While Tre Dita, with all its flaws and an undeniable grandeur, stands as Chicago’s most consequential mainstream opening of the year, fine dining is a different matter.

Of course, when all is said and done at The St. Regis, there may be little difference in price distinguishing Funke’s meatballs, pasta, and steak from a bonafide tasting menu. The former’s cuisine is certainly “fine” (i.e., refined), but it is served à la carte in a sprawling space with a separate bar and a fleet of private dining rooms. Tre Dita, for those prepared to pay, is equipped to please all manner of tastes on any given occasion. It may have traded French fare for the more fashionable Italian, yet it is clearly distinguishable as a special occasion restaurant in the classic mold. As designed, it forms a hub for movers and shakers whose mere presence forms the “main event.” Good food—hearty and approachable—is just a bonus.

At the other end of the horseshoe, costing just as much, you find the inverse experience: chef’s serving up singular visions, expecting a degree of submission, and welcoming guests to partake in a performance that largely transcends any personal proclivities. Here, gastronomy takes the upper hand over any backslapping social scene. And, while many of Chicago’s most eminent restaurants (e.g., Ever, Oriole, and Smyth) maintain dining rooms of requisite size and systems of staggered seatings that allow for a certain festive mood, new openings increasingly center on a counter.

Taking their cue, perhaps, from the omakase tradition that has now taken root as one of the city’s most prized and pernicious genres, restaurants like Bon Yeon, Cariño, and Valhalla “2.0” largely or entirely stage their experiences mere feet away from diners’ perches. These patrons, numbering from 14 to six depending on the exact concept, are treated to engrossing meals where the craft of the kitchen and the personalities of the individual chefs command attention. The sense of “occasion,” as at Tre Dita, is not dispersed throughout the entirety of the room. Instead, action and reaction define an intimate, engaging evening.

At its worst (as exemplified by Bon Yeon), the counter format seemed concocted to obscure the absence of the headlining chef, the beverage program’s high markups, and the culinary team’s superficial understanding of beef sourcing. Sure, the room was pretty. It could claim all kinds of nice touches and details and an air of deference. Yet, looking past the basic novelty of having someone cooking meat before you, the experience lacked substance. It charged high-end steakhouse prices for what amounted to a trite spiel while delivering none of the same satisfaction.

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At its best (as exemplified by Cariño and Valhalla “2.0”), the counter format affirmed the expertise of one (the former) or up to four (the latter) exceptional craftspeople at the top of their respective games. It acted as a stage for technique and storytelling shared by the actual masterminds of the concepts. It showcased a degree of action—not just flipping sad slices of steak on a metal grill—designed to provoke questions and further gastronomic education. These examples even sacrificed a certain degree of luxuriousness in order to achieve a feeling of authenticity: the kind that prizes the guest’s emotional experience, in interaction with the staff and with each other, more than the potential for pretty pictures.

Counters, in this manner, carry the potential to express fine dining’s most fundamental pleasures with a degree of concentration and clarity unseen in the old grand dining rooms. Just as easily, they are seized on as gimmicks by operators who wish to twist the format’s natural appeal toward deceiving customers who, without the semblance of a “show,” would question an uncertain value proposition far more harshly.

With the long-awaited arrival of Feld, the counter format—as Chicagoans have come to know it—reaches its apotheosis. You say that with no disrespect intended toward chefs like Stephen Gillanders and Otto Phan, who have each pushed the intimate expression of craft to a singular extreme. The nice thing about these kinds of restaurants is that, by stripping away so much of the fluff, they allow for their operators’ core temperaments and basic approaches to sourcing, seasoning, or plate design to shine through. They make room for the coexistence of myriad perspectives (think of all the omakases in Tokyo), each carving out a certain niche and waiting to match with a particular consumer’s palate. They transcend “competition,” as you conventionally think of it, and instead forge ahead with the kind of differentiation that really enriches a dining scene: convincing the public to look past “the best” and support more and more visions looking to actualize themselves through food.

In Feld, you undeniably find that degree of intention: one that has been well expressed in writing and social media content over a period of years and that, as is always the case when a chef builds this kind of stage, represents the culmination of an entire career. This kind of promotion, whether served directly to the consumer or parroted by traditional media, is really nothing new. (However, in this case, the use of TikTok represents something of a novel strategy that reminds you a bit of the Reddit fame underlying the marketing of Akahoshi Ramen.)

What you find more interesting is how Feld, from the start, has planned to channel its promotional activity toward a well-defined concept: “relationship-to-table” dining with the chef personality—the one that directly cultivated fans during the restaurant’s development—placed center stage. Unlike Akahoshi, where the reality of a limp noodle shop jarred with the oversized reputation of its regal owner, Feld’s fundamental form would satisfy and enrich the end user’s experience of the headlining craftsman.

This would be accomplished through an evolution of the counter format (somewhat inspired by the chef’s time at ernst in Berlin) that positions customers at the periphery of the dining room and situates chef and cooks (who all also double as servers) at one of two islands in the center of the space. These 20 seats, spread across banquettes, effectively adapt the idea’s structure: guests no longer saddle up to a bar that overlooks the kitchen—instead, the kitchen unveils itself and comes to them.

This interpretation of the counter format expands the restaurant’s operating capacity beyond what any single stretch of surface could house. It provides an extra degree of guest comfort—of privacy (always perilous when squeezing in next to self-professed “foodies”)—that makes up for a slight reduction in closeness with an added dose of luxury. It builds a feeling (at least it intends to) that lands somewhere between the careful focus on the chef’s motions that characterizes an omakase and the pervading energy that charges the rooms of Chicago’s two- and three-Michelin-star properties.

If interaction with the chef is equally privileged (as it was at Cariño and Valhalla “2.0”), guests gain everything and lose nothing from this evolution. Feld marks a model for more staffing, more courses, and more precision in service with the same intoxicating intimacy. It even stands to surpass those chef’s tables and kitchen tables offered at places like Alinea, Next, Oriole, and Smyth: exclusive, premium seatings that often (but not always) come with additional dishes and superior views but do not offer much more than passing interactions with the given chefs. (You might also mention an establishment like Schwa, which has long erased any distinction between chef and server but, nonetheless, still sequesters the kitchen.)

This is all to say, Feld promises a paradigm shift in how Chicagoans dine, borrowing the best elements of other concepts (farm-to-table cuisine, counter/omakase interaction, social media mastery), packaging them in a way that feels fresh, and aspiring to a level of depth that makes hulking openings like Tre Dita seem like a bunch of hot air.

Moreover, while Cariño and Valhalla “2.0” represented mature efforts from chefs who had already established themselves in Chicago, Feld can be thought of as an introduction. The restaurant may also be characterized as a homecoming for a native son who, applying what he has learned around the world, is prepared to put forth a new perspective—one divorced from where the industry, today, stands.

Thus, before diving into the Feld experience, it may be instructive to trace its chef’s journey.

At the time of his restaurant’s announcement (and, subsequently, its opening), Jake Potashnick was described as “a Chicago native and graduate of Walter Payton College Preparatory High School” who had “cooked all over the world” and amassed a resume that “borders on ridiculous.” Stops at “two-Michelin-starred Kichisen in Kyoto, Japan” and “one-star Daniel Berlin Krog in the woods near Skane-Tranas, Sweden” were highlighted alongside “stints at Willows Inn in Seattle,” “iNG, a West Loop restaurant from the late Homaru Cantu,” and “Michelin-starred Ernst in Berlin.” The 31-year-old chef’s “decade of experience” was striking—being both broader and more glamorous than Chicagoans are used to seeing—but it belied a much longer, more thorough process of introducing himself to future guests.

Posts on the platform Medium, starting in August of 2021, laid the foundation of the content that would later (in 2022) be served to the masses via TikTok. Yet, these written pieces also offer a degree of insight and intimacy that cannot necessarily be expressed in a bite-sized video format.

Key excerpts from the journal, where Potashnick describes himself as a “chef and writer based in Berlin” (though the entries would continue after his move back to Chicago), include a self-titled “origin story.” In it, he describes his most prized childhood memories visiting Lakeview stalwart Stella’s Diner on Saturday mornings: experiences, under the care of the proprietress’s son Gus, that taught him “the importance of a meal” and meaning of spaces “where all are welcome and made to feel like family.”

Potashnick also describes, having been “handed an issue of Bon Appetit in eighth grade with a Ruth Reichl story on Alinea,” how he e-mailed the restaurant to ask if he “could make a short film about their operation for… [a] science fair project” and received, in turn, a “personal tour” from Grant Achatz. Though expecting “a loud and raucous laboratory,” the 13-year-old encountered “a polished and pristine metal kitchen humming with the sound of men and women at work.” He had “never contemplated the kitchen as a real place of work” but, in that moment, realized it could be “a career path, a profoundly skilled profession, to which people dedicate their lives.”

Potashnick was “desperate for a chance to prove that the kitchen world was…right” for him and started bugging “every chef” at “every restaurant” he dined at. Eventually, at age 16, he seized the opportunity to “spend a day in the kitchen” after “one particularly good meal at a neighborhood restaurant.” There, he found that the environment “felt meritocritcous [sic],” the energy “was full of the palpable tension of oncoming doom,” and the movements of the other cooks were “effortless, majestic, like a ballet dancer.” Reflecting on the “adrenaline-fueled” day, the teenager “was hooked.” He “wanted hands like how Bourdain described them: calloused and rough with cut marks and burns.”

At the same time, the budding chef acknowledged he “did not have to follow a path into the kitchen”: he “was a good student,” “went to a good high school,” “a top university,” “got good grades,” “never did drugs,” drinks “with self-control,” and doesn’t have “particularly self-destructive tendencies,” “issues with authority,” or “a criminal record.” He’s “generally mild mannered and mild tempered.” He doesn’t “have tattoos or piercings.” Potashnick was “no Anthony Bourdain” but, with “everything in life going…[his] way,” he “chose a career path with rare success stories, terrible hours, and no social life.”

In college, that meant weaseling his way “into the back door of whatever kitchen would allow…[him] to work for little to no pay”—like “putting in thirty-five hour workweeks” at a “greasy spoon brunch tavern just off campus” while balancing a “full-time student schedule.” Following graduation (“with a degree in business”), it meant moving to Sweden “to work for free for Daniel Berlin”—spending “three months unpaid, provided only housing and a daily staff meal, before being promoted to on-the-books cook.” That led him to Japan, to France (“doing nothing but cook fish all day, everyday, for the poisson genius Alexandre Couillon at La Marine”), and “to Berlin to work at Ernst, a young up and coming hotspot, a bright star on the culinary landscape horizon.”

In total, Potashnick “spent time in the kitchens of fourteen different restaurants spread across eight different countries, almost all of which have Michelin stars or ‘World’s 50 Best Restaurant’ list recognition.” He “studied under the tutelage of young hot shots and wizened aged experts” and has “seen berating, punching, kicking, pan throwing, and cuts and burns galore.”

The chef “traveled the world in search of culinary delights,” “sought the best meals money can buy,” and ate “in shacks and shanties, in storage lockers, secret apartment restaurants, and grand palaces.” He realized that, while the meals “were sensational,” food alone “is underwhelming.” Without “hospitality, someone to enjoy the meal with, food is just food. Nothing More.” He concluded that it is hospitality, “a communal sense of welcome,” that “turns eating food into a meal.”

After sharing his story and affirming the philosophy that guides him as a chef, Potashnick went on to publish content that explored a variety of topics and experiences:

However, it was the launch of a series titled “The Opening Diary”—”an in-depth and detailed look at opening a fine-dining restaurant, from the very beginning, hopefully up until opening day”—that came to define the chef’s content. Published in eight parts (each excerpted below), these works tracked the development of what would become Feld over a period of two years.

Part 1 (March 21st, 2022):

• “Since the age of seven I have dreamt of opening my own restaurant….I had a plan. I would graduate college (for the parents), attend culinary school, get a job at some high-end multi-Michelin star spot in some major city with a big-name Chef, work my way up the totem pole, eventually become the Head Chef, and then leave at the ripe age of 27 to open my own establishment….But now I am 29, I’ve worked for numerous amazing Chefs in restaurants that run the gambit of style, price, and acclaim. I’ve been a Sous Chef, a Head Chef, and for a short stint a baker. And now it’s time.”
• “I left my Head Chef job in Berlin so that I can move back to the states in the start of May, 2022….I have not lived in the United States for 7 years, and in Chicago for almost 11 years….I will probably spend the summer traveling around the States, seeing friends…and possibly checking out other cities to open in. Chicago is the default. I know the city, the clientele, the current restaurant scene. But there are other places that entice me (Nashville, Austin, Seattle). The biggest competitor at the moment is Los Angeles.”
• “I have a place holder name for the concept I’m working on: Watterson’s. I’ve always loved Calvin & Hobbes….[and] I have the utmost respect for the writer Bill Watterson, not only for his writing, but because he also shied away from the spotlight. Bill Watterson did his ten years of top-tier writing, called it quits, and disappeared into family life. “Childhood is short and maturity is forever.” I do not have any tattoos (I’m a terrible Chef), but if I did, this quote would be the one. The creative mentality of Watterson’s stems from this quote.”

Part 2 (May 13th, 2022):

• “I’ve become a bit of a google spreadsheet obsessive. I’ve created spreadsheets galore. I have a competitive analysis spreadsheet with every Michelin starred restaurant in Chicago, what neighborhood they are in, how much they charge, if they are tasting menu or a la carte, and if they offer wine pairing and non-alcoholic pairing….
• “I’ve also created a spreadsheet with a list of artisans I’d like to work with including ceramicists, woodworkers, painters, and textile makers. There are roughly 250 names on this list. I’ve made a separate list for suppliers that includes organic produce farmers based in the Midwest (Illinois, Michigan, Indiana, Wisconsin), a subdivision of those available at Chicago-area farmers markets, produce farmers outside the Midwest, dairy-specific farmers, meat specific (sub divided by type of meat), seafood divers and fishermen, grain farmers, and specialty product suppliers. This list has about 100 names on it. I hope to visit as many as possible in the next 6 months.”
• “I’ve created a list of every ferment and preserve I would like to make this summer and autumn in preparation for the future. This will be a produce-driven restaurant so I must prepare for the harsh Midwest winter…. I plan on doing quite a bit of preserving this summer. I started yesterday by making some pickled ramps and ramp oil. It’s not much, but enough to use at a pop-up dinner. Speaking of which, I hope to start doing some pop-up dinners in the late-summer.”
• “I think it’s also worth noting, for those that read my first entry, that I am now 90% set on staying in Chicago and not going to LA…. I’m under no illusion that the restaurant I’m trying to open, a high-end fine-dining establishment, will succeed if I’m relying 100% on locals. I need tourism to feed my restaurant, so the neighborhood can be anywhere easily accessible by a visitor, which leaves me with dozens of options for areas to search for the perfect space.”

