The menu has certainly evolved over the years, but The Warbler always offers an array of options in the pasta, flatbread, and vegetable categories, the latter being some of its most inventive and memorable offerings. The crispy cauliflower is not to be missed; it’s an attractive plate of lightly battered florets in a ponzu glaze, topped with cashews, pickled red onions, cilantro, sesame seeds, and scallion. Nor should you sleep on the umami-packed charred green beans, rich with aioli, hazelnuts, and crispy shallots. In short, you don’t have to be a fan of vegetables to love these vegetables.

The entire experience of The Warbler is like that. The pickiest eater you know — the hardest-to-please customer around — would be hard-pressed to strike out within these walls. And I should know, since, over the years, I’ve brought many different types of diners through its doors: The restless toddler who’s anxious in new situations (found great comfort in the chicken strips). The old college friend whose diet rarely consists of anything green (ended up loving the arugula salad even more than the Cubano). The meat-and-potatoes boomer who doesn’t feel ready to pronounce “cacio e pepe” (but devoured the pasta once it arrived). The Warbler caters to them all, with servers and bartenders making insightful recommendations along the way.

Like its predecessor, this neighborhood restaurant leads with warmth and generosity. Its brand of hospitality is quietly consistent, rather than showy or self-congratulatory, which makes the place feel distinctly Midwestern. Indeed, The Warbler was one of the first restaurants I visited that curated its mocktail list with the same care as the rest of its beverage program, a trend the rest of the city would soon follow. And at the weekday “Supper Club,” a prix fixe option from 4:30-6 p.m., children under nine eat free. 

To get the most out of The Warbler, put it to the test. Go for a wide range of scenarios, just to see just how useful it can be. Weekday lunch, an al fresco snack on a Saturday afternoon, a quick after-work drink at the bar, or some post-show nibbles after leaving the Old Town School of Folk Music or the Davis Theater. This pillar of the neighborhood is right nearby, waiting to welcome you in.

Marnie Shure is a Chicago writer and editor who has worked in the realms of comedy, food, and a grab bag of other media. Find her on Instagram, Twitter, or even Bluesky.