Stephen Sandoval has seemed poised to make his mark on Chicago dining since becoming executive chef in early 2020 at Leña Brava, the Baja-style seafood restaurant then owned by Rick Bayless. When he pivoted to a series of pop-up dinners called Entre Sueños (“between dreams”), patrons loved the personal seafood dishes that reflected his experiences in Latin America, Spain, and New Orleans. After that, he settled into a yearlong residency at Soho House with Sueños x Soho Friends, where guests marveled at his hamachi belly tostadas and snapper ceviche. When he announced he would be opening Entre Sueños as a standalone restaurant with business partner Oscar Sotelo, the spotlights were all powered up.
Chicago, with its vibrant Mexican and Puerto Rican communities, could and should have more high-profile Latin restaurants run by Latin chefs. (Sandoval has Mexican and Spanish heritage.) There are some — notably Diana Dávila of Mi Tocaya Antojería and Carlos Gaytán of Tzuco — but Bayless casts a long and complicated shadow. The only two Latin American restaurants in Chicago to hold Michelin stars, Bayless’s Topolobampo and Norman Fenton’s Cariño, are both run by white Americans offering interpretations of cuisines they know and respect deeply. But still.
Alas, Entre Sueños ran into construction problems that have delayed its launch. In the interim, Sandoval and Sotelo opened Diego, a West Town spot that serves perfectly fine if unremarkable tacos. Then they got offered a sweetheart deal on the former Komo space in the West Loop, a prime location sure to attract the teeming masses with the right concept. Thus was born Trino, the Latin steakhouse they opened last August. Here, Sandoval could bring his personal sensibilities to a crowd-pleaser of a menu.
I wish I had gotten to know Sandoval’s food before this. After three uneven meals at Trino, I have some sense of his palate and skills. But it’s like hearing about an up-and-coming indie film director only to sit through the lesser Marvel movie he subsequently directed. There are some standout dishes, yet the two sides of the menu — the thoughtful, chef-driven restaurant and the brassy steakhouse — don’t cohere.
The space — deep, narrow, windowless, softly lit — has a front bar and a hideaway dining room. On any given night, the crowd consists of people you might meet at a club snuggled into the booths lining the walls and people you might meet at a medical equipment conference filling a long table through the center of the room. Everyone assembled loves the top half of the menu, all small plates, judging by the number of cangrejo tostadas served. This is a great dish, with peekytoe crab, avocado, coconut, pistachio, and Asian pear heaped on a crisp tortilla — a happy-making collusion of flavors.
Sandoval has a more-is-more sense of seasoning. I picture him as the kind of mad scientist cook who keeps adding ingredients to a sauce until he hits eureka. So we have caviar set over a sherry-edged macadamia cream to scoop up with potato chips and chicharrones, and lamb empanadas in the style of tacos árabes with a fig salsa macha. His Manila clams in a saffron sidra cream with chorizo oil and greasy griddle bread was too rich for my blood, but I could appreciate where he was going with the flavors.
On the bottom half of the menu, Trino turns into a steakhouse, and this part feels less convincing, even flawed. Sandoval calls out northern Mexico and Argentina on this menu, both places famous for their grilled beef, and a video on the restaurant’s website even shows a tumble of the glowing charcoal that fuels just about every Latin American parrilla. Yet Sandoval sears his steaks (which come from just three purveyors) over a propane-fueled griddle and bastes them in fat; there’s sizzle but no smoke. A bone-in New York strip is pretty much what you’d get from a high-end chain: corn-fed and tender but without much character. The better choice is picanha, cooked to a rosy red like a nice Sunday roast in Britain.
Sandoval puts a Latin spin on classic steakhouse sauces, funking up bordelaise with huitlacoche corn fungus and adding Nixta sweet corn liqueur to green peppercorn cream. His best sauce, which he calls Mexicaine, is a play on the classic shellfish-and-tomato-based sauce américaine, with added bourbon and chipotle. You might want to order a lobster tail enhancement to go with it. All together it makes for a spirited and gently weird surf and turf.
Steakhouse sides include a slew of potato options, all of them primped with sauces and strong garnishes like sun-dried tomatoes or mustard. The duck fat refried beans have a nice flavor but are arranged in a stiff swoop on the plate; its appearance suggests a certain emoji.
You could end with a tres leches tiramisù, but I recommend finishing instead with a cocktail: Mexico’s favorite carajillo, made with espresso, Licor 43, and tequila. Trino is a good destination for drinking, and for an expanded cocktail menu, head through the maze of downstairs corridors to Laberinto, the speakeasy that’s open Thursday to Saturday. If you stay upstairs, keep your eye on the Mexican wines among the broad list of bottles from Europe, the U.S., and Latin America. I do have a quibble, though: If you order a freezer martini at the bar, the barkeep will pour the batched drink directly from a plastic deli quart container into a glass in front of you. Yikes!
This restaurant doesn’t have the swagger of a Chicago steakhouse, but it does give you a taste of Sandoval’s cooking. My best advice: Order the cangrejo tostada and look forward to Entre Sueños. Good indie directors always bounce back.