Pretty Sushi

Before going to the Joffrey Ballet’s opening night of Eclectica on Wednesday (find the review in Clef Notes' Summer Issue), Im and I stopped at Oysy for sushi. I’d never been before, and I have to admit that the atmosphere is a little on the sterile side (which I guess is both good and bad for a restaurant), but the sushi is pretty good.

When it comes to raw fish I’m mainly a maki-only kind of girl (not for lack of trying other types of sushi and sashimi, I might add). There’s just something about the seaweed, and the rice, and the fish all rolled up tight and dipped in a touch of soy sauce that excites my taste buds. We ordered the Godzilla, Rainbow Dragon, and Dynamite maki (Im ordered the fatty tuna, too, which I’ll eat once in awhile, but am quite happy to forgo on most occasions). Now, I’m pretty sure that you can’t go wrong with a Godzilla roll anywhere—I’ve loved it every time, and everywhere I’ve ever ordered it. In my opinion, you can’t really go astray with tobiko either, which is part of why I loved the Rainbow Dragon. The roe adds that nice little crunch, without significantly changing the taste (well, at least I don’t notice much difference in the taste).

But when it comes to Oysy’s Rainbow Dragon roll, I think I loved the presentation even more than the taste. You’ve got to hand it to Oysy for presentation. Check out how awesome our Rainbow Dragon roll looked:

Oysy's Rainbow Dragon Maki

You’ve got to love the colors of the wasabi-, chili-, and black-tobiko, not to mention the eyes and tail. Then of course it’s stuffed with all those kinds of fish: salmon, tuna, white tuna, eel, shrimp… Yum! (That's part of the Dynamite maki to the right.) Our dragon was even cuter in real life.

Oysy was the perfect place to go before the ballet. It wasn’t insanely busy, so we were able to get in and out pretty quickly and make it to the performance with time to spare, which I really appreciated. If you’re headed to Auditorium Theatre and need a place to grab a bite before the show, Oysy’s not a bad choice.

A Brimming Stage

Tonight I reviewed the Joffrey’s Nutcracker, and it was fantastic. That’s about all I will say about it. If you want to know more from my perspective, you’ll have to find some way to get your hands on Clef Notes Concert Journal for the Arts spring issue (yes, that’s correct, the spring issue). I’d like to get my hands on the winter issue, so if you have a copy (or know someone who does) and wouldn’t mind parting with it, I’d love to have a print copy of my articles.

Anyway, I just enjoyed myself immensely at the ballet tonight, and I’m pretty sure Kat enjoyed herself, too (I love that they give me an extra press pass). The seats were amazing, about five rows back from the orchestra pit, and the stage was so huge. For a ballet like the Nutcracker there’s so much activity going on across every inch of it that you can’t possibly capture everything that’s going on at once! Adding to the excitement was the fact that I’m starting to know the company dancers immediately when they enter the stage. I have my favorites (don’t we all?) and not so favorites, and it’s almost to the point where all I need to see is their dancing (not even their faces) to know who they are. I enjoy finding new favorites, and picking out the ones I love from the corps pieces (not that they’re often in the corps). It adds that much more entertainment to my evening.

Anyway, I really just want to plug the Chicago arts scene. I feel like the city is so often tied to its mediocre sports teams, that sometimes people overlook its wealth of actually stellar cultural offerings. We may not be as expansive as New York City, but we’ve got a heavy concentration of artistic venues. I mean, there are so many jazz, blues, orchestra, etc. options, not to mention the local band scene, if you’re into that. The Joffrey’s offerings are self-explanatory, and there are other dance companies worth seeing, too, although their names are not as widely-known. I can't even begin to count the number of local theatre and improv troupes. Plus, we've got a range of film festivals, and the museums include your favorite staples (like the impressionist gallery at the Art Institute) as well as enticing exhibits rolling in and out of the countless city museums. There’s always something new to capture, or something old, as the case may be. Which reminds me that, beyond the world of the Joffrey Ballet, I need to get back into those scenes, myself. I know that if I let the cold temperatures become an excuse, I could lose three months of culture, which sounds much riskier than a little teeth-chattering.

Dance through a Different Lens

It was thrilling for me to walk into Auditorium Theatre last night, not as just a spectator, but as press. Maybe I shouldn’t admit that I get as excited about these baby steps as I do, but, shoot, it felt pretty amazing to walk up to the media table and accept my free ticket to the opening night of the Joffrey Ballet’s Othello, and receive my press kit. This is the kind of thing I’ve always wanted to do--write arts reviews. The magazine for which I’m reviewing the production may not have the largest circulation figures, but if I can combine my two greatest loves—dance and writing—I feel more than lucky. Getting to view the ballet at no cost, getting published, and getting paid a little to write the review? That's a pretty successful venture in my eyes.

