Review: Epic Burger

When I bailed off the pescatarian wagon early last year, I was curious to try Epic Burger. I'd been before to the one in the South Loop with some co-workers and was impressed by the portobello burger and the shakes (holy mother of God, the shakes...). But really no matter how you sex it up, a portobello burger is a mouthful of mushroom. Good as it was, it didn't nearly preview the deliciousness that their real burgers deliver. These are pure, gorgeously prepared..uh, meat, with tons of flavor. They're sticklers for using grass-fed beef without antibiotics or hormones, and other forms of real food fit for human consumption. And while a visit there always feels decadent, they give you options to keep it from turning into an epic binge. My favorite order is a junior turkey burger with grilled onions and a fat-free Milk and Honey smoothie. Major burger bliss.

   

Equipment Detox: Ditching Bad Plastic

We are a nation buried in plastic. So you can imagine the sinking feeling I got when I read up on the toxicity of the stuff, especially considering how much of it leaches out of containers into what we eat and drink everyday. Why care? When you consume plasticizers, the compounds alter your chromosomes which can cause disease and organ dysfunction, especially in our reproductive systems. Since I hardly need any more issues going on there, I've detoxed our kitchen, realizing it's impossible to entirely escape the stuff. Here's what to know.

1. The numbering system for plastic is a valuable way to differentiate between the worst offenders and those that are known to leach out a lot less. The bad guys to chuck are:

#3 - PVC, especially common in plastic wraps and, in my case, dirt cheap picnic ware from Target. Make sure you use a wrap that says "no plasticizers" on the label if you can't find an actual number.

#6 - All styro products, including takeout containers.

#7 - PC, this is a hard plastic that's very common for durable water containers. Pitch that puppy and get yourself a new aluminum one. Sigg makes some lovely versions.

2. The better plastics to look for in the store: #1, 2, 4, 5, and 7-PLA. That last one is actually made from corn and it's starting to pop up in organic store brands. It's the only one of the bunch that's totally safe. If you don't see the PLA attached, it's the bad version of #7.

3. Heat and plastic should never mix. No matter what type it is, it'll leach if you heat it up. This means no plastic in the microwave and no hot takeout containers from the Thai place down the street. Sorry. Don't leave bottled water out in the sun where it can get warm. And do I really need to tell you not to eat frozen entrees? If you really must, transfer it to a glass or ceramic plate before nuking it.

4. If the plastic is cloudy, really old, stained or scratched, pitch it. It's leaching.

5. Meet your old friends, glass, ceramics, waxed paper cartons, and aluminum. They didn't mutate your grandma's DNA and they won't mutate yours.

Whole Foods Gives Chicago Big Box Organic

Ah serendipity. After our recent resolve to go all organic, we girded our loins yesterday and headed for the new 75,000 square-foot Whole Foods that just celebrated its grand opening on Wednesday, located on Kingsbury and North Ave. We watched it go up this winter from the terrace of our gym nearby, wondering if it would improve the black hole of congestion that the smaller store caused for so long two blocks north. That it would be a stellar experience inside, I never doubted, but I have to admit this third-largest Whole Foods in the world has exceeded even those expectations.

The parking sitch: Not bad. The 400+ space facility was as full as you'd expect on Memorial Day weekend just after the grand opening (are we nuts, by the way?), but it's designed well enough that you can easily circulate until someone vacates a spot, which only took a couple of minutes.

The first impression: In Broadway parlance, it's a WOW. We entered on the second floor and descended the long escalator into a bright, airy, lofty space bursting with produce, live music, patrons sipping coffee at cafe tables, and people. Lots and lots of people.

Navigation: Maybe it's just the museum geek in me, but I wanted a map with my shopping cart. Looking south, I saw more and more store. It goes on for days. There's a mezzazine level and a diner, not to mention six other eateries tucked into various sections, only a few of which I saw on this visit. The produce section however didn't seem any bigger than the former one, and its still laid out at angles with cramped aisles - maximizing eye appeal but minimizing mobility. From there, the rest of it meanders generously around the big key landmarks, like the impressive Butcher counter and Bakery, which I swear attracted about 300 people with its free tasting stations.

Favorite surprise: Aisle Rage could have set in between Seafood and Dairy if my astute husband hadn't spotted a fellow shopper carrying a glass of beer who informed him that, "This whole store is a bar. You can get drinks at different places and carry them around." He pointed out the beer bar; my honey quickly began hunting for the inevitable wine counterpart. Which he found across from the milk, next to the large wine department. The double-sided Da Vine bar is surprisingly big, with an elevated seating area, knowledgeable staff, and a menu offering some interesting wines-by-the-glass and cheeses. A few steps away, a kid carved up giant wheels of amazingly tangy Parmigiano Reggiano for free samples. Sipping and munching, I relaxed considerably and ticked items off our shopping list. I turned to my husband and said, "Yeah. This is our store. We've come home."

