Nobody liked Eris, the Greek goddess of strife. That’s why, when her invitation to Peleus and Thetis’s wedding on Mount Olympus got lost in the mail, she crashed it and threw the Golden Apple of Discord into the mix, a present for the hottest goddess at the party. This led to a contest, judged by Paris, to determine the fairest of them all, resulting in—long story short—Aphrodite bribing the lad with the gift of the mortal Helen, queen of Sparta, which of course was the infamous case of human trafficking that started the Trojan War. Worst wedding ever. Thanks, Eris.
It’s a magnificent space, consummate for Olympian-style feasting: a cavernous brick-and-steel gilded chamber with tall windows, a mezzanine, a second-floor Masonic ceremony room for private parties and sacrifices to the gods, and an as-yet unfinished and unused third floor.
Come again? Let me say right up front that the posole rojo is the best thing I ate at Eris. I’m sure it would offend some purists, but its broth is at once bright and deeply meaty, loaded with chewy hominy, crunchy cabbage and radishes, and a mound of the cider-braised pork that in two other dishes on the menu presents as dry and stringy but is right at home in this brick-red pool of ancho-powered broth.
While the surroundings at Eris are certainly supermortal themselves, the food at present isn’t quite their equal in either ambition or scale. It’s fine, probably just as good as it needs to be to feed a crowd more interested in the drink than in what it goes down with, but food of the gods it’s not. v
4240 W. Irving Park 773-943-6200erischicago.com