I walked into the gorgeous theatre (Auditorium Theatre doesn’t get old for me), got situated, and looked around. I’d gotten dressed up, as I always do for the ballet. Looking around, it occurred to me that I’d done so entirely for myself, since it's probably a rarity to meet a man who’s both single and straight going to see the ballet. Needless to say, I soon tired of people-watching and opened my folder. I was not expecting the 15 pages of press materials they gave me, but I quickly realized that out of all those pages, there were only about four sentences that would be relevant to my review.

It wasn’t long before I was surrounded by writers, which was a comforting experience. I sat next to an older woman who writes a weekly column for a paper in South Chicago. She started telling me how her best friend used to dance for Balanchine, which is more than just a little impressive (and this friend danced with Nureyev and Margot Fonteyne). Too bad her friend wasn’t with her. The woman herself, however, has interviewed dancers and choreographers including Ruth Page, so I was kind of impressed by her, too. She expounded on the history of the Joffrey for me, telling me about the modern years (which, in her opinion, were the “dark years"), the advent of live orchestra music at Joffrey performances, and the general evolution of the Joffrey Chicago. She certainly made me feel as though my knowledge were limited.

But then I asked her if she used to be a dancer. She chuckled, said she’d taken about a month of classes, then gave up when she found out how difficult it was. She took one look at me and asked me if I was a dancer. I told her that I used to be, and she flattered me by saying that I look like one (this is one compliment I will never tire of hearing). I shared a little bit about my dance background and told her that I still take adult classes at the Joffrey, as often as I can. Then it appeared that maybe she was a little impressed by me.

Anyway, it was amusing to me that, during the ballet, I discovered I can write legibly and in straight lines without looking at my notebook. I filled up several pages with notes, in the darkened house, unable to see any of it, and not wanting to take my eyes off the dancing. I was happy to find that I could read it all afterward. Some of the writers around me took no notes, but, as in the classroom, I can’t imagine being without them.

Anyway, the ballet was beautiful, and I think you should go see it. But if you want to know the details, you’ll have just have to read my review. :) Which I haven’t written, yet, and probably should be writing right now. But I’m not feeling the pressure of the deadline yet and I’m clearly behind on the blog.

City Escapes and the Art of Time Suspension

Summer evening. Rain dripping outside—this is my favorite time to write. There’s something about the fresh air, the smell of rain, and the setting sun that just feels inspired. Some evenings, I hear strains of a saxophone outside my window. I imagine the player is in an apartment complex nearby, although he’s probably on one of the streets below. My windows are always open—I hate to surrender the fresh air to re-circulated A/C—so, when I’m here and he’s playing, his notes waft right up on the night air, seep into my soul and take me away someplace peaceful.

Right now, the rain is pattering on my window unit, and echoing off the sidewalk below as it falls. Part of me wants to go outside and just stand in it. To feel it soak into my clothes and drip down my back. A few nights ago, at the end of a hard, angry run, it started raining unexpectedly. I was thirsty, tired, and sweaty. The cold droplets on my steaming skin created the most glorious sensation. I felt incredibly alive.

I’ve been running nearly every day for the past few weeks now, channeling all of my emotion into the force of my feet shoving against the cement with every step. Remarkably, my bum knee and my hateful back haven’t forced me to quit yet. There’s a running culture here into which I feel as though I’ve inducted myself. If you run at the same time everyday (which is rare for me), you’ll actually start to recognize faces along the lake. I love to watch the people on the path. You can spot the distance runners with their sinewy frames and calm expressions; the red-faced dabblers who look on the verge of collapse as their run diminishes to a snail's pace; the newbies who don’t understand the traffic patterns and are nearly run down by the bicyclists. I'm pretty much a red-faced dabbler myself, though my stamina is much improved lately.

In addition to the footpath along the lake, the Joffrey has also been a haven for me this summer. I’m not sure why it took me so long to show up at the studio with ballet shoes in hand, but when I finally decided to face my fears of inferiority and go to class, I felt like I was coming home. Sure, the days of Firebird are long gone, but the passion still dwells inside me. And it’s always a surprise what passion and determination can make the body do. Frankly, not much has changed since my hard-core dancing days. When the music begins I still become one with the barre. I still feel its unwavering support like I’ve felt every barre I’ve ever touched in my entire dancing life. I still feel like I am tapping into something that lies deep within me, even if my legs need some retraining and my turnout’s a little rusty.

One of my favorite parts about the Joffrey is that you can look down at the city streets from the barre. It feels like being on top of the world, dancing above the city traffic, dirty sidewalks, and busy world below. In the studio it’s like time suspended in air. The city can do what it wants; it doesn’t matter, because you’re dancing and everything else stops existing. The stress and emotion of life just dissolve into the strains of Chopin or Tchaikovsky. They melt off your skin as the music takes over. There is nothing in the world quite like it...

Here I am in my apartment, drifting back from my reverie, rain still washing down the city streets. The saxophonist is still M.I.A., but I’ve got Miles playing in the background. My eyelids begin to grow heavy. I’m pretty sure that tonight I will have no trouble sleeping.