Stop The Presses...

Today marks a milestone in my burgeoning side-career as a writer: after nearly three years of chronicling my life here at "The State I Am In" as a hobby, I've started writing a restaurant review column for the Chicago Daily Law Bulletin. It's not a paying gig, and I'm sharing the byline with my dad, though I do all the writing, but it's a good way to grow a portfolio as a freelance writer. There's an old saying floating around the internet that says, "The work you do while you procrastinate is probably the work you should be doing for the rest of your life." If that's true, then perhaps I'm on the right track by taking on this new monthly column. 

I'm grateful to my dad for linking me up with this opportunity, and for financing the tasting dinners necessary to write these reviews. The article is behind a pay wall at the paper's website, but here's the text of the first edition of "Dining Due Dilligence" (clever legal tie-in with the title, eh?):

On the surface, Henri, the elegant French eatery from restaurateur Billy Lawless, lives up to the legacy of its namesake, Louis Henri Sullivan. The attention to detail is impeccable, from the bus boys ironing the table linens in situ prior to laying out the flatware to the room temperature butter served to accompany perfectly crisp, individually-sized baguettes. Such scrupulous care seems more impressive in the dining room's beautifully appointed space, which features elaborate crown moldings reproduced from Sullivan's originals, deep chocolate-colored velvet walls and striking seafoam green accents.

When it comes to service, however, the attention to detail begins to falter. Timing seems to be Henri's biggest problem. Dirty dishes lingered on the table long after each course had been completed and the lulls between courses became maddening at times.

In the same vein, Henri's inconsistencies play out in its food. The meal starts strong with an array of appetizers. The pheasant consommé, though overly salty, featured an intriguing garnish of red grapes that surprised the palate and played harmoniously with the poultry. The pissaladière held the most promise, but fell flat with its chewy, insufficiently rendered (albeit house-cured) bacon. Instead, the tender escargot emerged as one of the favorites.

The entrée course brought a similarly uneven range of dishes. A game special of venison was dry, but the accompanying cocoa nib and pomegranate garnishes were on-point. The veal chop was well-seasoned, but it arrived rather undercooked despite a request for medium doneness. Buckwheat crepes featuring a mushroom filling felt like an afterthought, designed to mollify vegetarian diners. Oddly, the most delicious item to grace the table was a garnish — the duck confit, wrapped in an herbaceous pastry crust, was designed to complement the seared duck breast, but instead overshadowed it.

If you still have an appetite for dessert, the almond financier stands out for its authentic nut flavor — none of the abhorrent artificial almond flavor that dominates so many almond-themed desserts was detected.

The atmosphere alone at Henri would be perfect for impressing an important business client, but you would do well to request a four-person table if you wish your conversation to remain private. Be sure you come for dinner when you don't have to make it to the office for any afternoon meetings.

Visit Henri at 18 S. Michigan Ave., or henrichicago.com.

Guess Who's Back...

It's no secret that I'm kind of a procrastinator. That's why we're a week into March and we're still not done unpacking from our move. (Though, in our defense, we've done about as much as we can without getting more bookcases. There's simply nowhere to put the books and DVDs that are taking over the mancave at the moment. I've picked out my birthday bookshelves, but they won't be arriving until closer to the actual date.) As part of the general upheaval the move has caused in my life, I've had to put off my participation in the weekly Cake Day rotation at work for months. The last thing I made specifically for Cake Day were the pecan bars I baked back in November, though I was able to count my annual Cookie Bonanza giveaway as my December contribution to the Cake Day lineup.

First, my baking supplies were packed and inaccessible. Then, I was too busy with unpacking and getting settled to take on the responsibility of feeding something tasty to my peers. Finally though, a month after our move, I felt sufficiently prepared to tackle Cake Day once more, and I knew I wanted to make my comeback in a big way. This time, I knew I wanted to make a proper cake instead of my usual more easily-transported baked goods, so I asked if I could move my appointed day to Thursday instead of Tuesday so I could ask Justin to drive me to work on his day off, so I wouldn't have to schlep my cake carrier on the train. With that administrative task out of the way, I set about the task of selecting a recipe to try.

