted that night built on the excellence of my first meal.
To be clear, only a couple of items were new (i.e., one dish, a couple of the drinks). But the chefs maintained a consistent level of quality throughout much of the level. More importantly, they transformed their weakest dish—the “Foie Gras”—into one of the strongest while driving their strongest dishes—the “Bluefin Belly,” “Black Maitake,” and “Ribeye”—to an even higher level of quality.
Thus, while much of the novelty that underlaid this experience (the atmosphere, the effects, the sense of “show”) had grown familiar, the food became even more convincing. Yes it became clear that, with Enemy, Warlord was not relying on tricks to win the day. The now two-year-old was not looking to better monetize its counter seats, to prey on consumers who sought to skip the line, or—even—to impress guests just once.
Enemy, I came to understand, really did act as a platform for the three partners, their bar manager, and a supporting team of cooks to do their best work. In that respect (both structurally and in terms of results), it ranked as one of the most faithful, most high-performing “chef’s counters” in all of Chicago. Moreover, the chosen style of cookery—so intensely savory but contrasted, in the right places, by preservation and fermentation—seemed to rival (at least for my particular palate) the city’s most expensive tasting menus.
Given such positive impressions, a third go-around with this experience—still priced at $225 per person (exclusive of tax and 22% service charge but inclusive of the alcoholic or non-alcoholic pairing)—feels a bit like a victory lap: a final reminder of all that I’ve loved about Enemy as it stands at the precipice of a lofty honor.
Yet, true to what I was told back in May, the menu I would find at Enemy in June was almost entirely different. Indeed, as much as I would have loved to sample all of my established favorites one last time before riding off into the sunset, I was forced to contend with a more challenging question: can lightning strike twice? Can the team at Warlord totally reinvent its tasting menu without losing what made those first two meals so special?
Doing so, I have come to learn, is the real test of greatness.
Let us begin.
Though my previous Enemy experiences have both occurred on Fridays (the start of Warlord’s week, the first flush of the restaurant’s eager weekend patronage), I now find myself heading to the corner of Belmont and Milwaukee on a Monday.
Tonight’s service forms the end of the team’s work week and part of the reason why (alongside staying open so late) the concept has found such popularity among those working in other kitchens and dining rooms throughout the city.
There’s no sign of rain on this occasion—just a punishing heat that, despite the centrality of its hearth, Warlord actually does a good job managing (courtesy of some powerful fans). The space, otherwise, looks more or less full. I note a few more empty barstools than I am used to seeing on Fridays. It is also worth mentioning that only six of eight tickets for Enemy have been sold for the present meal (these diners being seated, as usual, at a counter facing the pass, the line, and that signature fire).
Certainly, staging a tasting menu on a Monday—whether due to the flow of tourism, the conventions surrounding “date nights,” or simple habits regarding going out and eating out—is a riskier proposition. Why should someone (industry or otherwise) pay $225 to secure a spot and embark on an expansive expression of gastronomy when Mondays, more generally, promise shorter waits? Why not simply secure a normal table (as the casually-dressed clientele who currently fill the room have done) and chow down—immediately—on burgers, fish, and steak to start or end one’s week?
That being said, the other customers giving this evening’s tasting menu a try are clearly serious: they bring along a bottle of “La Closerie” (which would also seem to finally confirm that corkage, indeed, is allowed here). But the mood here, overall, feels more subdued even if the restaurant, technically, is not any less busy.
Importantly, after facing a lamentable wait to be seated back in May, I reach the counter just 15 minutes past the reservation time. (One could say this is still not ideal, yet—softened with the glass of sparkling wine offered as a greeting toast—a wait of this length lands within the grace period that both servers and served should extend to each other.)
The scene I find—smoke, shadow, flickering flame, the motion of the chefs, and pulsating music (at times self-aware and even irreverent)—is about the same as always. However, one of the dry-aging cabinets is now stocked with king crab, whose spindly bottles dangle in a somewhat disturbing manner (fitting for this environment) that is sure to trigger any viewer’s latent arachnophobia.