The six remaining eateries are thematic to Chicago's neighborhoods: Wicker Park Subs, Pilsen Taqueria, Taylor Street Pizza, Asian Express, the retro Riverview Diner, and the Chicago Smokehouse and Rotisserie. There's also a lounge area, outdoor tables overlooking the river, and the entryway coffee and beer bar with a live music stage.

Other surprises: The seafood department offers three types of fresh wild salmon. My husband stared in wide-eyed wonder at the endless possibilities of the DIY nut butter station, not to mention the trail mixes possbile in the expanded bulk foods area that's about double the size of the previous one. In every area, selection is vast. I chose from eight kinds of European-style butters and nearly freaked when trying to decided on yogurt.

Customer service: Seriously great. They must be plying the staff with free yoga and aura massages, because we only encountered cheerful, helpful people who never forgot to ask if there was anything else we needed.

Climbing on the All-Organic Bus

The confetti has been swept, thousands of Champagne bottles have been recycled (I hope), and the mayor and Rahm-bo have long since left the building. Everyone in my area of the museum has a jumbo-sized opening week excitement hangover, but the new wing and all its inspiring features are, in fact, launched and chugging along nicely. Hordes of visitors are pouring into it for free as I write. Art and handmade pasta for the people! Yes! We! Can!!

It's a given that my brain is fried. But on Sunday, once I consented to peeling myself off the sofa, I walked over to a mirror to confront what 10+ months of monster-truck-sized stress have done to my body. And people, I am fat. Not Biggest Loser fat. Just there's-no-way-in-hell-I'm-going-to-fit-into-last-summer's-pants fat. And last summer? Not exactly a moment to celebrate in my personal journey toward glowing health and fitness.

I've made three decisions about this. 1) It is not going to be my new norm. Noooo, nononono. NO. Change is coming to these hips, America. 2) It's time to put the kibosh on the stress. And 3) I will eat my kind of food to return to a healthy weight. No sense in pretending that I'm going to forgo real food pleasures for, well, anything ever. I'll just have to pace them somewhat more between fresh seasonal produce, whole grains, and...um, something else that my take-out habit has fogged up my brain cells too much to remember.

To brush up on these weighty matters - sorry, couldn't resist - I downloaded Jillian Michaels' new book Master Your Metabolism on my (amazing, awesome, stellar) Kindle. I never watch her show. But I do relish her refreshing talent for honest, sweaty, ass-kicking fitness, and the fact that the book focuses on endocrinology intrigued me greatly.

It has me REELING. Michaels relates how in past years she meticulously consumed 1,200 calories a day and spent over six hours in the gym a week to keep her bod in top form. No shock there. But if she "relaxed" and ramped it up to all of 1,800 calories with the same workouts, she gained 15 lbs. almost immediately. I know dozens of people who can relate to a similar scenario...just none who look like her or have her discipline. An endocrinologist treating one of Michaels' clients eventually tested her and found that literally every major metabolic hormone in her system was totally out of whack - thanks to years of dieting, stress, lack of sleep and consuming processed foods.

And it's that last item that has me reeling. I always knew that processed foods could trigger allergies or lead to long-term health issues like heart disease, and I've minimized them without getting too worked up over it. But I didn't imagine that they could so quickly bring on a vicious cycle of obesity, for one. Or ovarian cysts. Or premature puberty. Or depression. Or any of the other honestly serious immediate dangers triggered by hydrogenated oils, FDA approved preservatives, and additives. In short, if wellness nazis like Jillian Michaels aren't immune from the effects of this toxic junk that's completely taken over our culture, then America, my friends, we are all deeply, truly effed.

Big time.

So I have to believe that this is where Darwinism kicks in, and the smart ones will take the advice to thrive in spite of the overall environment of crap. Which means going all-out, full-stop organic. And breaking up with diet Dr. Pepper and protein bars for good. And learning the entire number system for plastics so I know which ones will alter my DNA if put in my dishwasher. None of which sounds so terribly daunting, but just try to go stand in line at Cosi and order lunch with all this spinning around in your head.

As usual, my friend Dar has a way of just knowing like Yoda. She sent me a package from Zingermans this week as a gift, and when I opened it, I was greeted by a box of Rabitos Royale ...Spanish figs filled with brandy liqueur, dipped in chocolate. No, not diet food. But here's the thing: it wouldn't even occur to the Spanish to fill this unreal little bonbon with toxic crap. In the US, we'd slap an "ALL NATURAL" banner on the front and sell them for 300% markup. But this little darling is exactly the one special treat of my day that won't make me miffed about doubling up on the salads.