Thomas Keller's - "Galette" Hudson Valley Moulard Duck Foie Gras, Italian Pistachio "Financier," Compressed Red Sensation Pear and Garden Mache

Driving through the brittle cold, we wove our way from our small sandwich haven to the bowels of Chicago to a brilliant little high end market that was our key dispensary for mousse de foie gras and a couple of other little baubles that we might be needing for our evenings adventure.

Parking was not an option so as Kathryn made her way through the market I ran through the evening in my head. When we first embarked on this quest I had been in contact with the owner of Alinea about photos, flavors and what have you. In exchange for some much needed advice he asked if he could reserve to seats at one of our meals to give away in a raffle to an employee at their holiday party. I had forgotten about this until the day I showed up for my stage and was introduced to sous chef Andrew Graves. Quiet and incredibly professional, it was a few moments into my trailing of him that he let me know that he was the one who won the seats and he was really looking forward to seeing how we interpreted their food.

Over the 24 hours I spent working at Alinea in two days, I came to respect Andrew an enormous amount. As the shallow winter daylight slipped away, the reality of serving one of the Alinea chefs, who is responsible for the original dinners, created a tight knot around my midsection. Would there be enough salt, would the potatoes be hot enough, would we be able to serve our meal or would I seek his support and interaction? Clearing decisions by him, making him taste, poke, prod and not just relax and enjoy his evening?

The door burst open with a crisp bite of cold and the elegant aroma of the hot beverage Kathryn carried along with the sundry in a much smaller bag than I would have imagined. Still lost in thought I was mildly silent as the lake chased along our right side in varied tones of frigid blue. I was stuck in contemplation over the other guest for the evening whose opinion I was extremely interested in hearing.

Black Truffle Explosion Process

His name is Michael Nagrant, and he was asked by Grant Achatz to write one of the forward sections of his groundbreaking cookbook. The specific section he wrote was about the “Black Truffle Explosion,” one of the dishes we would be serving that night and one of the most unique and ingeniously simple pasta applications I had every encountered.

He was also in attendance at the meal served at Alinea just one month before, but instead of being in the kitchen, he was a guest – able to savor the same courses we would be serving. Unlike Mr. Graves, he wasn’t preparing he was eating and over the course of the series of recreations we served he would be the only person that ate both the initial meal and our interpretations.

As we fought for parking, a few miles north of the city, just inches away from Lake Shore Drive, my phone exploded in a cacophony of delayed messages. It had been trapped in the netherworld, designed by Apple and AT&T to remind us of how much we loved our beautiful telecommunication devices and how terribly useful they were. It seemed although our guests were not set to arrive for a few hours Mr. Nagrant had come by early to get dirty and participate in the exact portion of the Alinea meal that he had originally missed.

Arms full the elevator broke us into a pile of giggling and warm deliciousness. Something sweet was toasting into a caramel and its burnt candied notes were fighting with baking of yeast and simmering vegetables to see which would assail our senses first and most thoroughly.

Without many moments for pleasantries, I stumbled into the kitchen, with a warm hello from everyone and the handful of premature guests who were happily working their way through the mis en place for the night. Michael was grinning wide with a camera in hand and keen eye for capturing the ridiculousness that was evolving.

Daniel, was also full of gregariousness while he walked me around the kitchen and letting me know where we were in our preparations and list of issues we would have to creatively solve before service. Our $200 dollar Sauterne had found its way into our shellfish fumé, ruining both, our refrigerator (laundry room) had now taken to directly reflecting the outside temperature and was hovering around -10C, turning it into a freezer and crystallizing a few of the more delicate gels that would have to be replaced and worrying us all that a second flood was imminent from a frozen pipe, and someone had dropped caramel ice cream all over the floor in what was a tragic yet magically entertaining explosion.

Nothing was too dire and as it seemed Daniel had managed to create interesting and appropriate solutions to all of the problems at hand. I set forth into a flurry of movement preparing the front of house and getting the platting and staging areas ready for the never-ending pile of food that would be served over the next four hours.

Then without real drama or tragedy we served twenty-five courses of some of the most technically difficult food in the world. With a warm group of extremely interested guests, after each course the room was alive with help. Plating, preparing and story telling were danced around and embraced. The hours poured past and the wine was drained from every bottle we had access to, with a slight turn to the syrupy and charred bourbon that was replacing the delicate fruit of the sauterne.