When it comes to hospitality, Enemy remains Fleming’s show. The chef-partner acts as master of ceremonies with confidence while never over-explaining or dampening the effect that the menu’s courses (shaped by techniques I can roughly comprehend but whose resulting textures and flavors I struggle to foresee) have once they strike. Instead, one gets the sense that the kitchen—through this tasting menu—is sharing their secret experiments, foraged treasures, and most cherished recipes without trying to impress. Enemy awaits those who have been to Warlord, loved the food, resonated with the deeper aesthetic, and are left craving something even more extreme.
Fleming is supported by a team of servers who remain polite, precise, and attentive in their work. In April and May, this group was wholly male (fitting enough for a place with bear traps on the walls). But, now, I note at least one woman on the floor. Kraszyk, herself, also very audibly leads the line tonight (the chef, I recall, having personally presented the menu’s newest dish during my last meal).
On the beverage side, Stephan Jurgovan’s “wildcraft” pairings (which, again, are included in the price of the menu) continue to be a highlight. Matching the new range of dishes on offer, one also now finds a new assortment of drinks.
These include tweaks on earlier recipes: like, say, Manzanilla and dill being blended with strawberry instead of peach or fennel and coriander being matched by plum and rice wine instead of raspberry and raicilla. But there are also new creations: like a 50/50 martini with lovage, a burnt coconut and barley shochu blend (replacing the prior ember creation), and a shaved ice concoction made not with Chartreuse but with an amaro infused with tomato for nine months.
While some of these compositions are bolder and more provocative than others, I think they all err on the side of being approachable. A couple—at least—are strikingly delicious (those being the martini and tomato amaro for my palate). Meanwhile, a range of bottled pours—Cowboy “Yamahai” Junmai Ginjo sake, 2020 Buisson-Charles Bourgogne Blanc “Hautes Coutures,” Aecht Schlenkerla Rauchbier (a kind of smoke beer)—help to provide greater contrast and depth.
Though I will look to contextualize Jurgovan’s selections relative to their accompanying courses, I can affirm that these drinks have grown beat for beat alongside the menu itself. When compared to what is served (and at what price) alongside other tasting menus, these pairings form one of Enemy’s real secret weapons.
With that, the food starts flowing.
It actually takes some 30 minutes after being seated for the first course to arrive. This delay, like the one to be seated, takes some of the polish off of what should be a premium experience. But the chefs, who I might charitably speculate are tangling with the pressure of putting out a new menu, are sure not to miss with the first dish.
The “Caviar-Koji,” as the opening preparation is titled, centers on a totemic luxury ingredient I have never seen utilized at Warlord (though, admittedly, I can only speak to a short time dining here). Thematically, fish roe seems to have little to do with live-fire cooking. It can be cold-smoked, of course, but hardly manipulated in any other meaningful way. Caviar is kind of like an expensive garnish, and that identity seems diametrically opposed to what Enemy, stylistically, has pursued.
Yet, kōji (a mold used in the fermentation of soy sauce, miso, and sake) is one of the kitchen’s favorite ingredients. I recall its use as part of the “Daikon” and “Black Maitake” recipes that proved so successful during my previous meals. Here, the kōji is rendered as a gently warmed “fudge” whose rich, creamy consistency serves to caress and delineate the caviar. In turn, the flavor of the mold (marked by concentrated umami) supercharges the roe: revealing a depth of nutty and briny notes that is rounded out by a remarkable, lip-smacking sweetness. Though this recipe is relatively simple, it speaks so clearly to the degree of intensity and satisfaction the team pursues (and frequently achieves). As a result, the dish not only forms a great starting point for the evening. It ranks—fully—as one of the most deeply pleasing caviar courses in the city.
With the arrival of the “Demi-Hydrated Tomato,” the tasting menu confirms its live-fire bonafides. Though, admittedly, I’m a bit disappointed to see this shell-shaped plate (formerly used to present the “Bluefin Belly”) carrying a few sorry bits of produce. True to the title, these pieces of cherry tomato have been partially dehydrated then smoked in a hearty tomato dressing.
