Consciously allowing a bit of well earned hedonism after landing a full time internship while also working a part time weekend gig…

Why not direct this loosening of my pocketbook towards experiential pleasure instead of a new car? The ROI in both cases is not attractive, but at least I won’t have to pay monthly insurance for a fun night out.

Anyway, my dreams have come true. I officially work a 9-5 on Michigan Ave, and my desk overlooks Lake Michigan in the background and the saturation of art and culture of Grant Park and the Institute in the foreground. Part of my excitement for this new chapter, as you may have guessed, comes from the evening opportunities just steps away.

Two friends from Madison drove down Thursday night to celebrate a birthday and potential move. We began at The Purple Pig, a restaurant that I had always heard of, but assumed it to be such a Michigan Ave tourist trap that I never considered stepping inside.

We were packed like sardines into this tiny spot, with waiters and waitresses politely bumping into us as they hurry past to get orders from tables. The atmosphere, like a Spanish, tapas-style bar, is nonchalant in an upscale casual way.  Fittingly, we order a bottle of a Priorat blend, which is accompanied by olives.

To follow, an inventively delicious meal:

To finish, glasses of Sauternes and Passionfruit ice cream. At this point, we want to continue the evening, and the acclaimed bar The Avairy comes up.

We dash out of the restaurant and towards the West Loop.

Upon arrival, we check in with the host, who informs us of an hour and a half wait time. I give my name, which immediately comes up in the computer. I ask, “why is my name in the computer, I haven’t dined with you before”. Quickly, I remember that just a month before, I staged at the Alinea Group restaurant, Next. I mention this to the host, and he welcomes me back and asks casually asks why I didn’t take the job….

We leave the restaurant and head across the street, but before we reach the Hoxton, a text appears saying that there’s availability at the even more exclusive speakeasy bar just down the stairs from The Aviary, called The Office.

The space is a speakeasy-influenced cocktail bar with small plate offerings. Decidedly, we each begin with one of their classic cocktails. Sunflower seed-infused Manhattans put us in an impulsive state of delirium, which ends in an order of the “truffle explosion”. As we sip and get friendly with the bartenders, we try to guess if the man across the bar is Pete Buttigieg..

All in all, The Office is underwhelming if you don’t buy into the Alinea Group cult following.  Although the cocktails are impressive and well-executed, at $20 a pop I’d rather go somewhere with real Chicago character.

To quench the thirst for said character, we head north to Uptown.

Ahhhhhh… The Green Mill. Chicago’s O.G. speakeasy- frequented by Al Capone and other conspiring cats during the prohibition era- that still lights up Broadway all hours of the day.

Thursday nights are especially fun; a live swing big band electrifies the room, and people of all backgrounds grace the dance floor with a hop and a step.

The three of us finish with one more round of cocktails: 9$ sazeracs in this cash-only, dimly lit, kinda grungy establishment…

…a nice night-cap to the evening.

It’s the last night at 860 Hinman, Apt 711.

It’s more sweet than bitter, though.

The light fixture buzzes, the dirty ceiling fan swirls around as usual.

My palate, quelled from the sparkling rose enjoyed after a Sunday evening shift just downstairs at Campagnola restaurant, also lingers with the taste of lemon tart, both sour and sweetly divine.

One spider, solitarily dangling from its web, rests in the corner of my room. I gaze: a welcomed roommate.

This apartment has been home for the past three years. Within it, passion, lust, anxiety, depression, dance-marathons, and many nights typing away at a keyboard have been passed.

Dreams, awakened. Heart, broken.

Most of all, this space has been both the solitude that has allowed creative endeavors to be cultured, and the space that has poisoned me with the notion of “i-can-go-it-alone”.

The home to return to following solo jaunts around the world, always awaiting me with a familiar smell and comfort. The walls that absorb the sound of my singing, endless hours of rehearsing for an audience that doesn’t exist; not knowing what I’m singing for, but singing anyways..

Tomorrow marks the beginning of a new passage.

Although the feeling of stagnation looms, the cocoon that I will enshroud myself in for the next few months will produce a much clearer path. A nest needing to be built, first and foremost.

Fish don’t even know they’re in water, How do I?

