The Joy of Food

I hate Robert Atkins. I never thought a guy would come between my friends and me, but when we were shopping the other day, wouldn't you know it, good old Bobby A. had to crash the party. We were going through a drive-thru at a burger place, and dreams of a bacon butter burger deluxe with extra pickles and a chocolate shake took control of my body. Not the pinnacle of dining out, but every now and then, don't we all deserve a good heart attack on a bun? But to. . .

I am not pregnant. I don't have bad breath. And no, I don't like to eat it with ice cream. I am merely one woman with a great love of pickles, and apparently, that makes me a freak. I'm not certain where this "pickle prejudice" derived from. I am just tired of those gawking stares I get while enjoying my little salty green friend. Despite the many pickle lovers who have emerged through the years (George Washington,. . .

Can I marry a piece of shrimp in Illinois? If not, I think we need to draft legislation on humans marrying consumable items because I had some grocery store shrimp sushi the other day that made me want to dump my boyfriend and drive straight to Vegas. It was the perfect combination of fresh pink shrimp, creamy avocado and just a hint a spicy wasabi. For a short period of time, I was in (fake) sushi heaven. Then I read a Feb. 9 Newsweek article that showed a 168 percent increase of. . .

It was a cold, rainy night, and I stood amidst a sea of strangers speaking in an unfamiliar tongue. I looked tentatively at my surroundings, wondering what to do and where to start doing it. Then, an ominous voice boomed in a threatening tone over a loud speaker "Number 65! Where's Number 65?" and I stepped toward to my fate, my destiny, my goal: the best darn salami this side of Poland. But I wasn't anywhere near Poland. I was in Burr. . .

Hello. My name is Leena, and I have a serious addiction to bacon. And green olives. And pizza, chocolate peanut butter ice cream, garlic, corn dogs and everything else that can be placed in the category of "food. "(This is where you, the audience, typically shouts out a supportive, "Hi, Leena! " Go ahead. I'll wait for you. ) I am a food addict. What does that mean? Well, according to Webster's Dictionary, an. . .

Every time I eat a steak, someone starts talking about Mad Cow. And I'm not talking about a group of renegade bovine with a mission to bring down farmers everywhere (although they'd have a point -- farmers always are grabbing their chests. ) I'm talking about that disgusting disease that's crippling the dairy industry and forcing us to play Russian roulette with our meatloaf. After hearing all of the lovely side effects for an hour (highlights. . .

Scenario No. 1: You're at a restaurant and can't help but notice your server has ignored you since taking your order. Later, she says your appetizers were burnt, they ran out of your entree and the people at the table next to you complained you were noisy, so would you kindly leave the establishment before they call the police? Scenario No. 2: You're at a restaurant and can't help but notice people at three tables giving you dirty looks for their. . .

Tired of diets that ignore all those delicious carbs and fatty foods? With the college diet, you can ignore vegetables and go carb crazy! Ever want to eat pizza for breakfast and lunch and drink beer for dinner? Try the college diet! You will probably gain a lot of weight and even get depressed, but hey, at least you'll have fun getting there, right? Wrong. After four faithful years of sticking to the college diet, I have come back heavier, unhealthier and with an. . .

When my teacher first asked me to attend the annual NRA show, I was offended because I do not support guns in any way. It wasn't until later that I realized my teacher, a chef, was not asking me to work the National Rifle Association's show, but the National Restaurant Association's show. I always get the two confused! Somewhere, Charlton Heston is having a laugh on my behalf . . . With more than 9,000 booths filled with food, drinks and culinary. . .

Mexico reminds most 20-somethings of the same thing: shots of tequila, dancing, more tequila and doing things they will regret in the morning. For years, places like Cancun and Cozumel have attracted thousands of college students in search of a little fun, relaxation and, of course, the ultimate spring break destination. As sacrilegious as this may be to my generation, I am not going to Mexico in search of the perfect margarita, tan or hookup. All I want is the best empanada this side. . .

It's here, the moment you've all been waiting for, so hold on to your pants and socks because here comes . . . solutions to bad service! After taking some time to read through the scores of responses the first bad service article brought in (a whopping three e-mails to be exact), I took some time to reflect on your thoughts and create my own. My solutions are simple, easy to follow and, if followed correctly, will ensure a happy dining experience for all parties. . .

As a little kid, I always thought guacamole looked like alien snot. Every time I saw guacamole, it was a mushy, bright green bowlful of disgustingness from a foreign land, and although I had little experience with extraterrestrials, the closest thing I could associate it with was alien snot. And I wouldn't eat it for all the money in the world. Flash forward a couple of decades, and you'll see me consuming guacamole and other avocado by-products at least. . .

Your first time eating good barbecue is a lot like your first time in love. You don't know how you found it, where it's been or when you'll ever get it that good again. I still remember my first time -- it was four years ago, in Bellevue, Neb. , and I was eating at this dusty little restaurant and bar called the Amarillo. They had a one-page menu, and being a picky eater, I was shell shocked. C'mon, even McDonald's menu has. . .

Growing up, I never heard anyone say, "I want to be a professional eater when I grow up. "In fact, I thought unless you were a chef or owned a Piggly Wiggly, it was impossible to focus your life on food, and, in extreme cases like my own, it was just plain weird. In high school, I wanted to take a cooking class, but my counselor basically told me the cooking classes were for kids not going to college. I was upset, but my parents always had told me college was a. . .

When I was about 2 years old, my parents left me in the backseat of our car with a McDonald's bag full of leftover ketchup packets. I was quiet for a while, and they turned around to find me covered in empty ketchup packets with a smile on my face. Then I threw up and wouldn't touch the stuff for the next 15 years or so. Aren't kids cute? Flash forward to July 4, 2004. I was flipping through channels on the television and found live coverage of the. . .

In junior high, I watched the movie "Cool Hand Luke," starring Paul Newman, and something about it struck a chord in me. Newman was pushed into a hard boiled egg eating contest, and on that day when I watched the movie, I realized I had found my calling: I wanted to be a competitive eater. As you may remember from my last column, competitive eating is a sport that is on the rise again, thanks to the International Federation of Competitive Eating and. . .

It's hot, it's dirty, it always smells and it's my favorite part of Mexico. Zihuatenejo, Mexico, is located next to the resort town of Ixtapa and is a lot like the sister of a popular kid at school; she might not get invited to as many parties, but what a personality! You see, Ixtapa was built around 30 years ago, solely for the booming tourist industry. Big Z was built more than 400 years ago and is truly a hidden treasure of Mexico. Yeah, it smells a. . .

Burritos and tacos and nachos, oh my! Contrary to popular belief, my trip to Mexico was not like another version of the menu at Taco Bell. Sure, there were tacos and nachos here and there, but they were around mostly to appease the picky American tourist's palate. If you want to eat like a native Mexican, you have to delve a little deeper than your hotel's room service. On one of my trips to the Zihuatenejo marketplace, I made a valuable discovery. Right outside of. . .

Growing up half Indian, the closest thing I had to a role model was Apu from the Simpsons. I assumed, like everyone else, that all Indians were destined to become doctors or work at 7-11, slinging slurpees and praying for the souls of the 2-for-1 hot dogs. Constant teasing from my classmates didn't help either. Trust me, this column is not a plea for sympathy. I just know you can only hear so many dot-head jokes before going postal and shoving slurpees where the sun. . .

On a recent trip to Little India in Chicago with an American companion of mine, I realized how confusing it must be for an outsider to navigate its seemingly uncharted territory. First, we stopped off at the Pakistani Independence Day Festival, held at a local park near Devon Avenue. The advertisement for the festival boasted all kinds of Pakistani and Indian foods, as well as multiple clothing vendors. Since the festival was in Chicago, I assumed people of all cultures and races would be. . .