Part 3 (June 7th, 2022):

• “A bit about the Watterson’s (still just a working title) concept…. Watterson’s is a counter-only fine dining restaurant. We will create a tasting menu of 25–30 dishes every day based on produce and proteins that are sourced directly from our network of farmers. The menu will change daily, not just with the seasons, based on what arrives every day. I want to show off the beautiful produce of the Midwest, but not be limited to the Midwest. Fish will come from the coasts, along with citrus and fruits only grown in California, and mushrooms foraged in the Pacific Northwest. All that matters is that the grower or farmer or fishermen or forager cares immensely about their product, and is interested in growing the relationship between themselves and our restaurant. I want to use the best product, but also support the best people. And I could not care less about using truffle, caviar, and other luxury ingredients, unless the producer is as interesting as the product.”
• “If this sounds familiar, it’s because I will freely admit that I am heavily influenced by my time working at Ernst in Berlin. But our concepts will diverge in many ways. I plan on having 20 seats and serving 30 guests a night. Our menu will follow a more-strict structure pattern based on traditional kaiseki meal (I will expand on this in a future post), but ironically will be less Japanese in style of food. The food will be driven by the sights, smells (…the good ones…), and history of Chicago and the surrounding Midwest region. I’m a Chicago native with culturally Jewish roots spread out through Texas, New York, Germany, and Russia, with experience working in 14 kitchens in 8 different countries…. Our food should reflect this variety of heritage and professional experience, while still creating a sense of local place and time for every guest who eats at Watterson’s. In a city famous for Modernist-Cuisine I want to be a naturalist, bringing us back to produce-driven cooking.”
• “Our beverage list will be a mix of natural and conventional wines, and we will have a cocktail program and a very deep tea program…. I hope to be open only four days a week, and to provide my staff with full healthcare and top-tier pay along with a distributed service charge. I want this to be the best restaurant a cook or server can work at in America, from the hours worked to the pay to the environment fostered. I also hope to have a strong community-driven approach to staffing and sourcing…. I would like to provide professional opportunities for young men and women who need a job and systematic structure to help stay off of the streets. I would like to work with and support the numerous city farms who help employ ex-felons and at-risk teens while also bringing fresh produce to food deserts. And I would like to figure out a way to employ or support people with special needs, even if just in small roles once or twice a week.”
• “That is Watterson’s. That is the fine dining establishment of the future. Or so I hope. I look forward to seeing you there.”

Part 4 (August 2nd, 2022):

• “I’ve changed my idea for guest counts. I will still have a 20-seat counter. But I realized that partial flips of 10 guests at a time could be disruptive during service with such a small staff. We will still be open for four days a week. But now I want to do 20 guests, all seated at the same time, on Wednesday and Thursday. And Friday and Saturday we will do two seatings of 20 guests. We still have 120 possible seats per week, which is important for my financials. But it means that the cooks get shorter and easier days to start the week. We also can use the first two days of the week to be a touch more experimental in the menu, figuring out what we like from that week’s produce. Plus guests who come on Wednesday/Thursday will probably be slightly younger and more interested in experimental food. And then we work two days that are longer, tougher, but more planned out.”
• “Lastly, I’ve changed the name. I spent a lot of time on the road spit balling name ideas with everyone whose path I crossed. Watterson’s was a great holder name, and still might become my LLC name. But I have grabbed the Instagram tag for Feld Restaurant (@feld_restaurant). Feld is German for field, which gives the implication of farm to table that I like. Also, my Mom’s maiden name is Rosenfeld (meaning rose field), and she grew up on Rosenfeld Dairy in Waco, Texas. There are about 100 restaurants that start with the word ‘rose’, so cut that out, but there’s still some family heritage in Feld. Rosenfeld Dairy might no longer be proudly displayed on a big red barn, but at least Feld Restaurant might fly high on the side of a Chicago building.”

Part 5 (September 11th, 2022):

• “We have a space. We have a (freaking!!) space. Feld has a space…. Why this space? There is a hidden patio that we can welcome guests through and take guests out to during the meal. The building’s architecture is classic Chicago. The inside has a 90-year-old ceiling and the entry way has a beautiful tile floor. The space is small, about 2/3 what I was looking for. But there is so much potential to build a space that can match-up against the best restaurants in the world.”
• “A further note on the industry here in Chicago: I have been overwhelmed by how kind and welcoming the culinary scene here has been. I’ve had calls and coffee meetings with Chef’s who I greatly admire and they’ve all been willing to give a generous amount of their time to offer me guidance. Often, I just send a message on Instagram asking if they liked using this lawyer or that designer and then get an offer to set up a 30-minute call to chat about it. I truly believe that if I had come back to NYC or SF, this would not be the case. There is a we-are-in-this-together mentality in the Chicago fine dining scene. Do we all cook in similar styles or have similar restaurant aesthetics? Not at all. Can we still share our knowledge and experiences in the frustrating process of opening a restaurant? Absolutely. This blog is partially my way of paying that forward.”
• “On the financial side, I’ve still not taken on any investors for the restaurant. I feel like I have everything pretty close to pinned down so that I’m ready to go. I was waiting for a space, so that I could really refine my financial projections and also put the location into the pitch deck. I was fortunate to be able to convince some of the investors who would have invested in the restaurant LLC to instead buy the space. This was great news, but does open a hole in the funding for Feld. I’m hopeful, and confident, that I’ll be able to find enough investors once I start properly doing my presentations.”
• “I did another round of farm visits. This time I visited seven producers in Wisconsin (6) and Minnesota (1)…. Two of the visits stood out. I visited Au Bon Canard, the only Midwest producer of foie gras…. I also visited Uplands Cheese in Wisconsin. Andy at Uplands only makes two cheeses (a year-round cheese and a seasonal cheese only made for 2 months in the autumn). He is an artisan to the highest degree…. We went through the cellar and tried some cheese from three consecutive days last July, and while the richness and creamy texture remained constant, the notes and flavors, the nuances, of the cheese were notably different from day-to-day. I can’t wait to serve his cheese.”

Part 6 (November 3rd, 2022):

• “It is worth considering that the press around Feld and the lead up marketing will focus heavily on me, my work experience, and my vision for the restaurant. There could very well be the expectation of my presence every night. Luckily, I plan and want to be there every night we are open. This restaurant is my baby. And I do believe there is value in the guest knowing and seeing the owner/Chef’s presence, not to mention that I will be having direct communication with the guests every night as I help run dishes and talk about our producers and what makes our food special.”
• “At Feld the food will not be tweezer plated. If thyme leaves should be on a dish, then they will be sprinkled or carefully piled, but not placed leaf by leaf in the same direction exactly 3mm apart from each other. We will not, as I’ve discussed in previous blogs, use luxury ingredients for the sake of it.”
• “At Feld the service will be very attentive! But not in the traditional style of French dining room with the many layers of staff who each have a specific role, whether it be de-crumbing the table or filling waters or pouring wine. As an open kitchen surrounded by the dining counter, the entire team will have the ability to keep an eye on the guests. Cooks will be expected to pour and talk about the wines on the pairing. The wine manager will be expected to know the dishes and the farmers behind them. Everyone clears plates. Everyone pours water. Everyone is in charge of creating the best possible guest experience for every single guest on a nightly basis.”
• “The perceived value at Feld comes from the narrative of the evening. What is that narrative? The meal you have tonight is a meal you could only have had tonight at Feld. Every night is unique, because that is the nature of…well… nature. True seasonality, working around small farms and their constraints, means constantly changing and evolving.”
• “We will work with a network of farmers to create a tasting menu that is seasonal in the most extreme way possible. At Feld we will create a nightly changing tasting menu at the fine dining level using no middle-men companies, only direct from producers and farmers.”
• “There is the challenge of having the techniques and skillsets in place so that a menu can be created every morning when we walk in the door, both in terms of preparation but also execution during service. Then there is the value found in having a team that is able to, on a nightly basis, properly tell the story we are trying to tell, to share the knowledge from the farmers, walk the guest through what’s so special about these products, like why these radishes are better than truffles in our eyes, and telling that story without the guest feeling that we are preaching. This is an incredibly fine line to walk as an operator and a balance much harder than properly salting the food. Most Chefs can cook. How many can juggle what it takes to be not just seasonal, but dogmatic about change. I’ve seen it done before at Ernst in Berlin, so I know it can be done. I know that there are guests who value that story and narrative over luxury ingredients or celebrity Chefs. I’m hoping that those guests find themselves at Feld.”

Part 7 (February 16th, 2023):

• “Financing is pretty much in place (negotiations and discussions went on longer than I was expecting, but in a still manageable amount of time). We’ve had three pop up events. And most importantly, we are in the space! In fact, we have been for almost 2 months now!”
• “Today, I received the fifth and final design layout proposal from my architect team…. Here’s the major design change: we are not going to have a counter/bar style seating arrangement anymore. Instead, we are going with a banquette seated layout that acts like dinner in the round…. I’ve always loved a counter-style dining aesthetic, minus a few key points. I don’t like the shoulder-to-shoulder nature of a counter. I don’t like stools. Like, I really don’t like stools. And from my experience working in a restaurant with a counter, it only takes one group of rude or negative guests to significantly impact the atmosphere of the entire counter.”
• “The walls of the space are lined with banquettes in a big U-shape (think of all the saved space from hugging the walls and all the storage we can have IN the banquettes). In the center of the dining room are large prep islands where the cooks can still scurry around in front of the guests, plating and preparing their next dishes. The cooks and service team are still a mere 3 feet away from the guests, close enough to answer questions like at a counter. But the guests are spaced slightly apart. One group of crappy guests can no longer ruin the vibe of the entire room….We are creating a room that is, to my knowledge, unique in the fine dining world. A more comfortable version of the counter seating aesthetic.”
• “I’ve been spending a lot my time and energy trying to source seafood, which leads me to another important point. I’m backing away (as much as possible) from using the term ‘farm-to-table’. Instead, I’m trying to favor the term ‘relationship-to-table’. I think this is more in sync with what we are trying to do as a restaurant. Feld is committed to forming relationships with incredible producers and then giving their product and their story a place to shine.”

Part 8 (January 22nd, 2024):

• “While a lot has changed since my last written update on this blog, one thing has stayed the same. The mission and ideology of Feld remains stout. Supporting creators, artisans, craftspeople, farmers, ranchers, and staying as local as possible with all of that support. Plus, our mantra of relationship-to-table, taking farm-to-table a step further, is still how we plan to approach our ever-changing tasting menu. Feld is an experiment in seasonality.”
• “Here are just some of the items being made custom for Feld by an array of incredible artisans: 14 sets of plates, 17 sets of bowls, steak knives, chopsticks, chopstick/knife rests, two 4’x8’ canvas paintings, a 4’x4’ painted wooden installation, espresso cups, tea pots, tea cups, wooden bowls, wooden spoons, a kitchen hearth/grill, glass water pitchers, a custom aroma for candles in the bathrooms and to scent the welcome hand towels, an entryway display piece for highlighting the evening’s produce, two dining banquettes that each fit 10 guests. tailored staff uniforms, [and] unique produce being grown at our request to be served on the menu.”
• “What a journey this has been so far. I’ve met incredible people and felt so much support from the Chicago dining scene. We’ve been profiled and highlighted, interviewed and reported on, and we aren’t even open yet. To have the community welcome us with such extended arms has been a blessing. I am also unbelievably lucky to have found equity partners who have given me the space and time to build Feld in the exacting way that I know it needs to built.”
• “The goals of Feld are lofty, but the path forward is clear for now. Get open, start small, work hard, improve and grow, and never stop pursuing paths forward that will make us better. Feld does not need to be, nor will it be, fully formed in its debut. We will grow and develop over time to become the restaurant I envision in my head. But from the start we will show the world our ethos and drive, and make it clear that complacency is not in our dictionary.”
• Surveying all the pieces Potashnick published on Medium, you are struck by the breaks (ones that the author himself recognizes) separating the sixth, seventh, and eighth editions of “The Opening Diary.” Though the later entries attempt to fill in some of the gaps—noting the end product (if not the nitty-gritty process behind it) of all his work—readers may feel shortchanged when it comes to the realization of the blog’s original mission: “an in-depth and detailed look at opening a fine-dining restaurant, from the very beginning, hopefully up until opening day.” Just the same, it is easy to imagine that, at a certain point, the stress of getting Feld up and running eventually precluded writing every detail down.

As it happens, the chef (starting from around the midpoint of 2022) shifted his efforts toward producing content for a more visual, viral format. On TikTok (under the username @notyetachef), he would be showing, not simply telling, the story of his journey and putting his face out there for the public. Not only that, Potashnick, by opining on all things dining (“fine” or otherwise), would transcend Feld and attain mainstream success as an expert and influencer on the platform. This popularity, in turn, could be directed back toward the restaurant as it prepared to open and used to bolster its owner’s culinary credentials.

When you compare the chef’s 191 followers on the Medium blog to his 87,400 followers on TikTok, the savviness of this transition becomes apparent. Further, though you might suspect a shift in audience between those (an older crowd?) who seek out longer written pieces online and those (a younger crowd?) who haphazardly scroll through a feed in search of something that catches their eye, these ecosystems are more connected than you think. In August of 2023 (about 10 months before Feld’s eventual opening), Chicago magazine—as part of its annual “Best of Chicago” package—named @notyetachef the “Best TikTok for Food Geeks.” Therein, the blurb praised “superfoodie” Potashnick as “smart,” “opinionated,” and “an avid student of dining” while plugging his forthcoming tasting-menu restaurant. This kind of presence in a print magazine, alongside other digital footprints like Instagram and podcasts, worked to expand the chef’s TikTok fame beyond its native audience. Newer media, thus, would trickle into old and vice versa, ensuring a comprehensive kind of branding that looked beyond merely reaching gastronomy’s traditional devotees.

