Media Dinners

So the other night I went to a media dinner for the opening of two new restaurants. It was incredibly stressful. It was also extremely rewarding.

Media dinners are held by restaurants to quickly spread the word about an opening, advertise a new menu, introduce a new chef, etc. Back in the old days, this was a good way to get local journalists, writers and publicists all on the same page and to answer any questions at once. Nowadays, the lines between journalists, free lance writers and bloggers have blurred, and many mainstream media publications forbid their staff from accepting gifts. That prevents traditional reporters from attending these sorts of galas, where you are plied with all sorts of complimentary food and drink. Wait, so this is a party with free food and wine, what's to be stressed out about?

Mistake #1: severely underdressing. I've been to these types of functions before, but they were smaller and more low-key than this particular party. I'd just come from work, so it wasn't as if I was wearing jeans, but as I walked into the lounge I quickly realized that in a sea of black cocktail dresses, I stuck out like a sore thumb.

Mistake #2: arriving alone. Since I'd gotten the invitation last-minute, I didn't have a chance to grab someone else to accompany me. (Usually I show up with my editor.) Picture the discomfort of going to a bar by yourself. Now add the unease of being a lowly grad student at a prestigious conference. As I cast glances at the unfamiliar faces around me, I overheard snippets like "You were at Blackbird with Thomas? Who else was he with, Grant? But of course!" That would be eminent chefs Thomas Keller and Grant Achatz, by the way. Great, I not only look like a hot mess, I am surrounded by people (who know people who know people...) who are my heroes. I beelined to the champagne station.

After chugging a flute of champagne, I resolutely dove back into the crowd, looking for openings and people who seemed amenable to making new friends. At your average party, you ask things like where do you work, what do you study, and where are you from. Here, the default was to quiz people on the publications they write for. Invariably, I would mention that I work in economics research at the Fed, which resulted in a casual "Oh, that's interesting" before the conversation came to a dead end. Let's just say that my knowledge of asset-backed securities was of no help in this setting. Just as I was wondering if my inner hotelie had died and I'd completely lost the ability to make small talk, I struck up a conversation with a guy who works in film, and we started talking about Miyazaki and my recent trip to the Ghibli Museum. Everyone else began tuning out, but heck, I was thrilled to have made a friend, and one who watched anime to boot.

Mistake #3: chugging alcohol. Though this goes against my usual behavior at places with open bars, I strongly recommend not getting drunk, or even tipsy, at these affairs. After all, you need to remember these people's names, jobs, publications, etc for next time. And I am so bad at remember names and faces to begin with, I really don't need any extra handicaps.

The rest of the night went more smoothly as I met other area publicists, bloggers and minor Chicago food scene celebs. Some were quirky and eccentric, others were stand-offish, but the majority were friendly and interested in meeting people. Stories were swapped on who to call to kill your chickens (Mike Sula), and how David Chang (of Momofuku) decided to go get tacos at Big Star at 3 am while he was in town for a book signing last week. I debated the ethics of media dinners and journalistic integrity with other bloggers, and discussed asshole chefs and past scandals (like the ad Rick Bayless did for Burger King) with publicists. I met the chefs and management team for the host restaurant, and we were regaled by the manager's stories of working for his aunt as a youth. The aunt in question is none other than organic revolution figurehead, Alice Waters. My jaw dropped when I heard that.

I need a Twitter account. Also a black cocktail dress. And a better memory for names.