Bayless Really Cooking in Cascabel

I had no idea what to expect when I walked into the Lookingglass Theater for the first time on Tuesday night. I had read pieces of the most recent reviews, but I have been traveling so much lately, I could barely remember what it was about. I saw the same picture in the press, of Rick Bayless dancing with a black-clad señora, and I knew he was involved in the show from a culinary and creative standpoint, but from what I knew, it sounded like those dreaded words: dinner theater. Lord knows I’ve seen my share of that genre at forlorn places like Chanhassen, Minnesota, where the theater is always more interesting than the food. What I hadn’t counted on seeing was the serious Cirque du Soleil-type acrobatics:

As you enter the theater, Bayless is already cooking away furiously. Guests are offered a margarita and a few one-bite amuses on spoons; there is a guitarist playing the most melodic tunes, and a man in a suit sitting at a table in the kitchen, playing solitaire. The kitchen is really the focal point of the show, and it makes a lot of sense, since the story is about a mysterious chef who has come to the Cascabel boardinghouse, cooking all manner of ceviche and mole negro, casting spells (inadvertently) on the inhabitants who are lucky enough to eat his food.

There are bottles of wine and Bohemia beer in the center of the communal tables; you pay for those separately (wine is sold by the bottle only). Depending on how flush you feel after spending $200 per ticket to get in, you might just opt for the gratis bottled water. The first course is a tuna ceviche, wrapped up in a banana leaf, served over a gelatinous (in a good way) mound of passionfruit and avocado, surrounded by popcorn. It’s delicious. In fact, it’s better than it needs to be for this kind of environment, but Bayless being Bayless, he’s worked out a system where his restaurant staff prepares the food, then delivers it just before the show where his sous chefs can assemble and plate just before curtain. I kept wondering, why is he working so hard up on stage? Tony Hernandez, who is the show’s co-creator, co-director and an actor in the show told me that Bayless is actually cooking for the people on stage – six nights per week, mind you – and they’re eating everything. I saw him bear down on a lime, zesting it on a big box grater; he sauteed veg, plated mole and at the end, served up a Oaxacan chocolate cake with a blood orange espuma. Hernandez said when the show is over, and Rick is finished signing autographs and books in the lobby, he heads over to the restaurants to see what’s up. Christ, I thought I worked hard. He makes the rest of us look like slackers.

There are quite a few interludes during Cascabel, almost in the vein of a Zumanity show from Vegas, where performers (all former world-class gymnasts/acrobats/circus performers) rotate on spinning chandeliers, perform impossible contortions over bathtubs and high-wires and engage in breathtaking pas de deuxs that are more sexual than culinary. It’s the food, afterall, that gets their blood boiling, and turns them all on.

Bayless is really in his element here. The tenderloin with mole and black bean tamal with braised black kale is as good as anything you’d have at Frontera; the celebration cake? Maybe not so much, but you have to consider the logistics of serving and clearing for all those guests. His dancing is, well, not as good as his mole maybe, but it’s fun to see the guy cut a Mexican rug with the pros.  They’ve added an extension week beginning April 24, (tickets are $250) but I heard that’s already sold out. Your best bet is to find them on the secondary market or on Craigslist. No doubt a one-of-a-kind show at Lookingglass, and I’m proud to say it’s the kind of show that’s only really possible in Chicago.