Dinner at Alinea

In the home stretch before giving birth, we like to do something really special, a babymoon of sorts, something we won't have time to do in the haze of newborn care. I had dreamed of going to Alinea long before we moved to Chicago. When you live in in New York, it's easy to think that you're in the midst of the most exciting dining scene in the US, but I'd been reading about Grant Achatz for years, ever since Gourmet named Alinea the best restaurant in America, and was dying to experience his vision first hand.

Our dinner at Alinea was almost as expensive as a weekend away but was definitely the perfect way to celebrate, an experience we'll remember forever. 

If you were to walk by Alinea on the street, you would never know it. There is no signage, no bay windows to let you peak inside. Only the shiny address numbers confirm that you are indeed in the right location.

You'll know you're walking into another world, as soon as you pull open the nondescript metal doors and step into a crooked, narrow hallway lit with a futuristic red glow. It doesn't seem to lead anywhere until part of the left wall opens, letting you walk into the sleek atmosphere of Alinea.

Alinea only seats 64 diners at a time, in a handful of small rooms. We were greeted immediately and escorted to our table upstairs in one of the larger rooms. The decor was elegant but simple, everything, from the silverware laid out on the table after we sat, to the placement of the tables, felt calculated and precise. No menus were brought, instead the waiter just confirmed that our only dietary restriction was my husband's allergy to almonds, something I had been asked when I made the reservation three months earlier.

Then the feast began. And with the first course, Steelhead Roe in a rich sauce with watermelon, kaffir limes, and oxalls, we knew that we were in for more than just food chemistry spectacle. The food at Alinea is as exquisite as the fish at Le Bernardin, our favorite NYC restaurant. Each dish is a masterpiece, so delicious that it is sorely tempting to lick the plate.

In one of the temples of molecular gastronomy, things tend to come in unexpected forms. The foie gras was encased in jelly, just a tiny bite of flavors that still manage to capture the rich essence the ingredient.

The oyster course was not an oyster at all, just a rare leaf that tasted exactly briny and sweet like an oyster on the half shell.

My least favorite dish was the one I was entrusted to assemble myself. A rich stew of oxtail that I had to scoop and fold into a thin tomato pasta along with a myriad of toppings. In this era of social media, I appreciate the idea of letting the diner customize a dish, but it still felt a little messy.

I loved the dramatic instructions that came with the Truffle Explosion. "Whatever you do," the waitress said with a deadpan face, "do not open your lips once you've put this in your mouth. You would regret the consequences." I was almost tempted to defy her, but as soon as I popped the warm ball of truffle juice, I understood and in no way wanted to risk losing even a drop of the delicious storm filling my mouth.

The Yuzu Snow palate cleanser marked a clean break between the main part of the meal and the fun of dessert. It too was delivered with strict instructions, this time to not lick the ceramic cone it was served in to avoid possible injuries. Once we tasted the delicate floral ice shavings, we had to physically restrain that little kid urge in each of us to lick a metal fence on a freezing winter day. The temptation was intense, but the child-like memory put us in the mood for dessert.

The next dessert course was whimsical as well, featuring cotton candy, caramelized squash and globules of brandy.

But the grand finale was the true masterpiece of the meal. The chef (normally Grant Achatz who is now busy wtih Next and Aviary) came to our table and crafted a Jackson Pollock style painting with cold hot chocolate, blueberry, frozen chocolate mousse, and a riot of other ingredients. He scooped and flicked for a good five minutes before declaring the work complete. It was so beautiful that we were reluctant to eat it, but once we started digging in, we couldn't stop.

Happy Wordful, Five Minutes Wordless, and Way-back wednesday.