Here’s your original review—now seasoned, sautéed, and served with a little extra flavor. It’s got the warmth of someone who knows good food, the honesty of someone who’s been to a few too many mediocre places, and a touch of that “Why is this happening?” comedy à la Sebastian Maniscalco.
Review: Amaru – A Latin Love Letter… with a Few Typos
Alright, let’s talk about Amaru. This place has been around since October 2019, which in restaurant years is basically a full-on marriage. They’ve weathered a pandemic, changing tastes, and who knows how many fluctuating guest reviews—and they’re still here, calling themselves a “progressive Latin American restaurant.” Which basically means: “We’re gonna take you on a Latin culinary road trip, and highlighting flavors and ingredients from Peru, Brazil, Mexico, and the Caribbean.” While I love the inclusion of so many cultures, I do see the risk of muddling what should be a distintive interpretation of flavors.
Behind the wheel is Chef Rodrigo Villalobos, who’s cooked in some real-deal Chicago kitchens like Sunda and Nacional 27. The man’s got chops. And I don’t just mean lechon.
I hadn’t been back to Amaru in a few years, but when a friend’s birthday rolled around, we figured hey—let’s revisit an old flame. You know, see if the spark’s still there.
First Impressions:
The space is what I’d call Goldilocks size—not too big, not too small. Cozy, not claustrophobic. You walk in, there’s the bar to the left, tables running down both sides, and an open kitchen in the back where you can watch the chefs do their thing. It’s like dinner and a show—except the show is someone chopping cilantro with extreme confidence.
Cocktails:
Now, their cocktails? Delightful. That’s not a word I use lightly. We had this pina colada that totally defied expectations. You know how most pina coladas make you feel like you just drank sunscreen? This one? Light. Refreshing. Like a beach vacation without the awkward sunburn.
The Food:
We did the smart thing—shared a few apps and mains. MVPs of the night:
- Chorizo stuffed plantains – Enough said. It was delicious.
- Coconut rice – Like a tropical hug for your mouth.
- Beet and carrot salad – Surprisingly punchy, not just some sad root vegetable situation. The nut vingagrette drizzled on top pulled everything together nicely.
Now, the ceviche…It was a no-go. Fish wasn’t fresh—and the it was room temperature. Not cold, fresh and refreshing. We sent it back, which is always awkward, but to their credit, the staff handled it gracefully and comped it. That’s how you do damage control, folks.
Ambiance Oddities:
Look, ambiance is a huge part of the dining experience. And Amaru’s got some… quirks.
First, the hand sanitizer stations. There are three of them. You walk in and it’s like, Are we at a restaurant or a Purell-sponsored escape room? And the ones by each bathroom? Overkill. It cheapens the vibe. You’re sipping a nice mezcal cocktail and suddenly—BAM—industrial-grade sanitizer wafting over your grilled branzino.
And don’t even get me started on the bathroom situation. The doors open way too close to nearby tables. I don’t know who designed that layout, but I can promise you they’ve never had a restroom door swing open mid-bite.
Service:
Mixed bag.
Our server? Great. Checked in just enough without doing that thing where they hover like they’re waiting for a tip before you’ve even swallowed.
But the bussers? Missed a few basics. Like maybe… wipe the table when it’s soaking wet from water glasses? I had to ask for napkins to dry it off myself. This is not something you want your guest dealing with.
Also—there was a food runner who banged the metal spoon against the plate every single time he left the kitchen. Sir, are you summoning the spirits of Latin cuisine or just letting us know dinner is served via percussion?
Final Take:
Amaru gets a Green Cuff Rating from me. Longevity in this industry is no joke, and they’ve earned their spot. But if they want to stay in that upper tier, they’ve gotta tighten the screws. Little things matter. Wet tables, aggressive spoon drumming, and that whole Purell palace at the entrance—these are fixable.
They’ve got the talent, the concept, and the heart. Now it’s just about refinement. Because when your food says “fine dining,” your details can’t scream “mall food court.”
Want me to punch it up more? Or do a version just for social media? I got you.