Crust

Looking in, you could be forgiven for thinking this restaurant's moniker refers to its bearded, wristcuffed waitstaff. (No way they're talking about the sparkling interior with its open-spaced dining room and striking black-and-white photographs.) In this case, Crust means pizza. Or, as they call it, "flatbread," perhaps to emphasize the rustic, from-the-Earth aspect of the restaurant's all-organic offerings. More likely, they just want to differentiate their product from the usual definition of Chicago-style pizza (a wheat-crust kiddie-pool filled with molten cheese). Unfortunately the menu is better on the page than on the plate: organic, yes, but hardly orgasmic. Similarly mixed results apply to the organic rain vodka with housemade infusions, a big sell on the menu, with results ranging from gasoline-like cardamom concoctions to a spectacular mixture that tastes like a light Ethiopian honey wine. And the staff? Don't let their grunge fool you. They're solicitous, informative and generally on-point with the rhythm of service. Good music too, Beta Band sort of stuff that's loud enough to muffle the neighbors but doesn't intrude.