Julia Child and an Ode to Trout Meunière

A week ago I went to see Julie and Julia. It's a very entertaining movie. Before I went, I was told that Meryl Streep does a fantastic job in the role of Julia Child, and it's certainly true. Yes, everyone can do a Julia Child voice, but it takes real talent to actually convey a whole range of emotion without coming across as ridiculously goofy and over the top. This is not to say that Mrs. Streep doesn't sometime stretch Child's mannerisms to comedic lengths, but such moments come across as the result of a certain joie de vivre of playing the character, rather than as mere mockery. Stanley Tucci also comes out to wonderful effect playing Paul. The combination of Tucci and Streep really bring the movie to a new level. I was less happy with the Julie duo. Chris Messina and Amy Adams' roles are also played well, although their hum-drum 30 something lives with Sex-in-the-City-style voice-overs are clearly overshadowed by the other larger than life play. But such overshadowing is not entirely irredeemable: the dialogue between Julie and Eric occasionally provides a useful counterbalance to the Childs, and provide brief moments of rest as the plot develops.

The contrast between Julie and Julia is the main motif of the movie, and it leads a viewer to consider the similarities and differences between these two worlds, and to possibly make judgments between them. I should lay my cards on the table here: if there is a conflict between Julie Powell and Julia Child, I'll certainly side with Julia. Not only was she a chef of the very first rank, but she has had a remarkable influence over American cooking. I think it's safe to say that no chef in the middle part of the last century can claim to have the kind of influence over the world that Julia Child had when she came on the scene. Yes, there were arguably more famous chefs throughout the period: chefs who perhaps are more creative and who develop more complicated recipes: Alain Chapel comes to mind, as does Ferran Adrià, and Alain Ducasse. But what marked Julia as unique and especially compelling is that her cuisine was not meant to be appreciated by the few and the wealthy, but to be genuinely available to everyone who would take the time to learn how to properly cut carrots, and to pay attention to the sounds of the frying pan.

For me the disorienting thing about this film was the role of Julie Powell: the movie emphasizes the similarities between her life and Julia's. Both women were uncertain what to do with their time, and found solace and happiness through cooking. The movie makes a big deal about this connection, and there is an effort to coordinate the two story lines, and to show a real connection between the two women. But as I watched the movie, a more critical comparison was evident from the very beginning. The truth of the matter is that Julie and Julia were very different people, and it's entirely possible that, had they met, they would not get along at all. It's either a testimony to the writer's and director's care, or to their neglect that this alternate storyline manages to emerge so forcefully alongside the main narrative. Julia, after all, was a perfectionist who attended the best cooking school in the world, and then spent her time studying with the greatest chefs, collaborating on many cookbooks, and transforming American cooking. Julie merely cooked 524 recipes from a cookbook in the course of a year, and ended up writing a successful blog and book as a result. Amy Adams attempts to do a convincing version of Julie, and actually manages to develop a very believable character. But the further question of what the character of Julie adds to the narrative remains.

For better or worse, I don't think the movie ever really comes to terms with this question. You can see this result as either avoiding an obvious issue, or intentionally ending with an open question. The movie does play with the gimmick of the contrast between being Julia and being a blogger writing about Julia, but does little to explain why Julia was unhappy with Powell's blog. Yet, there are some obvious reasons one can think of for Julia's dissatisfaction: in the end Julia Child was an extremely good chef who had to work hard over the course of years to attain her success, and here was an amateur cook getting a lot of attention because she could merely simulate the outward appearance of these efforts by following a book of recipes. The movie essentially punts on this question by having Eric tell Julie that Julia's opinion doesn't matter.

But perhaps it does. One can argue that there is an even deeper distortion at play in the way the movie portrays Julie. Throughout the movie, Julia Child's recipes are portrayed as gourmet cooking challenges: difficult recipes that Julie Powell manages to conquer. But this haute cuisine portrayal distorts an essential aspect of Julia Child's approach to cooking: it's inherently practical. For a sense of this practical nature, consider what Julia Child writes in her introduction to The Way to Cook:

Even if you're working all day, why buy Chinese take-out food, or frozen dinners, or eat at a fast-food joint when you can make a fresh, informal home-cooked meal even in a minuscule kitchen — and you will know exactly what you are eating. Pour out a glass of wine, and while you're gossiping about the day and trimming the fish fillets, a big pot of water can be set to boil for skinning the tomatoes and blanching the green beans. Perhaps you'll get some help snapping the ends of those beans and preparing the salad greens, too. While the fish has its short sojourn in the oven, you're all but ready for dinner and everyone is refreshed and happy. Dessert can be cheese and fruit, or ice cream or sherbet from the freezer, and you've an easy, satisfying meal.

Provided that one reads this paragraph with adequate respect for Chinese cooking, this is exactly the right attitude to have to transform cooking into an enjoyable activity. The idea that Julia's recipes are some sort of esoteric challenge loses this fundamental philosophy. Unlike Ducasse, Trotter, or Keller, everything Julia did was eminently practical. If she gives a recipe for a complicated dish like the de-boned duck that Julie finishes her year with, it's a complicated recipe, but you can be assured that it's the simplest, most practical version of that recipe out there, with just enough flourish to make it tasty. I think this is something that Julia Child learned better than many of her successors: French cooking is at its heart not an esoteric, complicated sort of cuisine, but it's in fact the product of a few centuries of very practically-minded chefs making the most of what was available to them. One might even argue that the heart of French cooking is poor people's food: the reason French cooking produced such elaborate dishes with aspics and roasted innards, and dishes with blood as a key ingredient is that these were precisely the ingredients that poor people could afford. (Cf. Anthony Bourdain's episode of No Reservations on France "Why the French Don't Suck.") Hence, there is this continuum of French cooking that I think much of American cooking after the advance of fast-food has come to lack. (There are interesting exceptions, of course, like pockets of the Appalachia and the Bayou.) To me this sort of practical cooking is at the very heart of what is best about French cuisine. This is what Lulu Peyraud was all about, and I think this is what Julia Child is all about too.

Lest this e-mail sound too serious, I finish with an ode. Julia Child in many places talks about how perfect a trout or sole meunière is (Interestingly, in The Way to Cook they both fall under the same master recipe), and the movie makes a point of showing this realization in one of the very first scenes. Hence, after watching the movie I had to cook the classic dish following Julia's recipe. The experience, and the above reflections on practical cooking, leads me to write the following poem.

Ode to Trout Meunière.

If you are hungry, have no fear,
Look only to the noble trout meunière.
For the price of a burger or a Happy Meal,
It offers the prospect of a much bigger thrill,
One part flour, and many parts fish,
clarified butter is the only twist;
Add some parsley, pepper and salt,
And your dinner has instant clout.
And if your fish is extra fine,
Even a lemon is a waste of time;
Not the most complicated dish, I confess,
But many a king has been fed on less.