I have something embarrassing to share with you. As a young cook, I never really was interested in Julia Child. She was older than me and sounded like an English nanny with her mouth full of marshmallows -- can you blame me? So it came as a huge surprise when I read that she had passed away in her sleep on Aug. 13, and I felt remorseful. Despite my rejection of Julia in my earlier years, I was old enough now to realize that not only had a culinary icon disappeared, but I had wasted years. . .

I don't like you. I used to respect and look up to you. Then you decided to support the whole low-carb craze and, like any good pied piper, led 10 million American lemmings off the ledge of sanity. Needless to say, I have more respect for Michael Jackson than I do for you. You are a powerful industry. According to the Jan. 12 Fortune Magazine, you make more than $587 billion a year, enough to make Oprah's empire look like pocket. . .

There is an atrocity that happens every November, and I plan on putting a stop to it right now. Every Thanksgiving, millions of Americans choose to celebrate the holiday with what I equate to be a culinary abomination. That's right, I'm talking about that familiar slimy orange dish with the cute little marshmallows on top. America, it is time to stop slaughtering our sweet potatoes and view them for what they really are: little orange balls of yummy healthy. . .

As the summer months drift away, I often like to think of those seasonal specialties of autumn, such as pumpkin pie, hot chocolate, and of course, ice cold sorbet. Wait a minute. Sorbet in September? Why not talk about something relevant, like turkeys or Halloween treats? What can I say, I'm just a frozen food rebel. I don't remember my first sorbet encounter, probably because I was only a few years old, but there is one sorbet that has stuck out in my mind. . . .

I'm in a jam, a pickle, and, let me tell you, it tastes so good. What am I babbling about? Betsy's of Lockport, a delightful little gift shop that sells everything from candles to the best blackberry jam this side of the I&M Canal. Located at 103 E. 10th and State streets in Lockport, the building is no stranger to business. Around six years ago, it was home to a thrift store/antique shop where I bought my last homecoming dress, and years before that,. . .

Once upon a time, I went to college in a land far away called Peoria. I didn't really know why I was there, but I assumed I would figure it out by graduation. I didn't. However, I did enjoy a lot of sleeping in until noon, "studying" with my friends until the keg ran out and skipping classes. Once upon another time, I went to culinary school in a beautiful land close to my house called Joliet. I was there because I liked to eat a. . .

Right now, I am drowning in a sea of Kleenex and cough syrup, and it feels like a semi truck is repeatedly running over my head. The only thing more pathetic than the state I'm in now is what I get to eat: watery chicken noodle soup and stale crackers. Occasionally, I'll have a glass of OJ, but thanks to my crazy college years, OJ tends to bring back a horrible memory that involved a few too many screwdrivers, so I try to avoid it. According to the Spring 2004. . .

You know the old saying, "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen"? I believe that along with the birth of restaurants in the world came the birth of people with anger management issues. You know who I'm talking about -- the stereotypical hot-headed chefs who rule the food world. Some call it the "old European way;" some blame it on the highly stressful environment. I think it takes my treasured. . .

As the winter holidays approach, most people think about gifts, relatives and annoying songs that conveniently correspond with the current holiday. Personally, I think about food. And I know that's a given, but trust me, over the holidays it is even worse. Picture Homer Simpson with a box of doughnuts: tongue hanging out of mouth, excessive drooling and that longing gurgling noise he makes. That is me with seasonal favorites. Thankfully, many organizations are quenching this. . .

Can a person die from eating too much bacon? If so, hand over my death certificate and take me to the morgue because I am positively swimming in a sea of the stuff. And what a salty, crispy, wonderful way to go. Bacon and I go way back. It was there at my first real breakfast, present for many lunch sandwiches, and I even invited bacon to my birthday party one year! I always have called bacon "the food of the gods" because nothing short of a miracle could. . .

As soon as I learned how to drive, I was heading into the Windy City (but don't tell my mom -- she always thought I was going to Orland Park! ). Aside from great stores, theaters and improv, I've discovered a few secrets through the years that guarantee a good time (with food, of course! ) in the city. Some are cheap, some are not, but all are more than worth it. If you can afford it, one of the most entertaining places in the city to eat is Improv Kitchen, 3419 N. . . .

Open, scoop, spread. Repeat -- open, scoop, spread. Repeat -- open, scoop, spread. Repeat -- there was almost a sort of calmness that came with the rhythm of the work. Open the corn husk; scoop up some masa; spread it on the corn husk; do it again. It was repetitive, yes, but the process yielded a product so wonderful, I sung the directions in my head long after our tamale making was done. Who needs to run to the border when great Mexican food exists in Oak Lawn? No, I wasn't. . .

These days, more and more kids are getting interested in the art of cooking. And who can blame them? It's fun and almost always yields a tasty result. As a young foodie myself, I can attest that the main link between my world and the food world has been TV cooking shows. However, it feels like most current shows are driven toward the older generation of cooks. Trying to get a food-loving 8-year-old to watch Martha Stewart is like trying to get Martha in jail: It's a. . .

For years, people have tried to cut salt out of their diets to stay healthy. What most people don't realize is, salt, if used in moderation, is a safe additive for our food that makes anything taste and cook better. Oh yeah, and if we didn't have salt, we'd probably die. There I go again, making death threats on my innocent readers. But don't blame me -- your body is the killer. Most people assume too much salt will dehydrate a person,. . .

There wasn't a lot of food writing in kid novels growing up, so I used to have all the best spots marked in each book with a bent page and food stains. I could even determine which story was the best by how many food stains were on the page -- a sure sign that passage paired best with food. One of my favorites was about a homeless man going door to door in search of food until a kind soul invites him in and serves him the last food she has on hand: a slice of bread and roasted. . .

If you are anything like me, you get bored easily with food. Sushi at 5 a.m., deep dish pizza at noon, French food for a snack -- dealing with my appetite is as easy as wrestling with an alligator blindfolded, and if you are not careful, you might lose an arm. It is at times like these that I am thankful for this nearby wonderful city full of wind known as Chicago. But I know all you suburban folks are complaining, "What use is eating in the city for me? I don't live. . .

In the past few decades, it feels like the world has gained a new appreciation of the culinary arts. More organizations, grocery stores and even restaurants are popping up to cater to our wide and diverse needs. From sushi to organic vegetarian to Ethiopian Monks, if you have a need to be met, someone can help you. That is why it was (and wasn't) shocking when I discovered a restaurant catering to people who hate food. The restaurant, Sehnsucht, which means "The. . .

We all know how much vision plays a part in the eating process. If something doesn't look good (be it the restaurant's decor, the wait staff, or the food) you probably won't eat there, right? Likewise, if chef presents you with a plate that looks beautiful and appetizing, you just have to eat it. But what would you do if that vision disappeared? Would you stop eating out just because you couldn't see what you were eating? Do you trust the. . .

The long, silver blade of 10 inches slowly inched closer to the finger, like it had a mind of its own. It was razor-sharp, able to shave a Mexican hairless cat in under 2. 5 seconds, but this time, it wanted blood. Must cut, must cut, must cut, the dangerous cutlery hypnotized the operator with its haunting chant and fluid movements until it finally got what it wished for -- to cut through human flesh and hear that piercing, bone chilling scream from the operator. Job completed. No,. . .

Ah, Christmas -- a time of merriment, cheer and, of course, really bad karaoke. That's right, really bad but heartfelt karaoke. What holiday would be complete without it? Probably all of them, but hey, a little off-key "Achy, Breaky Heart" never hurt anyone any more than Grandma's stale fruitcake. While my family's Christmas traditions are deeply embedded in my memory, I've found that deviating from the norm. . .