I have several tempting layer cakes saved to my Pinterest dessert board, involving a wide array of flavors that I love -- cinnamon, chocolate, maple, salted caramel... the list goes on and on. I've got a lot of occasions coming up that will call for cake baking, however, including my birthday and my blogiversary, so I had to be judicious with my choice. I ended up being drawn to a mint chocolate chip cake that I had spotted on a random food blog one day, largely because I've been preoccupied with thoughts of a similar confection since Mom's birthday last year. 

At the time, I had spotted a cake based on the grasshopper cocktail in my copy of Baked: New Explorations in Baking, and had wanted to make it for her, knowing her fondness for the ice cream beverage. Even on her birthday, she remained dedicated to her diet, and requested that I forgo making her a cake last year, but the idea of combining mint and chocolate in cake form stuck with me. The recipe that I'd spotted on the internet was similar, but considerably less complicated than the Baked version, so I decided to give it a go.

Though I have a foolproof chocolate cake recipe to which I am immensely devoted, I decided to go ahead and try the devil's food chocolate cake suggested by the blogger who devised this cake. The recipe originally hailed from David Lebovitz, and I trust him implicitly when it comes to making desserts, plus, my much-beloved chocolate cake recipe is a little too fluffy and soft to hold up to heavy frosting when stacked. It would be nice to see if Lebovitz's recipe could offer additional structure without sacrificing taste or texture. Thankfully, it was almost as delicious as my regular go-to cake, and it held its shape beautifully under the generous layer of frosting I applied.

The frosting itself was very simple to make, though I wished I had mint extract on hand instead of the peppermint extract I used because I think that would have tasted a bit better. Something about that much peppermint kind of reminded me of toothpaste, but nobody else seemed to be of the same mind. I particularly liked all the finely ground bits of bittersweet chocolate studding the frosting; not only did they drive home the mint chocolate chip theme, they also made the frosting extremely forgiving. I didn't have to worry about crumb-coating the cake to keep the crumbs out of the frosting, as the chocolate cake flecks would have blended right in. Given my lack of frosting skills, this was a definite advantage for me.

My offering was very well-received by my colleagues for Cake Day, and I even managed to save a piece to bring home to Justin. Being the masochist that I am, I'm still curious about the Baked grasshopper cake, but that's going to have to wait until the next month of furious cake baking is behind me. Stay tuned to see what I come up with for the cake-centric occasions to come next month...

Mint Chocolate Chip Cake

adapted from Raspberri Cupcakes

For the cake:

9 tablespoons cocoa powder (I used a combination of natural and Dutch-process)

1 1/2 c. cake flour

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

1 stick unsalted butter, at room temperature

1 1/2 c. granulated sugar

2 large eggs, at room temperature

1/2 c. water

1/2 c. milk (any variety)

Preheat the oven to 350. Spray two 9-inch cake pans with Pam and line the bottoms with circles of parchment paper. Spray the parchment paper with Pam too.

1. Sift together the cake flour, cocoa powder, salt, baking soda, and baking powder.

2. In the bowl of a standing electric mixer, beat together the butter and sugar about 5 minutes until smooth and creamy. Add the eggs one at a time until fully incorporated.

3. Mix together the water and milk. Stir half of the dry ingredients into the butter mixture, the add the water and milk. Finally stir in the other half of the dry ingredients.

4. Divide the batter into the two prepared cake pans and bake for 25 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool completely before frosting.

For the frosting:

2 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, softened and cut into 1/2-inch pieces

4 c. powdered sugar, sifted

2-3 teaspoons mint extract

5 oz. semisweet or bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped

green food coloring

Beat butter with an electric mixer on high until fluffy and smooth. Add powdered sugar one cup at a time, beating until combined. Add mint extract to taste and green food coloring. Gradually add chocolate pieces until you have a good distribution of chocolate bits.

Rolling in Dough...

