Just Don’t Call Me a Foodie

I hate the word “foodie”.

Is there a more contrived way to say that you like food? Most of us like food, and by adding an “ie” to the end of the word you don’t convey that you love to experiment with truffles and make clarified butter and try the hottest new restaurant in town, you sound like you are trying to take a word and make it cute. We get it. You like food. I love food. I like cooking it and eating it and reading about it and learning about it. I like researching great chefs and restaurants, I like reading menus and I love to hear what people thought about whatever the restaurant de jour is. Just don’t call me a foodie, I’ll be annoyed.

There is a restaurant in Chicago named Schwa that is a little bit of a mystery and is known for being amazing. It isn’t much like any restaraunt you have ever eaten at. The front door is covered in spray paint and there is no light coming out of the windows. The dining room seats 28 people when it is filled to capacity and it has made Grub Street’s list of the top 5 hardest to get reservations in the country. It is where Charlie Trotter took Thomas Keller, Ferran Adrià and Heston Blumenthal among others. It is where Grant Achatz likes to dine. You have to walk through the tiny kitchen to get the bathroom. It is just…cool.

And, did I mention, really hard to get a table? I decided one of my goals of 2012 was to eat there and in my mind I devised a system to calling daily, one week at 10 am, another week at 3 pm, figuring at some point I’d manage to get through and snag a table. On Day 1 of my plan I picked up the phone and called. It rang and rang and rang and then suddenly someone answered, rock music blaring, asking what I needed.

I asked if I could get a table. They said there were only a few left. I said I’d take whatever table they had.

And just like that, I had a reservation. I figure that this is the greatest use of my Restaurant Reservation Karma ever, especially after not managing to grab B and I table at French Laundry for our honeymoon but scoring a table there 3 weeks later, for my parent’s wedding anniversary. *Shakes fist at sky* They said the lobster was divine. Sniff. But somehow, just like that, on my first call I’d gotten a table at Schwa. I basked in my glory for three days before realizing that the timing of the reservation was not going to match up with some other financial obligations and I sadly gave the table to a friend of mine who I knew would love the experience as much as we would have.

And then, the day before the reservation in a strange twist of fate we were able to go money-wise when my friend informed me that she wasn’t feeling so great and did we have a back up in case she couldn’t make it? Why yes, yes indeed. And that is how last night we found ourselves sitting at a tiny table for two eating eleven of the most insane and imaginative courses of my life while listening to Eminem, loudly, in the dining room. (Their music, not ours, obviously) (Not that we don’t like Eminem, but we wouldn’t bring our own music to a restaurant, you get what I’m saying, right?)

A chocolate truffle encased in a cherry and sitting at the bottom of a Manhattan. A palate cleanser of orange, corriander and basil soda water. A tiny ravioli, stuffed with a raw quail egg and swimming in browned butter. A plate called “Fruit Loops” with roe and papaya and passion fruit jelly and foam with a slightly salty flavor. Another bowl, “inspired by the Wendy’s baked potato bar” with potato soup in the center and caramelized bacon, scallion paint (seriously, scallions painted on the plate), lumps of cheese and cream sprinkled around the sides of the plate. A course made up entirely of salmon and grapefruit, two things that I don’t like at all, and yet, it was fantastic. The dessert was a deconstructed Dr. Pepper, with a pickled prune and Jameson sryup and somehow, all of it together tasted like the most amazing Dr. Pepper you have ever eaten. It was….nothing like I’ve ever done before and by far the most magical meal I’ve ever consumed.

On the way home we joked that if we ended up on the coroners table that night, our stomach contents would solve the mystery. We watch a lot of crime shows and often the medical examiner informs the detectives that the victim last ate “soup and a turkey sandwich” or “steak and green beans” and we couldn’t stop laughing at what our stomach contents would reveal. Truffles, celery root, butter, chocolate, caramel made with dates, a fritter, kimchi, a shot of beer, a bite of ice cream. It was truly fantastic.

Three years ago (on the 28th) B and I got engaged. We like going out at the end of February to celebrate, to skip the fuss of Valentines Day, to enjoy each other’s company. We did just that…and yet…we don’t know how on earth we can top it next year.

I suppose I should start calling for a reservation now.