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When we heard Fahrenheit in St. Charles would have a wood-burning oven that cranks up to 1,200 degrees, we knew it’d be hot. But what’s been even hotter is the pre-opening buzz surrounding this new contemporary American restaurant from Pete Balodimas, a 27-year-old chef who started in the dining biz as a teen doing grunt work at Heaven on Seven and worked his way up to chef de cuisine at Spiaggia.
About an hour west of the city, St. Charles has its share of standard chain eateries and a quaint downtown district peppered with sophisticated steak and seafood spots, but nothing quite as impressive as the tricked-out features Fahrenheit offers: a climate-controlled cheese cave, an air-chilled chamber for game that’s shipped in whole and a wine cellar stocked with selections from revered Ambria sommelier Robert Bansburg. And clearly, everyone wants in: Balodimas (a west suburbanite himself) was deluged with 400-plus applicants for line chef gigs and more than 300 pre-opening calls for reservations—half from city area codes.
Fahrenheit officially opened Nov. 8, but we sweet-talked our way into the reservations-only soft opening earlier this week. (Anonymously, of course.) Despite a strip mall location, the interior is a complete departure, with warm paprika-colored walls, simple drum lights throughout and a stunning bar set in front of the open kitchen, surrounded with shimmery red glass tiles.
Once our first dish, a crabcake appetizer ($15), hit the table, we realized Balodimas must be aiming for a touch of the unexpected. While most crabcakes get dissed for being all cake and little crab, we were taken aback by a chilled loaf of pure crabmeat. After a look back at the menu, we noticed the word “crabcake” was in quotations. Clever move, chef.
Next up was a rich, parmesan-inflected white asparagus soup ($12) studded with a chunk of sweet King crab meat. And while my date’s winter citrus salad ($12) appeared to be dominated by a stick of marinated feta cheese, it shaped out to be in just the right balance to the sharp vinaigrette and tart citrus slices.
Balodimas says he spent the last year obsessively tracking down organic ingredients from sustainable farms and fisheries, all of which we spotted on the menu, with everything from wood-roasted guinea hen from Grimaud Farms ($28) to charcoal-grilled organic Berkshire pork belly with cheddar beignets and Granny Smith apples ($28) making an appearance. My date ordered the latter and hardly needed a knife to slice the smoky, melt-in-your-mouth meat.
Balodimas has raved about his Tasmanian salmon ($33), which is wild instead farm-raised, and caught on an old-fashioned line rather than netted with other unwanted fish. As a hybrid-driving tree hugger, do I care that the kitchen brings eco-friendly practices to my plate? Absolutely. But was I able to tell the difference between this silky, sashimi-rare fish and the net-caught stuff at most other restaurants? Not so much.
When it came to order dessert, we took a cue from our server’s praise for the butterscotch panna cotta ($9), which arrived on a massive square plate, alongside a fudge-like riff on a Butterfinger candy bar. Sprinkled with sea salt, the creamy custard was a dead ringer for French salted caramels. My only complaint is that I felt bad for the busboy, who had to maneuver the unwieldy platter away when we were so full we couldn’t finish the last, decadent bite.
Beyond a minor snafu (we were charged for three glasses of wine when we had only two), the staff was well-paced, polished and down-to-earth while serving a small crowd of mostly couples from their 20s on up—pretty impressive for the first crack at dinner service.
On the way home, we found ourselves putting Fahrenheit in the same playing field with Vie in Western Springs or Niche in Geneva, two spots that have drawn attention for city-style fine-dining in the western ’burbs. But unlike those destinations, Fahrenheit lacks that contextual charm—and proximity to the Metra for city-dwellers—that it would have if it were centered in a suburban downtown.
I’d definitely return for a special occasion rather than trekking into the city for an artfully plated meal, but ultimately, regulars will probably be Fox River Valley foodies who can afford to shell out $100 a head for a four-course experience. Big bill or not, I still found myself falling asleep that night thinking about one thing: how utterly stupid it was to leave that last bite of sweet-and-salty dessert undevoured.
For more about Fahrenheit, check out our Q&A with chef Pete Balodimas.
Lisa Arnett is the metromix suburbs and shopping producer.
