Alinea chef and impresario Grant Achatz demonstrated last night at Wired's NextFest why he, and not just his food, is so special.  He peppered a seemingly casual cooking demonstration and tasting with stories of how he evolved his one-taste preparations onto specially-made, sculptural serving utensils that hold heat, cold and flavors just to the chef's liking. 

Two things struck me about Grant's presentation:  Even though he is undeniably one of the most inventive chefs in the business, he is as unpretentious as they come.  I had heard Homer Cantu, chef-owner of Moto last week, and felt the same way about Homer.  Clearly, both men have demanding standards (Grant's scurrying assistants were hard to miss), but they both seem like guys you would want to hang with and work with. 

The other was Grant's story about an early version of a dish that had him burning leaves throughout the evening in the restaurant.  Customers actually cried at the familiar smells of childhood.  By engaging all the senses, Grant delivered an unexpectedly emotional experience.

I woke up this morning in the dark to see the Carbon and Carbide Building in the distance with an orange top.  At first, I was confused. Then I realized that it was October and Halloween season.  I know that soon, I will walk over to Daley Plaza and find a gurgling orange fountain, then cross the street and find a haunted house in the lobby of City Hall.  For some reason, this touches some emotion in me.  Maybe it reminds me of the years my grandfather would take me on the bus (he didn't drive) to McLemore to buy halloween candy pumpkins.  I'm not sure.  But celebrating Halloween so publicly makes me feel like I live in a place where people with souls are sitll in charge.

It's like Grant said, every opportunity to touche the emotions should be taken, especially by cities.

 

 


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