Venetian Night Dinner Party

Throughout the past few years I have tried to present the menus from my more important dinner parties. On the 25th of July I had one of my largest dinner parties, with 11 people making reservations, and 9 people attending. Since it was Venetian night in Chicago, all the courses were traditional recipes from families and restaurants in the Veneto, except that I wandered into neighboring Emiglia-Romagna for the secondi. The menu for the night was as follows.

Antipasti: while serving the antipasti we briefly watched the parade of boats from my windows.

• Olive fritte: Really one of the easiest dishes I've cooked. You take olives (some stuffed with garlic), and thoroughly dry them, cover them with egg and breadcrumbs, chill them for an hour and then pan fry them.
• Scampi in saor alla Veneziana served with Ferran Adrià's Inedit beverage in celebration for my friend Mark and Kim's recent wedding in Spain. This was one of the more elaborate dishes, and it took three days to prepare: shrimp are fried in olive oil, then onions are fried until golden, and pine nuts are toasted in an empty frying pan. Everything is combined with raisins, sugar, vinegar and wine, and chilled for 1-2 days.
• As an amuse-bouche I decided to have a spontaneous blind taste test between a very good 2 year old Parmigiano-Reggiano at $25 a pound and the $32 a pound Parmigiano-Reggiano delle Vacche Rosse, made from the traditional red cows of Northern Italy. The result: of the nine people 6 preferred the $25, and three of us preferred the Vacche Rosse product. Kudos to Rachel for not only accurately distinguishing the two cheeses, but for providing a perfect analytical description of both. I should have written it down, since a cheesemonger could not have done better.

Primi Piatti: 

• Gnocchi con burro nocciola. This is a dish I've served many times, and it is one of the only dishes that I don't make an effort to vary the recipe on each occasion I serve it: homemade gnocchi covered in butter and sage, served with lemon and fresh Parmigiano-Reggiano Cheese, why mess with perfection? I did, however, use the cheese of each individual's choice from the amuse-bouche.

Piatti Speciale: It is a special course, since usually Italian meals have two main courses, but I couldn't resist including another Venetian favorite.

• Risi e bisi. One of the most traditional dishes in Venice, somewhere between a pea soup and a pea risotto. I used two boxes of Campanini Vialone Nano rice, pureéd pea pods pressed through food mill, and pancetta and homemade vegetable broth. I think this was the best Risi e bisi I've made to date.

Secondi Piatti: Before the secondi we went to see the firework show, and returned to have the main course.

• Tracotto de maiale al latte. This was an experimental dish from Emiglio-Romagna. I've actually never braised a beef in milk before: most of the Italian dishes I know have wine bases instead. The dish was ridiculously simple: all you have is a pork shoulder, onions, milk and something to fry the ingredients in. I used my fish cooker for the meat. After the pork cooks for about three hours, you rapidly reduce the milk until you get a thick brown sauce. To keep up with the Parmigiano-Reggiano theme, I also grated cheese over the top.

Cotorni:

• Insalata di radicchio con acciughe. I like to bill this as the Venetian forerunner to the now ubiquitous Caesar salad. It is made from the bitter and nutty radicchio. The pièce de résistence were my homemade croutons, which were the best croutons I've ever made.

Dolci e Frutta: The desserts for the evening were both from the Veneto, but are dishes that are more typically served in fall or winter. Nevertheless, I thought they were nice treats on this night in July, since a passing rain storm added a certain coolness and crispness to the air.

• Pinza de polenta alla Veneziana: Venetian corn cakes with raisins, pine nuts, figs, grappa, and ricotta and vanilla, among other ingredients. It was coated in Amaretti di Saronno crumbs. And as an added treat, Vani brought an unopened bottle of grappa she purchased on a recent trip to Venice, which went perfect with the grappa-infused dessert.
• Ciliege cotte nel vino rosso: Washington cherries poached in a bottle of red wine with cloves, cinnamon, and lemon zest. I actually bought my first cherry stoner to make this.

7/22/07 Roman Dinner

And yet another post from my dinner parties. This was my second dinner featuring Rome, and was held in honor of the departure of my friends Brian and Judy for the Big Apple. We also had gone to see the movie Ratatouille the week before, so I prepared the zucchini in the style of the featured dish from that movie.

1. Insalata Verde e Pomodorini Canditi

2. Primi Piatti: Tonnarelli al Tè Verde con Gamberi e Pomodorini Canditi

(Based on a recipe from the Roman cook Paolo Londero at the Hotel Hassler)

3. Contorni: Zucchine in Padella con Aceto e Peperoncino

(Traditional Roman dish, served in the style of Rat-atouille)

4. Secondi Piatti: Agnello alla Cacciatora

(Based on a traditional recipe from the Roman restaurant Checchino dal 1887)

4. Dolci: Crema di Tè a Gelsomino

(OK, this is a simple French recipe from Alain Ducasse, but I think it will be a nice variation on the Tonnarelli dish)

The highlight of the meal was the pasta made with green tea, which made a sensational combination with the roasted tomatoes and shrimp. The zucchini dish was very similar to the Roman Zucchini dish I served a few weeks before, but I added more vinegar, stacked the zucchini like the ratatouille dish from the movie, and baked the columns in the oven. I also thought the Jasmine custards came out well: the tea added just enough flavor to liven up the desert.

7/7/2007 Roman Dinner

And another menu from my series of dinners. This one was in honor of my friend Fanny being in town. She has gone to Rome more than once, and said that this was the best Italian meal she had outside of Italy (Thanks Fanny). You'll probably also notice that by this point I do have a fondness for green salads.

1. Insalata Verde

2. Primi Piatti: Bruschetta con Pomodorini Canditi

(Using a combination of roasted tomatoes with sugar and regular cold tomatoes really makes Bruschetta shine)

3. Secondi Piatti: Fettuccine con Ragù alla Romana

(Recipe from Roman restaurant Fortunato al Pantheon)

4. Contorni: Zucchine in Padella con Aceto e Peperoncino

5. Dolci: I actually ran out of time so I just went to the local Bakery and Fox & Obel and bought us all chocolate tarts. In retrospect that is very Italian I suppose.

The hit of the event was the zucchini dish. The zucchini was just pan-fried in garlic-infused olive oil, then tossed with red peperoncino peppers, and then doused with balsamic vinegar. But the dish was definitely the highlight of the meal, and our plates were quickly cleared.

4/20/2007 Piedmont Dinner

Another dinner in my series of meals at chez Hannon. This dinner was a small celebration in order to bring a few friends together. I chose Piedmont since my friend Abby's family is from Piedmont. She really got into the spirit of things and brought two really good bottles of wine from the 90s (Thanks Abby). I think this was my biggest dinner party this year. I usually aim for four to six people, but this party grew to eight. I actually prepared the meal in less than three hours, which I still think is remarkable. And I only broke two dishes!

