18 November 2025

Author's Note: This essay reflects the author's personal recollections and opinions of a single experience. The names of all Alinea employees referenced herein have been changed to protect their identities. Conversations and dialogue have been reconstructed from memory and are not intended as verbatim transcriptions. Characterizations of individuals' behavior represent the author's subjective interpretation of events as they were personally experienced. References to secondhand accounts, rumors, or industry hearsay are presented as cultural context only, not as verified fact. Any opinions expressed are solely those of the author. This piece is published on a personal portfolio for non-commercial purposes and is not intended to harm the reputation of any individual or establishment, but rather to document an authentic personal experience in the hospitality industry.

Polishing Broken Glass: One Night at Alinea

Shortly after I started working in Chicago’s fine dining industry, I learned that stories about Alinea–one of the city’s most prestigious restaurants–circulate like playground gossip. Whispers permeate on industry blogs and internet forums, tales of cooks fired on-the-spot for the perceived transgression of closing a low-boy fridge door too loudly, and numerous others who recount toxicity and abuse. But I’d also heard the positive stories, like the one from my aunt and uncle, who still rave about the $325 Salon tasting menu experience they’d had a few years ago. Alinea’s reputation is fueled by Chef Grant Achatz’s boundary-blurring molecular gastronomy, which has kept the restaurant on esteemed lists of the world’s best for two decades. The Michelin star accreditation fosters what I can only describe as a “battlefield” environment. An anonymous inspector could dine any night of the week, and any single guest’s experience could be a deciding factor in revoking that accreditation as quickly as it was prescribed. Every plate must look and taste uniform, and every course that’s dropped in front of a guest must be dropped with the same precision and grace. Those who work in and run Michelin-starred restaurants do not do it for its comfortability, but rather as a pursuit of an entirely unattainable perfection. 

I decided to enter the fine dining job market in Chicago’s desolate month of January, when employees usually hunker down to weather the winter, and the listings are few and far between. In the midst of this scarcity, Alinea perpetually lists openings for nearly every position at the restaurant, from polisher to sommelier. This was and continues to be perplexing to me, as the pay appears similar, despite the latter requiring years of experience and certifications. One would think that a restaurant of such acclaim should possess no issue in acquiring adequate talent who want to embolden their resumes with the Alinea namesake. 

With the notoriety in the forefront of my mind, I intentionally abstained from applying at Alinea, instead deciding to submit an application for a position at another restaurant in The Alinea Group, newly-opening Fire. After a brief interview where their primary objective seemed to be confirming I possessed a pulse, I was informed I’d be a better fit for a position at Alinea. The proposed hours were 11am-1am, four nights on, three nights off, an entirely intimidating amount of hours for the 20 dollar per hour flat-rate the “polisher” position accrues. Begrudgingly, I agreed to a stage, a trial shift for both parties to decide whether to proceed with employment.

I was chock full of reflection on my time in the dishpit at The Heights, my first restaurant job at fourteen, where I learned how rewarding feelings of being an integral cog in a restaurant of such grandeur had the potential to be. Ultimately, these thoughts propelled me to step forward, in polished black non-slip dress shoes, towards the unmarked door in Alinea’s back alley entrance on that frigid January afternoon. I had been given PowerPoint slides to study prior to that day that outlined several dos and even more don’ts for your first night at Alinea. Do open the exterior door slowly, and ensure it closes quietly behind you, but pay extra attention to how you open the kitchen door; do not cross in front of any of the cooks on the line, or address any higher-ups who haven’t addressed you first. My ADHD brain had done its best to mentally organize all the rules, all the different doors and corridors, some of which you were supposed to use, and others in which entry is prohibited.

When entering the restaurant from the alley, you find yourself in the kitchen, where four rows of culinary workspace are occupied by a team of countless chefs, bustling in white chef coats and long pressed white aprons. If you were to stand back and squint your eyes, you might think these are scientists in a lab, and by many’s standards, that is exactly what they are. The loudest sounds emanated from the dish-pit nearest the exit, though the occasional clang of a stainless steel saucepan was by far the loudest noise, creating an eerily quiet atmosphere, as if everyone in the room was holding their breath. 

I identified what appeared to be a front of house team member walking through the left walkway, so I followed suit, proceeding quickly past chefs, muttering “behind chef” in a barely audible volume that mirrored the woman I was following. As I followed her up the service stairwell, I noted the glass-bordered room positioned at the edge of the line, the famed kitchen table, the single mark that signifies you just may be the richest in a restaurant full of the rich. Once I got to the second-story “Salon”, which is the closest you’ll get to feeling like you are in an actual restaurant as opposed to some avant garde art installation, I finally found what appeared to be the rest of the front-of-house team, likely twenty individuals spread across two rooms. 

“Stage?” The fourth wall had been broken, by a middle-aged gentleman in Jordans and a graphic tee. I let out a breath I wasn’t even aware I was holding in, and nodded, responding “Ben Brown”. He flashed a half-smile, and let me know he would grab the Assistant General Manager, James, the top dog on duty that night. He assigned me to shadow another polisher, Jorge, who would later tell me it was only his third night there, reaffirming why he felt the most like a human out of anyone I would interact with that night. We spent the subsequent three hours frantically running around all three stories of the building, and in and out of an unfinished crawlspace to fetch the appropriate linens, a task that would make the claustrophobic shudder on sight. I felt safe following Jorge, although through no fault of his own, he struggled to locate most of the things we were in search of, requiring us to ask several different team members that had no reservations in exhibiting their annoyance. Summarizing the meticulous nature of all these preparations perfectly, we were tasked with standing on ladders to remove and meticulously polish the massive bronze art installations that hung across the ceiling of the salon dining rooms. 

Replace the dry batch-baked hamburger patties with an MRE, and there would be little distinction between Alinea’s staff meal and a meal in Army basic training, except for the obvious fact that we were eating in our laps in a three-Michelin star dining room, paralyzed by the fear of a ketchup spill. The team scarfed their food in a manner that applied immense pressure, and despite this speed being similar to my regular eating cadence, I followed suit. The team trickled down to the stuffy basement locker room, where the donning of uniforms separated the staff into a discernible hierarchy.

Immediately following the thirty-minute unpaid eating and changing allotment, there were two pre-shift meetings, one with just the service staff, and the second with the entire team. The hosts discussed the PPX (personne particulièrement extraordinaire) of the night, naming specific people and tables to pay additional attention to–the ones with the allergies, the ones celebrating something, and the ones with the oddball requests that needed to be tailored to. A server clarified with the team how the drop of the fourth course in the Gallery dining room has been consistently incorrect the past few nights, as she needs the runner to be on her left side and not her right, or else it doesn’t possess the same effect. Finally, I was recognized as a stage, and was asked “if I could be any animal for a day, what would I be,” a question obviously posed to give some sense of comfortability and lightheartedness when the employees and the entire establishment give off an energy that is the antithesis. 

After the conclusion of the preshifts, the Chef de Cuisine gave an unintelligible instruction that initiated a cleanup and organizational scramble that even Marie Kondo would be intimidated by. Cooks were up on ladders, dusting the sills and scrubbing the glass of the windows placed far above their workstations. I myself mounted a ladder, to pass down heavy boxes with unidentified contents. One time, I rotated my torso too quickly with the box in hand, and nearly hit one of the passing staff members, who remarked “you better be careful, do you know how expensive those boxes are?” The question felt rhetorical and possessed a threat, so I felt it best to quietly apologize, instead of saying something like “fuck if I know, I’m just blindly doing what I’m told!”