Not being a man of subtle stature after a long evening of cookery and drinking, I confronted our two distinguished guests in their drunken and sated state. Mr. Graves had entered a state of relaxed conversation but was beyond reserved with his words and was quickly overpowered by Mr. Nagrant’s firm opinions and statements. With a stereo just feet behind me struggling to accomplish the herculean task of providing dance party beat from speakers measured in millimeters, he cleared his throat and made sure I knew that he was impressed. In his opinion, if we had been able to recreate 20% of the flavors, textures and concepts behind the dishes then we would have at least have provided an equal level of value, but he was very proud to announce that our meal had been executed to 80% of the original. With a few misses that he described as diametric interpretations of the ingredients or preparations, which were good but nothing like the original.

Savory to Sweet Course - Raspberry and Rose I Bacon, Apple and Thyme

He then walked me through the event from the tableside at Alinea, describing the majesty and pomp that created the elegant air of perfection at the meal, juxtaposing that to the open kitchen and participatory nature of our meal. With a struggle in his voice he informed me that he could not figure out which experience he enjoyed more. It was with this amazing compliment that I let Paper Planes over take me and dance along with the rest of the crowd, rejoicing in their accomplishment of either serving or eating that night’s meal.

Our team with the chef's at Alinea

Prep-list for from Saturday January, 2009 - Photo: Michael Nagrant

Saturday morning started for me in a mid-priced hotel about a mile from the location of our dinner. It has been said that the best coffee shop in Chicago was right around the corner from us – this I cannot confirm or deny. Having entered bed well after 3:00am I was slow to rise when my alarm started making robot noises at 9:00am. It was when I reached over to quiet the singing machine that I noticed that I had missed a handful of calls and text messages from Daniel who stayed in our host’s condo with some of the rest of our team the night before. It was clear from the series of messages that he was trying to explain to me that there was a flood of biblical proportions at the apartment and I needed to come quickly.

After volley of retaliatory missed calls and text messages, I collected myself and prepared for a day during which I would be cooking in what I could only imagine was waist-deep water. Collecting a couple gallons of coffee from the aforementioned purveyor we dove head first into what could have only been a nightmare.

Upon breaking into the confines of our temporary home, I was relieved to see that there was no standing water and the only real causality for the evening was everyone’s sleep and a rug of Crate and Barrel origin. Since I had not been there I leave it to Mayur Subbarao to recount the evenings happenings to you:

Now it was late. Twenty-four courses of culinary madness served and cleared, no thanks to my own rather comical blunders: Cacao spheres in trays that had miraculously managed to invert 90 degrees onto their sides; a freezer-bowl full of cuit sous vide caramel ice cream base that had shot itself out of the freezer door all over me, my fellow dessert cooks, and the floor.

Now it was quiet; most of the cooks, including our fearless leaders Michael and Daniel, had left, and I was tidying up a few things in a kitchen that was dead silent, except for the sloshing and gurgling of a washing machine full of aprons, napkins, and caramel-soaked rags.

Hm, not so much of a sloshing and gurgling any more. More of a splashing and rushing…

I turned around to see what looked like a wave of water issuing forth from the utility room. I think I must have screamed like a six-year-old girl, because Daniel and Akiko rushed into the kitchen in mere seconds, by which point I was already ankle-deep in water. I waded to the utility room in a frenzy, only to realize that there was an office between it and the kitchen. Computers! Arrgh! was the only thing running through my head as I grabbed everything that looked vaguely electronic and piled it on the desk. Daniel and Akiko were right behind me, moving away vulnerable objects and throwing down anything absorbent… most of which was currently in spin cycle in the washing machine that had caused this mess to begin with.

Having removed everything we could (it was too late for the poor rug, RIP), we went into the utility room only to realize that the pipe leading directly into the washing machine had come loose and was now shooting water all over the place. By the time I fixed it, I looked like I’d been thrown into a swimming pool fully-dressed, and the 30-degree temperature inside the utility room was certainly not agreeing with me. Meanwhile, however, the crisis had decidedly separated the professionals from the amateurs; Daniel and Akiko were calmly mopping up the flood and cleaning the kitchen (again).

“For heaven’s sake, this happens all the time at work,” said Akiko. “You don’t want to know what gets spilled on the floor in a given day. Just go to sleep and we’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

We turned in rather calmly, and it occurred to me that somehow, flying to Chicago to execute a 24-course dinner out of an apartment kitchen with a minimal staff of volunteers which involved chilling wine on a garage roof and setting up sous vide baths in a bathroom sink…

…had given me a sense of proportion.

The hot coffee sparked the minds of those who had to battle the deluge all night and we got to work in quick fashion. Hours slipped by, and sometime just after noon I excused myself to do a little grocery shopping and to meet, for the first time, my lovely lady friend’s father.