Representative posts from Potashnick’s TikTok account include:

• Lets talk about interning at Noma: “I’ve done eleven stages in my career*** [and] I would personally not stage at Noma.”
• Noma: The best service?: “Their service is just really predictive…and everybody is just really friendly and nice and professional and they find that balance really, really well.”
• Apprenticing in Kyoto: 3 Michelin Stars: “The hardest job I’ve ever had.”
• Mexico City Part 3: Pujol: “I’m sorry, it was fine. I didn’t hate it….[but] if you’re in Mexico City, save the money.”
• Discussing the Blue Hill at Stone Barns allegations: “I interned at Blue Hill: Stone Barns in 2013. I was there about three weeks. It was my first ever fine dining kitchen. I had a really good time there. I also had a great meal there. Dan [Barber] is a jerk. There’s no way around it. He said things that were really mean to me and to other people in the kitchen….I found the rest of the kitchen team and management to be really kind and supportive.”
• Seattle: Canlis: “I ate at Seattle’s best restaurant. It was great.”
• Noma: 2015: “I ate at Noma in 2015. This is what I had.”
• Noma: 2019: “I ate at Noma in 2019, and this is what I had.”
• Vegas Buffet…: “I went to the all-you-can-eat Bellagio breakfast buffet so you don’t have to.”
• Interning in Tokyo: “What it’s like interning in one of Japan’s best restaurants.”
• My #1 fine dining tip: “if you’re going to a very nice meal, and this is not something you regularly do or regularly understand, then you should do research before going to one of these restaurants.”
• A Top Meal In My Life: “I do not know where I had one of the best meals of my entire life.”
• The Opening Diary: Part 4: “Let’s talk about the fundamental problem with fine dining…it’s very hard to be seasonal—truly seasonal and truly local—if you are a big fine dining restaurant.”
• The Opening Diary: Part 7: “Let’s talk about luxury ingredients.”
• The Opening Diary: Part 8: “Join me to see what it’s like looking for a possible restaurant space.”
• The Opening Diary: Part 9: “You know what’s fucked up? The American accreditation system for investors.”
• How to do a good review: “This is a great example of a way to review a fine dining restaurant. She’s honest—she’s brutally honest—she critiques but she also admits what she likes.”
• The Opening Diary: Part 15: “I had my first pop-up. These are some things I served.”
• The Opening Diary: Part 17: Today we are talking about market differentiation….Let’s talk about the competitive set. What is Feld up against? These six right here [Esme, Smyth, Oriole, Ever, Moody Tongue, Alinea].”
• The Opening Diary: Part 18: “The reason we were able to execute these [seasonal] menus [in Japan, France, and Germany] and be consistent was not ‘cause of the product. It was because of technique. We had clear, clean technique, and that’s what sushi restaurant masters do, that’s what kaiseki masters do, it’s what the great French chefs do. When a product walks through the door, if you know how to deal with it, then you can be consistent with the product.”
• Did it make the menu? Episodes 1-20: “a show where I show you a dish I made at a restaurant I worked at, and I tell you if it made the menu.”
• The Opening Diary: Part 22: “The food we’re gonna cook at Feld is gonna to look and seem simple, but hopefully there’s gonna be a lot of surprise nuance to it.”
• Interning at The Willows Inn: “I got a month-long internship at The Willows in July of 2013….At the time, I don’t think it was as toxic as it became….[but] Blaine just really wanted to show that he was asserting power over the people that worked for him.”
• Sorry, I had to: “This is a really good example of a dish with about 80 techniques, and none of them make the final dish better.”
• Salt Bae: “When you expand too much and too quickly, you don’t train properly and that’s when you get caught with garbage like this at your restaurants: like somebody trying to be performative but really wasting your time.”
• A day at La Marine: “This is what it was like working at France’s newest three-Michelin-star restaurant La Marine….I worked there for a year. I was the chef de partie, or the cook, in charge of the fish and meat butchery and cookery. The menu at La Marine changed every day: sometimes small changes but more often than not big changes….because we got all of our produce from our own garden….Same thing with the fish: all the fish came in the night before service from the fisherman directly in front of the restaurant.”
• The worst dish ive ever had: “Dessert sushi: sweet, overcooked rice; candied salmon; sitting on like a weird mango purée. It felt like it had been made two weeks ago. The rice was gummy. The candied salmon was disgusting. The fruit element was gross. Everything about this was awful….I had to spit it out.”
• Reviewing 3 star Restaurants in 1 sentence: “Alinea 2011…really good, could have never ever lived up to the hype that was in my head….Per Se 2013…butter, butter, butter, full….Jean-Georges 2015…absolutely delicious, will never go back because of the building where it’s housed….Restaurant at Meadowood 2015…trying a little too hard to perfect nature, but everything was incredible refined….Eleven Madison Park 2015…disappointing food, unbelievable service….Kichisen in Kyoto…the highest quality sourced seafood I have ever had anywhere….L’Astrance in Paris…while the food was very tasty, it felt like they were just playing the same hits they’ve been playing for 10 years….Azurmendi…food that shockingly lived up to how stunning it looked on the plate….Le Bernardin 2019…the desserts were definitely the highlight.”
• My time at Luukman’s: “I’ve spent time in 15 kitchens across 8 different countries, and this was by far my favorite.
• My work experience: “I started by going to the Cornell University School of Hotel Administration, and I would do internships or stages during my summer breaks. My first ever kitchen job was an internship for Homaru Cantu at his restaurant iNG. I spent three months there between my freshman and sophomore year of college. The following winter break I did a three-week stage at Blue Hill Stone Barns. The following summer I staged at The Willows Inn for a month and The Ledbury in London for three weeks….The next summer between junior and senior year of college I staged at The Restaurant at Meadowood. I was there for two weeks. I graduate college, move back in with my parents, and get a job at EL ideas in Chicago just helping them out for the summer….
• I move halfway across the world to Sweden to work at Daniel Berlin Restaurant. I end up being there for a year and a half….Daniel Berlin was my first fine dining real paid work experience. DB closed for one month every day, so I went to Thailand and just did a one-week stage at Bo.lan….[Then] I got a month-long stage at Narisawa in Tokyo, which was very intense….And then spent a month at Kichisen in Kyoto….I end up spending just over a year at La Marine….I fell into like a little internship at Luukman’s in Zanzibar….I moved to Berlin and worked at Ernst for two full years….I left Ernst and started baking for a local coffee shop….I decided to try baking professionally. I got a job at a place called SOFI….After three months…I got an email offering me the head chef job at Barra, one of Berlin’s best casual restaurants, so I took it. I was at Barra for just about a year, but I was ready to move back to the States.”
• The CIA: “I went to the Culinary Institute of America. I actively dislike my time there….I only had to be there for seven months….I found that creative thought or knowledge of modern technique was always treated as more of a hindrance than a skill set.”
• The Opening Diary (Custom Everything): “I think if I can tell you where every ingredient on your plate came from, and the story of that producer (if you want the story—I don’t need to preach it to you), I think that adds to your meal.”
• Food Influencers: “Food influencers are actually a really important part of the restaurant ecosystem….the line to cross is knowledge….[they] can be a really informational tool.”
• Hiring at Feld: “The team at Feld, we’re not gonna be a family….No, we’re coworkers, and that means we have to work professionally side by side all day every day and knock out an experience that should be one of the top in the world….We’re hiring for a mix of technical ability and also personality….The cooks have to be able to deal with people….The service team has to have an understanding of the food and the sourcing….Everybody is gonna to have to know the wine list.”
• The Hearth: “I’m gonna show you the most expensive thing I purchased for the restaurant I’m building, and you’re going to laugh. This is an incredibly fancy hearth….It is custom built to my exact specifications….Almost everything at Feld is going to touch this hearth at one point or another.”
• The Opening Diary: The Penultimate Episode: “Part of the joy of this whole process has been sharing it with everybody on TikTok, because you guys have been unbelievably supportive and excited….This is the most personal project I will ever do in my entire life….I’m so excited to share this special place with you….Feld is gonna be a special restaurant.”
• The Final Opening Diary!: “I promise I’ll be here, and I hope you come and have one of the greatest evenings of your life with us.”
• Hello! Long time no talk!: “We’ve been open for two weeks now, and things are going so well. We have had so many of you, people from TikTok, who have come and dined, and that has been unbelievable….We have guests from the neighborhood, we have guests who have flown out for the meal.”

Though, as with the Medium blog, content production regarding Feld slowed as the restaurant came to fruition, Potashnick built an incredible amount of momentum over these two years on TikTok. The chef produced dozens of videos attaining more than 100,000 views while his most popular posts earned as many as 1.1, 1.2, 1.3, 1.5, 3, and 4.8 million views. Added to that, you find 4.2 million likes and, most importantly, a network of fans and other influencers offering their support and enthusiasm for the forthcoming concept.

From this engagement, Potashnick harvested questions (some rooted in doubt, others in sincere curiosity) that he would address in subsequent TikToks. These, along with written responses to viewer comments, worked to solidify parasocial bonds with the fans. When you add in the natural feeling of investment that builds over such a long period of following the chef’s story, it is unsurprising to see Feld host people from around the country—some, admittedly, who had never experienced fine dining before—in fulfillment of the relationship that formed over social media.

This all reminds you a bit of Akahoshi Ramen and the marketing strategy pursued by Mike “Ramen_Lord” Satinover, but there’s an important difference. Satinover’s “expertise” was constructed over a period of 10 years on the subreddit he moderated, growing out of interactions with a small demographic of loyalists who memetically perpetuated his myth as Reddit, in turn, grew massively over the same period. When it came time to open Akahoshi, media allies—some of whom had been privately fêted in “Ramen_Lord’s” home—legitimized the owner’s social media reputation and fed it to the wider public. The myth was treated as self-evident, questions regarding experience or ingredient quality were never asked, and the shop was accepted, upon arrival, as “the best” (in fulfilment of this prefabricated narrative) despite some noteworthy flaws (e.g., impersonal service, burnt-tasting pork, overcooked rice, overcooked eggs, one-dimensional broths, and overall inconsistency).

In effect, those blinded by slavish devotion to Satinover’s story acted (often unconsciously) to astroturf Akahoshi’s reputation. Merely “average” or “good” ramen became “amazing” when served by a perceived (i.e., parasocial) friend. This first wave of support then served to fuel a model based on scarcity—a rush for reservations or a ritualized waiting in line—that would snare subsequent consumers who confuse quality with hype.

Potashnick, by comparison, embraced far more of a mainstream, eye-catching (dare you say superficial) style of content creation during his two years on TikTok. However, while commentating on the wider world of food, the chef was always explicit about his plans to open a restaurant (whereas Satinover blurred the line between moderator, ramen critic, and business owner over the years). More importantly, social media was not used to construct expertise (substituting industry experience with mere popularity) but, rather, as a means to showcase what Potashnick had already done and learned. The chef’s colorful takes were supported by stories and photos depicting the internships and jobs (i.e., La Marine, Ernst) that made his authority (up to a certain degree) obvious. He did not rely on media figures to legitimize his talent (transforming Reddit myth into publicly recognized reputation) but simply pursued a marketing strategy that connected him with fans and thrust his established credentials (when TikTok popularity caught the interest of the press) into the spotlight.

In short, Satinover’s marketing pitch amounted to something like “he’s posted on Reddit for a decade [rather than training under any established master], line up for his ramen!” Potashnick’s was much more refined, comprising a degree of worldly experience attractive to established “foodies” that was then supported by a more opinionated (but also philosophical and documentarian) personality developed for TikTok that could reach the wider public. Further, it is worth noting that the chef was selling an experience (a meal that he, appearing in the video content, would actually host you at) rather than a product (“the best ramen” from a faceless username). He was establishing the emotional underpinnings of an evening whose quality, unlike the adulteration of noodles and broth with MSG, would be much harder to fake.

Ultimately, Potashnick’s use of TikTok represented an enrichment of what already existed—a firm skillset and a business plan shaping a restaurant that would come to fruition even if he had merely stuck with blogging—rather than a roundabout path to developing a concept out of whole cloth. For that reason, he has effectively escaped the stigma of being a “TikTok chef”: that is, an amateur—an interloper—leveraging talent at content creation to sidestep formal training and hawk expensive tasting menus. Sure, detractors may still wish to brand him as such. But Potashnick was always clear about the pillars of quality Feld would have to deliver, and cultivating this kind of national audience (no matter whom it rubs the wrong way) marks an effective, emerging strategy to pad the reservation books in a market where even stellar openings (like Cariño and Valhalla) have been slow out the blocks.

That being said, during the course of Feld’s development, the chef also made sure to keep local media close at hand: a traditional approach to marketing the concept that would help balance out TikTok’s more segmented appeal.

Apart from the Chicago magazine “Best TikTok for Food Geeks” blurb, Eater Chicago proved to be the most persistent chronicler of Potashnick and his restaurant’s progress. That started in December of 2022 with a splashy feature titled “This Chef Found TikTok Stardom Chronicling His Journey Toward Opening a Restaurant.”

Describing the chef’s resume as bordering “on ridiculous,” the piece presented Feld’s basic identity—”a 20-seat farm-to-table tasting menu destination” that “planned for a late 2023 opening in Ukrainian Village”—before dedicating the rest of its space to exploring Potashnick’s philosophy.

He would explain that he didn’t like “the seasonal system” that traditionally guided fine dining, finding the process of “spend[ing] months creating or designing dishes so we can have them on the menu for three to four months” uninteresting. It also “narrows your ability for guests to come back because they’re only going to come back four times, three times a year.” The chef was sure to note that he didn’t “have any hostility toward the rest of the [city’s fine dining restaurants]” but questioned what “the narrative you’re telling when your menu has coconut, hamachi, A5 on it” communicates other than “I like luxury and you’re gonna eat really tasty food.”

Likened by the author to “a clean-cut version of Carmen Berzatto from The Bear,” Potashnick framed Feld as a means of giving “back to a city that gave him the type of life and privilege that enabled him to travel all seven continents” and providing “an experience that is more thoughtful from an entire eating perspective.” To that end, he is depicted at Froggy Meadow Farm (in Beloit, Wisconsin) “bent on one knee, flipping over a muddy log and using a small blade to cut away a few wild chestnut mushrooms.” The chef is compared to Iliana Regan (of Elizabeth) and affirms is restaurant is “going to show you the entire product, from A to Z”: “If it’s asparagus season, you’re gonna have the skinny ones, the thick ones, the medium, the purple, if they’re white… because that’s what the season is right now—I’m not going to serve you watermelon.”

Potashnick made clear that Feld “won’t restrict itself to local farms. If a California farm has good citrus, West Coast oranges will show up on the plate.” However, Jerry Boone, the “Ron Swanson-like” owner of Froggy Meadow, was put forth as the perfect kind of collaborator for such a concept. The farmer, as the piece described, was a “frequent traveler to Japan” always “trying to achieve excellence” and “grow crops nobody is familiar with”—“sophisticated product” for the “sophisticated people” running restaurants in Chicago. In the same article, John Shields labelled him a “kindred spirit” while Sarah Stegner used the term “rockstar.”

Boone and farmers like him were said to “mesmerize” Potashnick, who considered himself “a fierce supporter of Chicago and the Midwest” and would argue, “the Midwest, within two and a half hours of Chicago in any direction, has the best produce in America.” He would hope to rebuke “outsider perceptions about Chicago” or, at least, “answer condescending coastal questions about what a Midwestern farm-to-table restaurant can serve during the dead of winter.” (“You have your leafy greens—lettuces and shiso—still coming out of greenhouses, you have kalette, garlic, celery, radishes—there’s so much amazing produce—leeks and potatoes and carrots—this is way more than I need to make a tasting menu on a nightly basis.”)

The chef would also share a bit of his origin story: the personal tour of Alinea from Grant Achatz on May 7, 2008 (“I just never wanted to do anything else after that”) and the “manifesto” outlining which restaurants he wanted to work at: “the chef needed to be present in the kitchen, it needed to be no larger than 40 seats, and the tasting menu needed a cohesive narrative.”

