Spiaggia, Gnocchi from Heaven, and Boredom

Last night we had dinner at Spiaggia, the highly acclaimed Italian restaurant and Obama's fav restaurant. We had gone because when we were first looking at the restaurants participating in Chicago's Restaurant Week, Spiaggia was listed. Unfortunately, sometime between then and yesterday night, Spiaggia no longer was a participant, and we ended up spending way more ($200 vs. $70) than we had planned.

Spiaggia's food was awash with the fresh Italian black truffle shavings. Every item we ordered was very well executed and delicious, but the gnocchi completely stole the show. I would have gladly eaten that gnocchi for the first, second, and third course. I was surprised that for how classically romantic, beautiful furnishings that scream lushness, Lake Michigan views, and the most well-executed Italian food I've eaten , I preferred my experience at Le Colonial over that at Spiaggia. Maybe I'm just not cut out for the haute cuisine life after all.

Today, DK left at 6am for a case that he said would "end before midnight if we're lucky." Part and parcel of dating a surgeon is a Faustian bargain to put up with absurd work hours. There will be days like today when we won't see each other awake. He'll slip back into bed at 1am, and I will sleepily kiss him, roll over, and continue snoring. It's easy to intellectually grasp period of several days of this, but harder in reality when everyone's else partners are safely home by 7pm, and I am eating dinner by myself.

A Baller Restaurant

Yesterday, DK and I planned yet another beautiful Chicago day around what we planned to eat. The Green City Market, one of America's best farmer's market, takes up residence bi-weekly at the Peggy Notebaert Nature Museum in Lincoln Park, Chicago. We go every weekend when it's outside during the summer, and the fact that it only takes place every week only heightens our excitement during the cold winter months.

Green City Market holds several chef demonstrations during each market, and yesterday we slipped into one being held by a chef, not the chef, from Hot Chocolate. Hot Chocolate in Bucktown is known for their ridiculously sumptuous and whimsical desserts served in a dim, lush lounge-type setting. The cook prepared marinated New Zealand venison and fingerling potatoes in enough duck fat to make any nutritionist's head spin. It was delicious.

It being Restaurant Week in Chicago, DK and I ventured for dinner to Le Colonial, a french-vietnamese restaurant located in the heart of the popular Rush Street district of restaurants, clubs, and bars. The ambiance was that of a French-Indochinese villa complete with palm fronds and Ikea candles, but the tables were so cramped together that I could easily hear every word and sigh from the 2 adjacent dinner parties. The guy to the left of us had brought his parents, looked to be in his early 30's, and was easily the most arrogant prick there. He wouldn't shut up, spoke condescendingly to his parents, and capped with the funniest comment of the night, "This was a baller restaurant!" Holla right back at you.

Homecoming to Chicago gone terribly wrong

I just had 2 huge arguments with DK within 3 hours of landing in Chicago. I'm exhausted and sad and frustrated.