Few high-end restaurants in Chicago, including ones more well discussed on this board, exercise the grace of Ria from an international standpoint. It's almost a throwback to when restaurants aimed to achieve a continental theme. Ria's luxury is something ineffable; an enclave established on Chicago's gold coast replete with stark warmth foreign to its geography. Dining rooms like L20 or Tru attempt to match its comfort factor with a black-on-white scheme but fall short because it feels like you're dining in a museum. Whether its the captivating abstract-expressionism on the walls or the ebullient service, I kept forgetting that I was in Chicago... and I say that as a native born and bread.
No doubt service was on a very relaxed pace, but when our server arrived he was more than gracious, almost apologetic for keeping up waiting. He wheeled over champagne cart with the same clumsiness of a steakhouse. Us, already knowing that we wanted something else, obliged as the uniformed crew member performed the perfunctory exercise. It was my fiancee's birthday, and we opted for a bottle of bubbly despite the cart's lovely offerings by the glass.
They had ran out of the Duval-Leroy Brut, but generously supplanted our request with the superior Apagart & Fils for no extra charge. What could have been awkward by handing us the wine list again was made charming by the sommelier offering, " a treat to you all for the lady's birthday." The aforementioned amuse woke up our tastebuds with the acidic cidery broth that accented the pumpernickel crouton, radish, and butter and herbs placed in the bowl. If anything, the broth bordered on salty by overwhelming the delicate flavor of the radish. However, the butter on the crouton mellowed out the broth and made for a nice few mouthfuls.
Two items beckoned us to order them despite the six choices of appetizers. Foie Gras Terrine was shaved over a fine salad of mache and bitter greens with a poppy seed toast. Like many of the dishes, it was very simple, but the quality and the presentation of the ingredients shined through. Each wafer of foie melted in our mouths like livery oysters. It was almost too rich, like a secret we wanted to giggle over and share, but one we kept to ourselves. Also enjoyable but not transcendent was the roasted squab with port wine jus, salsify, and onion. Ironically, the salsify was the star of the dish and mated sublimely with the squab jus. For my tastes, the skin on the squab breast could have been crispier, but the meat was tender, juicy, and otherwise perfectly cooked. Portions were ample, and could were on the average size for appetizers. If they were any larger, the richness of each would have sated our appetite for the evening.
Our main courses arrived in elegant serving pieces, each was covered and served at their proper temperatures. My mother and I split the whole turbot roasted in a classic salt-crusted style. I had my second helping of salsify with the fish, but I didn't mind because the flavor absorbed was light with citrus yet rich with black truffle. Our expediter had a bit of trouble de-boning the fish tableside and needed assistance from the waiter, but the fish and other dishes were still warm when we took out first bite. The future wifey enjoyed the marrow rendered beautifully in its bone. Smoky and surprisingly mild without the greasiness that can be unpleasing, the marrow in a split shank compensated for the strip loin that was bit leaner than she would have liked. The flavors excited both of us, but the execution could have been better. Best dish of the night went to Dad, a surprise perhaps, considering the spectacle of the other two. I only had a bit or two, and perhaps my envy overshadowed my judgment, but the delicate quail stuffed with foie was delightfully crispy, gamey yet fatty, redolent, and stuck to your ribs. Perhaps the description shouldn't have been as inauspicious as it appeared to me. It's stuffed with foie gras, forchistsakes, and a lot of it! And while the more sensuous, luxurious lobster or steak may tantalize your sensibilities, do yourself a favor and order the tiny bird stuffed with a bigger bird's bloated, engorged liver. It's fascinating.
We ordered two desserts, the better one being the gingerbread with maple ice cream. Honestly, I don't remember it too well, because when our server, John David (yeah, not John or David, but John David), put down the Manajri chocolate mousse with a lit candle in the smoked ice cream, he declared, " Now if it pleases m'lady, I will serenade her with a birthday song in Italian." "Okay," I thought to myself, "this is either going to be forced or really bad." Turns out, our server got a full ride to DePauw on a vocal performance scholarship and is a (not-so) starving artist, having toured in many productions. This guy was out of control and brought some character.
After I finished up mopping up my fiancee up from her chair, my dad asked John David to sing another song to my mother who was absent when all of this occurred. Not only did he oblige but was excited to, and performed a verse from an aria, a cappella in perfect tone, pitch, dynamic, and Italian. All of this spectacle would have made everyone, from me to the serving captain, uncomfortable in the restaurant if it wasn't professional in quality. No doubt Ria has its flaws mentioned in this thread and in the paragraphs above. Still our experience resembled the unflappable ice dancer who falls flat on her face and pushes herself up split-second as if she had landed the jump without a wobble.