The following is brought to you by Andi's bank account (it's underfed and wears a lot of black, just like any good New Yorker)

Long Island is a tough place to grow up. Everything is so green, and well-manicured. In school you’re constantly told about all the opportunities you have, and how it truly is possible to cure cancer, get elected president, and birth the new Messiah, all at the same time. What’s a slightly rebellious girl who doesn’t abuse drugs supposed to do? How was I to make my mark upon this field of radical success? Clearly the only way I could assert my identity was by forcing my way into singing at my high school graduation. All kidding aside, it is a wonderful memory. I sang a duet with a fellow student, Renee, whom I didn’t know very well at all. The scheme had evolved while we were both waiting to audition to sing The Star Spangled Banner at the ceremony, only to be informed that the auditions were a mere formality. The fix was in! The role had been cast! Well, we decided that we wouldn’t go down without a fight, and informed the administration that we would be singing a duet whether they liked it or not. Apparently the administrators at my high school were easily bullied, because this tactic worked. My friend Ethan suggested Blackbird and offered to arrange it and play guitar (was this residual guilt over being one of the beneficiaries of the pre-casting? I prefer to chalk it up to pure altruism.) So on a hot day in June we all donned our blue polyester robes and created a quiet, beautiful, random moment. It’s one of my only clear memories of the day.

It’s been 15 years. I believe Renee has a family now, and Ethan recently tied the knot. I, on the other hand, am still trying to become a functioning member of society. I do think I’m making some progress – Exhibit A: I went on my first business trip! Of course, it was through one of my many part-time jobs, and really felt more like an unsupervised fieldtrip, but nevertheless, my airfare was covered and I got to stay in a hotel, so it counts. I spent three work-filled days in Chicago, but, never fear dear readers: I also managed to eat vast quantities.

One of my major goals was to figure out this “Chicago Pizza” thing. Up till now, my non-east coast pizza experiences had only solidified my extreme New York Pizza snobbery. What, exactly, was the point of thick, doughy, flavorless crust, low quality globby cheese, and tomato sauce spiked with six gallons of sugar? (Yeah, I’m talking to you, Indiana. It’s been eleven years and I still won’t forgive you.) Well, I have now been schooled. Chicago pizza is fabulous. The cornmeal crust is crisp on the outside, grease-filled and chewy on the inside. The sauce was fresh and fragrant – at times a bit too fresh. The slice by which all other deep dish slices shall be judged had pepperoni, and the spicy processed meat was an essential ingredient. Without it, the pizza tasted a bit as though someone had smashed raw tomato on it. So, vegetarians, abandon your morals when you go to Chicago and join us in the search for superior heart disease. Get meat on your pizza.

The office pizza party at Gino’s was very much in line with my general lifestyle – cheap, seedy, and tasty. The following night I classed things up with my new work friends at the well-heeled Chicago restaurant Blackbird. Let me just say that, all signs to the contrary, I have in fact experienced fine dining. It’s just a very rare occurrence. And I never know what to wear. Luckily in this case, my options were limited to the schlubby items in my suitcase: a skirt with a swiftly unraveling hem, and my finest pair of mary-jane crocs. True, most of the place was filled with women dressed for a club, with stacked heels, but the rest of my party was elegant and gorgeous so I just hid behind them. I snared hardly a single dirty look as I clomped into the cool, minimalist establishment.

How to describe the food? Nouveau awesome? We had eleven outstanding courses, which I won’t even try to re-create here. Let’s look at the highlights: sexual Halibut – it was buttery, it was flaky, it melted in my mouth, it took me to a place that I don’t think I’ve visited before with seafood. The delicate meat was bathed in a red wine jus, and paired with…something crunchy which I couldn’t identify, but still ate enthusiastically. This was followed by an aged pekin duck breast which was served with a tequila braised radish. Oh the duck. The skin was crisped to perfection, and the meat was cooked to a savory mauve. And then there was veal. Miso glazed veal. With lightly fried artichoke hearts. And fresh farmers cheese. This was when things got serious. I believe we paired this with a glass of Blackbird wine? Although at this point a fair amount of wine had already been consumed, so who really knows? It’s hard to explain the gustatory perfection of this dish. Picture it – you take a bite of the rosy-colored veal. The tender meat gives ever so slightly in your mouth. The sweet saltiness of the miso caresses your tongue. And then, oh joy! A succulent bit of fried Artichoke dissolves against your teeth. Finally, you fall into the gentle embrace of the rich, pillowy cheese. You take a sip of spicy red wine, and suddenly all the flavors melt into a perfect symphony of sinful sybaritic splendor.

I did mention that I was with some lovely ladies. We all come from the same “company” at which we “teach” people to play glorified, high-stakes crossword puzzles. This was, by far, the perfect group with which to share this experience. Our raptures gave way to laughter as each of us visited the ladies room and saw the strange, headless, naked male torso picture which covered an entire wall. And, just maybe, such decorations prove that this restaurant actually wants to be visited by a sporadically employed, irresponsible, impractical 33 year old woman. As we age we take on the veneer of respectability, but underneath it all we’re really just a bunch of kids laughing at dirty pictures, and, in general, having way too much fun. In other words, beware: we may look classy enough to gain admittance to your restaurant, but once inside our true nature will not be denied. We will revel in our lust for food, wine, and camaraderie. So either get on board, or take cover! Or at the very least avoid putting creepy pictures of naked guys in the bathroom.