This place serves the best hash browns you will ever eat in the City of Chicago, but this return to such a basic staple also signifies the importance of the Robey itself. For it is at this culinary marvel that I learned both that the War on Hash Browns has ended and that the Hipster menace is in full decline.
The Robey ushers in a new era where a good restaurant, rather than a merely and superficially chic one, once again can succeed. The ambiance, service, and the foreshadowed amazing food meld into the perfect café outside of the Paris, Rome, or even the Gold Coast for that matter. Kevin McAlister (I'm checking to ensure this IS NOT Macaulay Culkin gone insane, btw), you have outdone yourself.
This triple threat begins with a charmingly restored six-corner building in the "Flat Iron" style on the Northwest corner of the "pie" at North, Damen & Milwaukee (a.k.a. the City's crotch). It warms your heart to see a reuse of a building rather than a shoddily-made, cinder block with brick covered shithole (a.k.a. new construction). The outdoor alcove before the front door somehow invites you inside; you think: hey, this entrance merits investigation. Thereafter, the interior does not disappoint: clean lines with some flourish and a general black & white scheme broken up with awesome undertones of earthy greens and softer, lighter browns. Nothing extravagant in the details, but rather this entire place makes a bold statement. From the hostess stand, you can journey to general seating, including booths, but I opted to make a sprint to the bar area to the right of the stand.
As millenials, we strive to assert our own definition of ourselves rather than have the forces of old and ugly define us. Simultaneously, we do not wish to be labeled "Hipster" scumbags when we are not, which again, is a dwindling subsection. Café Robey may well be the opening page of that glossary because despite the fact that I was rocking two-day-old beard, shorts, and a T-shirt, I LIKE that this place made me feel bad for being scummy that morning.
The ambiance projects onto the staff: excellent manners, not overtly stern but professional, and completely accommodating for the scumbag in a T-shirt and flip-flops (i.e., me) that just wandered into their midst on a whim. The staff is actually what signaled the decline of the Hipster stronghold on this area: the manager(s) was(were) not satisfied with Hipsters in ironic T-shirts sort-of doing their jobs. There is a casual dress code among the employees, but it nonetheless contains a subtle uniformity that conveys professionalism in that they had collared shirts and denim--albeit that they could choose their shirts.
At this point, I was so comfortable that I ventured off the script. Rather than have the standard two eggs, breakfast meat, and potatoes, I went for the pancakes...which as a Waffle Man, was as sin for me. The pancakes are thick but not too doughy, sweet but not too much, and buttery without adding butter (though, you know that I did anyways). However, the Hash Browns were the unexpected blessing.
When I set out that morning, the War on Hash Browns had made me a broken man. Your only recurring thought when you are on the good guys' side of this argument is: "THANK THE LORD: THEY HAVE HASH BROWNS." However, THESE ARE THE BEST HASH BROWNS EVER. The kitchen thinly cut strands of potatoes in a uniform skillet, browned the top and bottom of them with a delicious oil, and then served essentially two "pie slices" to me as an order. They required no salt or anything. All of the "Potatoes O'Brien" and "Breakfast Potatoes" places: consider yourselves defeated by the inadequacy of your menu not having hash browns. The War on Hash Browns is over, and pro-Hash-Brown people Won!
I will be back there at least once every two weeks if not more frequently for breakfast/brunch, and cannot wait to try a burger. Your triple threat should earn you the EGOT of food, Chef McAlister. (I DO give up my search for breakfast, and AM THIRSTY FOR MORE!) read more