1. Insalata Verde

2. Primo Piatti: Risotto alla Millanese con Tartufo

(The traditional risotto dish. I've made it so many times now I forget where the recipe is from, but the addition of truffles is pure Piedmont.)

3. Secondi Piatti: Trotelle alla Savoia

4. Contorni: Fagiolo verde

(WIth a slight truffle flavor, after all, if you have them on hand you might as well put then in everything. )

5. Dolci: Pere Ubriache. (Drunken pears are so simple, but man they're good.)

It was fun cooking with truffles. I had never cooked with them before, and although I didn't get the prize Piedmont white truffle, the truffle I got was good. I was amused, however, that there actually was a possibility that I could have purchased a $500.00 Piedmont white truffle, since Fox & Obel had them in stock. I was very tempted, but in the end decided I did not want to put down half a grand for a few little tubers!

4/15/07 Venetian Dinner

As many of you know, one of my favorite pasttimes is cooking elaborate meals. I've decided that whenever I do a big dinner party, I'm going to post the meals to my blog. That way those of you who were there can review the wonders of the meal, and those of you who weren't there can figure out what you missed, and vow to come next time : )

1. Insalata Verde

[A Italian surprise appetizer]

2. Primo Piatti: Rice e bisi

3. Secondi Piatti: Spaghetti con Tonno, Olive, e Pomodori

(From the restaurant Fiaschetteria Toscana in Venice)

4. Contorni: Asparago

5. Dolci: Delizie con fiore di latte

The highlight of this dinner was the Italian surprise appetizer. What I did was make cannoli shells out of pure Parmigiano-Reggiano, and then filled them with minced salmon and Italian goat cheese, with a chive pressed through to add color and a little flavor to the cheese. The idea was that it was a meld of Italian land-flavors and the sea, in the shape of a very popular Venetian dish. My friends Brian and Judy are also quite fond of salmon, so it was quite appropriate. The delizie made with figs was somewhat less creative, but perhaps even more tasty. I bought a special, admittedly Norwegian, pan for it.

Economics of Voting with your Pocketbooks

Recently, the Economist published two articles that argued that recent trends in Fairtrade products, organic food, and locally-grown produce not only are not good for poor farmers, but also are detrimental to the environment ("Voting with your Trolley," and "Good Food" in the December 9th-15th 2006 print edition. Page numbers in the following blog entry refer to this issue unless otherwise noted.) The article was also discussed in Dan Mitchell's "What's Online" column on the New York Times website, December 16th, 2006. As a number of blogs have pointed out, some features of the argument were remarkably lacking in evidence, and there may be some reasons to doubt its truth (For the latter, see usfoodpolicy.blogspot.com).

But even though you can argue that it wasn't a particularly good argument in some respects, it did raise a number of important issues that seem worth addressing, and indeed, it may have been worth publishing for the quality of the discussions in the blogosphere alone.

Some of the arguments the Economist offers certainly seem worth thinking about. In particular, I found the arguments that seemed right out of Adam Smith were quite interesting, and certainly raise a number of important questions. It is not surprising that the Economist would adopt such a perspective, since, after all, the magazine is crucially linked to that eighteenth-century writer. A fundamental idea in Smith's work, and indeed of much of our current economic theory is that when prices go up unnaturally, they have a tendency to go down again. That is, if there is a lot of money to be made in the sale of a certain commodity, then more people will want to move stock into that market. But when more people move stock into a market, they have to be more competitive, which will cause the participants in that market to lower the price to it's "natural price" - to use some of Smith's jargon - or perhaps even below that value. I suppose there are at least two possible consequences to this action. In the first case, the price will fall, and more farmers will be poorer in just the way the Economist suggests. In the second case, even if the price were kept at a constant level, e.g. remain fixed, it seems that negative consequences could follow. Since in this case the price could not be lowered, there is nothing a seller could do to further encourage purchases. And given the limited shelf life of coffee before it's processed, it will have to be sold or the money invested in it will be counted as a loss. But since an investor will want to avoid this situation in the future, the consequence may be that they will produce a smaller crop the following year, hire less labor, or even fire some of those employees that they have. So the workers also would suffer.

It is a fairly solid argument, although it is predicated on the idea that the market has reached a saturation point. In order to determine whether this is true we need to have a clear conception of what the market in fact is. Fairtrade coffee works by adding a small premium to the current price of coffee when it is produced in a certain way. Thus it is certainly linked to the price of non-Fairtrade coffee. But you can argue that it is a mistake to subsume both into the same category. I find it interesting that most of the articles I've read on this subject, including the two in the Economist article seem to presume that Fairtrade coffee is the same product as non-Fairtrade coffee. In one sense, this is obviously true, since the only distinction is through the process by which the coffee is produced, and consequently there often is no discernable difference in the product itself (The Economist article makes a passing aside on page 74 to the decrease in quality of the coffee that is sold as Fairtrade, but offers no evidence for this, and I know from experience that this is not inevitably the case, as my local coffee shop demonstrates every day). As evidence for treating both coffees as the same product, the Economist article makes a passing reference to Tim Harford's book The Undercover Economist, and the Economist observes that the "basic problem" is that "too much coffee is being produced in the first place." (p.74) It strikes me, however, that part of the Fairtrade movement is predicated on convincing customers that there actually is a difference in the product. If people are not interested in 'purchasing coffee,' but 'purchasing Fairtrade coffee,' then there is not only an incentive for more people to put their stock into Fairtrade coffee, but also an incentive for current producers to take their stock out of non-Fairtrade coffee. Thus while the overall market comprised of Fairtrade and non-Fairtrade coffee may be reaching a saturation point, or perhaps even a super-saturation point, the Fairtrade coffee market can still offer tremendous possibilities for growth. Fairtrade is thus a tricky thing to model because it not only encourages an increase in supply of a certain product, but the advertising campaign aims to change the nature of the market in a fundamental way.

But regardless, there are a number of further objections to Fairtrade coffee. For one thing there is the issue of whether the movement should only focus on cooperatives and not the larger plantations that may even have more egregious hiring practices. (p.74) In fact, so far as this prevents the expansion of the market, it could reach the problem of a saturated market mentioned above. Further, there is the question whether the money is actually going to go to the poor farmers who are the intended beneficiaries of the Fairtrade movement. And indeed, it seems imperative that the public know precisely what the premium is that is going to the farmers, and how it is distributed once it reaches them.

