Chicago's Most Wanted
SCHWA | Be flexible about mealtime, and you, too, can get into this hot spot
Chicago's dining aficionados are all too familiar with the message.
"The mailbox belonging to Schwa restaurant is full. To disconnect, press 1."
(Al Podgorski/Sun-Times)
Dial the number of this unassuming Wicker Park storefront and these words will likely greet you. The recorded voice is pleasant enough, but its frequency can frustrate. Would-be patrons hear these words at all hours, day after day.
Three months after chef Michael Carlson, 33, reopened his unorthodox fine dining spot at 1466 N. Ashland, it remains almost as difficult to get a table as during the restaurant's abrupt four-month hiatus this winter.
Carlson and his three-chef staff seat only 30 people a night. But the small space is half the story.
"We can't answer the phone," Carlson explains over the din of the kitchen. "We try to stay up on it, but right now we've got a hundred messages. We're buried."
When Schwa opened in fall of 2005, diners embraced poetic courses of pureed brioche, prosciutto consomme and the famed quail egg ravioli.
Critics raved, foodies swooned and Carlson, a sometime culinary school attendee who trained under Grant Achatz at Trio, was named one of Food and Wine magazine's best new chefs of 2006. Reservations, while attainable, could take three months.
Schwa is a linguistic term for an unstressed vowel; Carlson has said the name reflects his pared-down approach to cuisine.
The restaurant itself has its own casual patois. Carlson peppers his conversation with "cool" and "awesome," describes dishes as "badass" and bids farewell to customers with, "You cats have a good night." Diners bring their own wine and sometimes their own glasses -- and a beer or two for the kitchen.
Indeed, Schwa is so pared down that it employs no support staff. Score a table and one of the city's most buzzed-about chefs will pour your water, serve your food, even set the table. Carlson's three chefs are similarly solicitous.
Dinner is a window into Carlson's own brain -- laser-focused on food with little time for anything else.
It's also a grueling business model that wore on Carlson as Schwa's acclaim increased. In October 2007, Chicago's Charlie Trotter hosted a pantheon of the world's top chefs for his restaurant's 20th anniversary. Trotter asked Carlson to pull off a 14-course meal for this esteemed group in Schwa's tiny kitchen.
It was a spectacular meal that required spectacular efforts from Carlson and his team. The next morning, he disappeared, canceling reservations and giving few details on his whereabouts or how long Schwa would be closed.
Accustomed to the fickle world of restaurants, Schwa's fans considered it history. Four months later, Carlson returned, striving for a better work-life balance.
Schwa honored canceled reservations and reopened in mid-February with a new menu retaining Carlson's original vision of unstressed food. The phone started ringing. It didn't stop.
"I have so many messages," Carlson said, sounding a little dazed. He said his girlfriend Rachel Brown probably will start helping with reservations.
People ask why Carlson doesn't just hire someone to answer the phone.
"We can't afford it," he said. "We run a really tight budget and work really hard. It's hard to just keep up."
Carlson was clear his full voice mailbox isn't an affectation.
"We would love to do everyone, and God knows we could use the money," he said. "People can't leave messages to cancel. Last night we had six people not show up who tried to leave messages the day before."
Dinner at Schwa is $105 a person for nine courses plus whatever else Carlson is inspired to include that night. Schwa also offers a three-course menu.
As for the work-life balance, Carlson said his family has begun spending time with him at the restaurant.
"I do put in a little less time here," he said. "Actually that's not true. I still put in the same amount of time here."
The man famed for his unstressed food does seem harried at times, but he reacts strongly to the suggestion that Schwa's unreachable status is part of his anti-establishment ethos.
"What's most important is that everyone who does come in at night has an incredible time, because it is a pain in the ass to get here," he said. "We focus on giving that to them every day. It's super important and we are always trying to push ourselves."
When Josh Steinfeld, 29, dined at Schwa in March, the dinner -- his fifth at the restaurant -- required three phone calls and two messages to secure a table.
For him, "It's just part of the Schwa experience."
Steinfeld theorized that adding a reservationist could lead to a hostess and other vestiges of a more traditional restaurant.
"If you could go on Opentable and snag a table at Schwa, it would lose part of what appeals about the place," he said.
Sometimes, however, lightning strikes. One Thursday morning shortly before noon, I put in a call and Carlson himself picked up the phone.
"We usually let the machine pick up, but I just happened to be sitting by the phone," he later explained.
Over the kitchen's clatter, he asks when I would like to come in. Fridays and Saturdays are booked for the next three months.
He seems jovial. "How are you doing? Are you cool eating at 5:30 or 9:30?"
I put myself at the mercy of Schwa's books and receive a reservation for 8 p.m. the following Wednesday. While Schwa might not suit a Saturday night birthday party, calling with an open calendar can yield a table in a reasonable time frame.
And the food -- oh, the food.
Take a seat, and the chef who once seemed maddeningly inaccessible is constantly refreshing your wine and serving up a plate of tender antelope with butternut squash and white chocolate foam. A few stalwarts from Schwa's earlier days make surprise appearances, like the quail egg ravioli and a sea urchin roe ice cream cone.
New favorites include a Chimay beer cheese soup with dehydrated mustard and a composition of crab, celery, bananas and coriander. A spring menu debuted recently; Carlson likes the lamb brains.
"People are a little freaked out, but everyone who has been trying it loves it," he said.
Despite the hours, the unforeseen demand and the reservation issues, Carlson maintains he isn't going anywhere.
"We have a dream job," he admits. "I'm like a spoiled little kid."
Allecia Vermillion is a local free-lance writer.