Lactose tolerance

Metromix grilled cheese guru Matt Pais digs into a sandwich at the 44th Ward Dinner Party. (Credit: Barry Brecheisen for Metromix)

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Attention, cheese-a-holics: Grilled cheese will no longer be the disregarded kid brother of the bigger, tougher burgers that normally adorn Chicago bar menus.

The 44th Ward Dinner Party, which officially opened Friday in the former Lakeview Broadcasting Co. space and is helmed by LBC owner Stephen Westman with Nicholas Scimeca and Jason Merz, boasts a menu with little more than six awesome-sounding grilled cheese sandwiches (see sidebar). The bar also has a make-your-own option. Choose from 10 breads, 10 cheeses, four spreads and 13 extras, including mushrooms and Granny Smith apples. What grilled cheese lover could resist devouring all six concoctions, plus a personal creation? Hence …

THE PLAN
Take down five menu-item grilled cheeses and a make-your-own by midnight. Finish with the Basique ($4), which becomes $1 after the clock strikes twelve. Note: My mom ate nothing but grilled cheese when pregnant with me. I anticipate a weird sense of déjà vu.

THE EXPERIENCE
7:48 p.m. Saturday: Arrive at the multi-level bar, which is empty, save for one table. I order a $5 bottle from the basic list of 10 beers (a handful of cocktails are available for $8-$12) and scope the inviting, intimate space. (Credit Kevin Heisner and Matt Eisler of Empire Liquors and Bar DeVille for the design.) Candlelit tables, old-fashioned wallpaper and antique mirrors evoke a haunted mansion. The bar lines the right wall, and a back room has a photo booth and more standing room (for dancing?). Two flat-panel TVs show commissioned art installations from a local videographer. The vibe? Somewhere between Wilde and The Violet Hour.

8:02 p.m. Order sandwich No. 1, Market Days (see "the sandwich guide" at right for details). Stomach rumbles. It’s been nine hours since I’ve eaten.

8:18 p.m. No. 1 arrives, nicely composed. The cheese, though not particularly melty, is tasty and fresh. Yummy fries (though not, as the menu claims, shoestring) taste like sugar, which our friendly server Rebecca notes is added to the seasoning mix.

8:40 p.m. Finish No. 1. There are now three other “dinner parties” seated. I order No. 2, the Belmont Harbor. Surprised but non-judgmental about my appetite, Rebecca exclaims: “Oh, very fun!”

8:57 p.m. No. 2 arrives. Bread is gorgeously golden. Though I can’t really taste the apples, the greasy, bacon-cheese combo nearly tricks my tongue into tasting eggs. This would make a killer breakfast sandwich.

9:16 p.m. Done with No. 2, I order No. 3, the 60657. Rebecca’s now fully amused by my indulgence: “Oh my god, I love you right now. You’re cracking me up.” I don’t mention how hard my heart’s pounding. I do request she leave fries off the plate from now on.

9:30 p.m. No. 3 arrives. It’s small, and all I really taste is rye and sprouts. No discernible flavor resembling cheese.

9:42 p.m. Co-owner Jason Merz checks on our table. Says The Ward changes from “dinner” to “party” at 10 p.m. Customers are invited to submit their own grilled cheese recipes; the craziest he’s received includes spaghetti.

9:52 p.m. Three-fourths into No. 3, I stop eating. This just doesn’t taste good.

9:59 p.m. Order No. 4, my own creation.

10 p.m. Party time! Nope, the Four Tops’ “Reach Out I’ll Be There.” Dance party on hold.

10:11 p.m. Merz returns, offering to buy us the fried ice cream dessert ($6): strawberry, chocolate and vanilla ice cream coated in cereal (Fruity Pebbles, Cocoa Krispies, Frosted Flakes, respectively) and deep-fried. Yum.

10:12 p.m. #4 arrives. I’m the opposite of hungry. Yet the Texas Toast, while a bit thick, is buttery and beautiful, and the mixture of the cheeses and red onion is spectacular. Still can’t taste those apples, though.

10:30 p.m. #4 done. Deep breath. I order No. 5, the Sheffield and Waveland.

10:34 p.m. At last, someone is dancing! Despite the rain outside, the bar’s filling up with a mix of casual couples and Boystown boys.

10:38. p.m. No. 5 arrives in four triangular pieces—made with a tortilla, this is officially a quesadilla, not a grilled cheese. Flavorful but greasy. I think grease is leaking from my pores.

10:42 p.m. A big party fills up the long table in the center of the bar. This is turning into a scene, and a darn cool nightspot.

10:45 p.m. My tongue hates me. I give away a quarter of my sandwich.

10:57 p.m. Run DMC prompts, “Mary, Mary” and several bargoers respond, “Why ya buggin’?”

11 p.m. Three-fourths done with No. 5. I’m the only one in the bar eating. So lonely.

11:07 p.m. Music is louder. Talking is tougher. The spice of pepperjack cheese lingers in my throat.

11:11 p.m. I give away the last bites of No. 5 and feel like a quitter. Still, I order No. 6, The Vic (on special for $5). Must redeem myself. 

11:25 p.m. Sandwich No. 6 comes out to the tune of Human League’s “Don’t You Want Me?,” a cruel irony from a song I hate and a sandwich I, at this time, don’t want. It’s fine, but not cheesy enough. Not loving the olive bread.

11:28 p.m. The bartender comes over, says “I hear that’s your fourth sandwich!” and high-fives me. I don’t tell him it’s my sixth.

11:30 p.m. I can’t eat any more. Self-loathing, body temperature rising.

12:06 a.m. Crowd seems to be winding down, but I’m feeling better. I order No. 7, the Basique and actually think I can eat it.

12:13 a.m. Delivering No. 7, Rebecca says, “Just like Mom used to make.” She’s right. Crisp, simple and with American cheese sliding out the front, the sandwich is perfect. I begin.

12:27 a.m. The crowd has filled in again, a second wind for the bar. The candles are still burning. I can’t give up.

12:28 a.m. Done with No. 7! The last bite takes what feels like three hours to swallow.

12:38 a.m. In the cab ($7) on the way home, we pass my gym. Sigh.

My evening’s total cost, with tip: $94

The lesson: The Ward is a winner, both in concept and its serious commitment to some delicious grilled cheese. Moderation suggested.


Reviewers make every attempt to remain anonymous and meals are paid for by Metromix.

Matt Pais is the metromix grilled cheese guru. mpais@tribune.com