What does your grandma's ugly blue paisley couch have in common in with tropical fruit? Probably more than you think -- paisley is a design based off the Indian mango. In fact, this once foreign fruit is consumed by more people daily than any other fruit in the world, according to the California Rare Fruit Growers home page, crfg.org. And while I despise paisley, I do have special place in my heart for the pitted fruit. Mangoes are unique, versatile and, unlike your. . .

This time of year brings many things to mind: old Christmas trees; New Year's Resolutions; and, for those of us still in the world of academia, finals. Yup, it's just about that time to forgo all sleeping and other activities to cram in every last bit of knowledge we were supposed to have already learned and take the dreaded test. In my case, the test is on everything culinary -- literally. My teacher/chef held a review for the final, in which he named off. . .

I always have had a great love for celebrity chefs. Even growing up, I wanted to work with nothing but the best and most famous in the kitchen. That is why it was natural that my first cookbook, The Official Mickey Mouse Cookbook, was written by the biggest celebrity of all, at least to an 8-year-old. But for some reason, making mouse-shaped pancakes just didn't do it for me. I went for my mother's hardbound "Betty Crocker" and made my first. . .

When I think back to what originally drew me to the world of food, I always think of my first real job. It was 1997, at Cool Creations Ice Cream Parlor in Lockport. A bright yellow store with more than 30 flavors of ice cream, a small bakery and the smell of waffle cones is what I really remember. The owners even made ice cream in the store with a giant ice cream machine. I think being near all that sugar just put me in a good mood. The job itself was relatively simple. I would. . .

I'll admit it -- I am starting to become a water snob. I cannot stand to drink Aquefina bottled water. It tastes like swimming pool water minus the kiddie pee. I know you are probably thinking water doesn't taste like anything, so how can it taste like pool water? Maybe you should figure that out yourself. Buy four different bottled waters, especially ones that vary in price. Now sip each one and write down what you taste. Arthur von Wiesenberger, author of two. . .

For a recent school project, I had to record what I ate for three days. I barely remember what I ate five minutes ago, so this would prove difficult. Then, I had to enter the information on a Web site that would calculate how healthy I was, using the recently revised U.S. Food Pyramid. The results showed the actual food pyramid and my food pyramid next to it. Mine looked like a food stick with legs. Mom would be so proud. It's amazing what you can learn about yourself by. . .

It all started with an Ipswich clam. I recently received an e-mail from my food-writing news group, from a gentleman living in Arizona whose wife had a whole quart of freshly-caught, shucked Ipswich clams Fed-Exed to him for his birthday. It was a taste he grew up with, and had been longing for some time. At the bottom of the e-mail, there was a call to action for us food writers: send our favorite food memories from growing up to the list server so everyone could enjoy them. This has. . .

Ah, chocolate. Someone always is eating it. Some may call it an addiction, but it's like my friend Mary always tells me: There is no 12-step program for chocolate because no one wants to quit. She also thinks the easiest way to get two pounds of chocolate home from the store in a hot car is to eat it in the parking lot. Needless to say, chocolate is her life. And she is not alone. We all eat it, but what do we really know about chocolate? Do we know its history? Its secrets?. . .

I was never a big fan of beer. Growing up, I remember liking the smell of it, but once I was legal and could drink it, it tasted pretty similar to warm sweat. It really discouraged me because I wanted to go out for a beer after a hard day of college classes like all my friends, but the memory of the taste had me reaching for a Pepsi. That was before I was introduced to the magical world of cider. Just like beer is made from fermented grains and wines from fermented grapes, cider, also known. . .

As a kid, I was a picky eater, and school lunches were no exception. Like most kids, I turned my nose up at healthy food and begged my mom to pack my comfort food, like potato chips and Little Debbies. I'll admit the school served a mildly balanced meal every day, but who wanted a turkey breast with gravy when soft pretzels and the infamous Taco Tuesdays were taunting my taste buds? That was back in the '90s, and it is not much different today. With the rise of. . .

Guess what I just heard? Breakfast is soooo mad at you, it doesn't even want to talk to you right now. Now I didn't tell you this, but Breakfast's brother's friend's uncle's girlfriend told me that Breakfast has been feeling neglected and alone, left to eat the dust off of all the Pop Tarts and bagels America has chosen to consume instead of a real breakfast. Shoot, I wouldn't be surprised if Breakfast. . .

A recent Associated Press story reported that McDonald's will take more efforts to make its food healthy as a result of recent obesity lawsuits. This effort means fruit options and altering its world-famous french fry recipe by cooking them in a lower fat oil. And it is my job to stop them from doing so. Ever hear the phrase, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it?" Well, after doing 24 years of tireless french fry research, I have come. . .

If you are anywhere near a package of margarine, it is imperative that you leave, find shelter, or at least chuck it out your window. Do it now! Don't you understand the lives of precious turkeys are at stake? Because according to this totally believable e-mail I recently received, not only was margarine originally invented to fatten up turkeys, but it ending up killing them, and it's rich supporters, not wanting to lose their investment, colored it yellow and. . .

Not many people know this, but I was a duck in my past life. Growing up Hindu, I learned that not only was I reincarnated from a duck, but I also had a great love for anything with water or webbed feet. My duck name was Sophia, and I lived on a foie gras farm in France. For those not in the know, "The New Food Lover's Companion" defines foie gras as enlarged liver of a goose or duck that has been force-fed and has restricted exercise for five to six. . .

When my mother used to serve it, it sat there like a lump of green disaster. It was ready to eat me like the blob or at least make me sick. I hated spinach. We've all experienced our own form of green disaster, be it spinach gone wrong or green beans a la tin can. Kids and adults alike have snubbed many great greens for the same reason I did: they couldn't shake their childhood memories of the green disasters! It's the same fear that makes me feel. . .

I know Charlie Trotter. While most might brag about a fact like that, I am kind of embarrassed. Let me back up. For those of you who don't know, Charlie Trotter is a self-made success in the restaurant industry and the most famous chef in Chicago right now. For 17 years, he has run the impeccable Charlie Trotter's restaurant in Lincoln Park, where plates can start at more than $100, and the menu not only changes daily, it is based around seasonal ingredients. . . .

Ever tried to scratch your nose while one hand is covered in chocolate and the other is immersed in pie dough? Or adjust your slowly falling pants while knee-high in chicken guts? Let me tell you, you will most likely end up with food in the strangest crevices on your body, and you probably won't notice until it is dried and caked on. How fun. When it comes to working in a kitchen, there are many trials you must face, like long hours, hard work, blah blah blah. But what about. . .

You ever work and work and work on something and realize that you are getting nowhere? Then you work some more, get yelled at a few times, seriously consider hurting yourself just so you can leave and then you work some more. That is what catering an hors d'oeuvres party at my school was like for me. Never again. We were split into around five groups of four, and each group had to create a total of at least 300 hor d'oeuvres and appetizers fulfilling all ten categories. . .

The first wine I had ever tasted was robust, earthy, red -- and came in a box. The second wine I ever tasted was deliciously sweet, almost sugary, and came in a bottle with the words "Boone's Farm" on it. Needless to say, I am a true wine connoisseur. With the experience of boxes and Boone's Farm under my wing, I forged ahead into the world of wines with my expansive knowledge that amounted to this: the two types of wine are red and. . .

There I was, knee-deep in chicken guts and loving it. The clock had only been running for 5 minutes, and I truly believed I had to be the fastest chicken cutter this side of the Mississippi. I was a lady with a 10-inch Wusthof on a mission. With the current onslaught of reality television, it is no surprise that cooking shows are being thrown into the mix. Taking their cues from "Iron Chef" and similar programs, these new shows pit the culinary skills of chefs and. . .