Daniel Berlin, it was revealed, told him “I don’t really care what you learn here…as long as by the time you leave, you know what a carrot should taste like.” However, at Narisawa, Potashnick was “put off” by “the mix of French hierarchy and Japanese formality” and left. It was “one of two restaurants I’ve spent time at that I’ve signed a nondisclosure—that speaks a lot.” (The other was Blue Hill at Stone Barns.)

Still, the piece concluded with Stegner marveling at the Feld chef’s “level of passion” and “excitement for farmers.” The associated pictures, interspersed throughout the article, portrayed Potashnick as being at home in this element, and—as the restaurant came to fruition—there’d be more and more grower relationships to celebrate.

Though that “late 2023” opening date would prove (as it always does for restaurateurs) elusive, Eater Chicago would keep Feld on readers’ minds. The concept featured on lists like “The Most Anticipated Restaurant Openings of 2023 in Chicago,” “Chicago’s Most Anticipated Restaurant Openings of 2024,” “Chicago’s Most Anticipated Restaurant Openings, Spring 2024,” and “Chicago’s Most Anticipated Restaurant Openings, Summer 2024,” which fanned excitement by noting the restaurant “threatens to rebel against fine dining institutions like Alinea and Noma” while incorporating “bits of DNA from those pioneers when it comes to wanting to wow customers.”

Acknowledging the irony of the concept’s longstanding “coming attraction” status, Eater would announce that “Feld, West Town’s Adventurous Tasting Menu Restaurant, Is Finally Opening” in June of 2024. The piece confirmed a launch date of June 28th at a price of $195 per person. As intended, there’d be “more than 30 courses” served over a period of “about two and a half hours” as part of a menu that “will rapidly change and draw upon global influences.”

“Sommelier and general manager Christian Shaun [sic],” echoing Potashnick’s philosophy, would affirm “the goal is to create a restaurant that could not exist anywhere but in Chicago.” The chef, likewise, could count, “on one hand, the number of ingredients that he doesn’t consider local: oil, sugar, distilled vinegar, and salt.”

The article would even note “doubters within the industry, those unfamiliar with Potashnick’s resume and his experience cooking in global kitchens,” who have “expressed skepticism” about Feld. However, the chef was said to be taking “the criticism in stride” and advising his team not to engage in any “trash-talking about someone else’s restaurant.” Their focus, instead, would remain on making the restaurant “the best it can be.” And Feld, for good measure, would land on Eater Chicago’s list of “The Hottest New Restaurants in Chicago, July 2024” immediately after opening.

When it finally came time to welcome guests, Potashnick would pay respect to his team—a crew that is “tough as nails, empathetic and funny, eager to learn and contribute, serious and focused when they need to be, and they never shy away from whatever it takes to make Feld the best it can be.” The chef declared that “they have quite literally turned my dream into a reality, and that’s a debt of gratitude I will owe for a while.”

The response from the public, in turn, has been rather positive.

The restaurant enjoys a 4.8-star average rating on Yelp (16 reviews), with consumers praising “exquisite handmade ceramics,” an “intimate dining setting,” a “seamlessly talented and intuitive staff,” “high quality wines,” and a set of 30 “flawlessly executed” dishes (like tomato broth, cabbage with hollandaise, two preparations of halibut, and two preparations of lamb) that demonstrated “dedication and thought.” Potashnick, in particular, was praised for personally stopping by tables several times during the meal and chatting with guests after. Several users even go so far as to predict “Michelin recognition.”

(A lone three-star review dissents, noting “dishes lack perspective of composition, and are honestly just generally basic manipulation of ingredients.” Plating was “pretty rough,” pacing was “logistically challenging,” and service was “generally good, but…[varied] in quality based on specific server.”)

Feld also maintains a 4.4-star average rating on Google (56 reviews), with consumers praising “personable and professional” staff, a “warm and inviting vibe,” an “interesting…approachable and exciting” wine pairing, and “a farm to table dining experience of the highest order” (including “tasty and varied” vegetables and “mouth watering” desserts) that “focused on the food and not on theatrics” and tells “a wonderful story.” There, Potashnick has again been singled out for “attentive service throughout the evening [that] made everyone feel welcome and connected.” One user even vouches that they would “eat at Feld, any day, over [The] French Laundry”!

(By comparison, seven out of eight one-star reviews and one out of two three-star reviews on Google have no accompanying text. However, one exception describes being “extremely disappointed in the quality of the food for the price,” “feeling like we were eating through someone’s garbage,” and calls Feld “truly one of the worst food experiences for either of us, not even considering the high price.” The other simply states that their meal was “not even close to on par with other similar high end restaurants food-wise, and as a result the chefs table aesthetic feels forced.”)

On the more professional front, Feld was reviewed (in a double feature alongside Smyth) in a piece by Michael Nagrant titled “A Song of Fire & Ice.” Therein, the critic described a solitary meal he shared at the new opening alongside “a long time food writer and reviewer and former partner in a Michelin-starred restaurant.” He noted the “generous warmth” of the team and an “arrangement of farm market produce” reminiscent “of how Charlie Trotter used to place a crate of freshly picked apples over a heating grate in the entrance to the restaurant to perfume the air and celebrate the bounty of a harvest.”

However, the experience quickly goes south. Though Potashnick delivers “a soliloquy about the purveyors involved” in each dish, his deputies’ descriptions “might be uncertain or terse” and there is even “a FOMO element…as to whether you’re gonna get the good spiel.” The first bite, “a polenta crisp,“ displayed “no salt and acidity” and “tasted like wispy cardboard.” Another dish of zucchini was “creamy, custardy” on top but “almost raw” on the bottom with “very little salinity.” A peach slice was “hard” and “lukewarm”—not at peak, clearly, but the chef affirmed that “while it wasn’t perfect, a commitment to the purveyor meant they’d try to make it work instead of sending it back.”

About five dishes were “almost saltness” or “with seasoning poorly distributed,” and a dish of raw halibut was “slimey [sic]” with cross-cut baby corn that was “hard.” Cooked halibut, likewise, was “hammered to dryness on one third and raw in the center on the other two thirds.” A “nod to Cleo’s French onion soup” was “rich” and “fully-seasoned” with “luscious” enoki mushrooms but undone by a preserved egg yolk likened to a “giant clot of mucus.” A bowl of blackberries, beets, and chicken liver was “watery, a brackish swamp of liver and fruit juice.” A “plate of lamb belly and dry aged chop” looked as if its meat had “been torn by the gnashing teeth of…dragons.” An accompanying sprinkle of salt helped the flesh deliver requisite flavor, yet a bite of the “snowy fat” felt like “licking a spoon of Crisco.”

Certainly, there were positives: a tasting of aged Benton’s hams and three slices of Pleasant Ridge Reserve cheese made on three successive days demonstrated the kind of subtle differences “we’ve all heard, but don’t have a way of verifying without this starkly simple side-by-side curation.” A ”sweet corn panna cotta with a ham crumble,” though in need of “a little more sweetness,” formed the “best of the early courses.” Meanwhile, a “72% cocoa-infused mousse sprinkled with rosemary oil and sea salt was rich, creamy, full of herbaceous and saline notes.”

Nevertheless, a final course of “fresh fruit on ice”—its constituents “waterlogged,” “frozen,” and “hard”—was a “a monotonous reminder of the meal’s previous fruit failures.” Potashnick clarified that the presentation was meant to showcase “where the produce is now.” He also revealed, in so many words, that “the first person to taste many of the fully composed plates is the guest.”

Nagrant reckoned that “arguably 26 of the 30 dishes” he had “shouldn’t be on a Michelin-level menu, or really any restaurant menu.” Feld was “the worst meal” he’d “experienced in nineteen years as a food writer,” and the evening felt like enduring “the offerings of a chef born without a nose or a mouth who decided he wanted Michelin stars.”

The critic wasn’t trying to be nasty. He acknowledged that “Feld has the hospitality, a generosity of spirit, a chef and team who is forging meaningful purveyor relationships and a commitment to creative plateware” to be proud of. His “final image” of the restaurant was the chefs “telling us they hoped we had a great experience.” And he thought that Potashnick’s “ultimate vision, if executed properly, could be incredibly compelling.”

However, his reservations would be echoed by The Infatuation in a blurb originally dated August 2nd: describing Feld, which it saddles with a painful 5.7 rating, the passage notes how “30-ish farm-to-table courses arrive at your table in their small dining space, once every five minutes or so. But the pacing is more impressive than the food: many of the small dishes are treated too casually when it comes to minimal presentation, like a cheese course that simply lays out two triangles and a square like it’s trying to teach a toddler shapes. Flavors here can be even more inconsistent, with some dishes from their summer menu tasting more like the charcoal that cooked them. During the smooth coursing, the staff will tell you about the tiny Wisconsin farm behind that cheese, or how the fish in the bread course was caught two days ago. It often makes for good storytelling, until the spell is broken by yet another underwhelming bite.”

Potashnick, to his credit, responded to Feld’s detractors in a TikTok dated August 6th. There, in the spirit of continuing to be “completely honest” about his experience opening the restaurant, the chef acknowledged that the first month of opening has “been 90% awesome and 10% kind of…terrible.” To that point, while he “would say that the supermajority of guests leave Feld overwhelmingly happy,” the team “received a bunch of negative reviews at the start.” Potashnick admitted that they are not “immune to criticism” or “immune to reviews” and that he feels “truly terrible that any guest would leave Feld unhappy.”

However, he contended that “the majority of our negative reviews came from the first week we were open and dominantly from one table that decided they were going to smash us on every Internet platform there is.” While that is “their right,” the chef wished they had approached him and the team and given them a chance to “rectify” their concerns. Feld, indeed, has “learned from criticism” it has gotten since opening, but Potashnick took issue with what he termed “criticism without context.”

In particular, he highlighted a cheese plate praised by both Nagrant and by The Infatuation for its flavors—though the latter noted the “indifferent presentation might offend you on the cows’ behalf.” This has proven to be Feld’s “most mocked dish” on the Internet (as well as one that forms the “litmus test” for whether a given diner will like the restaurant or not). Though Potashnick admits the plate “does not look good,” it represents the concept’s culinary philosophy “boiled down to its most extreme.” In short, consumers will either appreciate the cheese—three slices representing three consecutive days of milk production—and enjoy “learning a little bit about cheese production at a small farm level” or not. If someone does not, “that is completely fine.” It just means “we have a difference of opinion of what we want in our dining experience.”

This kind of polarization is not totally unexpected for a concept, like Feld, that privileges a particular culinary philosophy and dynamic process of menu development more than it does the consistent delivery of sheer deliciousness. Places like Alinea and Smyth, for all their plaudits, also get totally skewered by a subset of their customers—and validly so. No chef wants to admit that, at a price of $200 or $400 per person, guests cannot necessarily expect the best food they have ever tasted (a subjective and personal standard even if that was the goal). “Art,” supported by an entire suite of branding and storytelling frills, begins to take precedence and undermine the raw value proposition that the same dollars, spent pound-for-pound at a steakhouse or sushi counter, might secure.

Certainly, the comestibles at these fine dining establishments should display a level of intention and technique befitting the price point. Yet, even when Michelin stars enter into the equation and vouchsafe a particular standard of quality, these are still luxury experiences driven by distinction. Concepts, as you climb higher and higher toward the peak practice of craft, increasingly buck convention in order to affirm the kitchen’s singular voice. The best restaurants should know how to balance this need to be unique with the ability to please the widest range of customers. Just the same, at a certain point, a team must decide to be static—to play the hits—or to forever keep pushing boundaries in pursuit of the gastronomic frontier.

Over nearly two decades, Alinea has said goodbye to countless delicious creations so that the kitchen could not only play with new textures and flavors in new ways but develop the ambient, interactive qualities of its menus beyond anything seen elsewhere in this country. Similarly, Smyth, over the course of eight years, has excised crowd-pleasing fish ribs and beef fat donuts in favor of a novel cuisine that explores the nuances of seaweeds, nut oils, and tropical fruit as accompaniments to seasonal produce and shellfish. In either case, a repeat diner may love witnessing a favorite restaurant’s renewed growth or totally rue the loss of what they once enjoyed. A first-time diner may become enamored with a cuisine that stands totally apart from all others they have sampled or bitter at the thought that the institution’s best days are long gone.

Varying expectations make this process of discovery a painful one. There exists no plain communication helping to show the way: say, that a restaurant like Oriole remains unabashed and consistent in its pursuit of pleasure while Alinea/Smyth diners should expect a degree of experimentation that, while totally striking to certain consumers, may only occasionally dovetail with the kind of decadence others demand.

Potashnick is clearly inspired by chefs of this caliber, and he deserves credit for throwing himself into the deep end immediately. Feld could have started off with monthly or even biweekly menu changes and convincingly fulfilled its seasonal, “relationship-to-table” style. Doing so would have hedged the restaurant’s bets—guaranteeing a certain level of consistency and pleasure during its early days—and built the foundation from which later experimentation could flow.

Nonetheless, the chef has chosen to embrace the risks and rewards that come with a daily changing menu and few guardrails of quality. Supporters, immediately, have seized on the novelty of the concept—its intimate setting, its story, its personal service, and a kaleidoscopic array of small bites—and been charmed by its potential. Detractors (including those guiding the wider public as “critics”) have rightfully—though only on the basis of early, solitary visits—highlighted issues with the “basic manipulation of ingredients” and base level of pleasure Feld, regardless of its philosophy, has been unable to deliver.

What you have here is a clash of expectations and of novel-experiential vs. conventional-hedonistic modes of appreciating fine dining, one that is not occurring with a household, Michelin-starred name but with a restaurant that is only in its infancy. This clash of equally valid perceptions and legitimately diverse approaches to taste is further complicated by the growing pains and inconsistency that can arise at any new opening (no less one that wholeheartedly embraces constant change).

You cannot fault any customer who has paid $195 per person for a subpar meal and has no appetite, no matter how much Feld might grow over the weeks, months, and years, to give the restaurant another chance. That is the clear weakness to Potashnick’s approach, which has tried to define the concept as one very much in the process of becoming (led by someone who was “notyetachef”) but cannot totally escape the consequences of charging real money, right now, in a market filled with established alternatives.

The best way to bridge this gap is—simply—to follow your usual methodology. Perhaps more than any other restaurant you have encountered, Feld demands a thorough examination of where it has started from, how it has grown, and what its ceiling (no matter how good or bad the early days might be) really is. Only time will tell whether those who immediately fell in love with the novel experience or those who quickly sounded the alarm about a lack of gustatory pleasure got a more accurate read on the concept’s potential. Really, both of these forces (if criticism is accepted as conscientiously as praise is celebrated) are essential in the actualization of this kind of culinary expression.