These are all things that should be taken into account in evaluating the success of the Fairtrade movement. At present, it is worth noting that there is a lot of controversy over whether the Fairtrade organizations are succeeding in their mission, and the Economist article is only one of the more recent critical voices. One problem is that the actual financial data that would affirm or fail to validate the organization's claims does not seem to be freely available. As I say, we not only want to know what percentage of the premium is actually going to the producers, but also how this money is distributed once it gets there. The Internet seems an ideal place for this information to be distributed, although it is true that it might be a rather large undertaking. Yet, it seems that having this information available online might not only assuage doubts in an organization's effectiveness, but also open up the possibility for a whole new level of transparency within the markets it aims to improve. For ultimately this is the strongest weapon that we have against unethical companies, and nothing protects an unethical business more - be it farm or factory - than a lack of transparency.

In the meantime, I’m going to be spending a bit more time with Adam Smith this week.    

Of Dinner Parties and Dating

One of my favorite things to do is to host dinner parties. It's probably one of my favorite activities of all time - so much so that it is difficult for me to explain the extent of my enthusiasm for them. But to give you a clue, I often think that one of the best presents anyone could give me for a birthday or another gift-giving holiday would be the combination of an unlimited supply of groceries with forced manual labor in the kitchen. This is because I love to cook, and to spend a whole day in front of a stove preparing appetizers and entrées for people that I care about is complete bliss. Or another clue: when Babette Harsant wins a sizeable lottery in Babette's Feast (Babettes Gaestebud), and decides to spend all the money she won on a single extravagant meal, which she cooks almost entirely herself, I can't help but think, "Man, what a reasonable way to spend one's money!" Although I admit that if I won a $10,000,000.00 lottery, I wouldn't spend it all on food. But the only things that would stop me from dropping down the full check for groceries is my knowledge that (1) I don't find it enjoyable to cook for more than eight people without some assistance, and (2) a dinner party has to be the proper size, and although extravagance is permitted, it has to also be limited to the proper level for the occasion. I only do perfect dinner parties.

What is the proper level of extravagance? Well, it varies from party to party, but I'd guess that my average grocery bill would be about as much as it would cost to take the same amount of people out to eat at a nice restaurant instead, and some people can't understand why I go the hard route. "Why spend the whole day leaning over a stove when you could just go out to eat?" Well, the first response I have is that I love to cook, and until my fame enables me to walk into the kitchen of a restaurant and take over the operations of the place (I think Alain Ducasse has earned the right to do this), dinner parties have a distinct advantage for me. I suppose my love of cooking is rooted in my experience with my father, who was the chef at several restaurants, and so he spent most of his life cooking food. My mother did most of the cooking at the house, so I probably learned some inspiration from her as well. Further, I've worked on farms and handled fresh produce, I've been a dishwasher, a prep chef, a waiter, a caterer and even a sommelier at various restaurants, and so I've constantly had my love of cooking reinforced, especially as I learned new things at every job I worked at. I suppose my perfectionist tendencies also have had a role in my love of cooking. I am not a relentless perfectionist, but there is nothing I like more than tweaking a sauce to get just the right flavor to compliment the main dish, or to pick out the perfect wine to go with the appetizer, and so on. In short, I think of cooking as one of the fine arts, and don't consider it one step below painting, sculpture or music.

I also thrive on complexity when I cook, on the sorts of decisions that are usually left to the discretion of the kitchen in most restaurants. If I have a five person dinner party and someone can't digest gluten, another person is vegan, a third person doesn't eat pork, a forth person is allergic to peanuts, I think of it as so much more fun than a simple, "We'll eat anything you cook approach." Because under the former circumstances, I get to experiment and figure out things like the right proportion of corn meal, rice flour and baking powder to achieve the particular effect of wheat flour I require, or how to achieve the flavor of a rich beef stew with only mushrooms, seasoning, and wine. Anyway, for these reasons, it would be worth paying extra money to be able to cook the meal, so restaurants and dinner parties don't compare.

They also don't compare since the goals, and the teleology of both activities are so different. If you go to a restaurant, it may be that all the parties involved have the same goals in mind, but often they diverge. For instance, in a restaurant you might have the goal of lingering over the meal for the evening, but that isn't what your hosts are necessarily counting on. Their goal may well be to maximize the turnover of the tables, so the restaurant and the staff could make a decent profit that evening. Who wins this conflict? It's really up for grabs, and frequently your dinner will be down to two hours tops. But at my dinner parties, part of the goal is to keep people there having fun as long as possible. If the party starts at 7 PM, it should end around 1 or 2 in the morning. It is not unheard of for people to end up staying the night in my neighborhood in order to make it to the end of a dinner party. Of course, the goal isn't just to make the party last long, but to maximize it’s length in order to keep the conversation flowing, to keep everyone learning new things about food, music or their personalities, and to make the festival as memorable as possible.

Now, it takes a bit of skill to direct a dinner party to achieve these ends. You don't just have a pile of courses lined up in the other room and expect the party to work out. At each stage of the process the diners have different expectations, different goals, different ways to approach what they are doing. All these things have to be taken into account. Maybe it's worthwhile going through typical components one-by-one. Keep in mind that I don’t mean the following to be the way every dinner party should work out: it’s equally important to add variety and spice (as we shall see), but nonetheless, it is possible to discern a general framework that repeats itself often. This framework involves seven different components.

(1) Hors d'Oeuvres. When the party is beginning, it is inevitable that everyone arrives at a slightly different time. The quorum hasn't been assembled. Hence, I find my goal at the beginning of a meal is to provide sustenance for whoever is there, without depriving the people who aren't there of anything special. If there is wine, it shouldn't be the best of the selection. If there is food, it should not be filling enough to deprive people of their appetites, and it should also be of the nature to be consumed either over a long-period of time, or over a very short time, and there should be enough available so that late arrivals will still get a taste. Finally, since the chef is probably still cooking, the dishes should be self-sufficient requiring minimal specialty work to serve. It is convenient if it can all be prepared ahead of time.

(2) The appetizer. After everyone has sat down at the table, it’s time for me to make my first impression. And as the saying goes, you never have a second chance for a first impression. This is even more important for meals, since chances are that the first thing that is put down on the table will be the thing that people will remember most after the affair is over. Hence, it needs to be interesting, slightly surprising, and show a certain degree of cleverness that will make one’s guests feel curious about what will follow. I remember once having a dinner party in which one of my guests said that she absolutely did not like Brie, and wouldn't eat anything with it. Since she wasn't allergic to this particular cheese, I figured that it would be a worthwhile challenge to make her come to terms with Brie. Hence, I figured that her problems with the particular substance were its texture and tanginess. So I decided to produce Brie without these additions. I figured out that it was possible to whip up the Brie into a light mousse with some heavy cream, and thereby eliminate the features of the cheese she didn't like. Since whipped Brie needs a support, and preferably something with a slightly different texture, I served it on brittle crackers that I made from just sprinkling Parmesan cheese onto Silpat and baking it for ten minutes. The resulting dish had the lightness of mousse with the crustiness of hard crackers, and all without the tanginess and the strange texture Brie that is intermediate between cream and hard cheese. Of course she loved the dish and asked what it was. I was happy to announce that it was in fact Brie. For me, that was the perfect appetizer: it was light, challenging and interesting, and at the end of the evening it was one of the things that she, as well as other guests remembered most. All of this serves the purpose of the appetizer, to please the palate and to make everyone just want more.