It took me weeks to prepare for it. I started out by waking up earlier than normal, just so I could get in an extra meal, anything to make my stomach bigger. Around two weeks before, I practiced sprinting up and down my apartment stairs while eating a donut, thus improving my eating-while-walking skills. A week before, I wore headphones playing the theme song from "Rocky" while gorging at local salad bars and buffets three times daily. A day before, I knew I was. . .

I still watch cartoons. I still eat cereal with little colorful marshmallows. Call me a kid, but I still get excited over new candy. During Halloween, while everyone else ate most of their candy within the first two nights, young Leena made sure it lasted at least a month. Even at a young age, I had a great appreciation of fine candy. So as a big little kid, I am always seeking out the latest candies. It is a difficult job, trust me. If you are an adult and you are craving. . .

It started with a hunger -- to eat food. Now that I am almost finished with school, I'd like to think that Joliet Junior College Culinary School is a great balance of sweet and sour for the budding chef-to-be. It was tough, like the endless hours cooking in the school cafeteria you endure the first year. Young chefs bustle in, eager and ready to be the next Paul Bocuse or Alice Waters, and there they find themselves cutting pound after pound of vegetables into perfect little. . .

I've never met a cake I didn't eat. Ah, desserts -- whether it's a luscious passion fruit curd tart with a fresh strawberry-black pepper salad, or bright green pistachio Jello-brand pudding that is ready to serve in an hour, you better believe I've heard of it or am currently trying to eat it. Now I can write a 30-page dissertation on how to precisely make puff pastry dough in under eight hours, but if any of you reading this have eight. . .

My first memory of popcorn in my life was when I was around four. My brother loved popcorn a lot, so my family always made it for him. My mom would either pop the corn on the stove with a little oil or she had this awesome air-powered popcorn machine. I liked the air-popped, partially because it sounded like a giant hairdryer, but my brother preferred the stove method. One day, my brother wanted popcorn, but my mother was preoccupied with something else, probably laundry or some similar. . .

I'm about to do something I don't do very often, so prepare yourself: I'm going to admit I was wrong. I know, I know, shocking as it may seem, even the never-been-wrong-about-anything-ever person like me tends to slip up every now and then. Just don't spread that around. Back in October of last year, I wrote an article criticizing Rachael Ray, the latest Food Network diva. While I still feel fervently about her new show, "Inside. . .

Happy, blissful, bloated, repeat. That was pretty much the range of emotions I went through that day. That's right, you can probably already tell this, just like every article I write, involves me and a whole lot of food. Hey, at least I'm consistent. It started off like any other day. I woke up to my cat joyfully attacking my toes dangling off the corner of the bed. Scratched up but undeterred, I forged ahead with my day, which involved showing a fellow. . .

It started out innocently enough. I bought a little box of 24 liquid freeze pops that would soon freeze into wonderful little popsicles to help celebrate summer. I'd eat one after breakfast, maybe after work if it was hot. Three days later, my box of 24 was gone, and I had no clue where they all went. There must be a little freeze pop elf that snuck into my fridge last night. So I bought two more, and finished those in three days. I also stayed awake for three days in a row,. . .

Seven people stood up in the crowd and started chanting "Asparagus, Bananas, Cheddar Cheese, Doughnuts, Extra Crispy Bacon. "They were snapping, slowly moving closer to me, as they appeared to be shouting out their favorite foods alphabetically and musically, all chanting to the invisible metronome in their minds. Now, I meet a lot of strange people in the city, but this takes the cake, doughnut and extra crispy bacon. Are they a group from the local mental hospital?. . .

Strange food combinations I have consumed in life (thus far): sweet pickle and peanut butter sandwiches. Hot dog and sushi dinners. Cheese popcorn and barbeque potato chips. Go with me on that last one. At first glance, it seems to be nothing more than a strange craving of your everyday food-a-holic, like myself. But upon a closer look, you are taken into a whole new realm of understanding and enjoying foods known as "contrasting textures. " Let me back up a bit. . . .

So I went out to grab a bite to eat the other morning with my friend Breakfast, and we had the most interesting conversation! It started when I tried to buy Breakfast an Enormous Omelet Sandwich from Burger King. Breakfast was so appalled at the gargantuan sub filled with eggs, bacon, sausage and cheese that it slapped me upside the head with it. And let me tell you, sausage patties sting. First, let me preface this by saying Breakfast is no longer mad at the American public for ignoring it. . .

Attention faithful Herald News readers, I now interrupt your regularly scheduled food column to bring you the following important news: Leena Trivedi has been kidnapped by a giant piece of maki sushi and will not be returned until the giant sushi's demands have been met. The discovery of her disappearance occurred at 18:00 hours on Aug. 1, shortly after she tried to get some friends to eat sushi for the first time. The crime scene was littered with bits of spicy wasabi paste and. . .

Woman, go make me a sandwich! The last man that said that to me is still having pieces of my foot surgically removed from his butt. You've heard it on TV, in movies, and as a timeless joke told by men everywhere. The idea that a woman's place is in the kitchen is outdated and yet modern at the same time. What the heck am I talking about? Well, go make me a sandwich, and you just might find out. For many years, women were all but. . .

All you really need in this life are two things: a little vacation time, and a place to buy a great sausage. Luckily, I know where you can get both. Stepping into the J. H. Lockport Polish Deli, located at 946 N. State St. in Lockport, is a like a passport into another place and time, where English is not the language of choice, and Eastern European delicacies like hand-made smoked Polish sausage reigns. And where there is smoked sausage, there I shall be. When John and Helen Lach moved to. . .

If you've never cut into a pineapple before, you're in for a big surprise: it's about as easy as keeping up with Oprah's weight loss. With a thick outer shell, little brown needles stuck to the flesh, and a woody core, you have to feel sorry for the first sucker who tried to eat it raw. I never had to cut a pineapple in culinary school, so the first time I cut one as a pastry assistant, it took a little time to get through. But as with. . .

I like potatoes. A lot. My obsession started innocently enough, when my parents gave me a Mr. Potato Head for Christmas. Sure, I was only 3 years old, but you think they might have warned me ahead of time that Mr. Potato Head didn't like being roasted in the oven at high temperatures. Needless to say, my childhood memories are studded with pictures of a half-melted Mr. Potato Head that more resembled Sloth from the movie "Goonies" than a toy-like. . .

Cindy Medina is the kind of lady you just want to have a glass of wine with and talk for hours over great food. She treats everyone from her customers to her wait staff just like her restaurant Belle Amici is translated, like beautiful friends. And boy, does she know a good plate of sausage and peppers when she sees one. Belle Amici Italian Ristorante, formerly known as Giovanna's until it changed ownership last August, is located at 201 N. Ottawa Street in downtown Joliet. . . .

It'd be great to live like the Jetsons or the people on "Star Trek. " You car would fly, your body could magically transport from one place to another, and you could have whatever you want to eat whenever you want to eat just by talking to a machine. I tend to fantasize a lot about food and food products. For instance, in grade school I used to day dream during boring science lectures about an imaginary water fountain that would dispense any flavor soda pop or. . .

I'm going to take the plunge. I finally am going to try those dill pickle-flavored potato chips. It's been calling to me for months, sitting there on the grocery store shelf, looking tempting and scary at the same time. It's like the chips knew I have a great love for both potato chips and pickles, and put me in a trance, convincing me that the obvious next step would be purchasing potato chips that taste like pickles. It was a smart bag of chips. This brings us up to date...

I am a creature of comfort. I eat what I feel like when I feel like it. That is not always good. You see, shortly before my trip to Europe in high school, I had a cavity filled. Five minutes later, the filling fell out, and had to be replaced. My dentist warned me to stay away from eating sticky or tough food that may agitate the filling. But I was seventeen, do you think I listened? One piece of delicious, crusty and chewy French baguette later, I was sans one filling...