Thus, your hope—by being as honest about and accepting of Feld’s highs and lows—is to enrich fans’ appreciation of just how much the restaurant has, indeed, grown while paying respect to the perceptions of detractors. Potashnick, certainly, must want to enthrall and delight diners who might not be predisposed to like what he is doing. And it is only by investigating thoughtful critiques and noting real progress that disappointed early customers (those whom are still owed something on account of their enthusiasm and acceptance of a fairly unknown chef) can be brought back into the fold.

Wouldn’t these detractors, if they were really raising concerns in good faith, stand to be the most satisfied if the chef, taking their sincere feedback to heart, truly achieved greatness? This, you think, is “relationship-to-table” of a different kind: the process through which terroir, mediated by craftsperson, reflexively adapts to its audience. This, you think, is the missing piece that any kitchen looking to bridge the gap between experimentation and pleasure needs to master.

You have visited Feld a total of six times, spanning a period from early July to late August of 2024. These half-dozen dinners, each comprising an admirably distinct set of dishes (with only a couple sparing repeats), have provided you with an effective means to fulfill your mission: a thorough analysis of where the restaurant started and where it has gone—how it has grown—since opening.

Compared to concepts that are far more static, Feld will not be judged as harshly on its early missteps as it will be the average quality of its later meals approaching that all-important two-month mark. As you have already remarked, this provides no real solace to early customers who, supporting the restaurant in its infancy, left feeling burned and never plan to come back. But concepts like this one are allowed to make mistakes—especially so—as long as they do not repeat them. And Feld deserves to be treated with the same charity offered to every new opening with some extra allowance made for the moving pieces that Potashnick and his team have, rather bravely, chosen to play with.

With this in mind, you will tweak your usual narrative style just a bit for this piece. When it comes to ambiance, service, beverage, and the other overarching motions of the “experience,” you will condense the sum of your experiences into single analyses in the usual manner. However, when it comes to food, you will treat each of the six menus you sampled at Feld individually: a division that allows for greater clarity and internal logic as you discuss how the many pieces that made up each meal fit together. This segmentation will also allow you to rate the various evenings discretely and more accurately demarcate each dinner’s relative quality, forming a useful tool for tracking the kind of growth you are concerned with.

With all that said, let us begin this investigation of Feld: one of the Chicago dining scene’s most engaging (whether you find yourself enamored or averse) culinary expressions to date.

Given that you just wrote about Valhalla “2.0,” it would be easy to feel bored by an immediate return to West Town. Yet, while Stephen Gillanders chose a stretch of Division Street for his superlative representation of craft, Potashnick has planted his flag down on Chicago Avenue. With Kasama, now firmly established as a national gastronomic destination, serving as something of a midpoint, the former restaurant finds itself right at the boundary of Wicker Park while the latter (technically within Ukrainian Village) falls closer to a smaller collection of establishments on Grand Avenue (you think of Publican Quality Bread, Uncle Mike’s Place, Tempesta Market, Diego, Elina’s, and the D’Amato’s/Bari corner).

Feld, it should be mentioned, has plenty of noteworthy neighbors on the same street: All Together Now, Brasero, Flour Power, Heritage, KAI ZAN, Lao Peng You, Nettare, and Omakase Shoji to name a few. But, amidst a sea of everyday eating, Potashnick’s spot feels fairly isolated from its closest fine dining peers (i.e., Jeong, Kasama, Valhalla). Like them, the restaurant stands as a hidden gem on its respective block: an aspirational tasting menu, surrounded by brownstones, in an area that eats well but accepts few frills.

When you consider Feld’s southernmost placement within the neighborhood, the chef’s social media fame, and the concept’s distinct “relationship-to-table” branding, it is not hard to see the restaurant as an extension of West Loop’s largesse. Ever, Smyth, and Elske (that is, six Michelin stars’ worth of dining) can be found just a little over a mile away. Next is not much further, and that’s right where Potashnick cut his teeth at iNG—where Achatz, his inspiration, has done much of his work and the esteemed company, overall, in which he hopes to belong.

Priced at $195 per person, Potashnick’s concept certainly aligns with the other tasting menus in town: Feld is situated above restaurants like Elske ($125), INDIENNE ($125), Jeong ($145), Kumiko ($150), and Beity ($165) while landing closer to places like The Coach House ($165-$190), Topolobampo ($165-$185), Schwa ($165-$215), Next ($165-$245), Atelier ($170-$190), Boka ($175), EL Ideas ($185), Cariño ($190-$210), and Valhalla ($198) but falling short of the upper stratum occupied by establishments like Bon Yeon ($255), Esmé ($265-$295), Kasama ($275), Moody Tongue ($285), Ever ($325), Oriole ($325-$375), Smyth ($325-$425), and Alinea ($325-$495).

Considering its chef’s counter format and ingredient-forward focus, Feld should also be considered in comparison to omakases like Sushi Suite 202 ($140), Kyōten Next Door ($159-$169), Sushi | Bar ($165), Sushi by Scratch Restaurants ($185), Jinsei Motto ($195), Shoji ($195), Mako ($215), Yume ($225), The Omakase Room ($250), and Kyōten ($440-$490).

Overall, Potashnick has chosen a prime position in the market for his restaurant’s value proposition (understandably so if you recall some of the spreadsheets he showed off at the earliest stages of planning). Feld costs more than the least expensive Michelin star holders (i.e., Elske, INDIENNE) but costs less than priciest of the bunch (i.e., Esmé, Kasama). The restaurant counts established names like Boka, EL Ideas, Next, Schwa, and Topolobampo as peers while also competing with up-and-comers like Cariño, The Coach House, and Valhalla. Importantly, it does not teeter over into the bracket occupied by the two- and three-Michelin-star properties. So, in sum, the concept can effectively tempt Chicagoans from a place close to the median of all fine dining options. There, it forms a new, carefully branded option that does not demand any particularly outrageous splurge relative to what diners, at this level, are accustomed to.

From the perspective of omakase (and concepts like Cariño, The Coach House, and Valhalla where guests are intimately hosted by a headlining chef), Feld is also sharply priced. The restaurant only costs a bit more than top-value spot Kyōten Next Door and seems like a fair value relative to Shoji (which has not yet established much of reputation) and Jinsei Motto/Mako (whose founding chefs do not man the counter each and every evening). Diners must pay a premium at places like Yume, The Omakase Room, and Kyōten in order to book a guaranteed audience with prominent craftsperson. And Potashnick has formulated a way to offer the same kind of personal connection to many more guests at a time while substituting bites of raw fish for more approachable servings of produce.

Approaching Feld, the stage is very much set for an engrossing, emotionally striking expression of hospitality. Rather than allowing passersby to peek at the action (you think of Esmé or Smyth), the restaurant follows the path pursued by many of its peers. Panels of dark wood and a matching doorway—through which any view within is totally obscured—frame the entrance. A lone metal sign, patinaed and etched with the restaurant’s logo, hangs under a lone light fixture, forming the only telltale that you’ve arrived. Yet, taking in the wider surroundings, it seems clear that something special is happening at 2018 W Chicago Avenue.

The block, which sits in the shadow of the Mariano’s and McDonald’s drive-thru that combine to dominate its southern side, is otherwise subdued. Cars come and go in fulfillment of daily errands. They might stop at the bank—or the pawn shop—located further west for good measure. And pedestrians, walking along the north side of the block, largely find the same quotidian establishments: salons, smoke shops, a dry cleaner, a chiropractor, and a cell phone store. A couple art galleries provide some color, as does a non-alcoholic wine shop. But this is a stretch that suits the needs of its locals, the kind that hardly catches your eye as you buzz past it on the way to some other destination.

Feld, in fact, is a destination, and the restaurant’s façade of dark wood undoubtedly sits on the most active part of the block. The fine dining concept is sandwiched between a breakfast place (to the right), which you’re sure does good business before closing at 2 PM, and Lao Peng You (to the left). The latter concept, opened by two half-Chinese brothers in 2019, has attracted diners from across the city with its handmade dumplings, noodles, and breads made in a “half-authentic” style “with lots of flavors and various influences.” Open until 9 PM, Lao Peng You fills its curbside patio with eager patrons, forming a welcoming sight for Feld’s clientele whether they are destined for the first or second seating.

It is this flow of customers—nicely dressed, whether that means suit, skirt, or fitted T-shirt and jeans—that signals something is up. They are clearly not here to dip, slurp, or sweat their way through the burn of chili oil. These guests make their way to Feld’s shrouded door, it seems to open of its own volition, and they quickly disappear. Bystanders, whether walking down the street or tucking into Chinese fare, habitually raise eyebrows and look over shoulders as successive rounds of stylish diners follow the same process. This subdued storefront, nestled under yellowed brick, swallows them up without revealing its secret. The block reverts to its usual doldrums. Soon, it is your turn to step through the portal.

Just as you get within reaching distance of the door, it swings open. A member of the Feld team, clad in the blue shirt and gray apron that distinguishes them all—equally—as “chefs,” meets your astonishment with a smile. Often enough, Potashnick himself forms the first face you see: instantly, viscerally fulfilling years of content creation and parasocial engagement for a certain segment of the audience. For others, this entrance simply represents a warm welcome: a testament to the caliber of hospitality that guides your evening, with forethought and anticipation, from the very moment of arrival.

With this greeting, you pass into the interior of the restaurant. The darker façade gives way to brighter tones of white and brown matched with warm lighting from wall-mounted sconces. Any sense of mystery, along with the kind of tension that naturally accompanies the unknown, is further defused when you notice the figures lined up before you. A half-dozen additional members of the staff (that is, just about everyone save for one or two busying themselves back in the kitchen) form an honor guard along the hallway leading to the dining room. These other chefs, each of whom you will interact with over the course of the evening to come, match the joy and enthusiasm that met you at the door. They beam and echo the same welcome note, establishing the Feld experience as one that is innately intimate.

Moreover, as you perceive the same interaction occurring with the arrival of subsequent guests (or, better yet, on occasions when you return to the restaurant), it becomes clear that these greetings are not uncannily scripted. Their expression is not a “welcome to McDonald’s” contrivance but, rather, more reminiscent of Disney: a product of sincere spirit, based upon a respect for human capital, that enables a natural, easy feeling that, being broadcast by everyone you encounter, works to build a distinct world. Within seconds of entering the space, Feld’s emotional underpinning is clearly conveyed: “we are here, totally present, disarmingly familiar, and fully prepared to host you for something more than a meal.” This is hospitality of deference and sincerity that ranks, to you, as the highest sort.

Promptly checked in, you are beckoned forward by one member of the team, who leaves position to lead you into the dining room. All said, it’s a short distance to the set of curtains that frames this center stage, but you note the host stand/harvest table—standing proudly off to the right—overflowing with the shapes and colors of the season’s (and this particular menu’s) bounty. Above it hangs two rows of shelving holding various spirits and liqueurs that will be retrieved at the conclusion of the meal. With a couple more steps, you come to the threshold. A crowning tile (engraved with the Feld logo) marks the transition to the wooden floors, granite-topped counters, and stainless-steel kitchen (complete with blazing hearth) that unfold before you.

Entering fully, the other details fall into place. You note the “in the round” banquette style—four-tops in the corners closest to the entrance and two-tops extending toward the rear for a total of 20 guests all facing inward. There’s the building’s original engraved ceiling, uncovered, preserved, and vaulted so that it catches the eye with its brassy, rectangular design featuring dimples and fleurs-de-lis. There are also the walls: one side clad with a pair of canvases (depicting Froggy Meadow Farm in spring and winter) by Chicago artist Lucca Colombelli, the other more simply adorned with a quintet of tubes bearing flower arrangements. Both surfaces are illuminated (albeit moodily) by strips of lighting and smaller embedded lights that run along the lower segment of the box vault. The two center counters, in turn, are more intensely cast by pendants hanging down from that antique ceiling.

This lighting brings the tools of Feld’s trade into focus: myriad trays, plates, squeeze bottles, hotel pans, and utensils with which Potashnick and his chefs execute their cuisine before guests’ eyes. For beverage service, there are wine glasses galore with decanters and a central ice bucket too. Cubbies, embedded underneath the counters, allow for additional storage and the ergonomic swapping of tableware during the course of the meal. If you look closely, you might even catch sight of a set of papers outlining that night’s menu and the dietary preferences of each particular party.

Upon reaching your table, the dining room—the stage—shines in its fully glory. The banquettes lower you slightly below the heights of the counters, naturally drawing your eyes upward toward the staff, the paintings, the glowing strips of lighting, and (when you sit back to soak it all in), that ceiling. The table itself—dark wood adorned only with a pair of marble bottle holders—helps play the part. There’s no clutter or undue ornamentation to speak of. Rather, distance (as well as any distraction) from the “show” has been minimized. For example, individual ice buckets are cleverly hooked onto the edge of the surface to facilitate refills without any outsized footprint. Likewise, the amount of lighting that ultimately reaches your place setting may not make for the most ideal pictures but, indeed feels romantic and draws a clear division between the “audience” (where you sit) and the “act.”

Speaking of the audience, Feld’s spacing between its tables is also well managed. Though only separated by a few feet on either side, the front-facing design and shared orientation toward the counters helps maintain a degree of privacy. You find it easy to focus solely on your own guest(s), particularly from the corner four-tops, as if you were being indulged with a private performance. Just the same, the restaurant’s intimate setting and convivial atmosphere certainly encourage friendliness between parties.

If anything, the sightlines shared by the two-tops—across the dining room—are the only ones that can feel at bit awkward. Maybe, more than anything, you here are only admitting your own love of people-watching. But, whenever the chefs cannot be found crowding the counters, your eyes pass right over the surfaces and are prone to lock those of the patrons seated opposite you. Again, the way the lighting is managed within the space helps prevent these people from feeling so starkly displayed. However, some slight staggering of the tables (though probably not practical when the space is at full capacity) could help to avoid such a direct view. (You might also add that, on one occasion, your place setting was aligned with a gap separating two of the banquettes—clearly, a less-than-ideal piece of seating that could also necessitate a small shift in the arrangement of the furniture.)

For what it’s worth, there’s no reason to fear an errant glance at any of the other diners. Feld, based on your observations, attracts a pretty conventional crowd (demographically speaking) of Chicago fine diners: white, middle-aged couples and groups of friends interspersed with a notable proportion of Asian customers. They dress nicely, as you have already noted, but do not overdo it. Instead, many clearly relish the “come dressed in what makes you feel comfortable” suggestion: an approach to attire, mirrored by the aproned staff, that puts enjoyment before pretension. You must also mention a segment of older guests (50s and 60s) and youngers ones (20s) among this population. Of these, the latter most eagerly voice their admiration for the chef’s TikTok content, yet the restaurant clearly receives fans (whether traveling or local) across every age bracket. You even observed a middle schooler making a visit—symbolizing the very same youthful enthusiasm that drew Potashnick himself to the kitchen.

