New series: best things I ever ate

Call me a foodie, a gourmand, an epicure, whatever adjective can be used to describe someone who has built a steady obsession with food over the course of one’s life (or, in my case, the course of the last 5 years). As a child, I had no tastes whatsoever. I was not only a fickle eater, I usually only ate a few bites of my food. I would take the cheese off of my pizza, eat the crust, and then devour the cheese (saving the best for last). I still continue to congratulate myself on this ingenious idea. A cheeseburger would remain intact all but for two bites taken out of it. One time, when I was about 7 or 8, I was eating fish sticks in my mother's kitchen and decided to investigate into the ingredients.

"Say, Mom," I asked, "what's in this fish stick anyway?"
I wanted to know why these breaded and crispy things were so delectable.
"Fish," she replied, as if that were obvious.

Apparently, I had never bothered to deduce that the name of a food was a clue to its ingredients. With that, I dropped the half-eaten stick onto my plate, started dramatically gagging, and never picked up another fish stick again (but picked up a great career in grade school theater). 

Every morning for breakfast before school, my mother would serve me Quaker Instant Oatmeal (maple and brown sugar; the only variety I eat to this day) or Eggo frozen waffles while I sat in front of the TV watching The Bozo Show. I knew I was going to be late for school when Bewitched would come on. For lunch, I usually had a Thermos full of Spaghettios or Raviolios or some kind of condensed noodle soup. Usually near the end of my lunch I would feel physically ill to the point that I’d have to look up at the ceiling while other children finished their lunches for fear I would vomit if I looked at another piece of food. (I was always the first to finish because, well, I usually only took two bites of my food.) If you would’ve asked me in grade school what my final meal would be if I could choose, the answer would've been (and still is to this day) my mother’s egg dish and potato casserole. This meal was only made on the most special of occasions (Christmas, Easter, a random Saturday in January because we were still salivating over it from December). I would, however, only eat it if she made it without green peppers and onions. I would eat her chili but I required it sans beans. My refusal to taste anything outside of my comfort zone stuck with me like a conjoined fun-sucking twin well into adulthood.

I didn't taste a runny egg yolk until I was 25, when my boyfriend at the time decided to cook me eggs Benedict in bed. If there is a God and he or she or it is charged with creating something for each specific person on this earth, a personal gift for being born, he or she or it has created the runny egg yolk specifically for me. My then-boyfriend bestowed upon me these soft pillows of divinity, which quickly became a contender on my top 5 list of things in life that are as close to heaven as you can get while remaining tethered to this planet. Poached has since become one of the most commonly used words in my vocabulary. (At least he was good for something, right?) You know those events that make you categorize your life as before and after? Before The Day of the Poached Egg, I was a breakfast opponent. It was my least favorite food to eat next to cold salads (like pasta and potato) and sandwiches (what I deem "picnic" food). I disliked breakfast so much that when I went for the first time to what would end up being my favorite restaurant in my neighborhood (Café Selmarie) I didn’t order the corned beef hash or the chilaquiles; I ordered the turkey, apple, and brie sandwich on whole wheat bread. And to this day picnic food is my least favorite food. Go figure. After The Day of the Poached Egg, I saw the world in technicolor and found the thing that had been missing from my life since birth. After The Day of the Poached Egg, I began to live for breakfast.

I didn't taste a real mushroom (it was a stuffed mushroom) by itself until I was 24. It was actually life-changing. One day, a few years ago, I decided, on a whim, to cook my scrambled eggs with green peppers and onions. I have since found that I don't enjoy scrambled eggs as much if they aren’t accompanied by these two ingredients (which, in my opinion, are more essential to building flavor than salt and pepper). Never mind that since The Day of the Poached Egg I have eaten a scrambled egg only on rare occasions (mostly when I am cooking at home, because I have not yet mastered the art of poaching an egg).