When I think of casinos, thoughts of poker chips, craps tables and Ocean Eleven flood my mind. With all the gambling, betting, and winning/losing of money going on, how could anyone's thoughts(other than mine) drift over to food? Argosy's Empress Casino in Joliet , IL is determined to make casinos and great food synonymous, and personally, I'm not going to stop them. On September 20th, they celebrated the opening of their Oasis Gold Lounge for mid level players and newly...

Chef Grant likes to play with his food. Take his version of a PB & J, for instance. It consists of a single peeled grape coated in peanut butter and wrapped in a piece of micro-thin toasted brioche. Chef Grant also likes to tell people how to eat. His PB & J, which is more like a distant cousin of the lunchbox favorite, arrives on a pointy steel stick you eat off of, like a giant shiskebob. If that sounds crazy, just wait until he pulls out the liquid nitrogen. Chef Grant Achatz of the newly opened and highly acclaimed restaurant Alinea...

Chef Adam Roy is a rock star of the food world. A lead pastry chef in downtown Chicago by age 19, a yacht chef feeding the rich and famous on the Mediterranean Sea by age 20, and at age 26, a well seasoned chef with experience on three different continents (America, Europe and Asia) working with top notch chefs. Oh yeah, and the other night? He played drums for a band in Thailand while partying with 550 of his coworkers. I repeat: Chef Adam Roy is a culinary rock star...

I think my fear is routed in the fact that I always associate white linen with fine dining, which to me is a whole week's paycheck. And although I dream about it, to actually dine in one is completely new territory. I read a review about an Indian owner and Indian executive chef, both women, who had never tasted any other culture's food before arriving in America . So delighted by the differing cuisines, they decided to fuse their native Indian cooking with traditional Latino flavors...

Nothing puts me in a good mood better than a thick, fresh and juicy burger with huge slices of pickles, crisp lettuce, tangy onions, and a nice sharp cheddar cheese encased by a freshly baked toasted bun. And if you threw some bacon on it, I probably wouldn't complain. When I moved from the suburbs to the city, I brought with me the all-American craving for the perfect burger. I figured there are so many independent and chain restaurants in Chicago, surely I would find a place to. . .

It is safe to say that I, Leena Trivedi, have never met a donut I did not like. And donuts in New York City are no exception. It started out with an innocent little last-minute trip to the Big Apple, a place I have never been before. And when it comes to visiting new cities, what is always at the top of my to-do list? Eating, and preferably in large amounts. This week's destination: Manhattan, specifically the lower East Side. So strap on your fanny packs and pack some extra wet. . .

It's called "the king of fruit. " It is revered all over as one of the most unique and tasty pieces of produce on the planet. Oh yeah, and when you open it? It smells like a skunk cemetery. Durian fruit, which is native to Southeast Asia, is like the chameleon of the fruit world. The outside is large, hard and spiky, and easily weighs seven or more pounds. It also works wells when thrown at enemies. Think of it as nature's weapon. The inside. . .

When I was 14, my father-who is of Indian descent-decided to teach me how to speak Gujarati, his native language. He bought children's books from India and while he would drone on and on about this verb or that one, I would stare at the colorful illustrations and daydream. And of course, I paid close attention to any food pictures. And never learned the language. |One of the pictures that always interested me was a red fruit that appeared to have many colored seeds on the insid. . .

When I told some friends I wanted to eat at a Chicago Ethiopian restaurant, I was the butt of every bad starving child and Sally Struthers joke you could think of. No one was the least bit interested in this African cuisine, but that made me even more determined to give it a try. I did some research, found a place to eat, and dove in head first. I visited the Ethiopian Diamond at 6120 N. Broadway in Chicago. Actually, on the same street there are two other Ethiopian restaurants and one tiny. . .

We've been fooled. We've been tricked by an entire culture of people, and we were too busy shoving our mouths full of chop suey to do anything about it. We disgust me. OK, maybe that is a little harsh. But for hundreds of years, American culture has felt satisfied on the diversity front, thinking that our consumption of what we know to be Chinese food was actually authentic. Well, it's not. So put down your egg roll, it's time to do some REAL. . .

Generosity can be difficult business. Sometimes it's OK to let it make a basket case of you. We all love to give people gifts that are certain to delight them. But knowing just what that means to a specific recipient sometimes amounts to educated guesswork at best. In this situation, a basket brimming with good things might be just the thing. Everybody eats, so sending a collection of enticing edibles can be a very safe bet. A variety of options are out there, but rich. . .

Not too long ago, a good portion of the country sat down to a large feast of potatoes, cranberry sauce and a big old turkey, the king of Thanksgiving. Forty-six million turkeys were sold this year in November alone. If you're lucky enough to know a good cook, the turkey was perfectly browned and juicy, making the kind of meal you dream about eating all year long. And if you're not lucky, at least you got a nice buzz from all that tryptophan going around. Now, imagine. . .

Food can truly speak louder than words. For weeks, I had anticipated meeting an up and coming Joliet chef by the name of Gaetano (Guy) Turi. I had researched his restaurant, Barolo Fine Dining in downtown Joliet, an establishment that has received nothing but rave reviews from area diners. With a list of questions to ask and a hungry stomach, I was set to meet this chef. I even knew Chef Turi was born and trained in Italy, and how he regularly goes back to stock up ingredients for his. . .

The holidays remind me of eating of lot. Especially holiday-themed baked goods, from sugar cookie Santas to rice crispy menorahs. There is just something about the holidays and the cold weather that makes baking almost a necessity. Since the season for giving presents is finally upon us, it is the perfect time to start thinking about baking equipment that can make your life easier. And if you've been a good girl or boy, maybe the nondenominational character of your choice will. . .

To add beans or not to add beans, that is the question that has plagued chili makers for years. Whether you bean it up or not, there is no denying that winter is the perfect time for a steaming hot bowl of chili. I love chili time. It is not really known when the first official chili was created, but most can agree that is came out of necessity to stretch the food they had a little further. In fact, chili seems to be a dish of disagreement. Everyone I know thinks they can cook it better than the next person...

You've been there before: you are cooking a huge family meal, on the grill, because you're a seasoned chef. But as soon as you set your vegetables on the grill, they slide in between the grates, burn to a crisp, and catch fire. Before you know it, your family starts choking and screaming, the dog passes out on your flower bed, and then the fire department shows up. Wouldn't life be so much easier if you had a special pan to cook those vegetables in? At the very least...

Danielle Moore had never tasted wiener schnitzel before moving to Germany. In fact, she had no clue it existed, spending most of her life living in Lockport, IL . Once she graduated from Northern Illinois University, she became engaged to long time friend Chris Moberg, who was quickly sent off to fight in Iraq. The two were eventually married on Chris's only leave time, and Danielle moved to his permanent base in Germany, waiting for her new husband to return to her from war...

My stomach hurts. I have a headache. And every time I cough, it feels like my chest is on fire. Yep, it is that time of year again. Time for Kleenex stock to go soaring and noses to start blowing; it is cold season. And of course, like some guinea pig of nature, I always seem to get the worst of it. My typical routine involves taking tons of pills that guarantee to stop my fever/body aches/cough/congestion/runny nose, and complaining a lot. The funny thing is...

I ate four truffles for breakfast this morning. That is just the kind of backbreaking work I must do in my line of profession, and thankfully, I am willing to accept it without complaint. OK, so I am throwing a party next week, and I got a crazy idea to make chocolate truffles. I've made them before. in school, at work when I was a pastry chef. but I soon realized that unlike those two places, there is less a margin for error, and frankly, I'm a large. . .

I hate doing dishes. Especially after cooking for hours. . . who wants more work after you've just created a masterpiece? If anything, I want to enjoy the fruits of my labor, not wash them! But should a bunch of dirty pots and pans keep me from doing one of my favorite things in the world? All it takes is a little creative thinking on my part, and I can cook and have my dishes cleaned too. Two words: Dinner party. Another four words: at someone. . .

