Four Hours And Fifteen Minutes In A Different Dimension: My Dinner At Alinea

If you're reading Rough Chop it's for one of two reasons.

Reason One: You're a fellow food geek.  If that's the case, you've seen the taffy apple balloons and the majesty that is hot potato, cold potato.  You've seen the YouTube clips of Chef Achatz deftly constructing desserts for his guests on their table, moving and creating in equal parts rapidity and precision.  If you've been to Alinea then you know the emotions that separate online spectator from actual diner; if you haven't been then you probably are the walking embodiment of anticipation I was a week ago, just waiting for your chance to experience what really goes down at 1723 N. Halsted Street.  Either way you don't need anymore food porn, so I won't be delivering any.

Reason Two: You know me.  If that's the case I've probably already harangued you with details about my experience.  Some of you have lectured me on the "insanity" of investing so much time and money and energy in to a meal.  Some of you have indulged me with relative disinterest as I prattled on about all the twists and turns my epic meal took over the sixteen courses I had the pleasure of experiencing... thank you for your patience. Still others of you relished in the details and geeked out with me about the taffy apple balloons and majesty that is hot potato, cold potato; which are realistically the only two courses we've shared.

It could be a combination of the two reasons.  Either way, you don't need to see another article with a course-by-course assault of pictures laden with superlatives and whimsical praise.  Don't get me wrong, I am packed to the gills with an almost maniacal level of appreciation for everything Grant Achatz does.  The man is worth every accolade, ever Michelin star, every bit of lionization that he's received.  He is a genius who's restaurant gave me, unequivocally, the greatest meal of my life thus far. But I don't want to simply review Alinea from the perspective of a diner, because that wasn't what I was when I was eating there.  Alinea was much more than that.

I want to begin the review portion of this entry with a preface that contains one overarching sentiment that I want to be considered throughout the rest of the post: to each their own.  It feels a little funny to begin discussing a revolutionary and game changing restaurant with what could be considered a trite and played out platitude, but I think it's appropriate.  Alinea may not be for everyone, and I understand that.  It's certainly not my job, as a guy who lives in dual-income household with no kids, to outrightly oblige anyone to spend hundreds of dollars on a meal.  That being said, I do oblige absolutely everyone to consider what's at stake by categorically shunning experiences like this one out.

The solitary shared experience for all Alinea diners. The napkin.

Preface aside, the meaningful part of my review is essentially this: what I experienced at Alinea in a sensory sense was unprecedented up until the moment it happened, on almost every level.   There were so many tastes, smells, textures and ideas that I had never even approximated in my life that by the tenth course I felt literally stoned.  Try as you want to analyze the flavors as they happen, predict the next move by the kitchen or the waitstaff, guess in what capacity the next course will arrive or even come close to what it will taste like; you will run in to failure at an overwhelming capacity over and over again.  Alinea is not about analyzing, it is about experiencing the ride as it happens.  Even if words could do the meal justice (they can't), the ever-evolving nature of the establishment wouldn't allow it to be duplicated, so there is literally almost no point in reflecting my personal experience on to you, because it won't happen for either of us ever again.

Hence my urgent suggestion that you consider what you'd be missing if you never invested in an experience like this.  The willful forfeiture of non-replicable experience feels like a tragedy to me. Simply describing Alinea to another person is like describing a color they've never seen before, it's simply something that must be experienced in order to be understood. Perhaps affording yourself a meal like this seems ludicrous if you reduce the logic down to "it's just food", but that logic is dangerous.  That same train of thought would suggest that Beethoven or Miles Davis are just musicians, not giving any credence to the complexities and genius that set them apart from the pack.  It's that genius and those complexities that forge the enormous chasm between what simply consuming food and what Alinea is.  Again, it's not for me to tell you what you or anyone else should invest your money and time in; but if you are going to give yourself a fair assessment of what "worth it" is, attempt to consider everything that a restaurant like this is.

Owen and the Incredible Taffy Apple Balloon Montage

I leave you with a couple pieces of advice if you do decide to take the plunge and purchase tickets to the best meal of your life.

First: go with people you truly love, who you know will appreciate what's going on.  Of all the pictures I took that night, the one headlining this article is my favorite.  My wife smiling, a glass of chablis in one hand and chopsticks used to pluck gurnard lionfish off of a plank of a barrel that was used to age brandy, and later fish sauce.  One of the funnest parts of the night was watching her and my friends faces as they explored the uncharted frontier of flavor that I myself was enjoying for the first time ever.