Canned convenience foods are now banned from my pantry (save for canned artichokes, which I didn't taste until I was 26, tossed together with some spicy Italian sausage, sundried tomatoes, and pasta; canned black beans, age 25, in everything Mexican and especially chili; canned tomatoes, well, that’s one I've always been fond of). Nearly every dish I make starts with sauteing a yellow onion or a shallot and the zest of a few cloves of garlic (and a dollop of Dijon mustard or vinegar at the end for that brightened acidic flavor). My obsession has turned into very rigid rules of eating now positioned at the other end of the spectrum from my childhood.

These days, I cannot bother myself with frozen pizza or boxed mac and cheese (or any convenience foods for that matter). It is just as easy to saute some spicy Italian sausage (casings removed), add a can of diced tomatoes, fresh basil, and garlic, spread onto store-bought pizza dough (okay, I give, this is one convenience food I failed to mention; I also have not mastered the art of the rising bread dough), and add julienned red pepper, and shredded mozzarella. (Not pre-shredded. Perish the thought; pre-shredded cheese has anti-caking agent added to it, which makes it not melt – and what good is cheese if it isn’t melty?) It is also just as easy to saute butter and flour with some leeks (if you're ambitious), add a few cups of warm milk, and cheese (usually Gruyere, but Gouda and sharp cheddar are just as delicious), Dijon mustard, cracked pepper, salt, and drizzle over cavatappi. I crush cornflakes for a satisfyingly crunchy topping. Why waste your money on something that is bland, overly processed, and unsatisfying when it is so much more fun, tasty, and gratifying to cook and savor the fruits of your labor?

My reverence for food and cooking has translated into a passion for dining out. Dining out has become one of the highlights of my life. I adore gathering with my friends for dinner and when I know I am about to do so I spend most of my time thinking about it until then. I always pick the restaurants for my friends (in fact, it's almost a fault - I have a really hard time letting someone else pick because I want to ensure the experience is going to impress us- and no one else can ensure this but me). I spend hours searching for the perfect place, researching menus, offering up options to my girls. Have a taste for barbecue? Well, Fat Willy's, Smoque, or The Smoke Daddy can jive with that. Looking to have a love affair with a bagel sandwich? Chicago Bagel Authority wants to be that lover. Craving comfort food? Cafe Selmarie, Table Fifty-Two, or Owen & Engine will all make you feel so good and warm. And comfort food isn’t even just chicken pot pie or steak and mashed potatoes anymore to me. It’s ramen soup at Wasabi in Logan Square, or tacos al pastor at Big Star in Wicker Park, or beef fried rice and crab Rangoon (with lots of Sambal Oelek) at Opart Thai in Lincoln Square.

I am lucky because I have had the pleasure of living out this awakening surrounded by the best restaurants in the country, some even the world. I get to walk out my front door and a block over is a pie café with the most soul-gratifying pie in the city. Two blocks west and I’m at my favorite taqueria for tacos al pastor fresh off the spit. One train stop east and I can eat at the best (and perhaps the only) Neapolitan pizza place where I can also order cevapcici because the owner is from Bosnia. This renaissance in my adoration of food has been completely enabled by the proximity of my home to America’s best restaurants. And I partake in them as much as I can because what fun is life if you're not indulging all your senses?

If I am going to eat at a new restaurant, I want to have some trust that they'll provide me with a food experience that I'll remember (and I do remember 99% of them). I seek to eat things so delicious that I want them everyday (calories could never come between me and my food). I hate to spend my money on mediocrity. Why go out to eat if it’s going to be anything short of wonderful? Fresh ingredients, innovative menu items, and flavorful compositions beckon me to try a new place. It's an adventure waiting to be endeavored. And when you're adventurous you are rewarded with better experiences, perspective-changing experiences. Having eaten at hundreds of restaurants over the course of my life, there have been quite a few perspective-changing meals. These will be shared in the upcoming series of posts: Best things I ever ate.