Cooking School
Jason and I were a little out of our league on Wednesday night. Watching and listening to chef Grant Aschatz as he demonstrated 'molecular gastronomy' at a demonstration kitchen in nearby Evanston. 
Probably two years ago, foodie friends Abby and David were planning their trip to Chicago and explained that they wanted to go to this restaurant, Alinea. I think I was about to offer to call for a reservation when Abby explained politely that we'd get in through David... and not so easily otherwise since this restaurant had just been named the best restaurant in America by Gourmet magazine.
The meal was fabulous and intriguing. A celebration for all the senses.
And maybe a little out of character, Jason became a fan. So much so that it was he who got us tickets to this rare night when Aschatz was not in his own kitchen.
The energy of the room was the gleeful fan club vibe, full of doting high-brow foodies. (And us.) It was the same feeling you'd probably get attending Comicon with nerds, except these were smarty pants Evanstonians. And the speaker was talking about how spring made him excited for peas and asparagus, then reflecting, "...but you know Chicago, the next day it snowed."
Some of the talk was stuff he's discussed in the press, like this New Yorker article:
He mentioned that some diners cry during a meal at Alinea, brought back to their childhoods by the combinations of flavors and smells. The meal I had, Achatz reminded me, included liquefied hay in one of the soup dishes. Achatz hoped that the subtle taste would summon diners’ memories of long-ago hayrides. “This is what happens to me personally when we set oak leaves on fire—I’m transported to my youth, raking the leaves in front of my house, jumping into the leaves, and setting them on fire.” He went on, “What we try to do is really search out that kind of emotional trigger.”
In his talk last night, he explained that he liked playing with people's minds, having them in a comfortable reverie with smell, then interrupting them with a crazy texture or flavor explosion.
He signed a book for us, but there's absolutely no hope we'll be cooking from it. The pictures are pretty though!
Jason and I both eat better than we cook!
Probably two years ago, foodie friends Abby and David were planning their trip to Chicago and explained that they wanted to go to this restaurant, Alinea. I think I was about to offer to call for a reservation when Abby explained politely that we'd get in through David... and not so easily otherwise since this restaurant had just been named the best restaurant in America by Gourmet magazine. The meal was fabulous and intriguing. A celebration for all the senses.
And maybe a little out of character, Jason became a fan. So much so that it was he who got us tickets to this rare night when Aschatz was not in his own kitchen.
The energy of the room was the gleeful fan club vibe, full of doting high-brow foodies. (And us.) It was the same feeling you'd probably get attending Comicon with nerds, except these were smarty pants Evanstonians. And the speaker was talking about how spring made him excited for peas and asparagus, then reflecting, "...but you know Chicago, the next day it snowed."
Some of the talk was stuff he's discussed in the press, like this New Yorker article:He mentioned that some diners cry during a meal at Alinea, brought back to their childhoods by the combinations of flavors and smells. The meal I had, Achatz reminded me, included liquefied hay in one of the soup dishes. Achatz hoped that the subtle taste would summon diners’ memories of long-ago hayrides. “This is what happens to me personally when we set oak leaves on fire—I’m transported to my youth, raking the leaves in front of my house, jumping into the leaves, and setting them on fire.” He went on, “What we try to do is really search out that kind of emotional trigger.”
In his talk last night, he explained that he liked playing with people's minds, having them in a comfortable reverie with smell, then interrupting them with a crazy texture or flavor explosion.
He signed a book for us, but there's absolutely no hope we'll be cooking from it. The pictures are pretty though!
Jason and I both eat better than we cook!
Comments
But it's also probably like starting a walking trip to China by stepping outside your front door.