A distorted, glassy sugar flume houses levels of chocolate mousse, chocolate pound cake, souffle, and cream. Credit: Andrea Bauer

Just as meat-on-a-stick pervades River North, so too do shared-plates restaurants: something-for-everyone feeding troughs where nobody blinks when you peck at tiny portions on communal plates as if you fear a bigger, stronger animal will snatch them away first. At Carrie Nahabedian’s new Brindille, you’ll keep your damn hands to yourself, luxuriating over cohesive, updated Parisian-style appetizers, entrees, and desserts—on tablecloths. With wine. Like a civilized human being. Outside Rome burns to the strains of Nero’s fiddle.