Though the name conjures up tinkling teacups and Nancy Reagan types meeting for lunch, Society Cafe is a serious restaurant. It offers an ambitious menu in a gracious, civilized setting. A superb sound system played Bach, on the evening we were there, at just the right volume–low enough for conversation, loud enough to take up the slack when table talk flagged. Located in the south wing of the Chicago Historical Society, Society Cafe offers a two-tiered, semicircular space whose curved windows look out onto Clark Street and a flowered garden abutting Lincoln Park. When the weather permits, one can dine outdoors.
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Inside, white walls, pillars, and tablecloths set off a two-story-high terra-cotta arch. It was designed by Burnham & Root in 1888 for the National Livestock Bank in the Union Stockyards, and graced the entranceway there until 1934. It was then moved to the Stockyard Inn, and later to the International Amphitheatre. The Chicago Historical Society acquired it in 1984. On the upper part of the arch, at about eye level in the upstairs dining area, are cows, sheep, horses, and a pig in deep relief. To tenderhearted diners, the animals may seem to be staring reproachfully: it could be a hell of a guilt trip for those digging into a New York cut or pork tenderloin. Below, on opposite sides of the archway, a cattle rancher and a cowboy gaze into the room benignly. Legend has it that rubbing the rancher’s mustache (he’s the one on the left) brings good luck.
Roast chicken with veal sausage stuffing ($9.95), two succulent chicken legs whose skin formed a pouch for a mild-flavored, meaty forcemeat, was first-rate. It arrived flanked by a mound of still-firm zucchini and carrot sticks and a thinly sliced roasted potato. Grilled swordfish ($12.95), a large, thin slab of perfectly fresh steak, came to the table still pink in the center, as it should be, teased by a lively green-peppercorn sauce redolent of fresh rosemary. Three tiny grilled onions and a trio of roast potato halves completed the simple presentation. Medallions of sweetbreads ($11.95), arranged in a triangle and interspersed with blue-cheese-stuffed spinach ravioli, the whole resting on a coulis of tomato, were more of a visual than a gustatory success. The sweetbreads, split and stuffed with fresh basil, needed more moisture in the preparation; they tasted dry. Similarly the ravioli, though freshly made and a picture-perfect deep green, were tougher than they should have been. Caesar salad ($4.95), a generous serving of greens in a pleasant, zesty mayonnaise-parmesan dressing, offered no competition to the classic version. None of us could discern any coddled egg or anchovy, each a sine qua non of this dish.
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photo/Bruce Powell.