(3) The pre-entree course. After the appetizer, it is customary to have some sort of pre-entrée course. Options include soup, salad, or a light entrée. The goal here is to take advantage of the increased expectation of what is to come next, and to provide something satisfying and slightly filling, while at the same time, not achieving the absolute creativity of the appetizer or the nearly absolute filling-ness of the main entree. Soup and salad are nice here, because they generally have reliable textures, and a certain straightforward appeal that contrasts nicely with the surprise and indirect manner of the appetizer. I have on occasion followed the Italian fashion and have served an entrée here, but one toned down slightly either in heartiness or size from the main course. Gnocchi is nice, as is a pasta dish, or a risotto. After the pre-entrée course, I like my audience to be slightly satisfied, and although not full, requiring a few moments to digest before the next meal comes. This gives me time to plate the main course. In short, the goal of the pre-entrée course is to keep people wanting more, while beginning to satisfy their long-term cravings.

(4) The main course. Unlike the earlier dishes, the main course should be filling and hearty. It should eliminate everyone's hunger, while still leaving just enough room for after courses and desert. Unlike the other dishes, it also should have several different components or textures so that diners can alternate between the pleasures of something crisp and something fluffy, or something difficult to cut and requiring minimal effort. At the end of the main course it is time to sit back and relax. It is here that group conversation flows the easiest. Conversations that began with small talk about the appetizers and food, that progressed to topics that were interesting during the pre-entree course, now should reach their fullness, before smaller groups at the table break off from the main conversation to talk amongst themselves. Wine should flow freely here (well, perhaps everywhere else too), and no one should feel rushed. Seconds should be available for those diners with more appetite, but there shouldn't be any felt obligation to eat more than you wish. In short, it’s important to give everyone what they want, and what is suitable for their particular bodies.

(5) The coaster. The little squares of pottery or cardboard that we put under our cups and glasses started out from far nobler stalk. The original coaster was a small silver dish that an object such as a wine decanter sat on. This item would "coast" around the edge of table like a coastal vessel might coast along the shore of a continent. The word "coast" also sounds relaxing, bringing to mind the thrill of coasting along a road on a bicycle and not having to peddle. I think that this is the right way to approach the immediate after-dinner item. This could be cheese and bread, or perhaps a salad, or some appetizer-like thing that guests can pick at. As the items make their rounds people have the chance to reflect on what they've eaten, and to begin to come together again as a group before the glory of the dessert. Perhaps a little more explanation is in order. During the main course people eat at their own rate, consuming the appropriate amount of food for their bodies and hunger. In the same way, conversations seem to break off into smaller groups as people pursue issues that have come up in the course of the night. You need to have some little something that can enable people to continue on their separate ways before the final pièce d'résistance lands on the table. Of course, it’s unnecessary to have food here: the last of the wine might be sufficient, as would a good bottle of sherry or brandy (the traditional coaster). Finally, at the end of the coaster, coffee and tea requests should be taken. In my house this is generally a rather elaborate affair since I serve everything from Turkish coffee and espresso, to over fifty different kinds of tea. Hence time has to be given in order that everyone can make the right decision. In short, the goal of the coaster is to keep things alive after the excitement of the meal has passed.

(6) Dessert. Now the group needs to come together before the pièce d'résistance: the dessert. The goal of a dessert is to be the icing on the cake, the one flavor that you want to be left lingering on everyone's pallets. Sweet and pleasing flavors are great, like chocolate, sweetened fruits, or creams and custards. This is the flavor that guests will have as they either go home or continue to talk and relax. I usually go for things that are impressive, overwhelming, and intoxicating. This could be everything from a five level Dacquoise to a simple box of chocolates. In short the goal of the dessert is to leave sweet flavors lingering in the mouth.

(7) Finally, there need to be provisions for everyone who wants to stay a couple more hours shooting the breeze. In one of my best dinner parties, this is the time everyone went out on the porch to drink sherry and enjoy the stars. Sometimes, a movie might come out here (or perhaps after the coaster), or some favorite pieces of music can be listened to with the sort of concentration that only comes from sitting with dark skies. Coffee and tea are convenient because when they run out, more can be made on demand. One of the great advantages of a successful dinner party is that you have a group of happy people to shoot the breeze with.

Of course, there are other things to keep in mind. I like to approach the whole evening with some sort of theme. For instance, one dinner party had a mushroom theme, and in almost every course there was just a little bit of mushroom prepared in a slightly different fashion. In the form of a tart for the appetizer, raw and dowsed with vinegar in the salad, and the gills of the portabellas were reduced in a liquid and strained to make the background pallet of the sauce for the homemade portabella and goat cheese ravioli. Although many of my guests may not have noticed it, the whole evening was an experiment in the various different ways a mushroom can be prepared. I think of these sorts of details as the things that really elevate a meal to an art form. Other nights I've used single spices to link the meal, such as curry or pepper, and on more than one occasion it has been garlic.

I suppose that one of the other neat features of a dinner is that it is ephemeral. It is enjoyed at the moment, but like the banners that Cristo flew in New York, they are only retained in people's memories.

Now, I should say that the inspiration for today's post came from two fronts: both from my interest in cooking, as well as my interest in dating. Here’s where the real fun starts. A few days ago I was spending some time trying to figure out what sort of restaurant to take my latest date. At first I did a few searches on the best restaurants in the area, but decided that it would have felt very awkward having a first date at some stuffy restaurant where you have to sit in a particular way and thereby increase the inherent awkwardness of the first meeting. So I needed to find a slightly more casual, relaxing sort of restaurant. I then began exploring restaurants in Chicago, and I admit I got carried away. Until this moment I suppose I never realized just how many terribly interesting restaurants I haven't been to in town. And the recipes and reviews of the restaurants were intoxicating. I finally narrowed it down to a few that I really wanted to try:

Le Lan - the new restaurant opened by Arun (One of my favorite chefs in Chicago whose Thai recipes are so good that not even Charlie Trotter messes with them when he uses them in his cookbooks) Anyway, this one of the restaurants I'm most curious about.

L'Etoile's emphasis on seasonal foods, prepared in a style that really brings out the inherent qualities of the ingredients.

Blackbird- one of the top 50 restaurants in the United States, but not quite as expensive or snooty as Trotter's or Everest.

North Pond - a really pretty little restaurant on the north side of Lincoln Park, which has the attraction of adding moonlit strolls to a satisfying meal. I have to say that if the reviews of the place are correct, the dinners there must be truly inspired, because the head chef combines things I would never consider combining! (e.g. venison can work well, but do you really need to add a chickory coffee reduction?)

