Alinea part I: The wind-up

CT and I had reservations for 9:30pm on Friday, and I spent most of that day doubting that we would even get to Alinea. We had made the reservations about 6 weeks earlier, and in order to get this seating I had had to go back and forth on the phone with the hostess, checking three consecutive weekends until we finally found an open time that would fit within a weekend getaway to Chicago. But we were going to have to cut it fairly close: Our flight was scheduled to leave La Guardia at 6:10pm and touch down at O'Hare at 7:30pm. Allowing for the 45-minute cab ride from the airport to downtown and a little padding for inevitable delays, we would have just enough time to take the cab to the hotel, check in, change, and take another cab directly to Alinea. Reality first intruded during the cab ride to La Guardia. I had gotten off work late and we decided to cab it to the airport ("15 to 20 minutes, tops," the car service had said) to avoid a rush. Instead we were ensnared in bumper-to-bumper traffic that crept past four separate accidents. Actually, make that three accidents and a "garbage-related" lane closure. We make it to La Guardia with 20 minutes to go before boarding. I aggressively repack my bag so that it more closely resembles a carry-on (right!) so that we can skip the bag check, and we rush through security. We board the plane and it taxies onto the tarmac. The captain comes on to announce an hour and a half delay. CT and I begin formulating a backup plan for getting to Alinea in time. I pull out my laptop and use my phone as modem to write this frustrated post about an incredibly annoying girl sitting near me. There's nothing to do now but wait. We're finally cleared and the plane is aloft. Just over two hours later, we arrive in O'Hare and change in the restroom into our fancy clothes. (I hadn't been able to find a pair of black dress socks earlier that morning in Brooklyn, and so now I'm wearing one fancy dress sock and one black low-cut sport sock with a white Nike swoosh on it. When I packed my bags that morning I thought that one tiny little black sock wouldn't be noticed by anyone. Hubris catches up to me like a bitch, though, as I realize that, when sitting, my pant cuff stops just short of the top of the sock, revealing the white swoosh and a little bit of bare leg. To compensate, I keep my left foot tucked coyly behind my right ankle whenever seated; in this awkward position I look as though I'm ready to jump up and curtsy at a moment's notice. That damn sock was to be a real point of self-consciousness for me until approximately the 10th course.) CT and I rush out to the taxi stand and grab the first taxi we can find. A few moments later we pull up to the curb at Alinea (door unmarked). When we meet the maitre'd I sheepishly hand her my luggage, and I take a seat across from the bathroom that looks out on the kitchen while I wait for CT to freshen up and the waitstaff to get our table ready. I look at my watch. It's 9:27pm. We have made it, with three minutes to spare. Part II coming soon.