Witnessing the Feld team meet and charm these individual tables in different ways—meeting their respective energies with aplomb—is a treat for a more mellow, observant diner like yourself. Otherwise, you might simply sink into the banquette and attune yourself to the restaurant’s soundtrack: an eclectic blend spanning everything from Blondie to Sigur Rós that, with well-judged volume, guides guests through the experience, perking an ear or two, without spoiling their immersion.

Once you take your seat, it only takes but a moment for one of the chefs to come by. Given the number of bites on display during any given evening, this serves a practical purpose: providing guests with their choice of water and cold hand towels in anticipation of the first course (one, you will see, that arrives mere minutes after arrival). However, as with the succession of staff that greeted you on the other side of Feld’s front door, this introduction is really more about laying the emotional foundation for the meal. You learn the chef’s name and confirm any celebrations or dietary restrictions (the latter of which, even including simple preferences, can be pretty amply accommodated with 24 hours’ notice).

More importantly, you are treated to a spiel regarding Feld’s signature “relationship-to-table” philosophy: the daily changing menu, the careful sourcing from farmers near and far, the craftspeople that have helped to shape the restaurant’s aesthetic, and a culinary style (one you might also term a point of view) that privileges “the produce of the moment” rather than an “specific culture or cuisine.” By extension, this might mean appreciating ingredients as they are—right now—rather than what the kitchen wants them or could manipulate them to be. Nonetheless, as Potashnick himself often affirms, nobody else will taste the menu that you are having tonight. Thus, the restaurant experience, in this way, is not only made to feel personal but singular, with the staff condensing the chef’s years of social media content into a snappy speech that sets the right expectations for guests who might have never ventured onto TikTok.

The only decision diners are left with, when this introduction is all said and done, is to choose what they’d like to drink. This places you in the hands of Christian Shaum, whom you last met when he was working as wine director of Bazaar Meat (where he earned the “Sommelier of the Year” title at the 2024 Banchet Awards) and whose credits also include time as a beverage director at B. Hospitality Co. (i.e., The Bristol and Formento’s). Stints at Noma (in Copenhagen) and Steirereck (in Vienna) also seem particularly relevant given Potashnick’s own European grounding and hyperseasonal style.

At Feld, Shaum—an Advanced Sommelier now pursuing the final two parts of his Master Sommelier Diploma—doubles as general manager. Yet, as Potashnick does, he’s traded any fancy suit or demarcation for the apron and shirt that unites all the restaurant’s staff under one common banner. Of course, there is the expectation (noted during the concept’s development) that each member of the team can step in and talk about wine. Still, hiding that coveted green pin means hiding a sizable caliber of vinous firepower from the audience. It also means allowing the selections—their shared presentation rather than individual expertise—to do the talking.

Given the chance to form the beverage program at such a forward-thinking restaurant from its very infancy, Shaum has done a stellar job.

That begins with the pairings: a “Wine and Sake Pairing” ($125) and “Non-Alcoholic Pairing” ($85) that headline the leatherbound book containing all the options. (The former can also be selected on Tock at time of booking, allowing for a completely turnkey experience once you walk through the door.)

You have sampled the “Wine and Sake Pairing” on two occasions, and it has comprised:

July 6th

• NV A. Bergère Brut Rosé Champagne
• 2022 Weingut Keller “RR” Riesling Rheinhessen
• 2020 Weingut Tement Grassnitzberg Riff Erste Lage Sauvignon Blanc Sudsteiermark
• 2021 F.X. Pichler Dürnsteiner Grüner Veltliner Smaragd Wachau
• 2021 Alain Graillot Crozes-Hermitage Rouge
• 2018 Hans Wirsching “Wiqem” Silvaner Auslese Franken

July 27th

• 2021 F.X. Pichler Dürnsteiner Grüner Veltliner Smaragd Wachau
• 2022 Weingut Keller “RR” Riesling Rheinhessen
• 2022 Kamoshibito Kuheiji “Eau de Désir” Junmai Daiginjō
• 2021 Domaine de Chevalier “l’Esprit de Chevalier” Blanc Pessac-Léognan
• 2021 Albert Boxler “Réserve” Pinot Gris Alsace
• 2021 Auguste Clape Côtes du Rhône
• 2020 Weingut Kracher Zweigelt Beerenauslese Burgenland

To begin, most of these selections retail nationally for somewhere between $30-$75, with an average price of approximately $50.80. When you consider that Feld’s pours are about two-and-a-half to three ounces (that is, a bit more than a half-glass of wine), the opportunity to taste six or seven different styles totaling more than half a bottle feels like a good value. Indeed, most of these items do not appear on the full list, and those that do can cost $85 (the “Eau de Désir”), $120 (the Alain Graillot), or $145 (the Auguste Clape).

$125 gets you a full spread, which favors familiar varieties like Riesling and Sauvignon Blanc along with more interesting (though every bit as classic) examples of Austrian Grüner Veltliner and Alsatian Pinot Gris in a progression that typically shifts from a fresh, taut style to one that is weightier and more aromatic as the meal goes on. Of course, there may be a pour of crowd-pleasing rosé Champagne to start or, as advertised, a bit of sake: a clean, fruity example that will please both novices and aficionados of the form. For the menu’s headlining meats (lamb and, later, pork), Shaum opts for Syrah, a savvy choice that rewards seekers of power while offering enough finesse to please those who prefer more subtlety. Likewise, the chosen dessert wines—though their grapes and classifications may be inscrutable to the layperson—deliver a combination of sweetness and acid that is eminently drinkable.

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Given Potashnick’s pedigree and the style of Ernst’s own wine program, you might have expected more of a “natural” dimension to this pairing. The thinking goes: an experimental cuisine (one that intends to challenge Chicagoans’ conception of a seasonal tasting menu) should be joined by pours that subvert expectations in the same manner. To be more precise, dishes that emphasize a surprising rawness, herbaceousness, smokiness, underripeness, or overripeness could be joined with iconoclastically-made wines at the extremes of acid, brett, fruit, earth, oxidation, or reduction. These can be rewarding couplings, but they are also highly polarizing and come with a range of other risks (namely having to do with consistency/condition).

In your experience, only Elske and Smyth have embraced these “natural” wines effectively in Chicago: discerningly selecting the best of the bunch (of which only a certain amount is available) and serving them with carefully selected courses as part of balanced pairings featuring plenty of more “traditional” bottles too. (Louis Fabbrini of Smyth, though operating at price points of $215 and $395 for his pairings, has demonstrated a particular talent for harmonizing cheaper, characterful “natural” wines with more expensive, mainstream “traditional” wines across the restaurant’s menus—a strategy that serves to reward more skeptical oenophiles and counteract any polarization.)

No doubt, the speed at which Feld’s menu changes complicates any sort of similar procedure. Thus, you think it makes sense for Shaum to stay on the more “traditional” side of the fence—at least to start. Producers like Boxler, Domaine de Chevalier, Clape, Graillot, Keller, Pichler, and Tement really are stars within their regions. These bottles represent some of the top values available in the market. And they deliver—more than anything—a level of balance and expressiveness that is sure to please diners who may already feel they are being adventurous simply by indulging in this novel kind of restaurant. The “Wine and Sake Pairing” is textbook, but it is also much harder to put together and sustain than it seems. Even for a drinker as jaded as yourself, it features a few pours you would always be happy to have in your glass. That kind of praise at this kind of price is a real compliment, and Shaum has already shown his ability to evolve the selection (in line with the menu and with the exhaustion of certain bottles) without sacrificing quality.

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The “Non-Alcoholic Pairing,” by comparison, forms a good option for those who choose not to imbibe but does not, perhaps, transcend its status as substitution for the wine. Offerings include a carbonated blend of carrots, lilac, and jasmine tea (dilute and too floral); a mixture of chrysanthemum, green peach, and gooseberry (reminiscent of pickle juice); a United Ferments “Wen Shan Bao Zhong” sparkling oolong; a combination of birch, spruce, and plum (your favorite); and a blueberry-chamomile concoction.

While your notes on this pairing are not extensive, the drinks are, overall, palatable. You also must appreciate the effort made to produce so many of them in-house rather than lean too heavily on outside products. Generally, Feld’s “Non-Alcoholic Pairing” accords with the kinds you have sampled at places like Ever and, most recently, Valhalla. That is to say, it represents a respectable effort without totally exceling in the category.

Moving beyond the pairings and taking hold of the full beverage list, you come to the by-the-glass options. These include three wines—the Pierre Péters “Cuvée de Réserve” Champagne ($36), 2022 Alzinger Dürnsteiner Federspiel Grüner Veltliner ($19), and 2019 Aurélien Chatagnier “Le Crét Louison” Collines Rhôdaniennes ($26)—along with two zero-proof pours: Ama Brewery’s “BI” ($20) from Spain and Villbrygg’s “FJELL” ($19) from Norway.

To be fair, this is a meager selection, but one that you think is adequate given the 40-odd diners on any given evening and the clear preference shown toward the fairly priced pairings and a wider assortment of bottles. Champagne, the most eyewatering offering, is admittedly superlative: it’s hard to beat Pierre Péters for $36 when local steakhouses are pouring Veuve Clicquot for $35. The Alzinger, at under $20, does a good job of replicating the F.X. Pichler from the pairing without any real compromise on quality. The Aurélien Chatagnier, a Syrah, has the same relationship with the aforementioned Alain Graillot and Auguste Clape bottlings.

In sum, lovers of Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, or Cabernet Sauvignon might not find easy reference points, but anyone who insists on only having one glass will be gently guided toward wines that do, indeed, match the cuisine well. You also think the Ama Brewery “BI” (described as a “sparkling lemongrass tea”) and the Villbrygg “FJELL” (described as tasting of “lingonberry, birch, [and] rosemary”) are good selections around the $20 mark. These non-alcoholic pours are unique for the market (no Bordelet Poiré here), fairly complex (yet still highly palatable), and also matched to the menu.

Joining the by-the-glass options, you find three beers—a 750mL Lambic made with macerated Spätburgunder ($90), a 375mL Geuze ($37), and a 375mL Japanese hefeweizen made by Ginga Kogen ($18)—and two bottles of sake: the “Eau de Désir” ($85) from the pairing and a Heiwa Shuzou “Tsuru-Ume” Suppai Umeshu ($95) made with a high proportion of plums. There’s also a full-sized bottle of the Ama Brewery “BI” ($80) on offer along with a Muri Drinks “Passing Clouds” ($80) from Copenhagen described as displaying notes of “gooseberries, quince, [and] jasmine.”

Nevertheless, as always, you reserve most of your attention and enthusiasm for the bottles of wine on offer: the collection that most amply shows Feld’s aspirations as a restaurant and the depths of Shaum’s knowledge.

The following are representative selections from the full list:                                                         

Champagne

• NV Pierre Péters “Cuvée de Réserve” Grand Cru Blanc de Blancs Brut ($155)
• 2018 Domaine Vincey Oger Grand Cru Blanc de Blancs Extra Brut ($174)
• 2019 Pierre Paillard “Les Terres Roses” Grand Cru Extra Brut Rosé ($175)
• 2010 Champagne Saint-Chamant “Millésime” Blanc de Blancs Brut ($190)
• NV Dhondt-Grellet “Dans un Premier Temps” Blanc de Blancs Extra Brut ($205)
• NV Suenen “C+C” Grand Cru Blanc des Blancs Extra Brut ($245)
• 2018 Egly-Ouriet Grand Cru Extra Brut ($300)
• 2008 Bollinger “R.D.” Extra Brut ($490)
• NV Jacques Selosse “Initial” Grand Cru Blanc des Blancs Brut [dg: 2022] ($650)

White

• 2021 Van Volxem “Alte Reben” Riesling Saar ($86)
• 2022 Borgo del Tiglio Collio ($95)
• 2022 Domaine de la Taille Aux Loups “Rémus” Montlouis-sur-Loire ($95)
• 2021 François Mikulski Bourgogne Aligoté ($97)
• 2022 Domaine Le Roc des Anges “Imalaya” Côtes Catalanes ($118)
• 2022 Moreau-Naudet Chablis ($120)
• 2019 Hiyu Wine Farm “Tzum Eventyr” Albariño Colombia Gorge ($138)
• 2021 Martin Woods “Koosah Vineyard” Chardonnay Eola-Amity Hills ($140)
• 2020 Miani Sauvignon Colli Orientali del Friuli ($145)
• 2020 Guiberteau “Les Clos de Guichaux” Saumur ($155)
• 2020 Miani Chardonnay Colli Orientali del Friuli ($145)
• 2021 Jean-Marc Boillot Puligny-Montrachet ($155)
• 2021 Arnot-Roberts “Sanford & Benedict Vineyard” Chardonnay Sta. Rita Hills ($160)
• 2019 Domaine Roulot Bourgogne Blanc ($170)
• 2022 Domaine des Ardoisières “Cuvée Schiste” Savoie ($171)
• 2018 Domaine Vallet Pouilly-Fuissé “Tradition” ($190)
• 2020 Jean-Claude Ramonet Pernand-Vergelesses “Les Belles Filles” ($245)
• 2021 Samuel Billaud Chablis Premier Cru Montée de Tonnerre ($250)
• 2020 Michel Bouzereau Meursault “Les Tessons” ($275)
• 2018 Jean-François Ganevat “Chamois du Paradis” Côtes du Jura
• 2017 Anne et Jean-François Ganevat “Sous Voile” Arbois ($330)
• 2022 Weingut Keller “Kirchspiel” Riesling Großes Gewächs Rheinhessen ($355)
• 2020 Domaine Coche-Dury Bourgogne Blanc ($445)

Red

• 2020 Michel Lafarge Bourgogne Rouge ($98)
• 2020 Robert Chevillon Bourgogne Passetoutgrains ($116)
• 2018 Roagna Langhe Rosso ($119)
• 2021 Auguste Clape “Le Vin des Amis” ($120)
• 2017 Henri Jouan Chambolle-Musigny ($160)
• 2021 Georges Glantenay Volnay ($170)
• 2020 Guiberteau Brézé “Les Arboises” Monopole ($170)
• 2019 Poggio di Sotto Rosso di Montalcino ($175)
• 2016 Château Le Puy ($185)
• 2021 Walter Scott “Sojeau” Pinot Noir Willamette Valley ($190)
• 2017 Y. Clerget Pommard Premier Cru “Rugiens” ($195)
• 2020 Miani Merlot Colli Orientali del Friuli ($236)
• 2020 Jean-François Ganevat “Cuvée Julien” Côtes du Jura ($247)
• 2016 Le Clarence de Haut-Brion Pessac-Léognan ($275)
• 2020 Domaine Fourrier Gevrey-Chambertin ($280)
• 2015 Pierre Damoy Gevrey-Chambertin “Clos Tamisot” ($295)
• 2020 Domaine Jamet Côte-Rôtie ($305)
• 2019 Domaine de la Grange des Pères Vin de Pays de l’Hérault ($315)
• 2004 Fuligni Brunello di Montalcino ($335)
• 2007 Domaine Tempier “La Migoua” Bandol ($344)
• 2014 Dunn Vineyards Cabernet Sauvignon Napa Valley ($390)
• 2017 Robert Groffier Chambolle-Musigny Premier Cru “Les Sentiers” ($390)
• 2013 Robert Chevillon Nuits-Saints-Georges Premier Cru “Les Vaucrains” ($405)
• 2010 Weingut Keller “Frauenberg” Spätburgunder Großes Gewächs Rheinhessen ($465)
• 2014 Jean-Louis Chave Hermitage ($495)
• 2019 Bartolo Mascarello Barolo (1.5L) ($550)
• 2012 Marcel Juge Cornas ($595)
• 2013 Marquis d’Angerville Volnay Premier Cru “Clos des Ducs” ($635)
• 2011 Château de Beaucastel “Hommage à Jacques Perrin” Châteauneuf-du-Pape (1.5L) ($650)
• 2013 Soldera (Az. Agr. Case Basse) Sangiovese Toscana ($680)
• 2005 Domaine Fourrier Morey-Saint-Denis “Clos Solon” ($700)
• 2019 Hubert Lignier Clos Vougeot Grand Cru ($700)
• 2019 Bernard Levet Côte-Rôtie “La Chavaroche” (3L) ($800)

Dessert

• 2002 Dönnhoff “Oberhäuser Brücke” Riesling Auslese Nahe (375mL) ($222)
• 2016 Château Pajzos “Esszencia” Tokaj (375mL) ($400)

As far as new openings go (and you do not speak of places like Tre Dita that enjoy the resources of a large restaurant group), Feld’s debut bottle list might be the best you have ever seen. Shaum, to start, covers all his bases by appealing to fans of Champagne (rosé included), Chardonnay (from Burgundy, California, or Oregon), Sauvignon Blanc, Riesling (Austrian, Alsatian, and German), Gamay, Pinot Noir (again from from Burgundy, California, or Oregon), Nebbiolo, Rioja, Grenache, Syrah/Shiraz, Sangiovese, Merlot (both Bordeaux and domestic), and Cabernet Sauvignon (Australian, California, and also as part of Bordeaux blends).