Sometimes life surprises you. When I set out to make dinner tonight, I had high hopes for the new soup recipe I was going to try, which I had culled from Food & Wine. It was, for an intents and purposes, a basic potato soup, jazzed up with spicy shrimp seasoned with a special pepper paste from Turkey that I had to visit the ethnic grocery store to locate. Almost as an afterthought, I decided to whip up a batch of homemade biscuits to go with it, partially because soup alone no longer qualifies as a meal once you have a man in the house, partially because I had leftover buttermilk that was on the cusp of expiring after some ill-fated cornbread-inspired pancakes a while back, and partially because I'd spotted this recipe on Cook's Country while embroiled in one of my Saturday PBS cooking show marathons and thought it looked interesting.

As it turned out, the soup was a total flop. It was incredibly bland, and the shrimp, which weren't particularly spicy after all, didn't improve matters much. On the other hand, the biscuits, which I hadn't expected much from, given my unsuccessful history of biscuit-making attempts, were out of this world. They were, by far, the best biscuits I've ever made, and possibly some of the best biscuits I've ever eaten. Perhaps I shouldn't have doubted the folks at America's Test Kitchen; after all, they've been right about so many other flour-based dishes, like my favorite pizza crust recipe, and my new favorite pie crust.

These biscuits were light, fluffy, and soft, with a flavor that approached my Platonic ideal for biscuits -- a hint of butter, a bit of tang from the buttermilk, and the nuttiness of browned flour. Plus, they were enormous; the recipe is called "cat's head biscuits" because each individual biscuit is roughly the size of a cat's head, and that may even be too modest. They're huge, so you get the joy of eating lots of biscuit without the guilt of mentally totally up how many biscuits you just ate. Bonus!

I liked these biscuits so much that I feel it's my duty to share the recipe with you, even though the people at America's Test Kitchen are infamous for sending cease and desist letters to bloggers who publish their recipes. These biscuits are worth the risk. Go forth and make them before I get asked to take down the recipe, trust me!

Cat's Head Biscuits

adapted from Cook's Country

1 1/2 c. all-purpose flour

1 1/2 c. cake flour

1 tablespoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened, cut into 1/2 inch pieces

4 tablespoons vegetable shortening, cut into 1/2 inch pieces

1 1/4 c. buttermilk

Preheat oven to 425. Spray a 9-inch round cake pan with Pam.

1. Combine flours, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in large bowl. Rub butter and shortening into flour mixture until mixture resembles coarse meal. Stir in buttermilk until combined.

2. Use greased 1/2-cup measure or large spring-loaded ice cream scoop to transfer 6 heaping portions of dough into prepared pan, placing 5 around pan's perimeter and 1 in center.

3. Bake until puffed and golden brown, 20 to 25 minutes. Cool in pan for 10 minutes, then transfer to wire rack. Serve. (Biscuits can be stored in airtight container at room temperature for 2 days.)

Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man Of Mine...

Settling into our new life together is a work in progress, but a month after moving, Justin and I are starting to settle into a new sense of normalcy in our lives. Things are calming down for us; though our weekends are still mostly filled with home improvement projects, organizational tasks, and cleaning, we've also started returning to some of the old mainstays of our relationship -- watching movies on the couch, trying new restaurants, and going to the theater. We'll still be doing the restaurants and theater to a lesser extent than we did before, now that we are house-poor, but tonight we were the beneficiaries of some generosity from Justin's parents, who had extra tickets to see Show Boat at the Lyric Opera.

Show Boat seems like kind of an odd choice for the Lyric, considering it's not an opera, but it was one of the very first musicals in the sense that we think of them today. It combined spoken and sung dialogue, dance, and a serious dramatic plot rife with controversial themes such as miscegenation and racial prejudice. Before Show Boat, American musical theater was dominated by revues, or collections of songs unrelated to any unifying plot, and dancing was not used to advance the narrative action but to showcase attractive women who would have been considered scantily clad by the standards of the time. Therefore, this revolutionary work by Kern and Hammerstein provided the template for the modern musical.

I've seen Show Boat once before, when I was almost too young to remember it, but I do recall that the last production I saw was a more traditional version. The Lyric's version, while brimming over with elaborate costumes and sets that one doesn't typically see with traveling Broadway productions, featured a strange combination of singing talent. Don't get me wrong, some of the performers, such as Morris Robinson, who played Joe (singer of the work's most famous song, "Ole Man River"), were absolutely brilliant. However, the cast seemed evenly divided between people singing in a traditional Broadway musical style, and people singing in the bel canto style associated with classical opera training. Given that Show Boat isn't an opera, the bel canto singing was distracting to me, and at times, it even made the characters seem a little ridiculous.

