Is it possible to have two true loves?
Chicago is our home. We love Chicago.
But the first time we went to Basque country, to the Bay of Biscay where the northern coast of Spain curves into the western coast of France, we fell. Hard. For the locals, those lucky bastards. For the salty air. The way you can walk into any neighborhood spot and snack on whatever’s laid out on the bar and drink wine, and everything tastes so good, you almost want to cry. And it feels like a party except no one’s making a big deal out of it. They’re just having dinner.
Clearly, we love the Bay of Biscay. Maybe we’ll retire there someday. In the meantime, we made this restaurant as a sort of giant bear hug around it all, in this neighborhood we love. (We have a lot of love to give.)
The lighting’s nice here and the food tastes like the sea and the sun and the Basque earth, natural and unfussy. We play good tunes and our servers and bartenders—best in the city, if we do say so—are always passing a porrón. And if you walk out of here feeling better than you did walking in, that’s all that matters to us anyway.
We’re making dinner. Come on in.
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