On the palate, each resulting bite feels warm and wrinkly on entry before more or less melting away. One might be tempted to think of this course as a tease: a throwaway, soon-forgotten micro-expression of seasonality. However, the flavor that these tomatoes possess—profoundly savory yet backed by a jammy, fruity sort of sweetness—is startling. One does not even sense much by way of salt here: just an ingredient, boiled down to its essence, backed by a sauce made from the same lifeblood (along with a kiss of smoke). Oh-so-elegant and marked by an immense finish, this dish would shine on the menu at any Michelin-starred, ingredient-driven restaurant in town. Here, it ranks as one of the highlights of the night—all the more when paired with a Manzanilla and strawberry cocktail that cuts, then echoes its decadence.
Fleming wryly introduces the “Golden Oyster” by announcing to the counter that “our friend found these in the woods.” For this preparation, the mushroom—a solitary mass of small, brightly-colored caps—is gently roasted and paired with a barbecue sauce made from one-year-old apple and peach vinegar.
On the palate, the fungus’s intricate structure is rendered in a fleetingly firm, yet ultimately tender fashion that retains (only along certain edges) a hint of crunch. In terms of flavor, the golden oyster is fairly bright, mild, and a touch nutty in its own right. There’s some latent umami, yes, but the recipe—courtesy of the sauce—veers more toward the tart, tangy, semisweet end of the spectrum. Relative to the “Black Maitake,” which I so loved, this course lacks the same memorable, savory dimension. That being said, the “Golden Oyster” is better adapted to summer: helping to refresh one’s tongue from the tomatoes’ intensity while presenting a delicate, reverential example of foraged mushroom in its own right.
The next course to arrive engages with one of the core components of the Warlord aesthetic: the dry-aging cabinets that can border on feeling gruesome (inasmuch as they also promise the kind of unabashed savory flavor for which the kitchen here is known). First, guests are greeted by what is titled “Green Blueberry”—immature clusters of the fruit (including bits of stem) that have been warmed in brown butter and paired with a two-year-old grape vinegar. Shortly after, Fleming goes down the counter with a flaming log (a trick formerly used with the “Black Maitake”), inviting diners to pluck a piece off of it using the provided skewer. However, in this case, the resulting bite is not a mushroom. Instead, it’s “120 Day Short Rib”—an expression of beef pushing the boundaries of the dry-aging process.
In practice, the meat is distinguished by a prevailing pinkness, a coating of rendered fat, and an almost droopy, fall-apart consistency more than any dark, dried character one might expect. This is a testament to the proper coating (and subsequent trimming) of the short rib during this process. On the palate, the aged beef possesses a slight, pleasing chew that feels increasingly luscious as it mixes with the streaks of melty marbling. While the meat offers some of the earthy, savory depth one might expect from such extended keeping, much of this character is countered by the accompanying blueberries. The fruit, coated in vinegar, delivers a subtle, contrasting crunch with pronounced acidity and sweetness that carries through the finish.
Indeed, while I can see how the “Green Blueberry” is meant to soften any pungent, funky quality in the “120 Day Short Rib,” I think it goes just a bit too far. I am left actually wanting to taste more of the beef (given the expectation such an age statement carries). Nonetheless, the dish retains a sense of broad appeal as well as a bright, invigorating quality (that, again, matches the present season). Texturally, I also quite enjoyed my bites and look forward to seeing where this course goes with time.
Knowing, perhaps, that they could not taunt those of us at the counter with what we see hanging in the dry-aging cabinet, a preparation of “Alaskan King Crab” comes next. Warmed over embers (with a few branches of pine thrown in for good measure), the crustacean is served in the form of a solitary leg dressed with kanzuri (a fermented chili paste described as a milder, sweeter kind of yuzu koshō) and an XO butter (a milder take on the sauce—so explosive—that was served with the “Bluefin Belly”).
Plucked from the shell, the crab feels warm—rather than hot—to the touch. Considering how some of the dishes, during meals past, could risk burning guests’ hands (not to mention tongues), this might be thought of as an improvement. Plus, rather than steamily striking the palate, the meat maintains a deeper, richer expression. The crustacean is tender and buttery—yes—but also marked by background umami and a beautifully sweet, smoky finish. The dish is a joy to pick through, and I find myself maddeningly cracking open the joints in search of just one more shred. To offer a critique, I’d love a slightly larger portion (who wouldn’t?) and do think the savory character of the crab could be pushed one step further. That being said, it’s hard to find fault with a course that is so engaging and nakedly enjoyable. Paired with a pour of rich, creamy white Burgundy, it’s a dream.
