Glasses

The last time I had my eyes checked was sophomore year...of high school. So, now that I have vision insurance, I figured it was time to replace my old glasses. Over the years, these babies have been scratched, dropped, sat on, and thrown off bikes. If I tilt my head down, they tend to fall off. When I handed them to the optometrist, he set them down and summarily said, "Yeah, these have had it." I promised him I would come back more often than every 9 years.

In the last 9 years, they have also improved eye examination technology quite a bit. Rather than dilating my eyes (which is always a huge annoyance and painful), they used an Optos retinal scan to photograph and image the back of my eyeball. Apparently, I have "gorgeous" retinas and optic nerves. They also had a video-game-like exercise to document your blind spots, where fuzzy blocks would flash in various parts of your field of vision, and you had to push the button if you could see it. I missed a few patches at the beginning, but once I figured out what was going on, I caught every block thereafter.

I didn't spend that much time choosing new frames, but when I happened upon these, the receptionist called them "funky." I decided that this was a positive thing. Also, I have a slight nickel allergy, which means I was limited to the few pairs of titanium or stainless steel frames available. Anyway, here's the "funkier," edgier new me:

EconomyCat is Sad

The next FOMC meeting is on the 27th, which means that here at the Chicago Fed we are busy as beavers, preparing our forecasts for the new year. At a department meeting this afternoon, there was abysmal news from nearly every sector and the mood was downright depressing. Financial markets? A few spreads are down from historic highs, which means credit conditions have gone from "outrageously bad" to "really bad." Labor? Last month's unemployment figures were uglier than Anna Nicole Smith. Manufacturing? Like Steve Jobs' weight, steel production is 41% of what it was a year ago. On the bright side, at least we don't have the inflationary pressures that we had a year ago, but this will change quite soon when the printing presses are running full-speed.

Toward the end of the meeting, we began brainstorming ideas for what to do when the economy is going to hell in a hand basket. As you might expect, there are no easy policy prescriptions, particularly when the federal funds target rate is already at/near zero. Should we continue introducing programs to buy troubled assets? This will at least keep the Acronym-Generating sector fully productive. What if we move into the business of buying longer-term debt? How can we justify buying some assets and not others, implicitly making value judgments on certain goods? Will the Fed be able to eventually disentangle itself when it needs to exit these markets?

At least the current situation makes for plenty of dark humor, as evidenced by the following comments:

"The unemployment numbers are in...the good news is, everyone in this room is still employed!"

(Looking at the S&P 500) "This is where I'd retire at 60, this is where I'd retire at 70, and this is where I'm never retiring."
Me: "Oh yeah? Well, this is where I pay for your social security."

"All the business guys want to know which sector is going to grow this year."
"Don't worry, academic publishing will save us all."

Let us all cross our fingers that Obama (and his $825B stimulus package) will prevent a crippling depression.

Finally, I particularly enjoyed these captions (courtesy of Dealbreaker) from yesterday's US Air plane crash in the Hudson. (Too soon? I've decided that since no one died, the answer is no.)

Letters to a Young Chef

Eminent chef and restauranteur Daniel Boulud's Letters to a Young Chef became an instant classic upon publication in 2003, a compilation of letters dedicated to one of his many protegés. Chief among the most popular anecdotes is a discussion of how he judges a cook's talent by analyzing how he makes an omelet. Does he beat the eggs with a fork so that the eggs are aerated but not foamy? Does he add diced butter to the egg mixture which will melt when it hits the pan? Does he use a black steel pan and not wash it, but scour it with a handful of salt? And we haven't even gotten to the actual cooking yet. No wonder my omelets never turn out perfect!

The book goes on to discuss various facets of being a professional chef, from befriending your suppliers to traveling (or moving to a large city) to learn cuisines around the world. He confirms that the profit margin on food at high-end restaurants is minimal, however wine and dessert sales make up for those loss leaders. Smart investments in the wine cellar will appreciate over the years, and the margins on those bottles will allow you to offer cheaper wine as well. If you are at all interested in cooking, this is a fun and lightweight read (150 pages).

This isn't directly related to running restaurants, but I was struck by the following tangent on the influence of cultural standards on resource allocation:

The French took dining, a part of daily life, raised it to an art, embedded it in high culture and thereby attracted the economic resources to develop a more refined and expert interpretation of food than anywhere else in the world. In much the same way, French haute couture took another part of daily life and similarly developed it. A dress embroidered with pearls and trimmed with fur is, in some sense, not unlike a saddle of veal studded with truffles, stuffed with chestnuts and glazed with port. It is expensive. It is refined. But it would never happen were it not for a public that appreciated and would pay for it. Cultures make choices for their definitive statements. The Italians lavished everything on developing their opera and the Russians their ballet. The French chose haute cuisine and haute couture. Today these two hautes have globalized, yet kept their French sensibility.

