Life, on the Line by Grant Achatz (leveled readers .TXT) 📗

and Shad Roe Porridge were new and exhilarating, and the wines poured were incredible. At one point midmeal the sommelier poured us each a glass of DRC Montrachet, giving Heather the 1979 and myself the 1982. We sat savoring the wine for fifteen minutes after the matching course had been cleared. The aromas and flavors of those two wines are burned into my memory forever.

Six hours of amazing food, stellar wines, flawless service, and staring into each other’s eyes was coming to an end as we nibbled on the final mignardise. By all accounts we were thinking how the dinner was perfect, that nothing was amiss, when one of the bulbs in one of the giant floor lamps flickered out. We looked at each other and smiled. Well, I guess the night wasn’t perfect after all, I said jokingly. Before she could agree Michael glided over to the light, raised his arm to the bulb, and snapped his fingers. The light popped back on. He slowly turned to face us and with a slight smirk gave a wink. We laughed in astonishment. In fact, the night was more than perfect. It was magical.

After the Per Se weekend Heather and I started making it a priority to see each other frequently. Within four days I found myself back in New York for the James Beard Awards, where I was nominated for Best Chef Midwest. After I won the award, a large group that included some of Heather’s friends, Nick, Martin and his wife, Lara, and sous chefs Curtis, Jeff Pikus, and John Shields celebrated with drinks and conversation at Employees Only. I told Heather at that point that we should make an effort to see each other every ten days or so; we could take turns flying to each other’s city. A pattern emerged, and the Jet-Blue frequent-flyer points started adding up quickly. Slightly more than a month later I flew to San Francisco—where she was working on the StarChefs rising-star event—to meet her for a weekend.

We strolled through the farmers’ market and collected provisions for a romantic picnic at Point Reyes, and later that night raced down the coast to an amazing meal at Chez Panisse. Everything was going perfectly, we were truly in love, I was starting to reap the rewards of years of hard work, but something was bothering me. My tongue had become very sore, and I had begun to use gum as a shield to prevent my teeth and tongue from touching. Heather noticed it while we lay in bed the morning after Chez Panisse.

“Do you always sleep with gum in your mouth?”

I was a bit embarrassed, but I tried to explain to her how I had made repeated trips to the dentist only for them to tell me I was biting my tongue at night. They prescribed me a mouth guard, which I normally use, but I figured the gum would be a suitable substitute in this situation. I told her I was sure it was nothing, that I was planning to go back to the dentist when I got home and have them try to file my teeth down on that side—it might just be a sharp spot.

After the San Francisco weekend I was confident that I was in love with Heather and that I was about to enter the world of a long-distance relationship. Our early days together were a whirlwind of spontaneity and excitement that any romance novel would envy. We continued to fly back and forth—sometimes for less than twenty-four hours—just to see each other. Nick thought I was completely nuts.

“Dude, you think you don’t have enough going on? Running the best restaurant in the country, being a father, and now getting into a relationship with a girl who lives in New York—are you nuts? You’re a glutton for punishment, and lack of sleep, apparently.”

I couldn’t argue with the logic. It certainly didn’t make sense from a time perspective. I was logging ninety- to one-hundred-hour weeks at work and then spending my days off with Kaden and Keller; throwing this relationship into the mix was in fact crazy, but completely necessary.

We planned for Heather to fly to Chicago over the Fourth of July weekend to meet the boys. Alina had started seeing Pikus, and she decided to come with Heather to Chicago. We all decided it would be fun to prepare an elaborate dinner at Alinea together. In the weeks leading up to the weekend, the four of us exchanged e-mails about the menu and who would prepare what. We decided on the following menu:

FOIE GRAS MOUSSE WITH PX GEL AND TOAST

SURF CLAM SASHIMI WITH FRESH CORIANDER SEEDS AND LIME

BUCATINI ALLA AMATRICIANA

STRIPED BASS WITH WHITE ASPARAGUS, PEAS AND THYME

RIB EYE OF WAGYU WITH RED WINE REDUCTION AND POTATOES

VANILLA ICE CREAM SUNDAES

Having the entire Alinea kitchen to cook in on a day the restaurant is closed is a beautiful thing. But sharing this experience with these people was amazing. We all pulled out cutting boards, poured some Krug, and casually chatted while we prepared a feast. It was one of the best cooking moments of my life.

Meanwhile I was in extreme pain.

Since leaving San Francisco, the sensitivity in my tongue had worsened to the point where I could barely eat. The pain was excruciating. With the gum and a good dose of champagne I figured I could get by without it looking obvious, and I did pretty well. I was getting up frequently, ducking into the bathroom and applying a generous layer of oral gel toothache cream to my tongue. This only proved to give temporary relief; after I returned to the table and started to eat the next course the antiseptic qualities of the cream were rinsed away and the pain returned. But I had to eat this food; I didn’t want to ruin everyone’s evening by letting them know I was hurting.

The next day Heather and I took Kaden and Keller to North