With Stars in Their Eyes: An Evening at Alinea

The night was brisk but what else would you expect for Chicago in April. Despite the windy chill, I was determined to wear a dress and determined this would be the meal to end all meals. 

Setting the Scene

My girl A and I have built a beautiful friendship around the dinner table. Our first real meal together was at Amada in Philadelphia; dining at an Iron Chef restaurant for your first meal is really a high bar to set. She was a picky eater to be kind and I was an adventurous eater to be fair. We ordered the chef's menu to save both of us the task of interpreting the menu and a new friend's unknown palette. It was at the lamb meatballs that our eyes met. She'll be the first to tell you that that was a turning point that sent her bounding down the path to full on foodie. And I'll be the first to admit she's surpassed me in a spectacular way.

We were known for celebrating milestones at the job we co-worked together with gifts and things. At some point we became aware of Alinea and decided we would go someday to celebrate our [many] achievements. We would dine there as the celebratory pats on backs that we warranted (wanted?). That was two years ago. We've been plotting patiently ever since.

The Foodie Fangirl

I did my research but really was not prepared for the experience. I watched videos, read reviews, and mused. But this. This was something else all together. We walked into the restaurant, an unassuming facade, and immediately faced the kitchen. I strained my eyes, scanning the staff to see if  He was there. In a flash we were whisked away up the stairs and my heart fluttered; I was none-the-wiser. We were seated at a dark wood four-top table with a bench seat and chairs in a cozy, low-lit room. We were greeted, acquainted with the flow of the evening, offered Champagne while we perused the wine list and gifted flatware pillows which were to remain pristine, white and unsoiled. And that was the end of any pretense. Everything that followed was serious food yes, but playful and inviting. We were encouraged to find wonder in our meal and in our company. As one of our waiters, who I'll talk about below, asked if we were excited to be dining there this evening, I could only respond, "Yes, fangirl excited." He smiled widely.

To Eat; Perchance to Dream 

First thing's first: I am not going to detail the entire menu but rather the sentiment of it and the experience. Leave a little something left to the imagination. A tasteful neckline with a flash of collar bone and a whisper of rosewater. If you want the detailed menu I'm happy to reply in a private message but I might stray into unapologetic verbosity. Be warned.

Sixteen courses. Sixteen. This is food reimagined. Repurposed. Rebuilt and transformed.  Courses ranged in size from amuse bouche to modern entree. There were bites, bits, strings, puddles, sheets, foams, gels, ices and tiny explosive swirls of snow. Food was suspended, floated, frozen, hidden, adorned, sprayed, smashed, painted, imprudent, noisy, and glittering. We followed artistic license to the edges of our matted canvas and into the fires of table-centered embers. We sucked helium from taffy balloons and sang Disney for our waiters. We were instructed on proper eating technique: grasp the dish with your left hand, with your right remove the pin and throw [it back]. We smelled our food like bent and wise men of age, faces inches from our plates, hands in rapid motion to waft, and eyes glassy and rolling back into our heads. We saw our food hanging overhead on slender silver hooks; bundled, herbaceous chandeliers. We listened to our food babble while coughing amaretto from beneath stacked bowls with fluted lips. We watched each other experience new bites, waiting with wide smiles and watched our dining neighbors discover for themselves what we had just enjoyed.

But most importantly we tasted. We tasted with all of our senses. We tasted the subtlety of fish sauce aged in the barrels whose slats now rested beneath our meal. We tasted brioche while our mouths felt a foam and reveled in the dissonance.  We tasted exotic vegetables tucked among familiar ones clearly pulled, as likenesses of themselves, from some alternate reality.  We tasted nubile sea, softly carpeted earth, crisp and fragrant wind, pine forest fires, and ethereal components of existence lost to language for fear of diminishment.

Every detail was considered and executed in the likeness of a surrealist painting or fairy-tale landscape.  This truly was Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole. And landing next to the redwood-bark plank with startlingly green and aromatic moss that ushered our rabbit three ways to the table. We tasted firsts. We tasted lasts I can be sure.

We were challenged to consider what food is. What it can be. What eating means. We danced dangerously close to the limits, suddenly aware that the limit does not exist at all but rather materializes from our own rigid unimagination.

We were ourselves transformed.

Second-fiddle to None

The wine was expertly selected and paired with the same vivacious imagination as every other detail at Alinea. Crisp and bright when needed, deep and soothing when craved, lush and romantic when no one was looking. We did a casual tasting rather than the prescriptive wine flight where we drank at our own pace and our glasses were replaced and refilled only when we were ready. We felt neither rushed, flushed, nor judged. And we dined with some of the finest wines I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.

Stewardship

I think I could write an entire post on the waitstaff at Alinea alone. They were charming, jovial, entertaining and warm. Despite the price tag, again, there was not an ounce of pretension between them all. We had two main waiters and a sommelier. They were supported by a well-kept army of assistants who ferried food from the kitchen downstairs to our tables. Our waiters were youthful Venezuelan twins who fluently switched from English to Spanish and back again in a heartbeat. They joked and teased, read the room and our table incredibly well, and even stopped to chat when invited. We laughed together, sang together and learned together. Our sommelier was fluent in the history of wine and informative without being stuffy, serious without being overly formal. We were even treated to some of the chefs painting our last course on our table. They too were serious but kind. If the food hadn't been enough to make this evening three hours of perfection, the staff would have corrected with ease and a smile.

Epilogue

Driving back to Wisconsin from Chicago the next morning, A and I  chatted about the evening. We understood this was something not everyone would understand. There are plenty of people, some dear loved ones included, who would not have invested such emotion or given into giddiness at such a meal. And that's okay. Because by miracle or divine inspiration at least, a place exists that can bring people together. It can teach them, nurture them and feed them. I may not be a molecular gastronome, although I'll try, but I can carry the spirit of that place to my own kitchen. Play. Feed. Create. Explore. Inspire. Exceed. And lose yourself to your passion.

Photo Credit AK

*And a note to fellow diners: if you're going to a three-star Michelin restaurant, exercise some restraint on perfumes and colognes. The nose is just as important to that experience as the tongue. hashtag let it go.