As service started, I was assigned to stage with Janet, an eight-year polisher, who possessed a completely carefree attitude, comfortable in the fact that she has “never missed a day in all eight years”. We were positioned in the back service room of the upstairs dining rooms, where we quietly and incredibly meticulously polished twelve distinct types of wine glasses, each constructed for the drinking specifications of a given varietal. As the night progressed, one of the responsibilities assigned to the position was to continually restock the bathrooms with intricately folded gray linens, as paper towels do not suffice. With a stack in hand, I entered the bathroom, and was immediately taken aback. 

I wish it was any exaggeration to describe the vomit as dripping down the walls, covering the low pile rug positioned at the edge of the small room, but unfortunately, it was happening in front of my eyes. I gagged at the sight and smell, and hastily exited the room, where I found a server outside, frantically looking into the other restroom. What was probably my look of deep disgust must’ve hinted at what I had just seen. “One of my guests just told me they vomited in a bathroom,” she said in a hushed tone, and I nodded and gestured at the second door. “Shit,” she said as she took a brief glance at the damage. “You’re a stage, you don’t have to deal with this, but grab Janet.” 

The brief moment of relief was interrupted by the appearance of James, who assessed the situation, turned towards me, and said “grab some gloves, green towels, bleach, and trash bags, it’s all in the hall closet.” With the knowledge that I was being paid very little for that night, and I was not gonna accept the job even if it was offered, I could’ve, and maybe should’ve, said no thank you, and walked out. I spent the subsequent 20 minutes scrubbing the walls with bleach, rolling up the carpet, stuffing it into a double-layered trash bag, and hauling it down four flights of stairs to its eventual fate in the alley dumpster. Without so much as a thank you, James hustled me downstairs to assist with the gallery switchover, whatever the hell that meant. “The guests are on a kitchen tour, and we have five minutes to switch over the room.” I quickly gathered what was occurring, but unprescribed with an activity and afraid to ask how to assist, I stood and watched as the gallery dining room was transformed by a team of five from one communal table to several smaller two and four tops. Then came the wires, brought out of a closet in coils and unrolled, then swung up onto hooks above the center of each table. The team was scrambling, and James announced how much time remained, a five minute allotment. My eyes immediately went to a server near my corner of the room, who seemed to have just snapped one of the wires in his attempt to swing it around the hook. James noticed immediately too, and Josue’s face fell flat. James retained a psychopathic straight face and monotone demeanor as he said, “are you fucking with me right now Josue, what the fuck are you doing?” Another server rushed in with a backup wire, as a few food runners rushed in with the unidentifiable dish that was to be hung above the center of each table, before the guest returned from their brief tour, the whole illusion inciting the feeling that they were returning to an entirely distinct restaurant from the one they had been in five minutes previous. 

I spent the rest of my night in the first floor dish room, where my organizational skills and hyperfocus itch was scratched by the systems in place, ones of meticulous polishing and hyperspecific sorting. After they came out of the dish machine, I coiled and stored the wires, polished flatware unlike any I had seen before, as well as several varieties of small egg-shaped glasses. The necessity for speed to keep up with the sheer quantity of intricate trinkets being put through the dish machine, paired with the surrounding silence, save for the perpetual sound of the pre-rinse sprayer against stainless steel, proved to be an environment I thrived in. The front of house team would come in and out of the room, dropping dishes on the dirty side, and taking my polished and organized product out to its appropriate destination. 

“I can tell you’ve got a great work ethic, you’re gonna be great here,” the floor manager said to me in a hushed tone, and I smiled and nodded with a sense of satisfaction for receiving some recognition that I had been looking for after the laborious bathroom cleanup.

Unfortunately, my pride was short-lived, as not even ten minutes later, a slip of my polishing cloth caused an egg glass to escape my grasp, and hit the concrete floor, shattering upon impact. The monotonous sound of the dish sprayer stopped, and what I had once considered a silent environment was now entirely absent of sound. Everyone’s face conveyed a similar emotion, one not of anger, but of fear, as if I had just publicly executed someone, and they might be next. I understood the gravity of the situation, my brain replaying the accounts of being thrown out of the restaurant for menial offenses, and I thought about what was coming. 

Before I got a chance to move towards a broom and dust pan, James was in the entrance, and the dishwasher next to me jabbed a thumb in my direction, indicating he wasn’t the responsible party. James detailed what I needed to do next, and I nodded and followed the instructions, hanging a left out of the dishroom door, walking past the Kitchen table and towards the center of the line, stopping a few feet behind the back of Alinea’s Chef De Cuisine. “Excuse me chef,” I said, the void-of-dialogue cooking noise soundscape akin to the moment before the jumpscare in the horror movie. Grant Achatz’s second in command ignored my attempt to break the fourth wall, and continued peering over the shoulder of a Chef de Partie, watching as he vigorously emulsified some unidentifiable sauce. 

“Excuse me chef,” I said, louder this time, the loudest I had talked since I walked in the door that afternoon, and it struck how long ago that felt. My mind flashed to the table I had walked by, and I became acutely aware that the highest-paying diners in the restaurant sitting at “The Kitchen Table” had a front row seat to this confession. After three attempts, all of which I was positive he had heard, the chef turned around, and so I continued to the next line in my script. “Chef, I shattered one egg glass in the front porter station,” I said, to which he let out the scoff of a teenage boy who had just been told he could not attend the homecoming party, and then he turned back around, effectively ending the dialogue. I made my way back to James, who had presumably stood there watching the scene unfold, perhaps drawing some strange gratification off of watching what some may perceive as a humiliating moment, maybe affirming himself for keeping his staff in line, and maintaining the discipline that he believes it takes to run a restaurant of Alinea’s acclaim. “We just don’t do that here, you understand right?” He said, entirely rhetorically; “It’s really a shame, I could tell you are a hard worker,” he continued, and instructed me to hang up my polishing coat in the basement locker room, offering me a conclusive handshake. I couldn’t help myself but to chuckle as I shook his hand, because two hours prior I had been on my hands and knees scrubbing vomit off the bathroom wall of a three Michelin-Starred restaurant, and now I was being asked to leave, over something as menial as a shattered egg glass in a back dish room, one of hundreds I had just been praised for effectively polishing ten minutes prior.

I chuckled harder the next morning as I got off the phone with Alinea’s hiring manager, who called to extend congratulations and a job offer. My laughter was not because I lacked respect for James, for the scoffing Chef de Cuisine, for Grant Achatz, or for any of Alinea’s team, but rather because I had now seen the establishment’s laughable flaws firsthand, in a way that put things into perspective. From my one night as a cog in the machine, I was not only witness to, but myself subject to the theatrical bullshit and employee mistreatment Alinea has justified as a means of maintaining their three-star status. So you can imagine that upon reading the news last week that despite a fifteen-year run the Michelin guide had stripped Alinea of their three-star status, I let out my most uninhibited chuckle yet. Perhaps the tiny glass that slipped out of my hand that night is an allegory. If shattered fragments are all you have left of what once was a beautiful glass, you can’t keep polishing those shards and expect the world to drink from it. 

