A SMALL WONDER

When word reached my Instagram feed last year that chef Paul Virant planned on shuttering his farm-to-table miracle, Vie, in Western Springs, I didn’t take the news particularly well. Restaurants come and great restaurants go, but I’d argue Vie was one of the most remarkable suburban restaurants of the last two decades.

Although Virant immediately announced that Vie would return in a new form— i.e., his new French brasserie, Petite Vie, located less than two minutes away from the original—the memories of past delicacies came rushing back to me.

You had to be there, back in the mid-2000s, to understand just how bold and beguiling Vie’s opening menus truly were. No one— and I do mean no one— was cooking quite like Virant back then, especially not in the western suburbs. I wrote an early review of Vie that heralded Virant as a Michelin-star talent with a Cracker Barrel soul. And I meant every syllable.

Virant invented, or in the very least resurrected, a sub-genre of Midwestern cooking I’d call modern prairie-style fare. The man loves pickling things, pan-frying seafood and—my Lord— what that boy could do with a wood-fired oven and some odd bits of pork. Although Vie’s posh interior felt like it was inspired by a wing at Versailles—crystal chandeliers throwing rainbows against stark white banquettes—his menus tasted like he was trying to ghostwrite a cookbook for Willa Cather.

Slow-roasted pork belly served with whole-grain mustard jam. Salads dressed with pickled tomato vinaigrettes. Charcuterie plates smeared with malty beer jams. A French-style cassoulet made with Midwestern beans and homemade sausage. And who could forget Virant’s gooey butter cakes, a relic of his early days growing up in Missouri?

Virant can cook with the best of ’em—note his four James Beard nominations—but he’s also as disarmingly earnest as the local farmers and food artisans he used to list, night after night, on the bottom of his menus.

The good news, after recently visiting Petite Vie, is that he hasn’t lost his deft touch.

It was ultimately a dispute with his old landlord, Virant says, that led him to shutter his flagship restaurant and open Petite Vie Brasserie in a new building, which he now owns. Virant’s wife, Jennifer, along with interior designer Jody Tate , have filled the space with a few of my favorite things. Classy black-and-white etchings of European streetscapes. Shelves lined with French-inspired curious, including statues of rabbits in mid-gallop and giant French mushrooms. There’s a clock that looks as if it was plucked from a Victorian-era train station. And a cozy backroom that pays tribute to the original Vie’s look and feel, only this time every table is illuminated, Barry Lyndon-style, with flickering candles.

And then there’s the menu, which is unabashedly French but filled with plenty of “Virant-isms.” A brasserie must serve roasted chicken—it’s a veritable French commandment—but how many places near us serve their birds with a sauce made from vin jaune, a crisp, bone-dry white wine from eastern France? Or for that matter make homemade Grand Marnier ice creams that taste like a frosted version of a sidecar cocktail from the bar?

As a young chef, Virant worked under three legendary chefs—Gabino Sotelino of Ambria, Jean Joho of Everest and Charlie Trotter—but he logged those shifts decades ago. So, in preparation for launching Petite Vie, which is helmed by one of his longtime kitchen collaborators, chef Vinny Gerace, Virant and his team flew back to France this past February.

The dishes Virant chose to import are telling. Full confession: I’ve never eaten tourtons du Champsaur before. They are tiny fried-dough snacks often enjoyed during the holidays in the southern French Alps. At Le Petite Vie, each little pillow looks like a crispy beignet but conceals a little pocket of mashed potatoes blended with Tomme cheese. Imagine a toasted ravioli cross-pollinated with a Spanish croquette. Addictive, exotic, delicious.

Although Virant says he wants to keep things unapologetically rustic—“not a lot of components, not a lot of manipulation,” he says—I think he’s working very hard to bring a lighter touch to some old-school Escoffier classics. Normally, I tend to make my sole veronique with a touch of heavy cream or crème fraiche; Virant swaps in halibut for the sole and excises the cream, using a silky vermouth butter instead. His pork tenderloin chasseur isn’t the least bit stewy, but you must appreciate the addition of sundried tomatoes, which adds an undercurrent of umami and smoke.

And then there’s his foie gras mousse, which doesn’t have the airy texture of whipped butter; it’s looser and more velvety, like a partially set pudding. Spread it on a toast point, making sure to add some of Virant’s sauternes gelée or a touch of his apricot-honey compote, and you’ve got a slick variation on a French peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

If Vie’s offerings challenged us, year after year, to consider the possibility that there was more to Midwestern cooking that steak and taters, Petite Vie’s menu is more wistful and nostalgic. Interesting, isn’t it, that the word “vie” in French means “life?” And that Virant, in launching this second iteration of Vie, has resurrected homespun French cooking for a new generation in the very same suburb that changed his professional career.

Something tells me that my old memories of Vie meals long past will never fade and that new and delicious ones will, in typical Virant style, help preserve and enhance the flavors of those that came before.

Petite Vie Brasserie is located at 909 Burlington Ave, Western Springs. Call 708.260.7017 or visit petite-vie.com.

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