An interesting question: what definitive statements has American culture made? Where have we focused our energy and funding? It's too easy to simply lambast American culture as being gross and unrefined, to lament our national exports as fast food and Walmart. Is it our film industry? Football? Programming languages (almost all have originated in the US)?

Sixteen at Trump Tower

I was lucky enough to score an evaluation of Sixteen, the new restaurant at Chicago's Trump International Hotel & Tower. This officially marks the most expensive meal of my life, though ultimately I wasn't paying for it (phew). Sixteen opened fairly recently last spring, to much hoopla and fanfare as is appropriate for a Trump property. Now, does it live up to the hype? Some thoughts on the experience:

The service is phenomenal

As soon as I stepped foot on the sidewalk outside Trump Tower, it was as though I'd entered the Pampered Princess Zone. Doors were opened for me. Revolving doors were revolved for me. I didn't have to lift a finger to push the elevator button. Heck, they even wiped my ass for me. Okay, they didn't, but they did pretty much put on my coat for me. Service flow during dinner was extraordinarily smooth, probably better than any other restaurant I've ever seen before. Plates were silently whisked away as soon as I set down my fork, and my glass was never more than halfway empty. Plus, our server was super cute and knew the menu inside and out. I peppered her with questions about the barramundi (a type of fish), while Jen asked her to describe a couple wines from the hefty list, and she handily provided detailed descriptions.

The gay bartender is adorable

I arranged to come before Jen, so that I would have an excuse to scope out the bar before dinner. The bar was fairly quiet, with only 3 other guests around, but no matter, the bartender was there to keep up the patter of conversation and provide festive beverages. Like everyone else I encountered, he was all smiles. He also asked me for an id, which is unusual at high-end places in my experience, so good for him! Also, the bar snacks provided included mixed nuts, olives, and cured garlic. That's right, I was noshing on whole cloves of garlic, and it was delicious. (Much more pleasant than the time Scott dared me to eat whole cloves of raw garlic) With that precursor, I had great expectations for dinner, but...

The food is meh

After our meal, I felt incredibly full even though I hadn't actually eaten that much because everything was so rich, and not necessarily in a good way. Chef Brunacci's menu features contemporary American takes on standard dishes (duck, rack of lamb, scallop, steak), and certainly focused on meat as the center of the plate. There were no vegetarian-friendly options for entrees, not even a pasta dish, and I don't think any of the appetizers were vegetarian either. I ended up trying the foie gras (parsley sauce, crab salad and puff pastry) for an appetizer, the duck (polenta cake, date & orange chutney, and black cardamom) for my entree, and the Nougat Deconstructed (honey ice cream, pistachio crisp, sheet wafer) for dessert. Each item was good, but not outstanding, and I found myself hankering for other flavors besides decadent meaty & creamy goodness. For instance, I would have rather had less duck in exchange for additional polenta and chutney. We were also given an oxtail-mushroom soup amuse-bouche, a caramel creme tart for a pre-dessert course, and a tray of caramels, macaroons and petit fours for a post-dessert course. This results in an awful lot of dessert, and by the end, I was too full to appreciate any of it. I would have much preferred a lighter intermezzo course; even the typical tart sorbet would have provided some much-needed contrast.

Don't get me wrong, the food is very good, it simply didn't wow me. I would venture to say the duck I had at Taughannock Farms Inn was better. And I say all this knowing that many people have worked very hard at putting together this restaurant, and think it's the bestest restaurant in the city, and here I go lambasting the food in one swoop as just being "okay." Considering my most recent restaurant excursions (Ethiopian, fish tacos, pork & beer hall), perhaps this simply isn't diverse enough to be my style of restaurant. Or, perhaps I'm becoming jaded.

Trump is in da hizzouse

Hot damn, is that a 19,000-crystal Swarovski chandelier hanging from the 30' ceiling? Can we say this place packs some bling? Much like its namesake, Trump Tower has a flair for the dramatic, though it is always with understated elegance. From the chocolate bark embossed with the Trump logo in our dessert, to the jaw-dropping view of the Chicago skyline, the atmosphere was designed to be bold and ostentatious, though never tacky. The foyer features an impressive look at the wine cellar, with hundreds of bottles neatly stacked behind the glass. I might also add that the chairs come with armrests and are incredibly comfortable. And, in case you are interested in living so luxuriously on a permanent basis, business cards and pamphlets to buy a condominium in Trump Tower are tucked into the credit card folios.