How the Michelin Guide will Affect Boston’s Restaurant Scene

In early May of this year, the esteemed restaurant rating publication The Michelin Guide announced, to the surprise of many Bostonians, that they were boots on the ground reviewing in Massachusetts’ capital city. This announcement comes after years of the city’s tourism boards’ refusal to financially incentivize the guide to review in Boston (Adams). The Guide which originated in France in 1889, began as a helpful brochure for motorists, but has since evolved to be a globally recognized authority on gastronomy. Its influence on dining cultures is felt worldwide, with France’s President Macron even hailing it as “the bible of our gastronomy” (Favaron). The guide’s reviewing territory has expanded significantly since then, reviewing 40,000 establishments in 24 territories (History 1). Since announcing its arrival in Boston, the guide has stirred discourse among hospitality professionals, chefs, and Bostonian diners. Based on its documented effects in cities worldwide, the Michelin Guide will fundamentally transform Boston’s food scene by elevating culinary tourism, alleviating financial pressures on local businesses, and nurturing a new generation of hospitality talent.

While many criticise the guide’s “pay to play” nature, it will undoubtedly vitalize Boston’s economy, helping the tourism boards that funded the guide’s expansion to easily see a return on their initial investment. MeetBoston, the city’s tourism board, reportedly paid Michelin $1 million for a three-year reviewing agreement. Though this seems like a large sum, it is a sound investment, as MeetBoston possesses a sizable 30 million dollar budget this year, and the economic returns will be significant (Leung). What is referred to as “the Michelin Effect” is characterized by an increase in business seen by not just the recognized restaurants, but also surrounding businesses. 

As the guide has expanded to American cities like Dallas and Atlanta in recent years, the effects have been especially evident in smaller communities. Burnt Bean, a barbeque joint named a Michelin Bib-Gourmand, is a perfect case study. According to Josh Schneuker, director of the Seguin Economic Development Corporation, the people who come to visit Burnt Bean don’t just eat; “they explore our historic downtown district, shop at local boutiques, and visit places like Seguin Brewing Company, creating a ripple effect that supports our small businesses and enhances our local economy,” (Franzese). Similarly, Fort Worth Mayor Mattie Parker stated that food and beverage tourism is the largest tourism-spend category, grossing over $760 million in 2024. “It was a no-brainer to join efforts in bringing Michelin to Texas,” she said (Franzese). In an industry constantly fighting rising food prices and high labor costs, any boost that can alleviate those pressures is welcomed with open arms by restaurateurs. The Michelin guide proves its effectiveness in providing tangible benefits for both local economies and restaurants, whether or not they receive guide recognition. 

Beyond the economic benefits, the Michelin guide acts as a powerful magnet for hospitality talent, inspiring both front and back-of-house staff to innovate and elevate their practices. There’s a common misconception that the guide reviews the entire restaurant experience, when in reality, inspectors solely judge and award restaurants based on the quality of the food. However, the pressure and talent needed to present a Michelin standard of food creates a ripple effect beyond the culinary side. Front-of-house staff need to replicate this high culinary standard, as consumers expect that if they are dining at a Michelin level restaurant, they are going to receive service of an equal standard. 

Boston has restaurants that already provide great service, but the city will likely see a rise in the number of establishments that instill practices of “unreasonable hospitality” - The art of going above and beyond for guests, especially as more restaurants strive to obtain and maintain Michelin accreditation. Employees who work in these restaurants with high service standards will develop a unique set of skills that they can apply anywhere in the city. The highly creative Michelin-level restaurant environment is one marked by constant innovation, and the pursuit of an unattainable perfection. This path can be extremely inspirational and fulfilling for its staff. While it’s hard to measure the precise impact of a learning experience such as this, these environments are known to produce talented, hardworking individuals who raise the bar for the city’s entire hospitality talent pool, work their way up the hierarchy, or even start their own restaurants. Thanks in large part to the Michelin Guide, Boston is poised to become the next breeding ground for talent and innovation in the hospitality industry.

The Michelin Guide will build upon Boston’s diverse food scene to create a broader cultural shift toward innovation. Part of the discourse surrounding the guide’s presence in Boston is the concern that local Chefs lack the desire to compete for Michelin accreditation. “I think that Boston is a bit more laid back and relaxed compared to what New York is,” Chef Brian Kevorkian of Source Restaurants said in an interview (Cifarelli). However, while the guide doesn’t coerce owners and chefs into making changes, there is certainly benefit in catering to Michelin’s criteria. 

Despite this concern put forth by some Boston chefs, the guide’s presence will serve as a catalyst for culinary innovation and lead to a new evolution of Boston restaurants. Daniel Roughan, an owner of  Source Restaurants shared the optimistic sentiment, stating, “any operators or chefs that have been looking for a new reason, a new way to invigorate themselves, then they’ll see this as one of the best opportunities or reawakening,” (Cifarelli). The Michelin Guide has shaped major dining scenes, like Chicago’s, which Grant Achatz, owner of three-Michelin-starred restaurant Alinea, described as “not a useful culinary scene. It was pretty old. The restaurants perfected what they were doing, and then they stayed there,” (He). Michelin disrupted this stagnant environment, initiating chefs, especially younger ones, to break the mold, like Achatz did with his revolutionary molecular gastronomy. 

Another misconception is that Michelin, which has historically favored inaccessible fine dining restaurants, would overlook and undervalue Boston’s culinary diversity. On the contrary, inspectors are testing restaurants in all of Boston’s 23 neighborhoods, as well as Cambridge and Somerville. As the guide evolves, it continues to recognize more restaurants from lower income neighborhoods, and a wider range of cuisines, embracing both economic and culinary diversity. Even for chefs who don’t seek a star, the guide’s presence can encourage all restaurants to elevate their culinary game through friendly competition, ensuring a food scene that never becomes stale. 

The announcement of the Michelin Guide’s arrival in Boston represents a significant turning point for the city’s culinary landscape. The guide will fundamentally transform Boston’s food scene by elevating culinary tourism, providing much-needed financial relief for local businesses, and will cultivate hospitality talent to create a bright future for the industry. Boston’s $1 million investment to bring the guide was a sound decision, as evidenced by the economic ripple effect seen in Michelin cities around the world, where surrounding businesses benefit from increased traffic.

Beyond the financial impact, the guide will serve as a powerful magnet for talent. The pursuit of Michelin recognition will inspire both chefs and hospitality staff to hone their skills and push creative boundaries, raising the bar for service and innovation throughout the city. While some may fear that the guide will stifle Boston’s culinary diversity, it will instead act as a catalyst for growth, as it has in cities like Chicago. By recognizing a wide range of cuisines across Boston’s neighborhoods, the guide encourages chefs to stay creative, ensuring the dining scene never becomes complacent. Ultimately, the Michelin Guide will not replace Boston’s culinary strengths, it will build upon them, vitalizing the city’s hospitality industry and reaffirming its respected position in the culinary world. 

Works Cited

Saverio Favaron. "The Michelin Guide: the big effects of the little red book on restaurant behaviour." SKEMA Knowledge, 20 Mar. 2024, knowledge.skema.edu/michelin-guide-status-restaurant-washington/.

