I can't tell you how thrilled I was to land a reservation at Chicago's Alinea--probably one of the hardest reservations to get. It is the outpost for molecular cuisine in the US and is considered to be one of the very best restaurants in the world. The chef, Grant Achatz, famously survived tongue cancer, keeping his discerning palate. I heard him interviewed on "Fresh Air" and he said that despite the ultra modern-craziness of his dishes, first and foremost they have to be delicious.
Well, after spending three excruciating hours in the theater known as the Alinea dinner, I am not so sure. I can tell you that it is a place that you either love or your hate, and I hated it.
The staff is ultra-pretentious and behaves as though you are very very lucky to be spending the evening with them. Each dish is served with a show, which has been worked on by the various and sundry waiters and waitresses who try to charm you with their act. They go through all sorts of contortions explaining how difficult it is to make the sake that you are being served (sake that only Alinea seems to have), or the incredible use of grilled yuba (a tofu product that I had enjoyed in Japan several times-. At Alinea this yuba, entwined with over-cooked shrimp in a miso sauce, was tough, whereas I remember it has having a heavenly velours-like texture.
There is no menu because everything has to be a surprise, and of course, they know in advance the foods that "you don't want on your table", reciting them to you in the introductory act. That is when you have time to add or subtract the particular items that you don't like to eat. At the end of the meal, you are graced with a strange printed menu which has been tailored to your particular experience. It tells you the name of each of the 18 dishes you have consumed. Each dish, by the way, comes with a wine (some wines can be imbibed with more than one dish) or this "splendid" sake. I was falling asleep at the table and had to ask them to stop serving me the wine. (As a result, my menu had the names of only the 6 glasses of wine I had been served).
Here are some of the names of the dishes: Wooly Pig, fennel, orange, squid; Taylor Bay scallop, hitachino white ale, old bay; Lobster, Queen Anne's lace, huitlacoche, gooseberry; Lemongrass, dragonfruit, thai basil, finger lime; Snow yuzu.
I remember that Snow Yuzu was a thin lemony layer of frost that I was to lick off the side of a small dish. Other dishes required me to combine the different ingredients served and eat them in whatever order I chose. For one dish (inspired by Miro), the waiter placed about a dozen spoons on the table in a disorganized array. Each spoon had something in it, and I was to eat each thing. The lamb dish that was the main course, was the least creative and the best dish of the evening. There was also a bowl of white truffle oil that I liked very much. I just drank it up with a small spoon.
The last dish (the third photo) was a long and dramatic presentation. A chef in his whites came out to my table with several jars and vats. First he placed a clean cloth on the table and then spooned several blobs of different-colored fruit sauces on to the cloth. After that, he placed a large black hollow sphere next to the blobs and poured a canister of smoking carbon dioxide into the top of the sphere. He picked up the sphere, threw it on the table, and walked away. The black sphere broke into large and small pieces, creating a very artistic work. The carbon dioxide mixture produced morsels of pumpkin pie and other fall sweets, either cold or completely frozen. It was my job to spoon this bizarre and frankly awful symphony of bad flavors into my mouth. The black sphere, by the way, was made of dark chocolate.
Alinea is one of most expensive restaurants in the country--of that I am sure. When I thankfully left my table and got into the taxi, the driver asked me what I had had. My answer was that that is not the question to ask. The next time I want to go to the theater, I'll have a good dinner and then buy a ticket to a Broadway play.
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