A ”Rhubarb + Strawberry Cleanse” that follows the crab (and which I neglected to photograph) plays the same part that the “Liquid Cleanse” did during meals prior. Whereas that preceding example was distinguished by the green, grassy flavor of celery (backed by apple), the present pour—taken as a shot—shows a pronounced sourness. When it comes to resetting one’s tongue, I prefer this sensation. However, the cleanse remains a practical, structurally important part of the tasting menu rather than a memorable serving in its own right.
One of only two repeat courses tonight is, perhaps, the most consequential. Acting as the meal’s savory closer and also representing the peak of the evening’s showmanship, the “Ribeye” needs to deliver. Not only that, the steak—this third time around—must affirm why it deserves to keep its spot at center stage. Served with a roasted onion heart and a dab of Japanese miso paste, the slab of beef (hidden beneath a pile of twigs and rosemary stems) is set ablaze by each pair of guests. It is then retrieved, cleaned, plated, and paired with a “beef sauce” (that has alternatively been termed a “bone jus” before).
I have previously described how the “Ribeye” went from merely “good” (in April) to “great” (in May): a process by which the same core ingredients combined to form a more convincing emotional effect. Now, in June, I have to admit that I feel just as strongly about this course. In fact, I might contend that it has reached an even higher level. Could this be due to the meat itself?
Tonight’s cut is described as having been dry-aged for 35 days, which accords with the previous examples. Nonetheless, while past servings have taken more of a puck-like shape, the present one is longer and a bit less thick. Fundamentally, this change leads to slices that retain some of the same satisfying chew yet moderate it with a greater proportion of caramelized crust and charred rosemary. The flavor here, drawn from that “beef sauce,” is tremendously long and savory. The fall-apart onion heart—haunting in its sweetness—and miso paste—offered for those who wish to push the envelope even further—only add to the fun. Overall, Enemy’s “Ribeye” continues to encapsulate all that any carnivore could want from a steak. The team executes this course in a singular style (without resorting to wagyu!), and the resulting dish remains one of the menu’s worthy signatures.
The turn toward dessert happens swiftly: black furs are unveiled, the music stops, and Fleming presents the latest version of Enemy’s hot tincture cocktail (said to be inspired by the taverns of the 1600s). Made using a piece of hot metal that is rested in the fire then plunged into a pitcher, the blend of barley shochu, maitake, and burnt coconut ranks as one of the more meditative examples of this drink (at least when compared to outwardly sweet, tropical tones of May’s rendition). Still, I appreciate the milky, nutty, and almost chocolatey notes on offer.
Leading off the sweeter side of the menu, one finds the “300-Day Peach.” The thought, so late in the meal, of pushing the practice of aging to such an extreme (no less with a piece of fruit) is admirable. It affirms, looking beyond the hearth, how much Enemy truly centers on an embrace of fermentation and preservation that can hardly be found elsewhere in Chicago.
This feels particularly true upon hearing what the comparably ancient peach is paired with: an actual chunk of kōji-inoculated rice. The dish, by drawing on such a pristine expression umami, clearly acts as a successor to the “Foie Gras” (a recipe that was middling in April and remarkable in May). Yes, the move toward sweetness is matched by a pervading savory flavor that speaks to Warlord’s identity.
While it was easy to paint the duck liver as a luxurious interloper, the kōji rice is practically alien. I’ve seen the chunks displayed in an ornamental fashion before. But, here, they strike with a pudding-like texture and a subtle (yet persistent) sweetness that matches the gooey, somehow still rather tangy flavor of the peach. There’s obvious pleasure to be had here. Nonetheless, I cannot help writing that this preparation is “intriguing” more than anything else. Truly, I do not think you’ll find another dish like it anywhere in the world. I’d be thrilled to explore it again.
Closing out the meal is the “White Chocolate,” which stands as the only other course (along with the “Ribeye”) that is repeated tonight. Here, paired with olive oil, flavors of amazake (a drink made from kōji rice), and strawberries, the dessert reaches its highest level yet. Yes, while the white chocolate retains the same thick, frosting-like consistency as before, the backing of sweetness, umami, and fruit (the latter calling shortcake to mind) is now totally convincing. Maybe it has something to do with the restrained dose of sugar offered by “300-Day Peach” (at least relative to the “Foie Gras”), but I simply cannot get enough of this dish tonight.