At the end of the search I was ready to pick one of these places, and then I realized that in coming up with this list, I completely forgot about how important it is to pace a relationship, since just like dinners, it’s possible to take a relationship a little too fast or a little too slow. But it struck me that the analogy with a dinner went even further than this, and that I was about to make the mistake of replacing what should be an appetizer with a main course. Perhaps parallel to the seven stages of a dinner, there are the seven stages of a relationship? It seems to be a thought worth exploring. So let's give the analogy a try.

(1) The hors d'oeuvres. It occurs to me that the part analogous to the hors d'oeuvres are the initial moments of contact. These might be the telephone calls you need to have in order to set up the date, or perhaps a posted profile on an online dating site. It’s important to know that this is not dating in a proper sense, but rather the first few off moments that you and your date will share before meeting one another. Hence, these first conversations should be casual, and they have to fit comfortably into one another's schedules. You also don't want to reveal too much here, since you haven't even met the other person. She or he might be completely different than you imagine him or her to be, so it’s important not to be too invested in your ideal. But it's convenient if some aspects of the date can be prepared ahead of time.

(2) The appetizer. I think the analogue to the appetizer is the first few dates. Like the appetizer in a dinner this is your chance to make a first impression, and you (almost) never have a second chance to make a first impression. The whole goal is to make a lasting impression in the other person's mind, but to do it in the light-hearted, flirtatious manner. There also should be some surprise, but without too much commitment. Hence, unlike my initial inclination to go to one of the best restaurants in Chicago, I should have been aiming for something a little less: a particular restaurant that you like very much, and that you can depend upon for its food and atmosphere, and that maybe is a little quirky. I often go to first dates at the Fox & Obel in Chicago. The place consistently has very good food, but it’s presented in a rather causal light-hearted fashion. It's a café in a grocery store, after all: but the atmosphere is more like a restaurant. I suppose that in lieu of a first dinner, this might be the time to meet in a coffee or teashop. The goal is to play with those first few sentiments that each of you brings to the table. All of this serves the purpose of the appetizer stage of a relationship: to please the palate and to make everyone just want more.

(3) The pre-entrée course. Chances are that the first date or two was a little awkward. Ideally, you've gotten over that awkwardness and the two of you are off to wonderful things. Some physical contact would be nice here. I think that this is analogous to the substance component of a meal. Maybe I reveal my gender in saying this – I'm a man after all – but I hardly think that only one sex is interested in a little action here. The thing to keep in mind is that this isn’t all the substance of a relationship, or at least not all the substance of a good healthy relationship. Another aspect of the substance part of the atmosphere is meaningful interactions: you’ve got to go past the small talk. During the appetizer stage everything might have been confined to small talk about the restaurant, the location, how the two of you met, etc. But in order for a relationship to really work, the conversation has got to be more meaningful, and hopefully now that you're completely comfortable with the other person, this will be easy. Any question or issues that you think is significant or interesting in your own life can kick it up a notch. I suppose more important than what the questions are, are how they are approached. There’s got to be seriousness from time to time, the actual interchange of interesting and meaningful thought. All of this is substance. And what's more it’s at this stage, the substance stage, when the relationship seems to break free of the gimmicks that brought the couple together in the first place. No longer is it the fact that you're dating a lawyer, or a doctor, or that someone likes the Animaniacs, or that he’s just a gorgeous hunk. Now the relationship has to go beyond any particular features of you and yours. I once had a dinner party in which a guest was asked why he was dating the woman he happened to be dating, but who could not make the party. The expectation was that he'd rattle off her abilities, or features of her personality that he liked, or interests they share, all in some easy and digestible format. But he couldn't name any particular things, and was honestly tongue-tied. Many people thought that this was indicative of his lack of meaningful connection with this particular woman, but I took it to be a sign that they had reached a rather deep and meaningful stage in their relationship, and so it seemed to suggest to me the strength of their relationship rather than the weakness of it. For it was no longer the case that the meaningful parts of their relationship were determined by particular superficial features of their personalities, but it was something that transcended either of them in the strict sense of the term. This is substance. This is the first entrée. Part of the goal of the pre-entrée course is to keep people wanting more, while beginning to satisfy those long-term cravings.

(4) Main Course. So, there is already some substance, and with the main course this only grows. The couple has gone beyond the superficial he-can-do-this, she-can-do-that sort of mentality. Conversations have become deep, and perhaps the initial excitement of coming together has diffused into a background sense of contentment and belonging. But at this stage it occurs to me that the practical nature of the relationship begins to emerge even more forcibly. Chances are the couple is living together, or at least spending a lot of time at each other’s apartments. In addition to the romantic sides of their relationships, the practical nature of the relationship begins to come through. Love is now expressed in routine day-to-day activities ranging from the preparation of meals, to the cleaning of the toilet. Sure, there’s still interest and creativity, but these practical things have to be dealt with. Also, it's important for the couple to deliberately spend some time apart. Just like the conversation during the main course of a dinner begins to fragment but come back together, one's love relationship divides sometimes and comes together at others, but more on this in a moment. Things are more complicated during the main course, and the stakes are a little higher. A lot of people end up bailing at this point. Maybe they took things too fast and are satiated by the time the main course comes around. Or perhaps the flavors of the appetizer and first-entrée mix poorly? Perhaps there is another dinner party that looks like more fun? I suppose there are now restaurants that only serve appetizers, maybe some people think its better to stick with the small things. But even if the main course is a lot of work, it can keep two people afloat for years on end. In short, it is important to give everyone what they want at this stage, and what’s suitable for their particular bodies.

(5) Coaster. The first time I tried to write this post, I was thinking all big-picture, so I was looking for the coaster as an after-dinner sort of affair, and since dinner is the substance part of the relationship, the obvious place to look for the coaster were in those days after kids have left for college. That's a plausible way of pushing the metaphor. But, at the same time there are coaster moments even in the prime of one's life. That is, Bob Nozick notwithstanding, there has got to be some variety of intensity to a relationship. One can't be deeply obsessed with someone 24/7, and no matter how much two people are in love, they're going to eventually need some time apart. Often our society is structured in sort of a way that this is inevitable. Both members of the couple - or maybe in some circumstances only one - go off to a job during the day, and thereby spend some time with other people. Or, if two people are working at the same job, one has to go for a solo drive every now and then to unwind. Further, there are going to be times when other women and men begin to look interesting, or when one would rather spend a night out with the guys rather than an intimate evening with one's significant other. Successful relationships have to find ways of dealing with these moments. Perhaps it's being able to live a fantasy life through your significant other, or perhaps it's just letting the other person work things out. Don't get me wrong, when I say that a man will get interested in other women or vice versa, I'm not advocating infidelity or anything - although who knows maybe that is a real option for some couples. Personally, I find it difficult to even be attracted to someone who is seeing someone else, and I know enough about open relationships to know they aren't the ideal thing for me to be in. Anyway, blame my intuitions on my Catholic upbringing if you want. The point is that there will be times that a relationship will fragment, and each person will do his or her own thing, but it’s important to still preserve a sense of unity. In short, to adopt the metaphor, the goal of the coaster is to keep things alive even after the excitement of the meal has passed.