Added to this, you find the nerdier options: white grapes like Albariño, Carignan Gris, Chenin Blanc, more Grüner, Jacquère, Listán Blanco, Savagnin (sparking, ouillé, and sans ouillage), Silvaner, and Vermentinu alongside reds made from Blaufränkisch, Cabernet Franc, Mencía, Mourvèdre, Pinot Noir (grown in Germany, the Jura, or New Zealand), Syrah (grown in Provence, the Languedoc, or Oregon), and Teroldego.

What’s more, these varieties—both familiar and eclectic—do not just tick the boxes. Rather, they are represented, on the classic side, by renowned producers like d’Angerville, Bartolo Mascarello, Beaucastel, Bollinger, Chave, Coche-Dury, Dönnhoff, Dunn, Egly-Ouriet, Haut-Brion, Keller, Lafarge, Lafon, Ramonet, Roulot, Selosse, Soldera, Tempier and, on the cultier end, by names such as Ardoisières, Dhondt-Grellet, Grange des Pères, Guiberteau, Joly, Miani, Le Puy, Raúl Pérez, Roagna, Suenen, Walter Scott, and Vallet. Those with an appreciation for “natural” wine will even find, in Ganevat and Hiyu, two of the category’s most esteemed practitioners. By your measure, the only thing really missing from the selection is one or more high-quality still rosés (a niche category but one, indeed, that can match subtle cuisines masterfully). However, it is still early days for the program, and you cannot wait to see what else Shaum will be able to stock over time.

As excellent as this array of bottles may be, you have noted a small degree of criticism regarding pricing: namely, that the list is short on options under $100. Considering that the tasting menu itself costs $195, this is a fair comment to make. Consumers, especially those new to fine dining, may not want to spend an additional 50% on something they do not fully appreciate if they are already stretching their budget to simply get through the door. The by-the-glass options are there, but the meal is long enough that you are sure to go empty less than halfway through (and, if two guests are ordering more than one glass each, they’d might as well go for a bottle). The pairings, in truth, come out to be even more expensive than many of the bottles when added together (only amounting to a bit more wine in aggregate). And a cocktail program, though teased at some point during Feld’s development, has yet to materialize for those seeking greater potency. (Actually, that 375mL Japanese hefeweizen, priced at $18, could be the solution for those seeking something affordable to sip on throughout the evening.)

In your opinion, there is nothing wrong with a chef asserting that they want guests to enjoy a certain level of wine with their cuisine: a bottle that speaks to the same degree of craft they seek to embody, a beverage that serves as something more than a conduit for alcohol (just as food at this level looks to do more than merely fill stomachs). Personally, you are not quite comfortable drawing the boundary of where all the plonk ends and the “quality wine” begins, but one metric suggests a figure of around $32.48 retail.

With bottles like the 2021 Van Volxem “Alte Reben” Riesling ($86, 2020 vintage was available for $29.99 at local retail), 2021 François Mikulski Bourgogne Aligoté ($97; $36.96 at local retail), and 2020 Michel Lafarge Bourgogne Rouge ($98; 2021 vintage available for $39 at local retail), Shaum offers entry-points to some of wine’s most esteemed regions at under $100. He also does so at markups ranging from 151% to 187% of retail price, a pretty fair deal considering the quality of winemaking (given producer reputation) and the degree of age (however minor but still meaningful for sheer drinkability) these selections provide.

Based on a sample of 10 wines (priced from $114 to $250), the restaurant maintains markups ranging from 112% to 205% of local retail price with an average of 153%. Most importantly, this carries over to the list’s most coveted bottles: like the 2008 Bollinger “R.D.” ($490 on the list; $345 at local retail), the Selosse “Initial” ($650 on the list; $509 at local retail), the 2020 Coche-Dury Bourgogne Blanc ($445 on the list; $375 at local retail), the 2017 Groffier “Les Sentiers” ($390 on the list; $239 at local retail), and the 2013 Soldera ($680 on the list; $925 at national retail). With these bottles, so highly prized (and speculated on) in the wider market, markups shrink to as little as 20% of retail. In the case of the Soldera, drinkers may even get a huge discount relative to what the wine would cost outside of the restaurant.

Deals like these demonstrate great restraint on Shaum’s part, and they signal a philosophy (one presumably shared by Potashnick too) that looks to celebrate wine and reward those who imbibe rather than squeeze them for extra profit. This approach greatly honors what Feld looks to do with its cuisine, and it affirms—even if the bottle list is weighted more toward the $100 and over category—that consumers can expect a sharp (maybe even a screaming) degree of value no matter how much money they choose to spend.

With this in mind, a corkage fee of “$75 per 750ml bottle, with a limit on 1.5L of wine per table” also feels fair. Guests must spend an amount that is more or less equivalent to the least expensive selection on the list for the pleasure of drinking something from their cellar—a hurdle that disincentivizes those simply looking to save money while not inordinately punishing oenophiles who, in the context of a program that already offers plenty of affordable delights, want to bring in something extraordinarily special. $75 also seems acceptable in the context of average consumers looking to celebrate with birth-year wines that would be hard for the restaurant to secure (or prohibitively expensive even if the markup remained minor). You might only note that Feld’s corkage policy originally allowed for “1.5L of wine per guest” but, presumably, was altered due to some form of abuse. On the bright side, the restaurant is generous enough to waive its $75 fee with the purchase of pairings or bottles from its collection: a courtesy that is often extended by conscientious sommeliers but one you have learned not to expect from Chicago’s “finest” establishments.

Overall, Shaum has built (and been empowered to build) a top-notch beverage program befitting the awards and professional credentials he has attained: one that, from the very moment of Feld’s opening, has taken its place among the city’s most forward-thinking and thoughtful selections.

When it comes to how these bottles are wielded, it is also hard to find fault. The sommelier, who goes so far as to contact guests ahead of their reservations to discuss what they might like to drink, confidently prepares wines for optimal drinking. This degree of foresight and intention, which can only be developed through experience, makes ordering the restaurant’s more expensive bottles (even if they are on the younger side) especially rewarding. It also goes without saying that decanting, double decanting, slow-oxygenation, and the spotting of flaws is all handled with aplomb. The glassware—made by Glasvin and featuring the Feld logo—is weighty and functional while also feeling luxurious in the hand.

In terms of presentation (particularly as it relates to the pairing), Shaum is encyclopedic in his knowledge without ever coming off as snobbish or arcane in his explanations. Recommendations (for those perusing the bottle list) and descriptions of wines are delivered with warmth and good humor in terms anyone can understand. Likewise, stories regarding the chosen estates and added context regarding their status within wider regions and countries help to provide a sense of richness and personality that goes beyond the technical side of the craft. (It goes without saying that fellow wine geeks can plunge even deeper into winemaking minutiae and hobnob with the sommelier to their hearts’ content.)

True to the kind of chef/server cross-training Potashnick desires, Shaum is not the lone person on the floor delivering this information. He is helped, principally, by a longtime colleague who is a sommelier in his own right, and the two are able to cover all 20 guests without any lapse in attentiveness or the quality of interaction being offered. Again, this is quite a bit of vinous firepower being deployed at such a small concept without the average guest necessarily noticing it.

This is helped by the fact that the sommeliers do, indeed, participate in the plating, delivery, description, and clearing of the evening’s dishes in addition to their beverage duties. For this reason, they blend seamlessly into the rest of the staff. However, you might critique a recent meal in which your red wine sat empty at the time of the main entrée’s arrival. On this occasion, one of the non-sommelier chefs filled your water but did not seem comfortable handling the decanter that was at the table (the bottle was one you brought) or, perhaps, to have even perceived the unfilled glass. The sommeliers, in turn, were busying themselves with other duties so that you had to reach forward and pour the wine yourself in order to pair it with these precious bites of meat.

Ultimately, you did not feel all that bothered by the lapse, for the restaurant is smart enough to ensure that your bottles (whether on ice or not) are always within reach. This simply represents an instance in which the staff cross-training revealed itself as still containing a certain degree of specialization and individual ownership (as it relates to the sommeliers and their duties). There’s nothing inherently wrong with such a system—especially with so much talent to draw on. Instead, you simply note it—along with those minor typos and vintage variations that dog even the finest programs—as a humanizing flaw found in an otherwise excellent program.

When it comes to Feld’s service—writ large—the same logic generally applies. First and foremost, the warmth of hospitality that receives you at the door permeates the entire meal. Exemplified by Potashnick himself, who actively interacts with each table and never gives the impression of being rushed (even lingering for minutes at a time while in the thick of the action), the team is all smiles, graciousness, enthusiasm, and charm. With a count of around nine people working the floor on any given night—and everyone pitching in to execute the full range of responsibilities—the staff-to-guest ratio is laudable. There is ample room to pause, listen, and engage with diners sincerely. That not only means satisfying any curiosity surrounding the “relationship-to-table” ethos (one that is easily made personal by the chefs’ field trips to visit purveyors) but indulging in the kind of frivolities that totally deconstruct the stereotypical, staid “fine dining restaurant” mood.

That is to say, the motions of service (e.g., refilling water, delivering plates, replacing utensils) are as precise as you could want—especially given the menu’s breakneck pace. However, this sharp execution does not preclude the kind of emotional connection that resonates far more deeply than the nuts and bolts that keep dinner moving. Potashnick, whether or not he chooses to view the team as “family,” has established a kind of ease and authenticity among his chefs that can only come from a culture of mutual respect (and, as far as you can tell, actual fun). Feld is not filled with those uncanny, suited automatons of Michelin-starred gastronomy, but with distinct personalities—every last one—displaying total openness. They stand at the ready to sense, respond, and surprise diners with their shared passions, good humor, and general amiability. They effectively transform the business relationship that underlies fine dining into something that feels earnestly like being hosted by friends.

This is a huge accomplishment for a restaurant that has only just opened, and this camaraderie among the staff (one which patrons are invited to be a part of) lends credence to the way Potashnick has chosen to run his kitchen (and, going back, to the kinds of restaurants he chose as his influences).

As a repeat diner (especially one that may not necessarily give staff much to work with), you have felt particularly impressed by the kind of casual, relaxed tone that has reigned after a few visits. This has made Feld, fairly quickly, feel like home, and it has been blended with a dimension of memory (regarding personal life, interests, and preferences) and an “insider” element (i.e., what the kitchen has been thinking about or working on) that makes each experience more and more rewarding. Surely, this process has been helped along by a proportion of staff that has worked at other Chicago restaurants. Nonetheless, it is clear that everyone is on board in making the “relationship-to-table” concept as adaptative and “replayable” at the service level as possible. This is a mark of the finest restaurants, and it is quite impressive to see such freshly formed team attune itself so well to the kind of persistent patronage that, in other instances, could translate to feelings of pressure.

Technically, it is worth noting that the performance is not flawless. Beyond the refilling of the red wine to pair with the meal’s principal serving of meat (this actually happened on two occasions), the biggest thing to note is that the team has failed to notice the left-handedness of certain members of your party across all six visits. You will, once more, admit that this is not a major misstep (given that it only takes a second to shift the cutlery to one’s other side). However, it is the kind of detail that restaurants at the Michelin-starred (and especially multi-Michelin-starred) level identify almost immediately.

Otherwise, just as there are actual sommeliers among the less specialized chefs, there is an actual executive chef-owner that works alongside the rest of the team. Potashnick, certainly, does his best (TikTok fame not withstanding) to blend in with everyone else. Yet, you might agree with critics who have claimed dishes are presented with varying levels of detail depending on who happens to be dropping them off. What another chef may describe as “spot prawn with sauces of melon and cured lemon,” Potashnick may put forth with a much longer story outlining the sourcing of this fruit. The same holds true when it comes to the purveyors—whom everyone might have gone to visit but whom the chef-owner has come to know best—and other smaller details regarding a given dish’s inspiration or its more minor elements. Without a doubt, this is further complicated by the menu’s frequent changes.

That said, you do not find that the baseline descriptions given by the majority of chefs really go wrong. Everyone hits the major notes, which amount to a handful of ingredients in various forms along with some cooking methods and respective origins. Indeed, any additional storytelling beyond this basic information would be a bonus, and Potashnick does a good job of circulating across the various tables during the course of the evening. Certainly, “relationship-to-table” implies that these connections between purveyor and restaurant will be privileged. Yet, what you really want to hear is how certain kinds of produce were grown specifically for Feld (this does apply to certain courses) and, perhaps, how various species of plum or tomato (served as part of the same menu) differ from each other.

