It had been a miserable week of fraying friendships, snarling colleagues, trenchant headcolds. Finally we shucked our ratty sweaters and ventured out, leaving behind a crisis of pizza boxes and orange-juice containers. Scrubbed and dressed we felt nearly human and mightily hungry. We threw ourselves upon Redfish–rumored to serve excellent BBQ sandwiches at lunchtime–only to add insult to injury.
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Redfish was swimming against the tide even before it opened. Ghosts of restaurants past–Vietnamese, Surf & Turf (the previous Roger Greenfield/Ted Kasemir operation to surf this turf)–haunt the corner of State and Kinzie, victims all of some hostile hex. Inside, the down and dirty decor–neon EAT, ads of yore–looks as though it were lifted directly from Bub City, surely a portentous sign. Gamely we pressed on.
The adjacent Voodoo Lounge is happy to send over bar standards, along with a few spicy concoctions meant to keep the “Looziana” theme kicking. I ordered the Margarita, a convincing imitation of limeade. The waiter also delivered a Cajun Martini–straight into my sweetheart’s lap. Later, we switched to iced tea, which comes in sweet and not-sweet versions. While offering refills, a different waiter stuck his nose in each jug and finally concluded, “I’m not sure which is which.”
Smoked Chicken Etouffee: Blandly comforting, like chicken-pot-pie innards The lump of risotto side, however, flaunted a sour personality.
