Tucked away in a quiet corner between Elston and, well, a really scary looking park, lies Beverly Kim’s hyped up Korean spot, Parachute. My maternal grandmother used to call middle-of-nowhere areas, such as this random pocket of Avondale, by the yiddish term, shveer, or if she was being fancy, shveer and drear. Sample sentence: “We have to shlep (another Yiddish word) all the way to your third cousin’s wedding in some shveer part of Brighton this spring. Good thing your dad knows where he’s going.”
So, though it was an evening spent in shveer, it was definitely an evening well spent.
If you hate everything on the menu, Parachute is worth the drive even solely for the potato bing bread. At this point, I have accepted my addiction to carbs in a way that a crack addict accepts their addiction to crack. Imagine a fancy potato skin encased in a piping hot, homemade foccacia roll. Oh. Em. Gee.
Other standouts were the hand torn noodles with spicy lamb sofrito and the dolsot bi bim bop.
The pork belly and mung bean pancake had an interesting depth of flavor, but was ultimately forgettable.
My two friends favored the pork secreto and voted it their favorite piece of meat since the nineties.
A friend asked me yesterday afternoon what I was doing that night and I said going to Parachute.
“Oh, that indoor skydiving park in Rosemont?”
Rosemont might be in a more subtle version of shveer, but the only skydiving I’ll ever consider is into a plate full of potato bing bread.