Cifarelli, David. "Restaurateurs dish how Boston’s Michelin Guide will change its culinary scene." MassLive, 14 July 2025, https://www.masslive.com/boston/2025/07/restaurateurs-dish-how-bostons-michelin-guide-will-change-its-culinary-scene.html

Michael He. "Grant Achatz's Favorite Chicago Restaurants and His Next Dream." Michelin Guide, 11 December 2024, https://guide.michelin.com/us/en/article/travel/grant-achatz-chicago-guide-michelin-star-restaurants-travel

"History of the MICHELIN Guide." Michelin Guide, https://guide.michelin.com/th/en/history-of-the-michelin-guide-th

Franzese, Mirella. "Michelin Guide Spurs Growth in Food and Real Estate across US." Capital Analytics Associates, 26 June 2025, https://capitalanalyticsassociates.com/michelin-guide-spurs-growth-in-food-and-real-estate-across-us/

Leung, Shirley. “Meet Boston Has $30 Million to Boost Tourism. Is Buying Michelin Stars Really the Best Way to Spend It?” The Boston Globe, 15 May 2025, https://bostonglobe.com/2025/05/15/business/michelin-guide-star-tourism-boston-restaurants/. Accessed 23 Sept. 2025

Adams, Erika. “Ask Eater Boston: Why Doesn't Boston Have a Michelin Guide?” Eater Boston, Vox Media, LLC, 3 May 2023, boston.eater.com/2023/5/3/23709604/ask-eater-boston-michelin-guide.

This week, a lot of my reflections were centered around our discussions of perfectionism, through the world views of John Wesley, Phillis Wheatley, and through my own introspection. My own interpretation of what perfection is revolves around a constantly revised set of individually unique standards, that is unattainable by any and all. I see perfection as a goalpost, constantly in motion to prevent attainability, even by the greatest athlete or intelligent mind. My reckoning this week was regarding the determination of whose notion of perfection I have been seeking to strive for. Is it a standard created entirely on my own? Surely not, but in most regards, I have viewed it as such up until now. It is without a doubt influenced by those surrounding me, maybe my mother’s, or on a broader scale, my society’s view of perfection and its attainability. I spent my formative years, from the time I was four years old, with an image of perfection in my mind, and I visualized that perfect life as a life in professional ballet. I never let the image of what my perfect future was go, and I felt I owed it to myself to pursue the mental goalpost image of perfection I had made for myself at a young age. When I got my first contract, and the initial box I had made for myself at four years old had been checked, I realized the goalpost had been moved, and I was not fulfilled or perfect in any regard. I experienced and still experience guilt for feeling a lack of fulfillment despite achieving what was once my definition of perfect. 

Perfect in the eyes of John Wesley is the action of leading life with the purpose of love for God, a standard perhaps more gracious, and vastly different than my own. Through his lens, sins aside, none of your actions matter, as long as they are done as an exercise of pure love. A “perfect” methodist is a methodist that loves God with all their heart, mind, and soul. But from what we read of John Wesley’s ideology, he never proposed who has the power to determine what is and isn’t an action motivated by one’s pure love. Is it an individual standard similar to my interpretation? Do you make the determination yourself as to whether you have acted solely for the love of God, and decide whether you get to be sanctified and achieve salvation on your day of death? Or does God make that determination, and if so, how do you know until you die whether you have been sanctified, and whether God has determined that your actions were done with your love of  him in mind. Wesley said that “love itself may incline us to mistake.” But under this philosophy, how do you avoid living in fear of whether your mistakes have been because love inclined you to make them, and therefore you deserve salvation, or if you have strayed too far from love in your mistakes that you will go to hell.

Phillis Wheatley saw her journey to America as an event that brought her closer to perfection, because it brought her to God. In that regard, she is a far more perfect methodist than many, as she has led her life enslaved, yet from what we’ve read of her work, she seemingly possesses no cynicism, only pure love for her god, and appreciation for his mercy. She only has love for God, for bringing her to a country that values her as far less than human. With all the awful context of what brought her to America, and her treatment for the remainder of her life, she has more than enough of a justification to stray from love, and to stray from the God that brought her into suffering. But she doesn’t seem to have any ill will, even as she mentions the country that hates her race, because she is confident in her relationship with God, and has attained her perfection in that regard. 

The second theme of thought and reflection this week was surrounding the transient meanings and relationship of education and freedom. Pursuing knowledge, and having the ability to pursue education, is inherently an expression of freedom. I have not thought previously about the relationship of the two principles, as I have always had the privilege of exercising that freedom in the manners in which I have chosen to. Practicing and seeking freedom can be criminalized, restricted, and removed, as educational access is not a fixed meaning. Who gets to define what education can be accessed and what should be restricted or removed is also transient, as power shifts, and the institutions that create and uphold the hegemony are constantly shifting. 

This week I also connected thoughts about the debated existence of universal truths to the previous discussion of freedoms, using the freedoms proposed in Jefferson’s queries. I remember that a peer proposed that the only universal truth that exists is that we all possess our own truths. But I thought that one may argue then that there are universal truths, and then the latter statement is no longer a universal truth. I thought it was interesting to note that those excluded from universal truths and freedoms will struggle to include themselves in the universal. Jefferson’s freedoms rely on the unfreedom of black people, and all of those excluded from the universal. The oppressed, those who are not included in the universal, will always seek to change these fixed meanings, and the fixed universal truths that uphold the hegemony. Walker’s appeal is a prime example of the attempt to change universally held truths, as Walker seeks to remake American culture, and redefine who is included in the universal. Walker’s appeal echoes Stuart Hill’s theory of culture, and his beliefs both that one should question cultural meanings with an awareness of the power dynamics in play, as well as his idea that culture is a space for social groups to struggle over meaning. Meanwhile, Jefferson’s interpretation of freedom he held to be a universal truth, not one that he wished to change or have changed by those not in the universal, not in the “we”. 

This week, my reflection continues to contend with historical narratives, how their messaging is formulated, and who gets to determine what does and does not get included in the dominant historic interpretation of American society. The class has implored me to consider societal meaning-making from multiple perspectives at once. We have heard from thinkers who are widely acknowledged as “just people of their time”, a label regularly attributed to those who perpetuate suffering using the justification of the hegemonic values of the time. 

Taking on thinkers like Thomas Jefferson, while also considering Maria Stewart or Phillis Wheatley simultaneously, allows me to understand how hegemonic ideas are uprooted and replaced. Instead of dismissing Jefferson as “a man of his time”, we understood the interpretations of those around him, who spoke a truth outside of the binary. 

Applying this same framework, we have been discussing historical narratives in terms of MLK and Malcolm X, regarding how their legacies are taught, and the plethora of omitted nuances. Malcolm X possesses a historical legacy stifled by the predominantly taught interpretation that he sought to incite violence as a means of pushback against racial injustice, a narrative that until this week, I admittedly never questioned. Now, I have come to better understand X’s contextual journey as one shaped by a traumatically violent childhood, incarceration, and continuous religious rebirth. During his trip to Mecca and shift towards orthodox Islam, X noted in his letter home that he believed Islam “erases the race problem from its society”, and rescinded his belief that all white people were the devil. “I have always been a man who tries to face facts, and to accept the reality of life as new experiences and knowledge unfold it,” he said in a letter. Malcolm X’s speaking specifically about the importance of knowledge and garnering new lenses is an admirable sentiment that rings with sad irony, as his hegemonic historic legacy has, for the most part, placed him into the very boxes that he spoke about the importance of escaping. 