I end the evening with another “Dry Aged Burger” (situated at the conclusion of the tasting menu rather than slipped in before dessert). It delivers the kind of bloody finality that feels fitting here at Enemy. Again, there are no fries, and I sort of have to marvel at the fact that the kitchen achieves such satisfaction without resorting to any tubers or grains (beyond the inoculated rice at least).
With a printed menu in hand and a gracious farewell from Fleming, I make my way down the counter, past the dry-aging cabinets (with all the future deliciousness their contents promise), and back out into the warm summer air.
Much of Warlord’s mystery—the shadowy profile of the chefs, the literal darkness of the dining room, the shock and awe of the soundtrack—feels vanquished upon the conclusion of this third visit. More or less, I know what to expect: from the sparkling wine (and likely delay) to the crackle of embers, the towering conflagration, the draping of furs, and the closing serving of ice milk.
Yet, beneath the surface, a cuisine that keeps me guessing (while alternatingly delivering the height of satisfaction) continues to blaze. Beyond the life and death of its novel trappings, Enemy has proven itself to be one of Chicago’s top gastronomic experiences.
Given the high standard that Fleming, Kraszyk, and Lupton achieved in May, the prospect of putting out an almost entirely new menu tonight must have been a little worrying. It certainly was for me, for I had grown so fond of a few preparations from my first two meals.
Nonetheless, iteration and evolution are the processes by which great kitchens must be judged. Neither Warlord nor Enemy wraps itself in language of “seasonality,” yet the team’s chosen methods of foraging and preservation necessarily intersect with the rhythms of nature. Tonight saw the introduction of ingredients like tomatoes, golden oyster mushrooms, green blueberries, and king crab (along with aged examples of short rib, ribeye, peach, and vinegars that speak to weeks, months, or years in the past). And, I must say, their introduction was entirely successful.
June’s menu, I should say, does not rank as my favorite of the three Enemy experiences. (That honor belongs to May, which redeemed and further refined dishes I had come to know the month prior.) However, June’s effort matches the caliber of what I sampled in April: a meal that impressed me by all accounts and that also had the full benefit of being my first ever visit to the restaurant as well as my inaugural encounter with all of the concept’s aesthetic touchstones.
Yes, June was marked by the introduction of a few new dishes (the “Caviar-Koji,” “Demi-Hydrated Tomato,” “Alaskan King Crab”) that were immediately, convincingly delicious. The month also featured a handful of new dishes (the “Golden Oyster,” “Green Blueberry” / “120 Day Short Rib,” “300-Day Peach”) that were intriguing and enjoyable but perhaps not at the level of what they replaced from the preceding two months. Importantly, the night’s only repeats (the “Ribeye” and “White Chocolate”) were as good as—actually even better than—ever, so I am left feeling that June’s menu, with a bit more time, will sharpen overall. The recipes will (as April’s did) reach the level of near-perfection I found in May, and then the team will start the whole process over again.
Fleming, Kraszyk, and Lupton have built that trust during the course of my experiences, and I get every sense that the chef-partners are nowhere close to running out of new ideas.
In formally ranking the evening’s dishes:
I would put the “Koji-Caviar,” “Demi-Hydrated Tomato,” “Ribeye,” and “White Chocolate” in my highest category: preparations that stand among the best things I have eaten this (or any) year. These recipes each combined beautifully refined textures with a degree of concentrated umami (or sweetness) and supporting depth of flavor that was unforgettable. I would love to taste any of them again.
The “Golden Oyster,” “Green Blueberry” / “120 Day Short Rib,” and “Alaskan King Crab” all occupy the next stratum: very good—even great—dishes I would be happy to encounter on any menu. These recipes offered pleasing textures with bold, satisfying flavors whose basic composition is hard to fault. That being said, these courses paled a bit in comparison to items like the “Bluefin Belly” and “Black Maitake” that they—one way or another—replaced. I have confidence that the preparations can, in time, prove just as memorable. However (and it’s worth noting the crab comes quite close), they lack a bit of that extra emotional dimension tonight.