I like mine topped with mustard (no ketchup), neon-green relish, raw onions, two pickles and celery salt, hold the hot peppers and tomatoes. Life doesn't get much better than that. Growing up in a small town like Lockport, I learned quickly how important traditions can be. The ice cream store you go to after soccer practice, the grocery store you shop at every other week and, of course, who could forget the town hot dog stand. My family used to go to our traditional. . .

I love you. No, seriously, I love you. A lot. More than pickles, hot dogs and barbecue potato chips combined. I love you because you love food; you read my column; and, most importantly, you are good looking. Sometimes I think you may not love me as much as I love you. So I am putting together a dinner for you. Isn't the quickest way to a food lover's heart through his or her stomach? Especially when you use aphrodisiacs? Sort of. Well, it depends. . . .

Applebees, TGIFridays, McDonald's, Taco Bell and, if you're lucky, Pizza Hut. That is pretty much the range of options you can find on any given night in Will County. But every now and then, we Will County folks yearn for something more, something outside of the taco-burger-pizza-steak box. Welcome to Smile of Siam. Don't be fooled by its shy appearance in Shorewood's Park Place Plaza. As it sits there, quietly nestled between a Mexican. . .

There I was, in hour six of the great chocolate-tempering experiment, brow dripping with sweat (not into the chocolate), eyes focused on the candy mold, and chocolate covering every spare surface between my face and the kitchen. Would it temper? There was only one way to find out. I've tried to temper chocolate time after time, but I seem to fall a little bit short on each attempt. It's annoying. It's enough to make me want to buy chocolates. . . .

The best pain in the world is that of scalding hot mozzarella on a fresh-from-the-oven pizza as it burns the roof of your mouth. Sure, you might be sore afterward, but it reminds you of that perfect slice - and it is worth every second of pain. The only thing I like more than hot pizza is a good, cheap pizza. So I marched into Bed, Bath and Beyond and purchased a pizza stone for $20. I didn't really understand how it worked, but hey, pizzas basically cook. . .

They're off-white, look like carrots and have most likely never been made in your kitchen. If they have, you must be European. Or really like food. Ah, parsnips. They're loved all over the world for their versatility, yet we Americans choose to snub them for carrots. They look like a long white carrot yet yield a flavor so rich, you'll wonder why you've ignored them. I encountered parsnips in culinary school while making my first. . .

If you drive south on Interstate 55, around 20 minutes past Joliet, you will find the tiny town of Coal City. With a population just fewer than 5,000, it is a quiet town dotted with cornfields. But if you look hard enough, you just may see a rising star, a chef in training. Ryan Myers, a fifth-grader at Coal City Intermediate School, has a passion for food. While most kids his age are into sports and games, Ryan is a kid set on clearly artistic endeavors. Two of his favorite activities. . .

I love to read about other people eating. Call it an obsession; call it disgusting; call it what you will. I call it a life choice and a career. The first book that really made an impact on my life was called "Jelly Belly. " It told the tale of an overweight kid stuck in fat camp and his love of food. I remember fantasizing that I too was eating all that food, and you know? It felt so good, it almost felt wrong. My favorite current food writer is Ruth. . .

I love eating interactive food - food that makes you play a part in eating it somehow that requires more than just lifting it to your mouth. Like Handisnacks, you know, those little cheese and cracker combos with the little red stick? There is just something about interactive food that elevates it above everything else. So when I ate my first whole artichoke a week ago, I probably was more excited than I should have been. There was just something about the method of it - picking off the leaves,. . .

The other day I found a strange brown apple in the produce section. Not being familiar with brown apples, I grabbed the fruit that was labeled apple pear and marched purposefully to the checkout lane. You see, I am a big fan of brown food, like potatoes, bacon, and chocolate, so how could this brown apple be a bad thing? I had to find out more about my brown friend, and I was in for either a really good find or a really spoiled apple. The first thing I found out was that it was. . .

Your first trip to a bakery is always a memorable one. For my seventh birthday, I got to pick out my own cake from a local bakery called Nibblenook in Lockport. To see all that sugar in so many different forms, well, it's hard for a kid to not get excited. And an adult, for that matter. Nibblenook has come and gone, and for the longest time Lockport residents have been left with grocery store bake shops that seem to lack the sort of nostalgia I have been looking for. And then I. . .

In 1971, Alice Waters opened Chez Panisse in Berkeley, Calif. , a restaurant dedicated to supporting local farmers and sustainable agriculture (environmentally friendly farming). The menu changes daily, focusing on in-season produce, and bringing out the natural flavor of everything. She helped start the organic movement in California, and soon the rest of the country followed. It has become so widespread that now there are grocery stores, like Whole Foods, dedicated to the. . .

I love pigs. They give us lots of good eats, like bacon, and I love bacon. More specifically, I love bacon fat. Pigs are good for other things, too, but for some reason, everything I put bacon fat into turns to culinary gold. I know it is not healthy. But thankfully, health is not my initial goal here; filling my belly is. It first started out as just an obsession with bacon. I'd put it on my pizza, in my pasta, with waffles and syrup, anywhere it seemed. . .

If you are a viewer of the Food Network, you've probably seen a few celebrity chefs. You watch them, you admire them and, heck, sometimes you even want to be them - or at least have them cook for you. But it seems like a far shot for a food enthusiast living in Will or Grundy county to get to meet and eat these celebrity chefs' creations, save a few mall appearances they make throughout the year. What you may not know is that in your own back yard,. . .

I was walking through my local Walgreen's the other day, when I literally ran into one of their bargain racks. The item on display this week was the leftover Peep marshmallows from Easter, marked down to an unbelievable 50 cents each. Although the colors of pink, sky blue and lavender chicks were enticing, I had to walk away. When I got home, I tripped over a package and fell on my butt. It wasn't until I had picked myself up and assessed the damage that I. . .

I have said this many times before: I know I could never be a vegan, for the simple that fact that I enjoy bacon way too much. But not one to completely disregard food topics, I pushed my bacon aside and decided to check out this whole vegan thing. My guess is it has a lot to do with granola-crunching hippies. Darn it, why can't I stop judging vegans? I need to find out what they are all about before I go making jokes about them. . . and that is when I ran Dan Vishny's. . .

I could eat pizza every single day of the week - and I know I am not the only one who feels that way. Pizza is so popular in America that it has its own section in the phone book. According to one study, each man, woman, and child consumes an average of 23 pounds of pizza every year. For me, it would probably equal around 40 pounds, but hey, who's counting? It all started with the Greeks. I know, Italians made it famous, but give the Greeks some credit - they. . .

Obesity in America is a problem. Nearly one-third of Americans are obese, and two-thirds of Americans are overweight. And thanks to books like Fast Food Nation and documentaries like Supersize Me, we have uncovered the truths about the fast food industry, and how it helps us pack on the pounds. Slowly but surely, we are learning. Unfortunately, I keep eating Big Macs. So we are clearly not learning fast enough. The fact that more children are overweight and obesity in teens has risen over 60% in the last decade is frightening. Something needs to change, and fast. Eric Schlosser, author of the hit book Fast Food Nation, not only agrees, he is helping. His new book, Chew On This, continues to explore the dangers of fast food, but this time, he writes to a younger audience. His goal is to teach children why fast food is bad and how they can stop eating it.

Since when does a pack of Oreos equal death? Apparently, it always has. Oreos are just one of the millions of products made in America that contain transfat. According to the FDA, transfats are made when hydrogen is added to vegetable oil to increase the shelf life of food. Sounds safe enough, but what they don't tell you is that it is a major cause of coronary heart disease, which now affects over 12. 5 million people and kills 500,000 people a year. Not even a. . .