(6) Dessert. What is the dessert of a relationship? Well, to quote the English translation of Sex and Lucia (i.e. Lucía y el sexo), "It's full of advantages." Some of these are obvious - a decent sex life for instance - but some are not so obvious. I'll let you fill in what would be the dessert stages of a relationship. But I will add that there seem to be obvious corollaries to coasters. I mean, just as there are times that you drift apart, in a good relationship there will be times to come back together again. I remember fondly a moment when I saw someone I was dating across a lawn, and I thought to myself, "Damn, that gorgeous woman is dating me." Moments like this can keep a flame alive. In short the goal of the dessert is to leave sweet flavors lingering in the mouth.

(7) Shooting the breeze? And yes, there are moments of just shooting the breeze. I remember my parents having long conversations every night before they went to bed, which I could actually overhear through the thin bedroom wall. At the time I actually found it annoying, since despite the fact that they were whispering the conversation did keep me up. But in retrospect those conversations about a day's activities seemed an important part of their relationship, and I know that such pillow talk has always been an important part of just about any meaningful relationship I've been in. Maybe here the metaphor and the reality converge. One of the great advantages of a love relationship is that you do have someone to shoot the breeze with.

As I write this it also occurs to me that sex itself can take very different forms, and that for each of the courses of a dinner, or stages in a relationship, one might be able to find a correlative sort of sex. But, I've rattled on long enough now, so I'll leave it to you to figure out how to apply the analogy to your sex life, except to say that there definitely seems to be a difference between appetizer sex, and dinner sex, and if you can't make those sorts of distinctions then it occurs to me that you probably have a very unrealistic sex-life. But, hey, if it works, go with it.

Well, this has been an interesting little exercise in analogies. I suppose the last thing to say is that although I've described some analogies here, things almost never happen according to some exact plan, and it is far better that they don't. Sometimes I'll throw a dinner party that will be composed of a single course. Other times there may be far more than seven components to a meal. Sometimes dinners have to be rushed to make a movie, and so the sacue can't be made perfect. Similarly, some couples manage to start out in a deep and meaningful relationship from their first one-night stand, while other couples might not feel really comfortable with one another until late in life (Tevya's relationship in Fiddler on the Roof comes to mind here, "Do I love you . . .") Sometimes a couple's first role in the hay can be deep and meaningful, and sometimes the fact that it's not is the point. I suppose all of this is to justify my initial thought that when you choose a restaurant for a first date it should probably be an appetizer affair and not even a pre-entree affair. But what do I know, I'm still single. But I'm working on it. I have yet to find the catch of my days.

The Best Espresso in Chicago?

I think it is about time that someone compares the quality of the espresso at Chicago establishments, and since no one as of yet seems to have stepped up to the plate, I figured I might as well post my current evaluations. All my evaluations are based on tastings performed completely in secret.

But, before getting into these observations, I might as well make some preliminary remarks. By espresso I mean a drink that is perhaps the purest expression of coffee on the planet. Why? Well, it is a small cup of a highly concentrated liquid that has no sugar, cream, or syrup to disguise its flavor. Further, unlike the normal cup of joe, espresso is always served absolutely fresh, and preferably at precisely the moment when the coffee extraction process has finished. Furthermore, unlike Turkish or Greek coffee (which I enjoy tremendously), it is the product of a highly mechanical process that enables a skilled barista to achieve a high degree of consistency over time.

And making good coffee does require skill. Since it is so pure it is a very demanding medium. And there are a number of requirements that need to be met. First, let's dispense with the first faux pas of espresso service: espresso can never be served in a paper or plastic cup, and should only be tasted from a cup that can retain heat, and that is preferably warmed ahead of time. An espresso must be served hot, and it should be served absolutely immediately, since the flavor changes over the first 120 seconds after it is made, and a patron should be able to experience the subtle changes from an initial bitterness to a more mellow and full-bodied flavor. Second, you have to have decent crema. The crema, or foam, on the top surface of the coffee has to be thick (at least 1/8th of an inch) with very small bubbles, covering the entire surface of the cup (although there can be breaks in the center), and perhaps with small curving lines or dots of discoloration throughout, as a side effect of the extraction process. Thirdly, as with all cups of coffee, it's far better for a cup of espresso to be overly strong than it is for it to be weak. A weak or watery espresso is not a cup of espresso at all. Fourthly, the coffee has to be ground finer than regular coffee, and it should be roasted somewhat darker than regular coffee, although I personally often prefer a medium roast, such as the one made by Illy. Fifthly, it should receive a proper tamping: the barista should firmly press down on the coffee before inserting it into the machine (some machines do this automatically). This is important because, unlike with a regular filter cup of coffee, the espresso is being forced through the grounds at a high pressure, and thus the water will not be in contact with the coffee long enough if it is not properly tamped. Finally, and most importantly, the coffee itself must have real flavor. I tend to like an espresso that has a rich and full flavor, with heavy accents of chocolate, caramel and butter, but with the aroma of jasmine, nuts, tea or cocoa.

Oftentimes espresso is served with accompanying items. A coffee shop that really cares about espresso will be willing to serve it with a glass of water, and with the options of sugar, cream, or a thin strip of lemon peel.

Although espresso is a highly mechanical process, this doesn't mean that there's no room for mistakes. Here are a few common mistakes that one could make in the preparation of espresso:

• The coffee quality was poor.
• The coffee was not roasted properly.
• The length of time between roasting and serving was too long.
• The coffee was stored improperly, or allowed to age too much, or was too exposed to the air.
• The coffee grinder did not grind the coffee evenly.
• The coffee grinder did not grind the coffee to the right size.
• The ground coffee was exposed to moisture.
• The espresso machine was dirty, or not regularly cleaned.
• The machine is not delimed often enough.
• The coffee was not tamped properly.
• Too much or too little coffee was added to the machine.
• Too much or too little water was allowed to pass through the coffee.
• The machine was not at the right temperature or pressure.
• The espresso was not dispensed directly into a cup.
• The cup did not retain enough heat.
• It took the wait staff too long to bring the coffee out.

Many people only think of espresso as a "strong" form of coffee, and since they associate strength with caffeine quantity, they assume that they are getting more caffeine from a cup of espresso than a regular cup of coffee. While it is true that the caffeine is more concentrated in espresso, surprisingly enough, a cup of espresso often contains much less caffeine than a strong cup of tea or drip coffee.

