This is primarily a food-centric blog.  But, as I have written above, Whipped is about food, drink and conversation from around the table. I foresee I will be talking about Fuerza Bruta around many a table and so will you once you go and see it!

Last night, I was lucky enough to be one of the first in Chicago to experience Fuerza Bruta.   Upon arrival, the audience was led through the historic Auditorium Theatre right up to the stage where we stood together for the duration of the performance.

Fuerza Bruta is a thrilling, experiential, new style of theatre.  It has the inventiveness of Blue Man Group during their opening season (before they made themselves boring), the physical beauty as well as the visual and auditory stimulation of Cirque du Soleil and the energy of the best concert you have ever attended.

Together with the performers, the audience moves around the stage surprised and engaged with each “act.”  It got a little messy at times and for some perhaps it was all too close for comfort.  But, I found that the proximity to the action and the physical interaction between performers and audience created an unbelievable exchange and crescendo of energy throughout the show.

Fuerza Bruta moves seamlessly from being beautiful and breathtaking to loud and dynamic.  The show is sexy, unexpected, sensual, active, vibrant, entertaining and colorful.  Though it is full of tricks, it didn’t feel gimmicky.  I left the theatre feeling a bit more alive than when I entered.

If you are severely claustrophobic or can’t physically stand for an hour, you might not want to go.  Everyone else, wear comfortable shoes, open your mind to a new type of theatre and prepare for an hour like no other.

Watch a video preview here and buy tickets here.

A crispy outer layer emits an audible crackle as your teeth sink in peeling away thin flakes.  Just underneath this crunchy exterior you meet airy layers of dough.  Soft, pull-apart, buttery dough.  At the center of the almond variety is a fragrant, sweet paste that has eased and oozed against the unforgettable innermost layers.  The memory of my last bite lingers for weeks.  This croissant romances me better than a Frenchman along la bord de la Seine.

The talented, married duo Dimitri and Kelly Fayard own Vanille Patisserie in Chicago.  I have had the great fortune of watching Kelly create her masterful wedding cakes that are not only visually stunning but memorably delicious.  And, I have heard great tales of Dimitri and his chocolate and sugar sculpture.  Macaroons, tarts, wedding cakes, mousse cakes, pate de fruit, pain au chocolat…. are you convinced?

Go here:   Vanille Patisserie, 2229 North Clybourn, Chicago, Illinois, 773-868-4574

I have been meaning to visit Paulina’s Meat Market for ages and finally just found my way there for the first time.  Within minutes of entering the aromatic meat emporium, Mini Whipped was offered a piece of fresh cut balony.  From the depths of my brain arose an old, dusty memory….standing on my tippy-toes, reaching up to receive a hotdog or fresh cut of baloney from the old butcher shop my mother used to frequent.  We would lightly fold the baloney to bite out eyes, nose and mouth making a happy meat face. Baloney for the kids?  Old school and I like it.

The friendly older gentlemen at Paulina’s charmed my daughter and me while we bought some natural peanut buter and Lucini olive oil from the grocer and chose select meats.  I suppose the pepperoni was the give-away but when I got home and found my new friend had wrapped all my selections together and labeled them “pizza meats,” my loyalty to Paulina’s was sealed.  The Canadian bacon and pepperoni had been heading for my pizza and though the hickory smoked bacon was planned for breakfast, I took inspiration from my white paper wrap and threw it on the pizza too.  (meat lover’s pizza recipe to come!)

Even if you aren’t in the neighborhood, Paulina’s Meat Market is worth a visit.

Paulina’s Meat Market
3501 N. Lincoln Avenue, Chicago, Illinois

Dear Hot Doug,
I never thought I would find another Yesterdog and I guess I still have not.
But claiming that they are still my sole hot dog love? Well, now my heart is caught.

I am not the first nor the last to sing praises. I know you have many a suitor.
Still, I have decided to come forth and proclaim my love! (hiding slightly, behind my computer)

It is not just the taste of your offerings that have me dizzy with delight.
I love the consistency, the options, the dry humor, the steady pace…. your operation is tight.

I know what to expect when I get there and it is worthy of the long line.
Fresh sausages, homemade toppings and the most PERFECT corn dog every time.

Our special dates are Fridays and Saturdays when you make those duck fat fries.
If I said I didn’t care for them or could live without, I would be telling you bold-faced lies.

Your sausage emporium really does it for me. I am addicted to your perfect treats.
There are no two finer words in the English language than the words ‘encased meats.’

Hot Doug’s
3324 North California
Chicago, Illinois

Warm and simple decor, an amazing beer selection, perfectly prepared food and communal seating. These were the keys that opened my doors. As my friend and I burst into laughter, I felt a strangers hand on mine…

“It seems we were seated in the wild corner of the restaurant.”

Into our lives walked new friends with whom we had more real conversations in the first hour than some have after a lifetime. Talk of enchanted New Zealand forests, green rooftops, budding romance… all the while our palates were dancing with delight. She shared one of her oysters. I kept the shell.

This year, I will remember to engage. I will face people without judgement. I will feel happy to be alive. I will seek sensory experiences. I will remember that despite all difficulties and hardships, the world is my oyster and is full of pearls. Happy New Year Friends.

For the second time in the past month, I enjoyed a nearly perfect brunch at the Sofitel in Chicago. The main dishes they prepare are very good but it is the extra service and treats dripping from the experience that put them over the top.

As we pulled up to the door at the Sofitel, just West of Michigan Avenue, we were greeted by a very special man named Patrick. His bright, genuine smile and ruddy cheeks exuded friendliness. He bid us good morning, welcomed us to the hotel and offered to take really good care of our car while we enjoyed brunch. (He proceeded to nestle our Honda sedan between three Mercedes and a Bentley). Patrick clearly felt pride in his work and faced the world with a glass that is always half full. I have thought of him almost daily since our Sofitel visit last week and have reminded myself to channel the same energy.

The architecture of the new hotel is notable and interesting, the decor modern and clean. I could go on about the atmosphere and service but I am so anxious to get down to the true meat of this post….. the pastries. Oh, good God, the pastries. Now, I know that I have a bit of a problem with my inflated love for donuts and baked goods. But, the Sofitel pastries brought me to a new level.

Coffee is served in a French press, fresh squeezed juice is poured for each person and before your meal arrives, a basket of fresh, flaky pastries descends upon the table. I heard a soft crescendo of music and swore that there was an angelic glow surrounding the breads… manna from heaven! They are the best pastries I have eaten outside of France.

Although the indulgence in the divine sweets made me happy, it also became somewhat of a distraction. After our basket was nearly emptied and our main dishes were about to arrive, I was relieved to see the server whisk it away…. until he brough it back filled again to the brim.

This is the point in my tale when we realize I have a problem. They say you have an addiction if your need or desires affect your normal life or personal relationships. Well, does not being able to continue a conversation with your family because you are too worried about eating or not eating another pastry qualify? Is it a bad sign if you break out into a cold sweat as you see the neighboring table cleared and a dirty napkin placed over the full pastry basket as it heads to the trash? What if you honestly have visions of stashing the uneaten pastries from the table beside you in your purse before the busser comes to claim them? And if major life decisions like buying a new house, choosing to get married or having a child are EASIER than saying no to a “pastry doggy bag” offered by the server… is it a sure sign of needing HELP?!?!?

I did turn down that free ‘to go’ box of chocolate croissants, pain au raisin and mini baguettes. But, I have regretted it every day since.