“That is the salmon right there,” the sever said, pointing into our food. “I think you’re really going to enjoy that. And the crab cakes. She got the crab cakes.”

“Oh, is that the mac and cheese?” the women asked, following suit with the pointing.

“No, those are the grits.”

Our recent meal at The Southern in Chicago’s Wicker Park neighborhood was punctuated by conversations like this one as the overbearing server catered to the obnoxious duo seated next to us. We, playing the role of pictures in a Chinese menu, had finger after finger pointed at us and our food from the table just eight inches away as the dopey couple asked dopey questions.

“Is this any good,” they would ask, as if the restaurant intentionally put bad items on the menu that this scrupulous couple could avoid with their crafty interrogation. The server, though, would counter each with his trademark, “You’re going to enjoy that,” or, as the meal progressed, “So glad you enjoyed that.” Each menu question, seemingly increasing in volume over time, was further humored with a point to our table where we were trying very hard to ignore their prying eyes and grubby paws.

The pleasant interior at The Southern. (Source)

Sorry for being hard on these folks, but it happened enough to define our meal which is a shame because the food at The Southern is actually quite good. The menu is tight and the portions appropriate, all within a comfortable, rustic interior that bridges the bar/restaurant gap well.

We stopped by The Southern one weekday evening on impulse after the Lady had a long, grueling day at work. The compact food menu sticks pretty closely to what’s usually considered Southern cuisine (po’ boys, fried green tomatoes and Johnny cakes all make appearances) and is joined by an extensive alcohol menu. Beers are curiously divided into “Local” and “Southern” and there’s a full page of whiskeys. The cocktail selection is intelligent and most of the drinks seem to be originals with the menu rounded out by some infused spirits and a peculiar $25 entry called Fire Water whose description ended in “…and other magical ingredients.”

We started our meal with a round of cocktails. The lady jumped at a highball called Sage Advice that paired Farmer’s organic gin with blackberry juice, lemon, sage and soda while the fellow picked the hearty Texas Toast, a dose of Old Forester 100 bourbon, a few dashes of Peychaud’s and a spoonful of orange marmalade. We were quite pleased with both, (recall how tough we can be on bar menus), though we moved to beer later in the meal; Southern Star Blonde Bombshell for her and Abita Jockamo IPA for him.

As an appetizer, we tried the hush puppies which arrived ordered in a line on a lovely long plate and came with a smoked trout and artichoke dip. Yum! For entrees, the lady picked crab cakes with a Dijon mustard ailoi on a bed of apples, arugula and radishes with a side of cheesy grits. The Fellow picked the salmon special which was served over white polenta with pea shoots, ramps, asparagus and radishes. Our server’s claims that “you are really going to enjoy this,” seemed overused, but we did in fact really enjoy it all. The salmon, especially, was very nice — cooked and seasoned well — and the vegetable accompaniment to both dishes was fresh and tasty.

Cheesy grits. We, too, are confused as to how the women next to us might think this was the mac and cheese. (Source.)

The Southern takes pains to source food and drink locally when possible. We were told over and over (really server, lay off!) that the cornmeal used in the “poh’lenta” and hush puppies was from a local farm and even many of the liqueurs used were produced in the Midwest. This trend is becoming very popular and we’ve rarely been disappointed by it.

As we wrapped up, we were pulled in by the allure of dessert and ordered a banana bread pudding that came with a cream sauce, grapes and a heavy house-made peanut butter. The cohesion of the dish seemed a bit off, but the individual parts of the dessert were all good, so consider this a minor complaint. The lady, as usual, had a taste and left most of it for the fellow, but also passed off 2/3 of a beer she couldn’t finish. [Ed. Note: Whatever! She’s a lady!] Knowing he’s getting half of everything she orders, the fellow plans to start exerting more control over the lady’s choices. (“I’ll have the IPA… and for the lady, George Dickel. Neat.”)

The Southern’s a nice spot with plenty of charms to draw us back. We’re willing to forgive the inexperienced server and the quirky couple knowing the kitchen and bar can compensate. Future visitors, though, we hope your service matches your food.