Anyway, this pretty much describes what I look for a in a cup of espresso. In the course of my time in Chicago I have had the opportunity to taste many cups of espresso. The good news is that I have had some really great cups of espresso in Chicago, the bad news is I've also had some of the worse cups of espresso I have ever had from a regular espresso machine. In the course of time I've developed a rather subjective scale for ranking cups of espresso. I basically use a 1-100 scale, with 100 being the highest. I suppose, however, I can add a little content to my scores.

• 95-100: A perfect cup of espresso. It is precisely what it needs to be, and I wouldn't want to alter it at all.
• 90-95: a damn good cup of espresso, and it is only differentiated from the highest category in that something in it wasn't perfect. I admit that it is entirely possible that I'll rate a coffee in this category rather than in the highest category for purely circumstantial reasons, so any coffee that gets above a 90 should be seen as a work of art.
• 87-89: similar to a higher-ranking cup, except that it might be somewhat nonstandard. There might be a touch of an unusual flavor, or aroma that is nonetheless pleasant, or the crema might be a little unusual. Since variety is a good thing, oftentimes one might seek out a coffee in this category even in preference to some of the coffees in higher categories.
• 83-86: is a relatively standard cup of espresso. Nothing has necessarily been done wrong, but the flavor or the aroma is just not enticing or exciting.
• 80-83: something has probably gone wrong, but it is nonetheless drinkable.
• 70-80: something has definitely gone wrong, but the cup is nonetheless drinkable.
• 60-70: a rather lousy cup of espresso. Ask for some sugar and cream.
• 50-60: hardly worth drinking except for instrumental values (you need caffeine and there is no decent cup of joe, you are about to close a business deal, and don't want to suggest that it hasn't been a perfect evening). If you don't have an instrumental value, demand that the waitress makes you another cup, or deducts it from the bill.
• Below 50: leave now, don't even bother asking for a refund, it's not worth it!


I should add that just because a particular restaurant, café or coffee house has scored excellent or poor doesn't mean that the espresso in the establishment or café will always have that score. Maybe it was an off night, a new barista on the machine, they didn't realize the coffee was not stored properly, etc.

So here's the places ranked so far from best to worst (I'll update it periodically, and consequently adjust the scores):

1. Intelligentsia, Belmont Ave --92-95
2. Istria Café, 57th Street, Hyde Park --90-95
3. Julius Meinl, Southport Ave --89-91
4. Argo Tea, 16 W Randolph --91
5. Intelligentsia, Monadnock Building --89
6. Gourmand, Printer's Row --87-88
7. Third World Café, 53rd street, Hyde Park, --86
8. Artists Cafe -- 69
9. Brasserie Jo --63

Let me also add a few more qualitative notes on these establishments:

1. Intelligentsia, Belmont Avenue: the best tasting espresso I've had in Chicago came from this establishment, the flavor was rich, deep and consistent with strong nutty and chocolate tones. And although the coffee wasn't quite as good the second time I went there, it was still what it should be. It has been a pleasure drinking coffee here. The coffee I've had at the company's Monadnock location wasn't nearly as good.

2. Istria Café, 57th street: a new establishment. This may very well be the best cup of espresso in Chicago, it certainly is in league with the Intelligentsia on Belmont. The staff seems to take espresso very seriously, and will go out of their way to tell you about their machine, and the different steps it takes to make espresso. I'm quite happy that such a place has opened up in my neighborhood. The coffee has a nice rich flavor and it develops rather nicely over the course of the first two minutes. The only drawback so far is that it is a less than ideal environment in which to drink your espresso; the train tracks are directly overhead, the set up is like a cafeteria with very small tables and plastic chairs, and it is quite small. But this is a small price to pay for espresso, and the space is at least open, well lighted, and very orange - in this case a good thing, I think. Matches the orange motorscooter that is often parked outside.

3. Julius Meinl, Southport Ave. For a long time this has been my favorite place to get a standard cup of espresso. The coffee I have had there may not be quite as good as the Intelligentsia on Belmont, but the coffee is served with much greater reverence and respect. If one orders a cup of espresso, one gets to have the coffee served on a silver metallic tray, along with a biscuit, a chocolate, real cream, a sugar tube, and a glass of water with a spoon balanced on the top. In my opinion no one serves a single cup of espresso in a better fashion in Chicago. It is the anti-Starbucks. An added bonus is the violinists and keyboardists who come in weekend nights. Very civilized.

4. Argo Tea, Randolph --91: A recent discovery. I was quite surprised by the quality of their espresso when I first tasted it. I suppose it is due in part to the fact they serve Illy coffee, which is the best large-scale commercial producer of coffee suitable for espresso production production. But the coffee also was made very well.

5. Intelligentsia, Monadnock Building: See the Intelligentsia listing above. I was sort of disappointed by my cup of coffee here, it was good, and professionally prepared to be sure, but it also seemed to be lacking the rich flavor I found in the more northerly establishment. The room the coffee is served in, while very nice, has a heavy amount of traffic due to the many local offices that get coffee there, so, it is not the most relaxing place to drink an espresso. But it is a pleasure to be in the Monadnock Building, and perhaps I'll find the coffee is better the next few times I pass through.

6. Gourmand, Printers Row: The coffee here was good, but not very flavorful. It was weak in the nutty and chocolate flavors. A sort of eclectic little coffee shop, with a lot of space, it can be a good place to sit back with a book, and light up a cigarette. But if you don't smoke, you may find the air a little stale or unpleasant due to all the people who do.

7. Third World Café, 53rd Street: This coffee shop is relatively close to my house, so I've ended up coming here often. The espresso does seem to be usually prepared decently, fairly good crema. Nonetheless, the flavor of the espresso is not as rich as I would like. Free wireless on weekdays is a plus, although it is quite unfortunate that the coffee house closes at 7:30 rather than 10 PM like it used to. There are very few places to get good coffee on the Southside at that time of night, and it is sad to lose one. I should note that the drip coffee at this establishment is unusually good, provided that you get a medium or larger sized coffee in a ceramic mug.

8. Artists Cafe, Michigan Ave: I have a lot of sympathy for this establishment. There are few places in the loop where one can get espressos after 9 PM, and the outdoor seating in the summer is definitely a plus. Unfortunately, the espresso was weak and had that thin quality that one associates with bad cups of regular coffee. Maybe I went there too late at night.

9. Brasserie Jo: An off night? I don't know, but this is one of the worst espressos I have had in Chicago, it was weak, almost watered down, and the coffee had a flavor that was barely distinguishable from the bad cups of coffee that were served to others at the table. One almost never expects an American restaurant to serve espresso that is as good as a coffee shop's but this cup of coffee brings that level down to a whole new level, and so it seemed worthy of note.