There’s no way to complain about distracting music in a restaurant without sounding like a long and lingering fart. But this won’t be the first time I’ve been accused of that, so here goes anyway: Turn it the fuck down, Beatnik.
Black Bull chef Marcos Campos’s menu takes a similar approach to collecting, drawing on a sweeping variety of cuisines, from Africa to Asia to Europe and South America. In these balkananized times, it’s nice to see so many cultures come together at once, and there are some interesting ideas here, like lemongrass-scented sepia steaks (since 86’d from the menu) perched on tubular squid-ink masa dumplings (Hey, you got your Thailand in my Mexico!). An arepa, opened like a mouth, seems to purge a mound of tangy, shredded tamarind-braised rabbit, served squirted with a crema whipped with leporid liver. Beet hummus with blue cheese. Baba ghanoush with fig balsamic vinegar. Grilled asparagus whisked by its accompaniments from the Levant (pistachio) to Spain (romesco) to Japan (bonito flakes) and back. There’s not a border Campos won’t run for.
In some ways Beatnik is a throwback to the 90s and early aughts; specifically, to the brash, immersive restaurant productions of Jerry Kleiner (Marché, Carnivale, Red Light, etc), a restaurateur who delighted in getting in your face. But at least Kleiner was an impresario capable of focus. Beatnik, in its attempts to command all the senses, ends up shortchanging them all. v
1604 W. Chicago 312-929-4945 beatnikchicago.com
