ARRIVAL
We met in the lobby of the hotel well in advance of our reservation. I am not someone who typically runs her schedule with military precision, but tonight was going to be special. Six people who devote their careers to hospitality were about to eat dinner at Alinea, considered by many accounts to be one of the best restaurants in the world.
Among our group were two chefs, two servers, a sommelier, and a big eater. When people of any profession are about to encounter one of the greats of that industry, there are bound to be nerves. I was no exception. The others were giddy; I was practically scared. How does one behave in a place that's the pinnacle of your craft? Would we look out of place?
The car dropped us off in front of a nondescript building in what appeared to be a residential neighborhood. There was no awning and no sign save for a small valet sandwich board indicating that you we were indeed in the right spot.
The presence of greatness.
HOW DID WE GET HERE?
We flew to Chicago to celebrate the 30th birthday of one of my dear friends. She is from Aurora, Illinois, and always boasting about her home city. One day she mentioned that she'd love to go back for her 30th birthday in order to dine at its star restaurant. I'd wanted to eat there for some time and reached out to them the year prior for a possible seating while my husband was doing job training in Chicago. That meal never materialized, but the desire to experience Alinea hadn't waned. I'm impulsive and I told my friend, "Let's do it."
My husband is not impulsive. I floated the idea to him later that week and while he didn't explicitly say, "no," I could tell it wasn't his favorite idea. You have to pay for the entire evening when you book your reservation with Alinea, so on top of airline tickets we'd be paying in advance for a four-figure meal two months in the future. My friends called me as I was laying down for a nap a few days later and told me we'd better book now: the seating we originally wanted had already been reserved, and tables at Alinea sell out so quickly that a swap between patrons with tickets and those desiring a table has developed online. I lay there with my friends on speakerphone and weighed my husband's clear desire not to do this against our excitement at possibly making it happen. It didn't take me long to decide. "Book it."
There is a cliche scene in many movies where a girlfriend interrupts a guy watching the big game on television with a somber, "We need to talk.” When my husband learned I'd committed us to the dinner, we re-enacted that scene with the gender roles reversed. He wanted to talk. About money. Specifically, about not spending it. During my browbeating, I thought, "He won't regret this dinner once it's over."
SEATED
We walked into Alinea and were greeted in a small foyer by the hostess. Wasting no time, she took our jackets and ushered us up a semi-spiral staircase to one of their "salons." Alinea doesn't reserve tables, they reserve "experiences," and aside from their private kitchen experience, and their first-floor gallery experience, we were booked in the upstairs salon. Believe it or not, this was the most affordable food option offered. A ten-to-fourteen-course meal awaited us, along with middle-of-the-price-range wine pairings for which we paid several hundred more per couple.
Our party of six was seated at a simple table upon which sat two silver footed compotes of oranges, six linen napkins embroidered with the Alinea logo, glassware, and enigmatically, a word search in a silver card holder.
This card contained the menu for the evening...if we could find it.
Note how the tabletop creates a simple sort of illusion...the glassware, and everything else that was placed on the table, appears to be floating an inch or two above the surface.
I'm not ashamed to admit it -- we wanted to take pictures of everything. We didn't know if such a thing were allowed, and we didn't want to appear gauche. So we tried to exercise restraint and we certainly turned off our flashes as we hid our phones in our laps and documented the table setting from inconspicuous angles. My friend snapped a pic of her napkin, and our server approached.
"How could you?" he asked, and we looked up at him, frozen and mortified. His face broke into a huge grin and just as suddenly, we were put at ease.
WE EAT
Course after course arrived, each with a magical twist. Water infused with orange essence was poured over the footed compote bowl that we thought was our centerpiece. Cleverly-hidden dry ice ensured that a dense, aromatic fog drifted toward us as we ate.
I opened a youtube account for this, folks.
Alinea’s playfulness continued. Venison “doughnuts” were warmed at our table over Juniper branches — only one of which turned into a small fire! Beneath the branches we learned that a potato had been cooking and would soon become part of our clam chowder. Jerky made from beef tenderloin and infused with vanilla was presented as a vanilla bean for sale: until tasting, I wasn’t sure if I’d be biting into a bean or some steak. Their take on a cheese course was a test tube of juice sucked back quickly to complement a dry goat’s milk cube. The birthday girl, who hates goat cheese but had earlier proclaimed that she’d try anything, announced that “It still tastes like petting zoo.” I thought it was cute.
Venison doughnuts smoking over a fresh fire….
For one course, we were welcomed into the Alinea kitchen, which is an erotic wet dream for anyone involved in the hospitality industry. I literally hopped with glee as I turned to my friend and said, “We get to see the kitchen!” Alas, Chef Grant Achatz wasn’t present, but we got to document every angle for our ventures back to our home restaurants.