By all means, Show Boat was an enjoyable night at the theater. The music and lyrics may be a bit old-fashioned, but the plot and issues at play therein remain remarkably relevant today. Plus, after seeing many sad, stripped-down traveling productions of some of Broadway's greatest works, like Les Miserables and The Phantom of the Opera, it's refreshing to see a show produced with its proper pomp and grandeur. Distracting vocal inconsistencies aside, the Lyric's version of Show Boat is musical theater as it was meant to be seen.

Bite Me...

Apparently, this is my week for terrible health care-related experiences. Today, when I went in for a routine teeth-cleaning at the dentist where I've been going ever since I had teeth, my regular dental hygienist was giving me her standard overly-vigorous flossing treatment when she pulled out the wire connecting the permanent retainer that I've had bonded to my lower teeth for over a decade now, effectively breaking it. It was quite obvious that she had broken it, because the now-loose wire was jabbing me in the tongue. 

What happened next angered and disappointed me. The hygienist was quick to assert that the appliance was already loose, and that it would have broken the next time I flossed. She repeated this opinion to the dentist, who backed her up, as did the dentist's assistant, and the receptionist who made the appointment for me to come in and get it fixed later this week. Never mind the fact that I lived with the retainer in my mouth on a daily basis for years, and was adamant that it was in no way loose, and that I use a much gentler hand when cleaning around it than the hygienist usually does. There is no doubt in my mind that the culpability for its breaking was completely on her shoulders. 

Now I have come back and shell out a couple hundred dollars to have the retainer repaired, in what will doubtlessly be a painful procedure. All of this could have been avoided if the hygienist hadn't been so rough, and now I'm going to be the one suffering the consequences. What irks me even more is the way the dentist's staff closed ranks and protected their own instead of demonstrating some sense of value for me as a customer. I've been their patient longer than that particular hygienist has worked there, and given the sheer volume of dental work they've done for me over the years due to the congenital defect that left me without eleven of my adult teeth, I've more than lined their pockets.

Ideally, they would have offered to repair the problem for free, considering it was the hygienist's fault that it broke in the first place. At a bare minimum, I feel like they owe me an apology. I wish I could take my business elsewhere at this point, but I have such a unique case that I feel I should stay with the dentist who already has years of experience treating me. Curse the health care system this week!

Jagged Little Pill...

Learning how the other half (or in this case, the other 16%) live is a humbling experience. The 16% I refer to in this case is the percentage of of Americans living without health insurance, and though I am lucky enough to have it provided through my employer, I got to experience first-hand today what it is like to navigate the health care system without it. 

Yesterday, from the beginning of the day onward, I noticed that I had to pee almost constantly. About every half hour or so, I needed to go to the bathroom. I suffered through getting my hair cut, going to a movie, and having dinner at a restaurant with my dad and Justin -- all activities that made it inconvenient to be rushing to the restroom over and over. Still, I didn't think much of it until late last night, when I started having severe pain as if someone were squeezing my bladder with all their strength. It suddenly dawned on me that I had a urinary tract infection; I've had them before, so I knew the symptoms. 

At that point, it being a Saturday night, my options were limited for what I could do about my predicament. My regular doctor's office wouldn't be open until Monday, and I might not be able to get an appointment even then. Going to the ER would be cost-prohibitive, and would likely take forever, given my non-critical status. The only remaining option would be to find an urgent-care center that would accept my health insurance. It would cost $75 -- more than twice the cost of an office visit to my primary care physician, but less than half of the cost of the ER. Unfortunately, my misery insurance company only covered two options within a ten mile radius of my apartment, despite the dozens of urgent-care centers I pass on my way home from work every day. One was far away in the suburbs, and the closest wasn't exactly in the most reputable neighborhood. Nevertheless, we decided to go with the closest option.

