The above link is something of an abridged history of Trotter’s. And it got me thinking: why has the news of his decision to close the restaurant remained on my mind all week?
I wasn’t raised in a culinary family (Red Lobster was fancy) but I’ve been aware of how the other half lives since a very young age. I grew up among the 1%. My young classmates went to Trotter’s with their families. It wasn’t until high school that I grasped the ridiculousness of that - kids going to Trotter’s? Is doesn’t make sense, almost as if I created this memory, but regardless, Charlie Trotter has been a name I’ve recognized since too young of an age.
In high school, I poured over the restaurant reviews in Chicago Magazine (parents subscribed) and Chicago Social (comped subscription because our zip code was their advertiser’s target market). I read of amazing meals and imagined the well-heeled in beautiful dining rooms dropping more money on a bottle of wine than I made in a month (between babysitting and being an office assistant). So the few culinary experiences I’ve enjoyed in life have left their mark.
During winter break of my sophomore year in high school (‘97/’98), I remember my friend’s dad treating us to Topo Gigio in Old Town (before Second City) and it being the most expensive menu I had laid eyes on (remember: Red Lobster was fancy). Pretty sure I ordered the cheapest pasta dish. What a polite 14 year old I was.
Sophomore and junior year we dined at Bistro 110 before the spring formal. Senior year, a guy in our group was part of a “culinary family” so we dined at their Japanese restaurant overlooking the Mag Mile. I knew I was spoiled. I knew this wasn’t normal.
Towards the end of my first semester at college, a large check from the university showed up in my dorm mailbox. I had received a $1000 scholarship from UIUC’s art school based on my portfolio and here was the first half for the year. After a little celebratory thrifting we went to Bacaro, which had just opened in downtown Champaign to rave reviews. It was modern & as close to fine dining as you were going to find in Central Illinois in 2001. I showed up wearing jeans, gym shoes and my red down vest (a winter wardrobe staple). Then I enjoyed my first risotto.
I tried dating a chef when I was 19. I was living in Urbana. He had just moved back to Chicago after graduating from the CIA in NYC. It was a task. It didn’t work out. But I think all I really ever wanted was for him to cook for me. To watch a professional. Now he is heading kitchens on the East Coast. It’s funny seeing his name on GrubStreet.
It was the summer of my 23rd birthday and my boyfriend announced he had a huge surprise for me. He was taking me out for a meal neither of us would forget. And then he tried to make me guess the restaurant. I ran through the list of all the places we had talked about (but I never imagined us actually finding enough money to go). Everest? No. Spiaggia? No. Arun’s? No. I demanded he tell me because I needed to know how to dress. So he let it out: Tru. I think I screamed. We went. It was fabulous. I still remember the soup course. And we made plans to go check out a new fancy restaurant once a month. Of course that never happened. But it’s the idea that counts, right?
I’m 28 now and still not in the financial position to treat myself to $150 tasting menus, but old habits die hard (if at all) and I continue to follow the restaurant news, the buzz, the hype, the openings, and it’s totally masochistic. Being a “poor foodie” is really just being a glutton for punishment.
But maybe if I’m lucky and I pinch my pennies, maybe I’ll make it Trotter’s before this Chicago classic bids us farewell. Twelve year old Jess would be very pleased with that.
Six pages of events. Six nights of events. Holy crap the Craft Brewers Conference is finally here!!!
I am going to be so exhausted by the time I get off work Saturday the 10th. Holy crap (again).