Ah, the humble microwave. In many kitchens, this is referred to as “Chef Mike,” as in, “Put the food in Chef Mike to heat it up.” Although I’m sure Alinea uses Chef Mike for more dignified purposes, I was thrilled to see him in their kitchen.
Photo Credit: Birthday girl Lindsey Pittman who had the genius idea to take a panoramic shot of the cooks at work. My husband and I noted that one guy’s job seemed to be solely sweeping and cleaning up after everyone else. Notice the dim lighting, too. This was not a fluorescent industrial nightmare. This was a finely-tuned, quiet atmosphere full of kitchen workers diligently performing their separate duties.
Hell yes I bragged on Snapchat.
At every turn we were greeted with professionals who not only appeared to love their job, but were on the same page regarding the service they should provide. Our server guided us gently through the menu, and he was accompanied by an assistant who could describe every component of a dish (down to the Chinese herb that made his mouth numb when he ate too much of it). The food runner was serious in her description, so that we didn’t miss a part of what made every course special. Our Sommelier was not only knowledgeable, but excited to learn that some of us were studying the same course as he and eager to taste these rarified wines.
The staff was approachable — one gentleman delivered our food, and after a short conversaton asked us to follow him on Instagram.
“He’s not joking,” quipped our server.
“I’m “mrsdoubtfire,” he claimed.
“He’s still not joking,” replied the Sommelier. Look up @mrsdoubtfire. He wasn’t joking.
I felt that we were with our kind. The staff’s excitement at working there matched our excitement at eating there. Towards the end of the meal, when we were asked if we cared for any tea or coffee, my table mate asked for tea. When he drank his cup, the server assistant inquired, “Do you really like tea? Do you like really funky tea?” He then delivered an aged-truffle tea that probably only existed in Alinea at that time, and was definitely too “funky” for my palate. But it was special to my friend — a one-of-a-kind treat — and something he’ll never forget. People who love food and beverage are eager to share their secrets, and can make a great meal even better.
WE EXIT
After several hours it came time to leave. The fare got increasingly sweeter, with a dessert course, followed by marshmallows roasted on birch branches, and Alinea’s signature “balloons” made of candy and helium. We inhaled the gas and giggled at high pitch while the staff surreptitiously cleared every last thing off of our table. Because we had paid for our meals when we made the reservations, no check was presented and no gratuities were paid. The sweet ending wasn’t soured with any further payment. Our waiter recommended a local tiki bar to visit for more drinks, and escorted us down the stairs.
We were handed our coats to don before we ventured out into the frigid Chicago night. Here’s the zinger: they had been toasted.
“Is this jacket warmed? DO YOU WARM THE COATS?" I asked/exclaimed.
“It’s my favorite thing,” replied our waiter, “because at the end of the meal, you think we’re done, but we’re not really done.”
AFTERWARD
In the year since I’ve eaten at Alinea, I have to admit that our waiter was correct: they’re never really done. I’ve thought of that meal many times over, and discussed it not only with family and friends but with countless restaurant guests visiting us from Chicago.
My husband and I paid about $1,100 for dinner for the two of us. I hemmed and hawed over whether or not to share that on this blog, but I know I’d be curious about how much such a night really costs, and I wanted to share it with everyone. I know there are people who will judge us for how we spend our money, but let’s all agree to let people spend their money on what they want to, shall we?
You can keep your new car or your designer clothes, and I will keep my travel and fancy dinners out. What I witnessed in Chicago, at every turn, was art. The John Hancock building gave me the most spectacular sunset over a city on a lake lit with what seemed like thousands of stars. That’s art.
If I hadn’t been there myself I’d think this was a fake backdrop, but no, Chicago is just this beautiful.
We visited the Cloud Gate during the day, and I was enraptured by the best piece of public sculpture I have ever seen. Thousands of people were flocking to, and interacting with, this silly bean that perfectly mirrored the gorgeous blue sky and city skyline. Everyone circled it, and took selfies, and looked at their reflection, and I cannot imagine that a more interactive piece of beauty exists anywhere in the world. Again: art.
LOOK AT THAT SKYLINE
The Art Institute of Chicago delivered masterpiece after masterpiece, and I only left because time constraints meant my friends were dragging me away. Obviously: art.
Dinner at Alinea was merely a continuation of all the art in which Chicago had immersed me. Is one thousand dollars a ton of money to spend for dinner? Yes it is! But what price do you pay for beauty and innovation? These architects, that sculptor, these painters, and Chef Grant Achatz are all artists. Some people work with stone or pigments, and some work with squab and Malbec from the Andes. To each creator, his own palette. Most importantly, my meal at Alinea celebrated one of the most generous and loving women I’ve ever met. To put it simply, it was priceless.