Second: Don't overthink it.  Don't linger on anything too long. My specific menu took four hours and fifteen minutes to get through but that time flew by.  The menu is impeccably paced, and part of the fun of everything is letting yourself be surprised every now and then

Third: Don't consider the expense, at all.  Once you click "purchase" just let any financial tension drift away.  The ticket system is implemented to make the actual dining experience completely stress free.  As soon as you get to the door, just let the restaurant go to work.  Money comes and goes, once in a life time experiences are titled as such for a reason

Fourth: Reflecting the third thought-if you are a drinker, GET THE WINE PAIRINGS.  I can't stress enough how much an additional $150.00 investment enhanced my dinner.  Again, if you've already made the investment, I highly highly recommend going a little further.

So, that wraps up my thoughts on dining at Alinea.  I will concede that eating such an establishment may not be for anyone.  That being said, and assuming you have the means, if you've already decided that it's not for you, I implore you to take a step back, consider what you are choosing to miss out on. There are a whole lot of things happening in that unassuming building in Lincoln Park, I'm incredibly grateful to have been a part of them.

Memories In Gustation: Primo's Pizza (Rockford, IL)

Rockford Illinois... The birthplace and hometown of my father, the third largest city in Illinois, and also ranked by Forbes as the third most miserable city to inhabit in America in 2013.  As evidenced by the photograph below, Rockford struggles when it comes to finding pride in itself.  The culinary landscape has improved vastly in the past half a decade, but still exists amorphously and without that certain defined feeling of confidence or permanence.  

This is real.

This story isn't about the restaurants who are accountable for shouldering the weight of changing the game anyway.  It's not about a young restauranteur who is eager to bring light to the bleakness of Rockford's decaying landscape.  This isn't about the intimate beer bar that has a selection which rivals that of any place in Milwaukee or Chicago that I've ever walked in to.  This isn't about the ambitious and ever changing farm-to-table restaurant that's always packed to the gills on the weekend. Rockford has all of those things, and by no means is this post meant to diminish all of the awesome things they are doing, but Rockford also has Primo's Pizza.

My parents split up when I was very young and every other weekend my brother, my sister and I would head down to Rockford.  Initially my mom and dad would meet half way in Delavan, Wisconsin for the exchange. After about a decade of that my brother turned sixteen and took on the responsibility of driving us, blasting ska the whole way down.  It was about that time in my life that my first memories of Primo's are from.  In fact, I have a particularly fond memory of a 15 year old me waking up from a nap at my dad's house to an empty home and a note with a ten dollar bill and instructions to go get a pizza for my self.  I called my order in, popped Goldfinger's Hang Ups album in to my Walkman, and picked up my pizza.  Then I watched All In The Family for hours, nursing a large cheese pizza all by myself.  I was a very, very cool 15 year old boy.

Alright so what's the big fuss?  It's a modest, maybe even generic looking, Italian restaurant.  It can't possibly possess anything so astonishingly special or different that it warrants this much attention, right? No, not right, and stop being snotty.  But Primo's magic doesn't lie in technique or presentation, it's hewn from decades of consistency and precision.  It comes from not trying to do anything riveting or innovative, just making the same thing really good, and making that thing good every single time. What's especially noteworthy about this restaurant is that it's able to sustain itself in a veritable hornet's nest of cheaper, faster competition.  

Wife+Pizza=Truest love

It's hard to say what the key to Primo's persistence is, but the fruits one yields from the labor of love probably have something to do with it.  Ann and Dominic Loria are transplants from Sicily (since 1969 and 1953, respectively) and have owned the unassuming pizza restaurant for 24 years.  Day in and day out for over two decades Primo's has been producing the same brilliant, delicious pizza. That type of steadfast dedication and pride is a scarce and priceless thing in a world increasingly looking to make every part of there day as efficient, small and cheap as possible. Primo's Pizza in Rockford, Illinois stands as one of those rare testaments to a good product actualizing a sustainable business, a sentiment that feels more and more like a bygone era as time goes on.

A scene from literally every time I've visited Rockford in the past 15 years

This post isn't to suggest that you should immediately get in to your car and drive to Rockford and pick up a Primo's pizza, though honestly it wouldn't be the most insane thing you've ever done.  This post is meant to pay tribute to those restaurants that exist everywhere that aren't trying to change the landscape of food, but want to make one thing great, because they absolutely love it. If you don't have your version of that place, find it and patronize unconditionally.  For me, that place is on 1710 N. Rural Street in Rockford Illinois. 

Oh, and by the way, that beer bar and farm-to-table restaurant I mentioned up there are The Oasis Micropub and The Social respectively. They are both awesome and worth your money.