I equate Ethiopian food to a hard drug because of the feelings that eating it induces within me - a desire for mass overconsumption, lightheadedness and a craving for it that lasts at least a week and a half after I eat it. Sigh. My name is Leena, and I have a problem. Thankfully, I managed to find the ultimate fix: an Ethiopian cooking class, sponsored by my favorite restaurant in town. For $15, I had complete access to not only cooking lessons for my favorite food, but all. . .

They are tiny, covered with frosting, and they are so good I can eat a dozen in one sitting without even blinking an eye. Cupcakes are nothing new. They are the fail-proof way my mom would celebrate my birthday in elementary school. In fact, I think everyone's mom made cupcakes. Perhaps that is why so many adults are now going crazy - again - for cupcakes Some say the revived craze started when Sarah Jessica Parker's character ate one in an episode of. . .

A nightgown. Flowers. A DVD of "Braveheart" with Mel Gibson. I'm not the best gift giver when it comes to my mom. I love her, but when her birthday and Mother's Day roll around, there I am again in the DVD section of Target, trying to remember what I got her last year so I don't do a repeat. This year, things had to be different. I mean, I am 25 years old now, with a fairly stable income, so I have no real excuses for a crappy. . .

For the longest time, I have loved boxed brownie mixes. All the ingredients are there, just mix, pour and bake, what is not to love? They always taste pretty good, they are cheap and usually sitting in my mom's cabinet (where I do most of my grocery shopping). Why change a good thing? I think my problem was that I just hadn't had a great brownie before. Oh, I've had decent brownies, brownies that are too rich or not rich enough-they all were just OK. . . .

The wok is so hot you can see the vapors of heat rising from it. With a little splash of oil, you hear a dull cry of sizzling even though no food has touched the pan yet. When the first piece of steak grazes the surface, there is the instantaneous sound of heat searing the natural sugars on the surface of the meat to a crisp, delicious crust some guy named Maillard used to brag so much about. The pungent smell of fresh garlic, ginger and soy sauce being introduced evokes memories of all. . .

There is some food I eat purely for flavor. There is some food I eat because it looks beautiful and tastes the same way. And then there is the food I eat not for flavor or looks, but rather for its interactive appeal. It's no secret that I like to play with my food. Take the mighty watermelon, a true summer-time treat. Everyone loves eating large slices of watermelon, refreshingly cool and dripping with juice on a hot day. Not me. I don't like the flavor and,. . .

I used to love the Mamas and the Papas. Sure, they came before my time, but how could I resist shaking my butt to those four-part harmonies and deep lines about why Aquarians rock (My sign is Aquarius, so I really relate to this). However, when I heard that their beloved yet rotund singer Mama Cass died while eating a sandwich, my world practically ended. How something so good as food kill something equally as good, like music? It led to many confused years of contemplation and careful. . .

For the longest time, I thought vanilla was some alcohol-y smelling liquid that sort of tasted sweet and was used in most dessert recipes. Like most Midwestern home cooks, I just didn't know how powerful the brown stuff could be. Vanilla is actually the fruit from a type of orchid, and it comes in the form of a long, moist brown bean filled with tasty little seeds. The first time I tasted a recipe with fresh vanilla bean in it was like a wonderful epiphany. It tasted worlds. . .

I just paid $12 for a burger, and it was worth every single cent. Heck, I'd pay $15 for a burger that good, just to thank the person who invented that beautiful thing. Juicy meat that's thicker than an entire triple cheeseburger, melty aged white cheddar with crispy applewood-smoked bacon, a hint of sour cream, and onions so caramelized, they disintegrate as soon as they touch your tongue, all on a toasted flaky brioche bun. With some homemade tater tots on the side, try. . .

I love a good challenge. I received a response from an angry reader who felt last week's article on expensive eating ignored those who can only afford McDonald's, along with a challenge to prove how bad it really is. Bring it on! Look at Morgan Spurlock's documentary "Super Size Me," in which he personally ate McDonald's for 30 days to find the effects. Depression, a fatty liver and 25 extra pounds of weight were the. . .

Your needs are simple. You want to eat delicious food that won't cause a heart attack and is cheap enough to eat at least once a week. Simple, right? Yeah, until you roll past a McDonald's after a 60-hour work week with hungry screaming kids that almost overpower your migraine, but not quite. Then anything within a 40-foot radius will do just fine. If you read my last article, you know that sometimes, the easiest option for eating isn't always the safest. . .

I was going to eat at a Mexican restaurant. This meant guacamole, lots of cheese and, in my suburban eating experience, tons of sombreros on the wall. Now, I do not mean to offend any owners of Mexican eateries, but a lot of the ones I've have had experience with tend to decorate a little over the top, assaulting me with so many clashing colors and decorations, my eyes start to blur. When I walked into Pancho's Grill, I did not know what to expect. The outside of. . .

I love dipping food into more food. Even better, I love sharing food with friends. The ultimate experience, thus far, happened while eating Swiss fondue at Geja's Caf, in Chicago. Good friends, good food and fun while we all cooked our food together. Then I stumbled upon the Asian version of fondue: hot pot. I had heard tidbits about this unique style of dipping food in Chicago and knew it existed in Chinatown, but not until a recent trip to Nebraska did I venture out. . .

Chester Cheetah Cheese Popcorn, Rainbow Brite Cereal and Crystal Pepsi. Newer doesn't always equal better, and this is especially true in the case of food. Growing up in the '80s, there were tons of food products I was obsessed with, only to have them fade away with the leggings and Care Bears. I always reminisce about these things, which leads to mourning and then straight-up anger at the food industry for deeming this food no longer worthy of public consumption. . . .

When I think of Russia, it brings to mind thoughts of cold weather, the Soviet Union and my friend Elena. Elena Mamonova came to America from Russia in high school for a foreign exchange program and loved it so much she decided to start her career here after college abroad. Short, sprightly blonde hair, ice blue eyes and a delicate accent, Elena is the picture of Russian beauty, and a pretty cool friend to boot. As an enthusiastic eater, I am always on the lookout for food from foreign. . .

My most memorable vacation growing up was Disney World, and let me tell you, it was not because of a guy dressed up like a giant mouse. Epcot Center seemed-at least in 1989-like the bridge to the rest of the world, with places to eat from Germany, Mexico and Japan. It gave me a break from the burgers and hot dogs I had been shoveling down, and really made me feel like I was learning about other cultures, even though I had not left Orlando. In the past decade, people all over the country. . .

Are you the type of person who only knows one thing about wine-that it is either white or red? Do you long to know how to pair the perfect the Cabernet with the right food, but are stuck in the world of boxed wines? Do you just want to know something-anything-about the crazy world of wine? Buy a robot. Problem solved. NEC Systems Technologies and Mie University in Japan are on your side. According to a Sept. 4 AP Newswire article, they have created the world's first sommelier. . .

In the past eight months, I have eaten more than 1,200 ounces of applesauce. Once a day, five days a week and frankly, I am shocked applesauce is not seeping out of my pores. I suppose it could be worse. I could have eaten 1,200 ounces of pinto beans. My reasoning behind this applesauce mania is actually health-related. I have irritable bowel syndrome and eating foods with soluble fiber-like applesauce-help keep it under control. I started buying applesauce week after week, those little cups. . .

The other night, I was at the bar, having a few beers with a group of friends. As we raised our various favorite canned brews in the air to toast the good time we were having, I was feeling a bit emotional (shocking, I know). Before the toast could end, out of panic my pals might not hear me, I screamed frantically at the top of my lungs, "Don't forget to thank Napoleon! " Being well accustomed to my libation-driven outbursts, including a memorable incident. . .