Through the concept of the omitted context in Malcolm X, MLK, and the Young Lords’ historical narratives, I started to contend with the concept of “convenient histories” as the hegemonically taught narratives that are comfortable and palatable enough for American society to consume, without having to delve into true reflection that could produce a realization that American hegemony silences the voices of the suffering until it is entirely impossible to do so. When societal meaning-making shifts, the historical narrative is rewritten to ensure society doesn’t properly credit or entirely omits the groups that actualized change from the narrative, instead attributing the new meanings to the parties that most align with the image of the dominant group at a given time. 

It is convenient for American society to teach MLK’s admirable legacy of nonviolent protest when it was black people he was encouraging to be nonviolent against the heteronormative white population, but omit his preaching of nonviolence in Vietnam, because it was the American government, and the hegemony of the country that he was preaching towards. 

It was equally convenient to omit the Young Lords from any credit for their role in shaping the Patient Bill of Rights or pushing for the concept of “The People’s Church,” meaning-shifts that continue to benefit American society today. The ruling narrative branded them as anti-American, anti-religious communists, and to acknowledge their beneficial change-making would require the nation to admit too much fault. It was far more palatable to later credit white thinkers who adapted a similar model, allowing for an easy accreditation that didn’t require society to contend with its own initial mischaracterization of the group, or acknowledge responsibility for mistreatment. 

American society also found it convenient to credit Walter Rauschenbusch with the creation of the social gospel, despite many religious thinkers predating his publishing of “A Theology for the Social Gospel” pushing for similar ideals in American society. Rauschenbusch preached that “whoever wants to hold audiences of working people must establish some connection between religion and the social realm.” There have been several religious thinkers that we have thought with this semester that have called on American society to draw relationships between religion and the social realm that Rauschenbusch is referencing, namely Fannie Lou Hamer and David Walker. Both Hamer and Walker used scriptures, religious values, and spirituals to call out the hypocrisy of black disenfranchisement, racism, and slavery respectively, drawing upon the relationships between religion and the social realm. How often do their names get brought up either as pioneers of the social gospel, or in general in America's limited prevailing narratives? Not often enough. 

It was of the utmost convenience to label Malcolm X as a violent rebel, as he was Islamic, outspoken, and willing to accept “the reality of life”, all of which placed him in the “not like us” group, and made him incredibly easy to write off historically, with dominant historical accounts labeling him as a “controversial figure” in the American civil rights movement. 

In general, this week has been enlightening, as I have realized just how much nuance is left out of every discourse, especially when discourses and historical narratives are condensed into palatable blurbs for American society to consume and move on, without so much as a second glance, towards blaming the systems that allowed for given injustices to occur in the first place.

This week, the central discussion theme revolved around justifications for exclusion from America’s “we the people”, and the evident lack of love in America's leadership in the “progressive” era. I was unfamiliar with the Gray Nineties, and interested specifically in how the text labeled it as the birth of modern America. I think a characterization like this is interesting and largely accurate, because it sounds like a lot of the broader occurrences in this time period, namely the contested increase in immigration, deterioration of race relations, and economic distress all sound like issues still at the forefront of American society today. When I consider the oppressive ideology of this time period, xenophobia and anti eastern religion “paganism” targeted at the Chinese and Hindus, it feels like there are parallels in modern day. The Trump administration and ICE have undoubtedly created a resurgence in the widespread hatred of immigrants, people of color in general, and many thousands who have helped to shape our country for decades, like the Chinese immigrants that were vital to the construction of railroads in the West Coast. American politicians and American society did everything they could to oppress those who were contributing so much to America’s infrastructure, culture, and society as a whole. The modern day comparisons are infinite, and the same type of xenophobia that was so prevalent in the Gray Nineties continues to this day, and has only grown in the past ten years, a clear example of history rhyming itself. 

I thought it was also very interesting to note that the 1896 election established republican political dominance for nearly the next 40 years, enabling the potential for a two party system, something we see the repercussions of today. In general, the reading and discussion of the Gray Nineties was important in my own retrospection regarding just how closely this specific history parallels the goings on of 2025, in a scary way that I have never considered this much. 

Love was a recurring theme this week, and the lack thereof was evident in several of the historical events that were discussed and read about, like the aforementioned Chinese Exclusion Act that barred citizenship and naturalization, racially motivated and justified killings like the wounded knee massacre, and the birth of the post-slavery Jim Crow south. James Baldwin’s notion of love not being a popular movement is painfully accurate as you look at America’s history, and watch it rhyme itself over and over again, a society that has rarely acted with the concept of love in motivation. Time and time again, the “them” group has had to fight to be loved, to be a part of the “us”, all of those fights ongoing, all are unfinished projects of meaning making, constantly vulnerable to regression. 

Love, what I would characterize as looking beyond oneself with empathy and respect for others humanity, is entirely absent in the concept that some people are morally correct enough to embrace god, and others are not. Using religion as a tool to label to justify exclusions is hateful, and it is equally appalling to consider that those perpetrators were often acting in direct contradiction with the teachings and morals of their religious practices. Contradictors included Mabel Potter Daggett, who upon further research, is positioned by many sources as a suffragist and a bold advocate for women. First and foremost, I find it appalling that many biographical sources in my search hold no mention of her pro-eugenics beliefs, extreme xenophobia, and evident racism in her writing, evident in her expressed distaste towards the Hindu god depicted as a black woman. For someone who is pitched as being a women’s advocate, she puts a hateful spin on women’s pursuit of a religion that is not her own, shaming any woman who joins a “heathen” religion. 

The last piece of my reflection this week was my formal introduction to Hinduism. Admittedly, my only knowledge of Hinduism comes from an individual that I interviewed a few years ago, who is a vedic astrologist, where I received a reading of my Jyotisha charts, where I was told that the seeds of what I was doing a few years ago were being planted, and were gonna blossom from 2023 to 2027. An interesting aside, I have always wanted to learn more about Hinduism generally, and Swami Vivekananda’s speech to the Chicago World’s Fair is an approachable depiction of the religion, and I enjoyed the thinking and reflection it conjured for me. The concept of a self proclaimed “universal religion” is new to me, and equally interesting is the concept of man travelling from lower truth to higher truth. I love the concept of constantly working on yourself, to find a higher truth, I think that sounds like it would motivate self improvement, and in turn, improvement of the world around you. “It is better to love god for love's sake instead of loving god for hope of reward.” This is the sentiment of the speech that conjured the most thought for me, and was almost the antithesis of the perfectionism that John Wesley preached. Wesley preached that love of god and actions motivated by that love makes for a perfect Christian, an example of loving god for hope of reward via salvation before death. I think personally, I resonate more with the Hindu sentiment, as it feels more approachable to love for the sake of love, rather than love because you are expecting something in return, and dread your whole life whether you will receive that something in return or be proclaimed a sinner or an imperfect Christian. This weeks’ themes surrounding love, its absence in American meaning making, and the rhyming of history are all insightful, and will lead me to further research and introspection.