Conclusion: Sixteen is overpriced like an airplane seat-pocket catalogue

I wanted to love this restaurant, I really did. But I hear there's a recession in town, and that does not bode well for Sixteen in its current form. Chicago is a big town with lots of upscale restaurants, and with $14 cocktails, $25 appetizers, $45 entrees and $15 desserts, I can easily think of other places where I can get better food for that money. Does the view and the service compensate for the just-good food? I'm thinking no. Moreover, hotel restaurants always fight an uphill battle to attract non-hotel guests. Does Sixteen have enough to differentiate itself from the city's coterie of independent restaurants? I'm not sure that it does. At any rate, fear not, Sixteen will be around for at least as long as Trump Tower is operating...

Something Borrowed, Something Red

Well, I can now officially cross off "bridesmaid" on my list of things to do. Emily asked me to be part of her bridal party, and according to Matt's mom, short of pregancy, I can't say no, so...

To be honest, I haven't seen Emily in years. She doesn't even go by the same name any more! (That's right, not one, but two of my friends independently changed their names to "Mia" after high school graduation.) However, we were very good friends in middle school. And um, I love doing things for the Story, and this will certainly be an interesting one. Besides, I can visit my grandmother and cousins while I'm in Louisville.

By the way, she's chosen a bright red strapless number for the bridesmaids dresses. Apparently, I have to pick up the dress in Chicago and get it tailored to fit me. Then, I need to buy matching shoes. There's something about a hair appointment as well. And since the wedding is mid-August, I will probably need to do something about tan lines. This is so not my usual style. Omghelp.

Something Old, Something New

It's 2009 and I don't know where I'm going or who I am. Funny how an arbitrary social construction has such power to trigger quarter-life crises. And for a number of reasons, coming back to Chicago was kind of a letdown. I realize that vacations are obviously more fun than normality, but being at home and hanging out with old friends really brought out thoughts and emotions that had gone latent in the last year. This is probably a little true for everyone, but I feel like a chameleon, as though the people I am surrounded by bring out different things in me, for better or worse.

Identity crisis aside, Dan was in town to visit, so I was able to continue wading in nostalgia for a few days. Who else is going to discuss the Sokal affair and empirical moral psychology with me? Just like old times, he arrived with at least half a dozen books, khakis, and a Windows-free computer. Plus, he was game for doing some biking around town, the first of my out-of-town visitors to take the challenge, and in winter no less.

Among other places, we ended up at San Soo Gap San (a kick-ass Korean restaurant, albeit with charmingly terrible service), Ethiopian Diamond (silverware is for wimps), and Meigs Field. The latter is not generally high on the list of Chicago sights to see, but if you are familiar with the game Microsoft Flight Simulator, Meigs Field is the default take-off location. Unfortunately, the airport is no longer in existence because in 2003, under the cover of darkness, Mayor Daley illegally ordered construction crews to gouge gashes in the runway to forcibly close the airport. Ostensibly, "homeland security" was the reason given for its closure. As a result, 16 planes were left stranded without a runway, and one flight had to be diverted. Ah, Chicago politics... Today, there is one control tower left, but the rest of the island is desolate parkland. One building remains as a "Visitor's Center," which was closed even though we arrived during the posted opening hours.

Saturday night, we made a quick stop at the Publican for drinks and fries before a show at Second City. After hearing lots of buzz for the last couple months, I was curious to check out this much-heralded restaurant and its pork & beer-heavy menu. This is definitely not a place to bring your vegetarian friends. We couldn't get a reservation for a table, but there are a few circular cocktail tables that you can comfortably huddle around. The beer list is extensive, almost to the point of being overwhelming, however our server gave several recommendations, and most of us opted to take one of her suggestions. And oh, the fries! Piping hot, crisp frites in a paper cone, served with an aioli on the side. I also tried the pork rinds, which came perfectly puffed and salted, with a slight tartness. This is "bar food" at its best.

Excellent food aside, I do have mixed feelings about the restaurant's decor, which is evocative of a beer hall. Dan and Nate took offense when I described the atmosphere as "masculine," but seriously, there are lots of heavy lines and hard angles, loud music, and a whole lot of wood. Seating options consist of enclosed booths with doors (these reminded me of 19th century church pews), or there is a long table for communal dining, with bulky, square chairs. This would be the perfect place to hold a beefsteak. Having painted a testoterone-laden picture though, I will say that I never felt uncomfortable or uneasy. I'm not enough of a meat aficianado to come here on my own (I can't remember the last time I was at a steakhouse), but it was a fun place to hang out for drinks, and was certainly a step up from say, drinking at Funk.

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I am eternally grateful for the Random Guy on the Red Line, who offered me advice and solace when I did not even know I needed it. Thanks.