Once there, it became very clear that I was not their target constituency. The receptionist seemed taken aback when I told her I had health insurance, and when I attempted to pay my copay with a check, she informed me that they didn't accept them. Exasperated, she asked if I didn't have a credit card or cash, before giving me a long, hard look that seemed to say, "Hmm, she's white, she's got a full time job, she's got insurance... okay, maybe her check won't bounce." The reverse racism was palpable. 

Justin and I were virtually the only people in the waiting room, where the television was tuned into Univision, the Spanish-language channel. After we'd sat there for a while, the receptionist called out to us, "Hey, you can go ahead and change that, you look like you don't speak Spanish." Actually, as a matter-of-fact, I do recall enough Spanish from high school to get the gist of what was happening onscreen, but I decided to change the channel anyway.

When I finally got called in to see the doctor, I was confronted with a physician who barely spoke English. They gave me a cup to give them a specimen, minus any of the hygiene instructions I usually get at my regular doctor, and dispatched me back to the waiting area to use what was apparently their only restroom. I then had to carry my cup of pee back through the reception area and into the lab myself; there was no little door in the wall to leave it in. I hope they don't offer drug testing at that facility, because at that point, that urine could have come from anywhere. 

The doctor, after telling me that I was very good at self-diagnosis, finally gave me the prescription for Cipro that I had been expecting. While I was there, I asked her to listen to my chest, as I've been experiencing a vicious cough for the past several weeks. Her response? "Why? I give you Cipro. It kill whatever in there!" I practically had to beg her just to humor me. After all, I had paid $75 to be there. She gave my chest a half-hearted listen before announcing that I needed to use my asthma inhaler more. Very helpful.

As I was packing up my things, I happened to overhear a conversation between the doctor and a nurse in the hallway outside my room:

Nurse: "Should we send away her urine to be cultured?"

Doctor: "She have health insurance?"

Nurse: "Yes."

Doctor: "Sure, go ahead and send it in!"

Needless to say, even if I got the antibiotics I came for, I will not be returning to the Peterson Urgent Care Center. Still, my experience there was a sad commentary on the broken state of health care in this country. I only got a test because I had the health insurance to pay for it, and the doctor felt comfortable ordering that expensive battery of tests because a large, anonymous corporation would be paying the cost. I'm not a politician; I couldn't begin to provide a solution for the health-care crisis our country is facing. All I know is that I'm thankful to have health insurance for now, and I hope I don't ever reach the point where experiences like the one I had today define my interactions with the health care system on a regular basis.

The Vow...

I am a little behind on my movie-going this year. I saw one of the nine films nominated for Best Picture at the Oscars (once the nominations are announced, I like to rush out to the theater and see as many of them as possible before the award ceremony, but this year I was too busy with our new house), and I hadn't been to see a single movie all year so far until today. Hence, when I got a message from Taryn inviting me to see The Vow, I jumped at the opportunity for reasons beyond the excitement that comes with the chance to see a treasured friend.

For well over a decade, Taryn has been my go-to date for seeing the most unapologetic, tear-jerking, eye-candy-filled chick flicks that have come to theaters. I will never forget the summer evening we went to see The Notebook; we were home on break from college, and had agreed that the film looked like "our kind of movie." We went, and wept through the end of the film, sobbed through the walk to the car in the parking lot, and had to sit in the car crying our eyes out until there were no more tears, just so one of us could drive home safely. To this day, Taryn and I still laugh about that epic sob-fest we shared together so many years ago.

That's how we knew we needed to see The Vow together. Sure, it looked corny. Channing Tatum can't even begin to emote, much less act convincingly, but at least the trailer seemed to indicate that his perfect abs would be featured prominently. Rachel McAdams will always be Ali to me, after seeing The Notebook. I went into The Vow expecting not to enjoy it very much, and I wasn't disappointed. But the quality of the film didn't matter so much as the act of going to see it with Taryn.

Even if the movie was bad, we could still wipe away a few tears together, and then commiserate about the film's unsatisfying ending. We could elbow each other when we spotted locations we recognized (the movie was filmed in Chicago). The shared experience of seeing a less-than-stellar film with a friend can make sitting through the movie worthwhile. Would I recommend The Vow? Probably not, unless you have a go-to friend for seeing chick flicks of questionable merit. Then by all means, schedule a girls' night out.