14 November 2025

Critical Prompt #2: Contrapuntal Worlds

Why is engaging the contrapuntal or counterpoint nature of U.S. religions crucial for interpreting the relationship between American religion and American culture?

Response:

American Society: The Necessity of a Contrapuntal Discourse

The concept of the contrapuntal is utilized in music theory to discuss the framework in which a composition garners its complexity. In music, arguably the most “complex” and layered compositions include the most counterpoints. When thinking about an orchestra playing a classical composition, or a jazz band playing an improvised composition, both possess deep and complex layering, with each instrument and player taking the composition in a different direction, yet synthesizing in sound to create melodic intricacy, and a finished product. Even in harmonization that feels parallel from one instrument to another, each instrument is taking the composition in different directions, whether dynamically in staccato or legato, tonally, or melodically.

It is helpful to understand contrapuntal complexity in terms of musical composition, as it presents a powerful framework to see the necessity of many viewpoints and tonal directions within a discourse, as a means of deeper interpretation and comprehension. Applying this line of thinking to the synthesis of American religions and their impact on American culture, we see the morals, values, and viewpoints associated with each religion possess a different tone, dynamic, and melody, yet they all synthesize to create an “American culture”. I would assess that from our readings, viewings, and discussions of history thus far, although American culture is a synthesis of all of these different religions, there have been evident dominant tones and directions that have possessed more power to determine what American culture is defined by, as it is shaped throughout history. 

Contrapuntal historical interpretation has been a vital part of this class and in our analysis of the often surface-level-invisible role of religion in our culture. An example of our contrapuntal analysis is in our simultaneous interpretation of the viewpoints of both Thomas Jefferson and David Walker. In query 14 of his Notes on the State of Virginia, Jefferson proposed emancipation of all slaves born after the act’s passage, yet believed the freed should be colonized in a separate place because, “the real distinctions which nature has made; and many other circumstances, will divide us into parties, and produce convulsions which will probably never end but in the extermination of the one or the other race.” It is important to understand Jefferson’s ideology, which provides a distinct dominant tone to the discourse, and sheds light on what were the dominant justifications for the gross systemic injustices. Jefferson was decidedly a man of his time, and hearing his viewpoint as an individual in a position of considerable power, is important to understanding the hegemonic tonal direction Jefferson provided to the discourse of slavery, segregation, and why the black population should continue to be subjugated, even if “freed”. Despite hearing the direction of the dominant tone of the time, thinking you have understood the discourse without hearing another perspective leaves much to be comprehended. 

David Walker’s 1829 appeal is a depiction of the necessary counterpoint in the discourse, from a similar period of time, and sheds light on the contrapuntal nature of the discourse. Walker condemns the hypocrisy of Thomas Jefferson, and broadly, the United States, for its claim of being a nation built upon the principles of liberty and Christianity, while also proposing that if the enslaved black population were freed they should be sent back to Africa. He argues that the oppressed state of black people is perpetuated by ignorance enforced by white oppressors to maintain control, and he calls upon freed educated black people to enlighten their brethren to contribute to the fight against suffering. Walker references Christianity, as he warns slaveholders that the wrath of god will serve divine retribution. In general, understanding the historical tone of Walker’s appeal in the context of Jefferson’s queries gives a more well-rounded understanding of the discourse. 

Both perspectives shape a discourse that spans far beyond the secular, purely political lens that American history is often viewed through. To attribute Jefferson’s words solely to the dominant values of that time period, paired with his political stance and motivations, would be an extreme oversight of the religious, racial, and cultural meanings that accompany and contextualize his beliefs. In Walker’s appeal, he says, “some of the whites are ignorant enough to tell us that we ought to be submissive to them, that they may keep their feet on our throats.” His statement may appear one way if a reader interprets the statement without considering Walker’s religious morals, and the contextual meanings that shape the lens through which Walker sees American society, and why he is calling upon oppressed black Americans to shape their own discourse. 

Another contrapuntal analysis exists in the hegemonic education that often surrounds Malcom X, Martin Luther King Jr, and Fannie Lou Hamer. I was taught MLK’s “I have a dream speech” at a young age, and learned about his admirable role as a leader in peaceful protest during the civil rights movement. I was taught an adjacent narrative about Malcom X, that he was a strong voice in the movement, but there was an asterisk at the end of that lesson, where they noted how he “organized” violence, a broad implication that entirely omitted the context of his personal journey, his shifting religious views, and his early life where violence was perpetuated against him and his family. The frequently taught hegemonic narrative represents a single melodic tone of the discourse, one that pits the thinkers against each other, without exploring the nuances of the comparison. There was a negative connotation that Malcolm X fought for the right things, the same silver lining as MLK, but he was a “rebel” so he should receive less respect, boiling down the complex human being to a single streamlined interpretation. 

Fannie Lou Hamer is a powerful figure, and provides so many contrapuntal nuances to the discourse of black disenfranchisement, education, and religion. She utilized spirituals as a tool to reclaim her discourse, turning suffering into strength, beauty, and the vocalization of truth. She pushed back against the conception that “We have to suffer as Christ suffered,” a hegemonic narrative that was taught to keep the suffering oppressed. Despite her strength and contrapuntal contributions to the discourse, I had heard very little about her, other than the occasional mention of her name in a textbook.

American society is a contrapuntal arrangement, with dominant notes, and faint notes in the background, wanting to be a more substantial part of the meaning making that creates the composition. Certain interpretations of Fannie Lou Hamer, Martin Luther King Jr, and Malcolm X often lack a nuanced understanding, a bigger picture. Discourses are painted as black and white, sometimes quite literally. The practice of seeking out nuanced discourses that consider contrapuntal narratives has led me to question the historical narratives I have been taught and have accepted thus far in my education. I wonder what other context, nuance has been conveniently left out of historical interpretations of discourses? And for whose sake has any given discourse been taught that way? I immediately think of a conversation I had a few years ago with my step grandmother, who expressed concern that I was being indoctrinated with a historical narrative that labeled white people as the enemy. Her fear is representative of a broader fear in American society, one that perpetuates hegemonic narratives, suppresses the contrapuntal nuances, and requires people to avoid any degree of real reflection, or hold anyone accountable. 

American society is an ever-changing contest of meanings, where religion’s role is often replaced by other words that point to a discourse as being “secular” or “void of religious thought”. A discourse composition without contrapoints lacks any melodic nuance, and is not a discourse at all, but instead an echo chamber, a sign of a society that lacks freedom. This lack of complexity is precisely what Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie warned against in one of my favorite TED talks, “The Danger of a Single Story,” where she stated, “The single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete”. 

To accept a single, hegemonic narrative is to lose the richness of the counterpoint. An incomplete narrative of the religious, cultural, and political discourses that have shaped American society is not merely an academic oversight; it is a dangerous composition that suppresses accountability and limits the very freedom and complexity it claims to represent.