It was bubbling, thick, hot, and certain to burn the crap out of me if I got too close. I was sweating profusely, trying to tame the beast into its little glass cage before something bad happened and then - splaaat! It spit at me, and it burned. . . a lot. It was a Saturday night, when any respectable 20-something would be at a bar, tossing back a few with their pals or catching a movie. I was canning applesauce with my mother. And the winner of this year's hippest person goes. . .

Imagine this. You are out to eat at a restaurant with your 4- year-old, and out comes a big plate of beans. You encourage him to eat some, but instead have the legumes launched back at your head. You duck, and it hits the waiter in the face instead. Awkward, huh? Now replace your 4-year-old with your husband. Instead of beans, he hates everything. He refuses to eat meat and any vegetables, and he will not touch his plate if any of the foods touch each other. The man worries so much about eating. . .

Here is my top eight favorite things to do with a chicken breast. 8. Recreate your favorite "Sound of Music" scenes with a chicken breast choir. 7. Leave it under someone's back car seat as a stinky surprise for them to find three days later. 6. Cut a whole in the middle for a fashionable bracelet. What, too avant garde for your tastes? After a long day at work, the last thing you want to do is cook dinner. So you turn to the latest popular. . .

I am a creature of comfort. I eat what I feel like when I feel like it. That is not always good. You see, shortly before my trip to Europe in high school, I had a cavity filled. Five minutes later, the filling fell out and had to be replaced. My dentist warned me to stay away from eating sticky or tough food that may agitate the filling. But I was 17; do you think I listened? One piece of delicious, crusty and chewy French baguette later, I was sans one filling, sealing my culinary fate for. . .

Ah, Thanksgiving. Good old turkey day. Every year of my entire life, the menu has been the same: pale turkey, soupy green bean casserole, cranberry sauce from a can, canned yams with marshmallows, Stove Top-brand stuffing, mac and cheese made with Velveeta, and, of course, (canned) pumpkin pie. Maybe I am being too harsh here. The food actually is good, and my mom is a great cook. But 25 years of the same thing is enough to make even four-star cuisine taste like a White Castle. . .

The kitchen is packed with hungry family looking over the spread - first in awe and then in anger. "Where's the potato salad? The canned cranberry sauce? This isn't like last year! "At this point, hide any sharp or blunt objects as you explain that Thanksgiving will be a bit different this year. Last week's article talked about spicing up Thanksgiving dinner starting with the turkey. But a stellar bird isn't. . .

Cooks are by no means perfect people. We all have our off days, and sometimes, the food suffers. It just so happened that 10 very bored and hungry people were sitting in my living room as I was desperately tended to the billowing black smoke coming from my oven. Thanks to a sudden burst of inspiration (the image of 10 ravenous people beating me with a burned chicken was inspiring enough), we would dine on Leena's famous blackened chicken sandwiches. Making the best of a bad. . .

Joliet Junior College teachers and chefs Mike McGreal and Kyle Richardson agree that nothing can chase away the end of winter blues quite like a cruise of the western Caribbean - especially a cruise centered on food. The chefs have joined up with Holland America Line cruises and its new ship, the MS Westerdam, to offer the folks of Illinois a seven-day cruise that sets sail March 11. It includes stops in Mexico, the Bahamas and Grand Cayman, not mention private chef demonstrations in the. . .

Watching the news last night, I came across a breaking news story: America has turned into a nation of convenience and fast food. Propelled by a new movie based on the book "Fast Food Nation" by Eric Schlosser, the news finally reported that maybe all this convenience food could be bad for us. I was so enraged; I could've set the TV on fire. Too bad "Gray's Anatomy" was on next. But the fact that they were reporting. . .

A few days before Thanksgiving, the one that I decided to change up the beloved family recipes we had eaten for the past 25 years, my mother got a call from my brother, demanding that her tried-and-true potato salad make an appearance on turkey day. A day later, my aunt called, insisting we serve mac and cheese for my picky uncle. Being a caring person, she agreed. This changed-up meal was going to be more difficult than I thought. Family members aside, one of the obstacles most chefs. . .

As the holidays sneak closer to us, the gift giving spirit is definitely abundant. Now, let's be honest - gifts are getting more and more expensive. No one wants their favorite band's latest CD for $15; they now want the special, limited-edition iPod with the band logo on it for a mere $300. But I'm a simple girl. All I need is a good food gift, and I am a happy camper. Since discovering the great art of canning this year, I have decided to bestow a few. . .

In the 1980s, a phenomenon swept the nation and delighted kids everywhere: scratch-and-sniff stickers. If you did well on a test or had a super-cool mom, nothing was better than smelling a portable piece of food. Consequently, the number of paper cuts to the tongue also drastically increased . . . at least for me. Flash forward to the present and there is an entire industry for smell. There are scientists whose sole job is to combine chemicals until they smell like certain foods. Ever. . .

The concept of a family entertainment center is not innovative, but Chris Vo wants Time Machine to break the mold. Vo is president of Time Machine, a new vivid orange and royal blue entertainment complex located on one mammoth piece of property, taking up three storefronts in a north Plainfield strip mall on Illinois 59. Time Machine, much like its name, encompasses many different amenities that appeal to children and adults alike, all in a non-smoking environment. For starters, the. . .

When most little girls think of marriage proposals, they dream of a romantic situation under the moonlight or on the beach, just the two of them and a big, fat ring. I dreamed about of food - a lot of food. And on Dec. 16, 2005, I got my wish. My man mentioned that his work was taking people out for dinner, and I was included. He said they wanted restaurant suggestions for some place nice. So, of course, I named off the five most expensive restaurants in the city I'd. . .

I would like an order of pork fried rice, two egg rolls, and wonton soup delivered. Oh, and throw in a few extra fortune cookies while you're at it. ""No problem. Be there in under 30 minutes. "Typically, a conversation like that would end with someone ringing my doorbell, ready to trade hot food for some of my hard-earned cash. But if it was the year 1801, the call might go something like this: "I would like two cows,. . .

Food Delivery Part Two: Pizza Deep dish. Thin crust. Chicago style. New York Style. California style. Brick oven style. . . When most people think of food delivery, pizza is the first thing that pops into their head. It's quick, cheap, tasty, and arrives in about 30 minutes. Pizza is so popular, it has its own section in the phone book! Yup, it's safe to say pizza is the prom king in food delivery high school. The first official pizza delivery happened in 1889. . .

What? How could she write another article on food delivery? I mean, what is left to say? For starters, there is more to food delivery than my last two columns. I'm giving you prime information here, people. I feel you deserve to have a full scope of a situation that has surprisingly modernized and streamlined our food consumption. You're welcome. Today, it's difficult to find food that can't be delivered to your front door. From gourmet. . .

Hey you! Put the Twinkie down slowly and back away, hands in the air . . . slowly now. I said put it down! Oh, a wise guy, eh? Drop the Twinkie, against the wall and spread 'em, buddy! It is official. The government is being worse than a bossy parent and telling us what we can and can't eat. Some states have already banned the use of trans fats in cooking, and some cities (cough, Chicago) have gone so far as to ban particular foods that some people feel aren't. . .

It was nearing that time of year when the weather gets a little colder, the wind picks up and thoughts of chili dance through my mind. Sure, I knew my chili was a winner, at least it was at the cook-off last year, but could it stand the test of time? Only one way to find out. Welcome to Leena's Second Annual Feed Me Your Chili Extravaganza! That's right, for the second year in a row, I rounded up a group of people who dig chili. The crowd was a bit larger this year. .

Goodbye. On Wednesday, my husband and I will board a plane to Adelaide, Australia. We will live there for at least 18 months while I study to earn my master's degree in gastronomy, the study of food and culture. Basically, it is a specialized program in food writing, one of only two programs in the world (the other is in Boston). I am hoping this degree will offer me a chance to create a career of my dreams that I can actually make a living from. I have never been to Australia. . .