I was in my mother’s coastal Maine cabin- decorated with fine art plucked from the B&B inn from my childhood- lounging on the sofa, slightly overheated from the influenza bug I caught during a food-based research trip to Seoul, Korea. Without much else to do but ride out the illness, I cracked open Best American Food Writing, 2018, and scanned the Forward…

Ruth Reichl begins with a beautifully succinct introduction outlining both the current state and future of food writing in America. First, she defends the discipline itself by elaborating the importance of the subject matter in society against pushback from academics. She finishes the introduction,

“I hope that no university will ever again sneer at a food-focused thesis.” -Ruth Reichl

My blood was boiling.

Just a few months earlier, I was sitting in the office of a tenured professor of Italian literature at Northwestern University, being yelled at for my positionality in regards to a proposed research project in Korea as a continuation of last summer’s research into the company Eataly as a global intermediary for Italian food culture and small producers.

-“..food studies is a shallow discipline through which to view a culture!” she implored. I sat back quietly and let her words wash over me. I was stunned. Firstly, that a professor would deny a student’s academic interest in subject material, and secondly, that one would classify gastronomy in society at large as “shallow”.

At that time, I proposed to continue my Eataly project in Korea. I had also recently applied for a Fulbright to attend the University of Gastronomic Sciences in Bra, Italy, where project had begun the previous summer. During that research, I learned that as a company with ties to the Slow Food Movement grew beyond it’s Italian roots, Eataly stood at the precipice of implications at the intersection of Italian nationalism and globalization, and Eataly’s global expansion led me to want to study the network in another cultural context. I chose Seoul as the next destination based on some interview data and connections that I had made during the summer.

Yet, I needed a tenured professor to be an advisor to secure $1500 of funding from the Undergraduate Research Office at Northwestern. I had a working project, interview subjects, but had no real advisor to bounce ideas off of. In addition to the project itself, I also needed the independent research class that would be bourne out of the project in order to graduate with an Italian minor (transfer student drawbacks). I thought this project would be a perfect fit for my academic path towards a career. I sought out this professor in the Italian department, but was disappointed by the lack of interest.

Her lack of support for the material and insults in relation to my positionality as an American seeking to study Italian food as a seemingly “low brow” and academically shallow pursuit left me angry and helpless, yet with more grit than ever to prove the validity of this discpline in academia and beyond.

This experience led to my not recieving funding for the Seoul segment of the project. Yet, my grit prevailed. Two weeks after the meeting with this professor, I won $2000 in a voice competition in Chicago. The next day, I bought my ticket to Seoul and confirmed my interview logistics.

I was going to Korea, and I had visions of a future filled with Fulbright winnings and success as a researcher, catalyst for small producers to enter into larger markets, and potential future business owner. I was a going to be a global researcher in the US, Asia, and Europe!! I had visions that my research and future successes would prove this professor wrong.

What I didn’t know during my influenza-sparked binge reading of Best American Food Writing, 2018 is that life doesn’t always play out as planned.

Four months later, events would shift. I was a semi-finalist for the Fulbright to attend the University of Gastronomic Sciences with a food-focused proposed project, but lost to a woman interested in providing access for immigrants in the food start-up scene. Although my project was validated through the US Fulbright committee, my ego faltered when I didn’t win.

I was disheartened given my path: I had recently dropped the Italian minor and didn’t have the opportunity to access more funding for the project as a soon-to-be graduate. Right before my final quarter at Northwestern, I decided to enroll in a graduate-level globalization seminar in the anthro department. I continued to engulf my self in the subject matter, but lost my steam as my life in the music school became more demanding…

Now, I sit in a La Colombe coffeeshop in Lincoln Park, Chicago, pondering the next steps in my career and life. My passions for the intersection of food, research and globalization sparks within me a desire to re-apply for the Fulbright. I want more than anything to have the opporutnity to attend the University of Gastronomic Sciences and become a member of the world of those with enough curiosity, passion, and grit to ignore the voices that say food studies is shallow.

Until then, this blog will become a mini market research platform where I will research various topics in food and society.

With the words of M.F.K Fischer, “First we eat, then we do everything else.”  

Cheers.