I had been anticipating my visit to Oleana for quite some time now, before I was aware that the task of a graded restaurant analysis was on my horizon. I am happy to finally possess a good reason to treat myself to a meal at a sit-down restaurant. It can be difficult to justify as a college student bound to the convenience and financial benefits of a meal plan. Prior to my move to Boston I was working full time in restaurants in Chicago. The experience reinforced how fulfilling the service industry can be, and I gained invaluable experience that I will carry with me as I continue my hospitality journey. My love for the industry stemmed from a fourteen-year-old seeking human connection as the world rebounded from the COVID pandemic, and continues to grow with me as I explore an unfamiliar, food-filled city. When my boss, Chef Zach Engel, a James Beard award-winning Michelin-Starred chef told me that Oleana was “the only restaurant worth my time” in Boston, I took his word for it. Of course, perhaps he was biased, as he is good friends with James Beard award-winning Boston chef Ana Sortun, of Oleana, Sarma, and Sofra. Needless to say, the anticipation has been building. 

When you visit Oleana’s website and social media, it won’t strike you as pretentious, or unapproachable. The focus is clearly on the food, evident on the landing page, that scrolls through a mouth-watering slideshow of Middle Eastern mezze and the famous ‘baked alaska’ dessert that has held its menu position for 25 years. The website doesn’t have any flashy photos of the restaurant space, or of waiters in white button ups and black aprons, because that evidently isn’t the brand. The lack of show is by no means a turnoff for me. I feel that overly pretentious establishments that overcompensate in their image online often underperform expectations in person. Facades of grandeur are too often dissolved the second you take the first bite, akin to the moment an internet catfish shows up on a first date, as you try to play off your disappointment. Oleana is no catfish, and even if there was more of a professional effort put into the marketing and online appearance of the establishment, they are equipped with the culinary horsepower to perform under the pressure of high expectations. 

Oleana is neighborly, in every sense of the word. The restaurant is unassuming, plotted on the street level of a three-story residential building, with what appears to be a few apartment units above, a few blocks south of Cambridge’s Inman Square, where a bountiful restaurant scene brings substantial nightly foot traffic. Brightly stained maple wood wraps the exterior, an understated logo invites diners in, and a ramped walkway leads you past what one can only imagine to be a bustling patio when weather permits. The atmosphere makes you feel as if you are in the dining room of a well-off but down-to-earth homeowner, who knows how to set the tone for an evening of gastronomic conversation; the type of conversation prone to derailment, and perhaps a tangent about how the herbal aperitifs in someone’s limonana cocktail remind them of a summer spent off the Amalfi coast. The nature of Oleana’s gastronomy, renowned execution, and price point naturally attracts these characters, but in no way does the restaurant match or encourage this energy. 

Two small dining rooms make up the seating at Oleana, the first with two banquettes lining opposite walls, and the second with a bar, and a banquette fit for a few four tops, as well as one high top table tucked in the corner adjacent to the bar. 

The open kitchen concept screams transparency and accountability, especially because of its close proximity to guests. Chef de Cuisine Chris Burton stood on my side of the pass, facing the cooks, communicating to the different stations of the kitchen when to fire dishes, communicating fire times to the team, and ensuring the coursing and placement of each dish is adequately paced. With the bar in front of me and the expo off my right shoulder, I was in the midst of the service team garnishing and running drinks from the bar, as well as staying vigilant of the food on the pass, to ensure a runner is always prepared to run hot dishes as soon as they hit the window. I would wager that the kitchen has not been updated since opening, and while some stations appear to be short on space, especially given the sizable open flame range centered in the kitchen, the cooks still move with speed and efficiency. Three cooks were on the hot side, one was almost out of sight on the garde manger station to the left of the range, and the one that seemed to be running around the most had the station towards the back exit, executing pastry and some mezze dishes as well. As a diner, especially one with a seating position like mine, your view is cinematic, and you won’t wish to ever press pause. The environment at Oleana leaves absolutely no ambiance to be desired, and offers complete transparency to the diner, a confident statement for a kitchen to make 

Service Quality: Upon entering the restaurant, you know exactly where to go, as the host stand is in your direct eyeline, and you’ll be greeted right away. It is important to note there are two hosts at the stand when you enter. If one seats a customer, there is another to greet you, leaving no room for confused customers to question where to go and what to do. Part of hospitality is providing patrons with adequate direction. Diners don’t come to a restaurant to complete a complex set of steps to get to their table, to puzzle over where the nearest service staff even is, or god forbid, to try and find the bathroom in a restaurant full of corridors and backrooms. They need guidance, and part of being hospitable is not only giving that direction in a kind manner, but being present to do so. They give direction well at Oleana. Every step of the process is accompanied, with careful understanding of how to avoid being physically or tonally overbearing, but still be highly attentive and available. 

Every one of my interactions at Oleana felt intentional and authentic, nothing was performative in the bartender's manner of speech when he briefed me on the crab special of the night, or the general manager that I eventually, somewhat reluctantly, asked to speak with. You were being welcomed into their space, their home, and their own pride in their offerings was clear, but not in a boastful tone. 

“I know I’ve been doing this for 25 years and I’ve never taken a class for it,” said the bartender dryly when I told him my objective for the night. I wasn’t put off by the comment, because I felt nostalgic for an old bartender coworker, hospitality-burnout Donte, who would sometimes speak to his guests in a similar crass manner, but serve them the best Negroni they’ve ever had the privilege of sipping. Ultimately, I agreed with his sentiment, and shared with him that I believed similarly that hospitality cannot be taught, but it certainly can and should be learned, to which he agreed wholeheartedly. 

Charming Boston bartender rapport aside, every member of the service team collaborated, with servers running any food to any table, without a sole focus on their own section. I always look for that in a restaurant, and appreciate it when I see it, as I believe it implies a lack of ego in the service team. Too often, especially in fine dining restaurants, servers lose sight of the teamwork aspects of the job. They sometimes go as far as refusing to run food if it is not going to one of their tables, focusing exclusively on the wants and needs of those paying their gratuity. 

As far as the speed of service is concerned, it was almost too prompt. Dictating my order all at once and figuring the kitchen would pace out the dishes, I figured I would have a moment to use the restroom and wash my hands of any public transit pathogens before digging in. In the time it took for that thought to conjure in my mind and for me to act upon it, the Fatteh, the first of my mezze dishes, had arrived. With the new (unfounded) fear of potential Fatteh theft circulating in my head I used the restroom as quickly as I could. Two minutes later my Za’atar Bread had hit the table, and just following that, my Warm Buttered Basturma Hummus, encompassing all that I had ordered. Despite the intimidating pacing, I took the dishes one at a time, deciding because the bread was curiously the only dish of the three not served warm, that I could reasonably save that one for last. 

Oleana’s menu is concise and easy to follow, even including a printed glossary on the menu given to every diner, emphasizing the humility and accessibility that they clearly view as important to their operations. They do not seek to scare people away with fancy words and obscure descriptions, and have set up their menu to ensure patrons don’t ever feel “less than” for asking about what a particular ingredient or dish even is. The menu is all mezze, or smaller plates, apart from a larger half chicken dish, which they will be clear about before you browse, especially if you are a solo diner. It is separated into three distinct categories: Vegetable, Fish, Meat. Because of these categorical distinctions, it is incredibly easy to determine what you are feeling on a given night. They recommend 2-3 dishes per person, that number depends on both how hungry you are and what dishes you order. But given the categories, it was easy for me to say, “I’m not feeling fish tonight, I’ll go with two vegetables and one meat.” I then gave the bartender the freedom to choose for me within those two categories, as the only thing I was confident I wanted to try was the Za’atar bread. 