Finally, the “Rhubarb + Strawberry Cleanse” and the “300-Day Peach” land in the last category: merely “good” offerings I wouldn’t mind encountering again. The former (which I only include here due to its convention of being listed on the tasting menu) isn’t really meant to be memorable. Rather, the drink plays a practical role in balancing the flow of the menu. The latter, due to its unique constituents, actually felt quite memorable. The combination of peach and kōji rice simply landed more on the side of intellectual appeal at this point in time. As a consequence, the dish did not live up to the “Foie Gras” preparation it replaced; however, I value the underlying thought process here and look forward to seeing how this item might further evolve (as, indeed, the “Foie Gras” did too).
When it comes to hit-rate, one could easily claim 80% (if one counts the bottom two dishes as misses), 90% (if one omits the “Cleanse”), or 100% (if one considers all these efforts to be creative and enjoyable enough for the price). What really impresses me—at this point—is how many items continue to land in that “best of the year / any year” category. Any kitchen executing 40% of their offerings at such a high level of quality is doing something special. It is really on this basis that I make my rating.
Yes, I went back and forth a bit on whether Enemy (looking back at these three experiences) simply deserves a high—or my actual highest—honor.
Speaking to my own personal taste, it’s easy to accept the fact that this tasting menu rejects many of the genre’s typical niceties and even much of the interaction one might expect from a “chef’s counter.” I’m pretty jaded about the contrived, “experiential” side of fine dining at this point, for I believe it often obscures the fact that a given kitchen has nothing all that interesting to express on the plate. So, finding a place like Warlord—that drowns guests in loud music, lets them quietly observe the workings of bustling line, indulges their inner pyromaniac, and then matter-of-factly puts out incredible food—is kind of refreshing.
It’s not wrong for me to contend that the dining public should sacrifice many of this format’s conventional luxuries (as well as the capacity for meaningful connection with the staff) for cuisine this good. I weigh the fact that the value offered (at $225 per person) is competitive and that Jurgovan’s work with the pairings (beyond being included in that price) matches the quality of the menu.
Just the same, I also must weigh the fact that delayed seating times and corresponding issues with the pacing of the courses make for technical faults that cannot be ignored. Indeed, while it is easy to label many of Enemy’s quirks as indicative of a certain authenticity, the operation loses some of its luster—some of its devil-may-care coolness—when guests are made to wait.
It feels somewhat harsh to penalize the restaurant to such an extent on this factor alone. However, timing represents a controllable aspect of the experience that can easily be improved. Doing so would, ultimately, help to comfort first-time customers who are taking the leap: ones who deserve to encounter the kitchen’s superlative food in a clear, unbothered state of mind.
For those, like me, who are comfortable sacrificing the bells and whistles of fine dining—those, maybe, who do not mind waiting for cuisine of a singular quality (does that not describe the line to dine at Warlord in general?)—I can confidently say that Enemy’s menu ranks among the best in Chicago. In its mind-bending manipulation of simple ingredients and uncompromising pursuit of concentrated umami, the cooking on display here even rivals restaurants boasting Michelin stars and/or charging hundreds of dollars more.
For other diners, more broadly, the experience demands a bit of patience and understanding in its present state. Part of that—the ambiance, the degree of interaction, the 8 PM seating time—is foundational. But another part—making one’s way to the counter at the posted time, being fed (even a trifle) soon thereafter—could be improved upon. Doing so would affirm and emphasize a warmth of hospitality that really does, based on what I’ve seen, burn here yet, at present, is visible only in glimpses.
In the final analysis, Enemy, still so early in its life, needs something to strive toward. Saying so takes nothing away from all that the team has already accomplished, for their work stands undeniably among the most forward-thinking and exciting in the city.
Finally, I must again mention that some portion of the dining public has found reason never to patronize Warlord. Readers, rather than relying on my moral judgment, must engage with the allegations made (cited herein) on their own terms.
I can only attest to what I have seen and tasted across three nights. Based on that, I will simply say that any such boycott becomes meaningful—more meaningful—because it means depriving oneself of a restaurant that is truly, enduringly great. This is not said backhandedly. It only represents my attempt to help diners to make their own, informed choice about where to eat.