We were doing great on time having done most of the preparation the night before and I left Daniel, Brian, Akiko and Mayur to polishing off the last few things while Kathryn and I hit up the Treasure Island and made our way to a restaurant that only served small sandwiches for our rendezvous with her Dad.

I know the idea of scheduling such an important meeting on a day already filled to the brim with nervous tension, possible calamity and exhaustion seems reckless but life does not always allow you to choose the field for your greatest battles. I wasn’t too concerned because I had some inside information that let me know that we both liked Ayn Rand, specifically Atlas Shrugged, for what I could only assume was her pride in accomplishment, enduring work ethic and rape fantasy.

Needless to say the tiny sandwiches were small, talk was delightful and uplifting and as we broke from the small building and into the brutal cold I was alive with excitement. That night we would be serving diner to two of the only people in the world who could actually give us an honest comparison to the meal that we were trying to recreate and I was giddy in anticipation.

Daniel Castaño in an exceptionally cold car

I departed Chicago a changed man, alive with new ideas, concepts and a much better grasp of what would be necessary to accomplish our next series of dinners in a fashion that would befitting the original hosts.

Our recreation dinners in Chicago would be our first attempts at performing such a high level of haute cuisine away from our home kitchen and became the template for what you could imagine as a monumental logistical nightmare. The meal itself was long and the ingredients fragile, with many preparations that would have to be accomplished in Chicago without the help of a proper work space. We would have to not only bring some of the more intricate prepared foods but we would need to bring a vast amount of specific equipment as well as finding some of the immovable devices locally with friendly or sympathetic owners.

We decided to split the meals into a Friday and Saturday seating of roughly half the number of guests we had served in New York. A more reasonable goal with all of the new challenges we had to overcome to serve twenty-five of the most technically difficult dishes in the world.

Silpat with pear chips - Sally Ryan

Our flights were booked for Thursday the 21st of January, 2009,  so early in the morning it would be offensive to most people who don’t work as long shore men. We travelled light on clothes, as every carry on and checked bag was filled to the teeth with food and equipment (a truncated list of some of the items: sous vide rib cap, dehydrator, silpats, micro-planes, yuba, low and high acyl gellan, veal demi-glace, apple fruit leather, sodium hexametaphosphate, truffle stock, truffle soup -a quart of which was lost in the packing process in New York. That quart of soup cost $125.00 hence why I wasn’t told about it until arrival in Chicago and needed to make our shopping list).

Dehydrator with red curry raisins

It seemed from the get go that security guards at the airport were going to love us, but it wasn’t until they got to our immersion circulator that the love was really felt. Being wildly expensive we obtained a pelican case for what is one of the most essential pieces of cooking equipment we owned. This steel reinforced case only reinforced the idea that even after x-raying it twice, the TSA needed to poke in and around this case, while I reiterated my explanation of its purpose with the kind of deft tact and skill that can only come with being awake and at an airport before the sun rises. Needless to say it was discovered not to be dangerous and we were on our way.

Brian Sullivan, checking courses 1-4 before service Photo: Sally Ryan

Upon arriving in Chicago, on Thursday 21 January,  2009, we were a flurry of action, transforming our lovely host’s beautiful condo into a functioning kitchen and dining room. We were again blessed with a painful cold snap, which we used to our benefit by turning what was supposed to be a washer and dryer room into a walk-in freezer by opening the windows. Seems silly but this open and flat cold space was the key to being able to make this apartment a functional space to serve the meal.

After many trips to the supermarket, wine store, fish monger, butcher, cheese monger, Treasure Island and Alinea for vacuum packing, we had gotten ourselves in a good place and were ready to receive our guests for the evening. In a stroke of luck two of our guests for the evening happened to be amazing photographers and provided us some amazing shots of our prep, the dinner and the plating of the courses.

Thomas Keller's - "Calotte De Boeuf Grillee" - Grant Achatz's - Lamb, Fennel, Pernod, Coffee-Scented Air - Photo: Adam Keats

I will save my words for evaluating our success or failures for Friday and leave it to Kyle Ryan from the Onion to give you his opinion. For what he missed from his drunken notes in terms of accuracy he makes up for in delicious creativity and having a wife who is a brilliant photographer. As it was we finished the night with a strong sense of accomplishment behind us and a great desire to attack Saturday’s event with fervor. We would be serving not only a sous chef from Alinea who cooked at all of the dinners we were recreating but one of the co-authors of the Alinea cookbook, local food writer and attendee of the original Alinea meal. The pressure was on but sleep came easy for me at least before what would become an amazingly ridiculous day.

Grant Achatz's - Spice Cake, Rum, Persimmon, Carrot - Photo: Sally Ryan