The Ultimate Dining Experience

They don't call it a "dining experience" for nothing. The food is a small, albeit significant, element in the grand scheme of restauranting. Hospitality, service, presentation, ambiance- all extremely important ingredients in the recipe for a great restaurant.

The experience, though, is truly what makes dining out in Chicago such an adventure. Forget the food, ignore the wine; this metropolitan hub is buzzing with exciting, unique people that make for great stories. Here's mine:

One Saturday evening, I embarked on a new dining journey to a very posh restaurant in Lincoln Park. Lucky for me, the communal booths afforded me the opportunity to inconspicuously eavesdrop on my fellow diners' conversations (SCORE!). As I happily sipped on my fragrant glass of Malbec, the host seated a party of four at the adjacent (and by adjacent, I mean less than a foot away) table. Though completely engaged in the intriguing conversation of my dinner date (my tremendous BFF), I couldn't help but overhear one woman regaling her friends with stories of her worldly travels and her eating adventures abroad. Naturally, this sparked an interest for the "Girl That Eats".

She spoke of London, where you could walk into any pub and order Fish and Chips that were outta this world. She spoke of Spain, where the cheese was abundant and the flavors were unmatched. And then she spoke of Rick Bayless, my hero, the master of Mexican cuisine in American (Remember, I'm Puerto Rican, so I have a soft spot for Spanish food), the guy who helped to put Chicago's culinary scene on the map, the Chef who can make Tongue Tacos taste fantastic... RICK BAYLESS.

She used a word to describe Rick Bayless's empire of Mexican perfection that I had never heard used before... OVERRATED. I thought I had misunderstood, that my refined eavesdropping skills had failed me. She continued to call "that Top Chef guy's" dishes "typical" and "average at best." At that moment, my vision started to blur and I went temporarily deaf- I couldn't hear over the sound of my own heart pounding. Could this be? Was it possible? Had she ever even eaten at Frontera Grill or Topolobompo? Had I? How could our experiences have been so incredibly different that I acknowledge him with god-like status and she thinks he's overrated?

I then had an epiphany that slowed my heart rate and dried my sweaty palms, one that parted the clouds and let me bask in the sun's warm glow. This woman had NO IDEA WHAT SHE WAS TALKING ABOUT. She was a total fake. She spewed out facts she read on Zagat and Urban Spoon and coined them as her own, but, really, she was a novice in the world of good eats. She was like the impostor girl who gushes over her new "Her-Mees" scarf because she doesn't know that it's pronounced "Air-Mezz" (special thanks to my fashion guru for helping me tackle the phonetical spelling of Hermes), she only knows that people will notice her for having one.

I realized that many people go to "posh" restaurants for the simple pleasure of feeling "posh". While they enjoy the food, it plays a very small role compared to the bragging rights that steal the show. We haven't all set out to be expert critics. Not everyone who dines in Chicago secretly hopes to be the next Gael Greene, A.A. Gill, or Alan Richman. And I am okay with that. Really, I am. It keeps Chicago on the map in the world of great food and brings famous chefs to our city to share their masterpieces with us midwesterners. I'm happy to share my dining space with wanna-be foodies and aspiring critics like myself...as long as they leave my man Rick Bayless out of it!


Author's Footnote: I saw Chef Bayless two short days later. He walked into a hot new restaurant for lunch with his wife, Deann. He caught my attention immediately, not because I noticed his trademark glasses or silver-fox goatee, but because he was wearing a blue striped polo shirt that exposed the better part of his midriff, treasure trail included. When I realized it was him, I died of embarrassment and questioned whether or not he deserved his hero status in my heart. After a pretty lengthy internal debate, I decided that he does, in fact, need to be praised as a Culinary god.... the man rocks a Chile Relleno better than my off-the-boat relatives. I don't care if he walks around this city in a speedo, as long as he keeps serving us his Oaxacan Mole, Cochinita Pibil and Tres Leches cake, he has my respect.