Menu Offerings and Presentations: 

Fatteh: The Fatteh is the star of the show at Oleana, so despite the possibility of some of its specific ingredients rotating based on what’s seasonally available, the Fatteh will undoubtedly be on the menu. It comes in a beautiful presentation, with distinct layers of crispy thin flatbread, yogurt, cauliflower, garnished with crispy mushrooms and two beautiful red-veined leafy greens. Upon quick direction from the bartender, I used the serving spoon to break up the flatbread and disrupt the layers, chopping it all up to get one cohesive bite with every component. The savory yogurt brings some acidity and a creamy textural base, and the cauliflower makes you question how an often overlooked vegetable can pack such depth of flavor. A sweet jammy essence comes from the caramelized onions, which were probably cooked until deep golden brown for hours on end. The crispy mushrooms and pine nuts seal the deal texturally, both also providing a nuttiness complimenting the onions in a magnificent unity. The dish is truly wonderful, and pretty to look at until you disrupt your viewing experience with the provided serving spoon. 

Za’atar Bread: The Za’atar bread was a freshly baked spongy texture akin to focaccia, but clearly made with sourdough starter, and at least a little bit of rye or spelt flour. It was wonderful, and the Za’atar seasonings on the crust added to the enjoyment substantially. I always find myself enjoying bread better when it is warm. This loaf was clearly baked the same day, and the only thing I found myself wanting from it was for it to be warm. I think that in some establishments bread is warmed up to help conceal its age or its quality in general, or perhaps it is a distinctly American preference, I’m not sure. My gripes regarding the temperature of the bread are insignificant as soon as you utilize the provided fixings, which are a Baharat spiced date butter, and a goat’s milk labneh. Individually they are incredible, with the bread as the perfect vessel for flavor deliverance. I’ve only had cow’s milk labneh, and I am now quite infatuated with Chef Sortun’s use of the strained goat’s yogurt in this dish. The goat’s labneh brings all the necessary creamy and tangy profiles, letting the natural caramelized sweetness of the date, and the warmth of the Baharat spices in the date butter shine through. A bread and dip dish has no excuse for being this innovative and delicious. 

Warm Buttered Hummus: If I were truly blown away with the presentation or the taste of this, I surely would’ve photographed it, or at the very least photographed the empty plate in remembrance and tribute of what was once there. But they did not knock my socks off, mostly because I ate them after the Fatteh. Conceptually it is a good dish, and unlike anything I have ever eaten. The hummus is baked in bite-size balls, wrapped with a thin rope of basturma, a middle-eastern spiced cured beef. Tiny pieces of black olive on top of the balls gave the dish salinity, and tomato gave it some needed bright acidity. Despite the work of the latter two ingredients, the hummus itself felt a little dry and chalky in my mouth, not as nutty and toasty as my anticipatory thoughts predicted, though I can’t claim to have ever tasted baked hummus. The cheapest of the ‘Meat’ section of the menu, the Warm Buttered Hummus did not stand out from the other two powerhouses. By no means did I dislike it, it was a new experience, and flavor is never an objective universal experience. 

Almond Cremolata: When seeking out an experience like this, I try to ignore price tags and give myself a well-rounded experience, but sometimes that can be difficult. Oleana is famous for its Baked Alaska, but the sheer size and the 17 dollar price tag ultimately turned me away. Next time I will order it, perhaps when I convince my friends that money is a social construct, and that a hospitable experience makes it all worth it. Upon the recommendation of my friend behind the bar I ordered the Almond Cremolata, topped with a substantial amount of pumpkin jam, and a garnish of dukkah, a mix of nuts and middle eastern aromatics. The dish was well crafted, and felt appropriate in its fall flavors, but the cremolata itself was too plain of a vessel for the pumpkin jam and dukkah to do the heavy lifting in terms of flavor. I enjoy the flavor of almonds very much, and am a big fan of almond and pistachio ice creams. Perhaps it is in the nature of the cremolata, but the dessert tasted very icey, and did not possess any of the almond flavor I was hoping for. The presentation is simple but well executed. All the desserts coming out of the kitchen looked even prettier than the cremolata, and I look forward to trying more. 

Beverage Offerings: Although my focus was at the time of my visit, and what will continue to be my focus is food, it is important to acknowledge a well-crafted beverage menu. Oleana temporarily abandons its tenet of accessibility and neighborhood feel when it comes to their wine list. They have an intimidating 77 wines, ranging across 20 countries, from places like Morocco, Lebanon, and Turkey, all the way to California. From my experience with wine lists and working in both a wine bar in Wisconsin and a restaurant with an extensive middle eastern focused wine list in Chicago, I know that even the most pretentious and experienced of diners can’t look at a wine list and make a perfect pairing for the food menu. Viewing a list like this one as a wine enjoyer, or even worse, a first time wine drinker, gives you no context or advice as to what to drink this with, but I would hope your server is equipped to have that conversation with you. 

They have a small cocktail list, offering uniquely creative middle-eastern cocktails, as well as a particularly intriguing cocktail centered around Turkish coffee. From my seat at the bar, I was front row to the production of the cocktail menu, and watched the bartender resist openly expressing his frustration for whoever was manning the bar at Oleana’s 25 year anniversary party the night prior. The cocktails were not flashy, and their garnishes were the classic wedges, twists, and wheels. As for non-alcoholic options, Oleana boasts seven craft mocktail and soda options, and a solo non-alcoholic beer. I opted for Turkish coffee with my dessert, which was delicious both in flavor and possessed a distinctly delightfully bitter layer of crema. Despite the wide array of wines, cocktails, and NA beverages available, the focus is indisputably the food, and the beverages must not overshadow the innovative gastronomy at Oleana. 

Customer Behavior Observation: Behind my spot, the furthest right at the seven-seat bar, a couple with an elementary-aged child makes conversation, to my left a solo diner is efficient with their ordering, they know what they want, and to my left is an elderly double date, two of them are clearly regulars. Oleana is a neighborhood, probably especially so on the slower nights of the week, like this one. Its energy is so vibrant, so much so that it wasn’t until I reached the music part of my list of things to be cognizant of, when I even noticed its absence. The hub of the restaurant, and the key to the ambiance is just a few feet to my right, the barstool giving me a perfect sightline into the open kitchen, which was probably an unconventional feature in 2001, when Chef Ana Sortun opened Oleana. The customers in the dining room with a view of the kitchen are transfixed, with individuals switching the conversation topic to ask if anyone has tried the crazy looking dish on the pass.

The Oleana customer base seems super friendly, a mix of foodies exploring Boston, and neighborhood regulars, as well as a few pretentious diners talking about wealthy topics. 

As mentioned previously, Oleana possessed a surprisingly wide age demographic, from families with young children, to a young date sitting at the bar, all the way to that table of two older couples. The staff seemed to have a lot of rapport with the person sitting at the high top, adjacent to the bar. If not a coworker coming in on his day off to claim his discount, perhaps he dines there with the consistency of a full time job.