Chicago, IL-The polarizing, passion fruit forward juice and kombucha speakeasy with religious undertones has officially boarded up its windows after failing to capitalize on an indeterminable number of Chicagoans looking for something that oddly specific.
Passion(fruit) of the Christ, located in the heart of Logan Square, attempted the tried and true method of using a naming convention that involves looking at movie names, then molding an idiotic themed bar to fit that movie’s theme. See also the excruciatingly named Whiskey Business, arguably the most douche forward bar in the city.
“It wasn’t the $25 nuts and twigs shared plate with a side of Irish Catholic guilt or the $50 kombucha flight that did us in, it was the unwillingness for people in this city to accept something different, something beautiful, our interpretation of a 1300’s Roman Catholic, passion fruit juice bar,” said owner Grayson Horton, twisting his ironic mustache and taking down the massive crucifix crafted out of passion fruit rinds.
Taking its place will be a conceptual brunch and nightclub hybrid called Brunchback of Notre Dame.
There have always been two significant problems with Mexican food; hearty delicious portions packed to the brim with delightful textures and spices and sensible, often breaching dirt cheap, prices. The biggest regrets I experience after eating a reasonably priced taco is the absence of feeling completely famished (the downright enchanting feeling of light headedness accompanied by stomach pangs) and a regrettably full wallet. Fortunately Cantina 1910 in Andersonville has heard the cries of the people and has created an imaginary authentic Mexican experience to render both stomachs and wallets charmingly empty.
I was uber pleased to see there weren’t any massive margaritas on the menu, because I absolutely despise the taste of fresh lime juice mixed with good tequila and couldn’t be more opposed to getting pleasantly drunk on the cheap. Instead I ordered what tasted like Parrot Bay mixed with Deans 2% milk. It had such a challenging flavor profile that I almost hurled instantly. The milk sat comfortably at the bottom while the Parrot Bay lingered on top like a finely hocked loogie. The harder it is to struggle down a cocktail the more sophisticated it ultimately is. Also milk goes with everything. My wife ordered a tequila flight that arrived in champagne flutes, the most interesting thing was they all tasted identical (mostly like a sopping wet campfire in which the logs were replaced by massive hotdogs and the kindling was aged donkey fur)…what a fresh interpretation on a tequila flight!
Fortunately when my wife clearly didn’t like the cocktails she was confronted awkwardly by the waiter who asked “You didn’t like the tequila flight did you?” when she politely said “No not really for me, that’s ok though,” he stood unwavering for thirty seconds, unblinking and with quivering lips before gleefully sprinting away. Excruciatingly awkward staff interactions are a vital part to any fine dining experience. This interaction was executed perfectly.
Next up were a batch of microscopic tacos surprisingly unaccompanied by any beans or rice. Thank god because savory beans cooked in pork fat and plump, freshly cooked rice have no place in Mexican cuisine. The tacos were delightfully underwhelming and it took me six to remember what it was like to be marginally full. When the bill came I couldn’t have been more excited, I giggled uncontrollably for several seconds before subduing my excitement and feverishly laid down my credit card. 80 dollars for 8 tacos and two cocktails…the room started to spin and my consciousness quickly faded…was this a dream?
A glass of milk and Parrot Bay, no rice and beans, microscopic tacos and an unwieldy bill…this version of imaginary traditional Mexican fare is starting to grow on me.