Any other storytelling, whether offered consistently to each table or spread throughout the dining room, might be enriching but is also a bit extraneous. The glory of “relationship-to-table” should be apparent in the quality of the resulting ingredients and how they are expressed on the plate. Feld already amply delivers a personalized experience through its service, and you trust that interested parties can solicit the added flourish they might hear Potashnick deliver on the other side of the room. Other diners (you include yourself) may be perfectly happy to taste quality without context. What matters is that everyone gets some sense of those relationships during the evening. Otherwise, just as nobody else on the floor could match Shaum’s wine knowledge, it would be hard to expect the other chefs to match the Feld owner’s natural passion without saddling them with a degree of scripting that would undo the canniness you find so appealing. (Of course, if a dish is found to be displeasing, confusing, or otherwise illegible without the proper context, that is a different story.)

Otherwise, service—and, yes, a bonafide sense of hospitality—forms another one of Feld’s strong suits. Along with the décor and the beverage program, it makes for a structural advantage that provides Potashnick’s cuisine, however adventurous, with every opportunity to shine. Through adaptation and responsiveness, it may also serve to cushion any number of complications that such wanton experimentation can sometimes yield (though, certainly, that all depends on what a given consumer demands out of fine dining).

With all of the foundations of the Feld experience now addressed, you turn your attention to the food: the source of much controversy that you will explore (as previously mentioned) in six separate, dated parts.

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July 6th, 2024

The meal begins only moments after you sit down courtesy of a “Baby Corn Broth,” which guests are meant to sip on while sorting out their beverage selections and waiting for the chefs to finish greeting the other arrivals. The liquid is served lightly chilled and displays a subtle sweetness balanced by funkier, earthier qualities. It makes you stop and think, readying the palate for harmonizing preparations of produce to come.

The first of these is titled “Squash Blossom,” but it actually comprises a whole segment of the gourd that has been grilled with those titular flowery tendrils still attached to the end. Rather than being stuffed and fried (as the name usually suggests), the bite is crunchy and meaty with a pleasant note of sweetness and a rich mouthfeel drawn from an accompanying drizzle of creamy sauce. You would, perhaps, like some added pop of savory flavor, but this is a good start.

The “Squash—Basil” arrives just a couple minutes later and explores the same theme. This dish comprises a thin slice made down the length of the gourd that has been rolled into a spiral and tied together with a “chive string.” The basil, in turn, is rendered as a gel that comes nestled into the upper base of the resulting cylinder. On the palate, the rolled summer squash offers a pronounced, multi-layered crunch. Its flavor is mild, and the basil offers only the most fleeting sweetness—one that cannot help the bite from feeling a bit bland.

Two minutes after that, you encounter a pair of preparations: “Sweet Cherry—Dill” and “Snap Pea.” The former amounts to a pitted cherry filled with dill emulsion, yet this simple combination works. The fruit’s nutty, sugary intensity represents a welcome contrast from the milder squash, but its character is also moderated by the grassy dill: ensuring your palate remains anchored to the kind of vegetal notes the chef predominantly works with.

The latter bite, comprising a halved snap pea dressed with rhubarb sauce, turns this same idea on its head. Instead of fruit stuffed with the essence of something green, you find something green filled with the essence of a (culinary) fruit. The crunch of the pod, to be fair, lacks the same fleshiness as the cherry. However, the snap pea’s own inherent sweetness, charged by the tarter tones of the rhubarb, really comes to replicate the preceding bite. This makes for an impressive, playful duo that—despite their minimalism—combine freshness and depth.

“The Entire Carrot,” which arrives about three minutes later, is less successful. Certainly, the idea is clever: using a tapioca-carrot tuile, a sauce made from carrot greens, and three thin slices of carrot to create a bite that celebrates the orange root vegetable from top to tip. However, in practice, you find the cracker-like vessel to be grainy and brittle. The two carrot toppings offer a good degree of tang and acidity, but their finish—earthy and a touch bitter (in a way that is reminiscent of parsley)—tastes interesting rather than good. Still, this is a train of thought worth pursuing.

Next, another pair of preparations: “Corn Silk” (the fibers that grow at the top of each ear) served with the menu’s second expression of “Baby Corn.” Both ingredients arrive fried, with the former looking like a golden-brown nest. On the palate, the silk is rather soft—not brittle to the degree you want—and feels more like hay. Its mild flavor is forgettable despite the novelty of seeing the thin strings utilized in this fashion. The latter bite of baby corn, by comparison, is served whole with an uneven, light-brown crust. It feels crisp, crunchy, and—ultimately—tender against your teeth, only needing a touch more salt to really shine.

The “Shiitake x3” speaks to the same core idea as “The Entire Carrot”: one singular ingredient, expressed several ways, in order to attain greater clarity and intensity. Working, in this case, with a mushroom, the chef is also far more successful. The combination of shiitake cap with an oil and salt made from the same fungus is pretty straight to the point. Meanwhile, serving the bite lukewarm is certainly a bit weird. Nonetheless, the three elements all come together to display a degree of meatiness and umami that really shines relative to the rest of the menu. The “Shiitake x3” ranks among the meal’s best dishes in terms of savory character and overall satisfaction.

Four minutes later, another duo appears. The “Potato Tart,” filled with onion cream and crab, sounds like a stunner. However, as with the tapioca-carrot tuile, its shell is brittle and unpleasant. The fillings, too, are surprisingly bland despite drawing on such desirable notes of allium and crustacean. It’s hard to know what happened here. The “Squash—Kombu,” despite a beautifully crosshatched char across its surface, also falls flat. Texturally, the gourd crunches just fine, yet the combination of seaweed (rendered as an oil) and salt cannot overcome the ingredient’s fundamental mildness or lack of any other depth. Again, this is a strange result for a bite that looked and sounded so encouraging.

With the arrival of the “Benton’s Ham x3,” you think you have come across a sure thing: a presentation of three different ages (eight-, 12-, and 24-month) of Allan Benton’s legendary cured meat. Potashnick does nothing more than flavor the pork (referred to by the team as “American prosciutto”) with a bit of raspberry spritz. And, indeed, in tasting your way up the ladder, you savor the increasing porcine character of each ham. However, the presentation—a series of clumps made up of many smaller shreds—confuses you. Each pinch you take, made up of several layers of the ham, tends to deliver too much concentrated salt. It is only by unspooling the clumps and isolating individual slices (however small) that the pork displays better balance. This takes some work and, you fear, might not be apparent to every guest. Though you do not expect Feld to invest in a deli slicer, the ham, however cumbersome to cut, could be showcased more effectively. It should be if the restaurant is to really do justice to its deliciousness.

Another fried delight, the “Shiso Tempura,” actually hides an appealing stuffing of prawn. The shellfish, when it reaches your palate, is plump and sweet while its crispy, minty wrapper is perfectly salted. The only problem here? The tempura is not placed on a piece of paper to help soak up any trace of oil. This means the bottom side of the shiso gets soggy and detracts from what would otherwise be a beautiful, cohesive texture backed by plenty of flavor.

A dish of “Cured Anchovy” is also surprising—considering that the tiny fish actually features as the topping for a corn cake made from local grains. The resulting baked good is soft and puffy with a browned, shining crust. Against your teeth, the cake is not quite chewy but displays a fair bit of density with a flavor that is more savory than sweet. However, the anchovy itself is pristine, potently salty, and moistening when it comes into contact with the crumb. The whole combination works nicely together, making for another one of the menu’s most savory, satisfying bites.

Potashnick’s relationship with Jerry Boone of Froggy Meadow Farm takes center stage in the next dish: “Sungold—Green Tomato,” a presentation of sungold tomatoes and husk cherries (often likened to gooseberries or tomatillos) in a first-of-the-season green tomato gel. Taken with your fork, the pieces of produce display an attractive crispness and plumpness on the palate. In terms of flavor, the sungolds and husk cherries impart a tangy-sweet sensation with notes of tropical fruit and ample supporting acidity drawn from the supporting gel. Overall, this makes for a simple—but successful—showcase of seasonal ingredients that gets to the heart of Feld’s “relationship-to-table” ethos.

The “Rock Crab—Nasturtium,” by comparison, makes use of a delicious crustacean sourced from further afield. However, the chef combines thin shreds of the shellfish’s flesh with the leaves of the “nose-twister” plant, which are transformed into a clear gelée while also serving as a final garnish. The resulting dish is, fittingly, gelatinous (overwhelmingly so) but also marred by the mushiness of the crab. Its flavors, likewise, are too straightforwardly sour without any supporting sweetness or brine drawn from the seafood. You appreciate the technique being demonstrated here, but it does not amount to a worthwhile use of a relatively luxurious ingredient in the context of this meal.

A preparation titled “Spring Onion—Buckwheat” also sounds better than it eats. The dish combines the titular allium, rendered in alternating strips of the tops and bulbs, with a brown butter-buckwheat emulsion. Decadent in theory, the spring onion feels a bit slimy on the palate, and any sweet or nutty notes are counteracted by a dirty, musty quality that comes to the fore. The preparation is not totally unpalatable, but you are left disappointed by its unfulfilled potential.

The “Banana Pepper—Horseradish,” a stack of yellow in a gold-rimmed bowl, ranks among the weakest of the items served tonight. On paper, the idea is sound: grilled peppers, dressed in ponzu, served with a hint of that pungent root. However, apart from some baseline tanginess, the dish once more tastes muddled and dirty. The banana peppers, to their credit, feel okay on the palate, but their sweetness is totally subdued. Instead, only bitterness lingers through the finish—perplexingly so given that you fail to notice any undue degree of charring.

Ending this sequence, the “Green Beans—Kani Miso” probably represents the low point of this particular evening. As always, the core idea is simple enough: slivers of the titular pods are stacked and dressed in a sauce made from crab innards (a nice echo of the crustacean’s appearance elsewhere on the menu). However, the green beans are served cold to the point of almost seeming frozen. They are, otherwise, bland and only distinguished by an unpleasant irony note drawn from the crab.

With the arrival of the “Aji—Salted Cream,” things begin to get better after a clear rough patch. The starring horse mackerel is cured and sliced into hearty (yet still totally manageable) strips. The fish swim in a sauce of the titular salted cream that has been crowned with a couple dots of allium oil. On the palate, the aji is smooth and succulent with a clean, oily mouthfeel upon further mastication and an extra coating of richness drawn from its dressing. The resulting flavor is mild but enjoyably savory—only missing a minor accent to really sing.

A preparation titled “Turnip—Benton’s Broth” combines its starring root vegetable with a surrounding stock made from Allan Benton’s famous smoked bacon. Turnip greens also play a major role, offering a subtle crunch that nicely contrasts the smoother, denser consistency of its progenitor. Texturally, these are pleasing elements; however, they are somewhat undone by the broth. The decadent bacon base lacks any savory, hammy concentration and actually comes across as bitter. This dish is not a total failure, but one that demands more refinement.

Thankfully, the “Cured Yolk—Cauliflower” does better: combining a mousse made from its titular brassica with the yolk, some pickled pine needles, and a scattering of crisp onions. Approaching the cured egg with your spoon, you note its dense, custardy quality. With a bit of work, you divide it throughout the bowl and retrieve bites that are creamy, rich, jammy, crisp, and crunchy in turn. The resulting flavors, likewise, are pronouncedly savory with uplifting notes of sweetness, nuttiness, and citrus. You do not think this dish necessarily reads as “cauliflower,” but it is both complex and delicious.                            

A “Badger Flame Beet” (that you have neglected to photograph) also pleases, with its subtle crunch benefitting from the luscious consistency of an accompanying crab hollandaise. The root vegetable displays a mild sweetness with notes of earth and some uplifting acid. You struggle to note any clear crustaceous influence to the flavors, but this is still an effective dish.

When you catch sight of the “Lamb Belly—Mint,” your pulse quickens. Serving after serving of produce now yields to an unapologetic presentation of meat. And this cut of lamb—steamed, grilled, flavored with chamomile, and garnished with pickled mint—seems sure to please. Certainly, the belly looks a bit irregularly shaped, yet its flesh offers a hearty chew with some nice streaks of fat and an inherent sweetness. Unfortunately, the other guest at your table receives a piece that is dominated by too much of the unrendered fat, and you spy other tables throughout the dining room struggling to cut their meat (a proportion of which remains on the plates when they are eventually cleared). For you, this dish was enjoyable (though not necessarily memorable) but also marked by inconsistency.

The next item, “Shishito—Quince,” actually serves to preface a second serving of lamb. It comprises a single piece of the titular pepper dressed in a vinegar made from the titular fruit. The combination should be sweet, tangy, and smoky in balance; however, an accompanying “smoked oil” dominates the dish and overshadows its star ingredients with bitter notes.

Undoubtedly forming the “entrée” of the menu, Feld’s “78 Day Aged Lamb” represents a labor of love that was being readied for diners months before the restaurant’s opening. This cut of loin, boasting a deep ruby-red color, is served with a bit of fat and a halved sour cherry. The meat, on the palate, displays a pronounced chew that almost borders on being too much but, you think, is acceptable. The flesh feels substantial and is nicely contrasted by the meltier portion of fat. The cherry, meanwhile, is juicy, but its fruit flavor cannot overcome a general lack of salt in the dish (which, as is, displays none of the dry-aged depth or complexity you’d expect from such an extended timeframe). Yes, while this lamb is okay, it is just not convincing as a closing savory course.

The turn toward dessert happens quickly: courtesy of a “Granita” made from juneberries that is sweet, salty, and tinged with complicating notes of thyme. This is quite enjoyable.

Next, a bit of cheese (meant to be enjoyed at one’s leisure through the conclusion of the meal). The “July 11, 12, 13” expressions of Uplands Pleasant Ridge Reserve are round/fruity, mild/grassy, and milky/pronouncedly fruity respectively. You favor the 13, then the 11, then the 12 in that order, but it’s a treat to try them all. The cheese disappears long before the arrival of the next course.

That being a preparation titled “Blueberry—Mint” made up of grilled blueberries with a yogurt made of Kilgus Farmstead milk and some mint sugar. Unfortunately, you find any sense of fruit, dairy tang, or menthol to be muted by a pervading smokiness. The result isn’t bad—just confusing.

Thankfully, “Egg Whites” (Potashnick’s homage to a recipe served by Daniel Berlin) is a stunner. It combines sheets of meringue with salty nougat and a buttermilk cream, amounting to a soft, crisp, sticky, chewy, and hugely hedonistic expression of layered sweetness that leaves you wanting to lick the bowl. Incredible.

A dish titled “Svenska Kakao—Rosemary” harkens back to when the chef visited (and worked at) that chocolate factory in Sweden. He combines the cacao (rendered as a mousse) with rosemary oil and salt, yielding a subtly bitter but well-seasoned dessert that is only missing an extra degree of depth or more obvious sense of decadence.

The “Elderflower Cake” offers that in spades, being warm, fluffy, and comforting with moderately sweet, honeyed flavors that hit right at your pleasure center. Accompanying sticks of lacto-fermented raspberry meringue form a crunchy, sticky, sour-sweet foil that is also quite enjoyable.

Finally, you find the “Fresh fruit on ice”: a selection of blackberries, blueberries (intentionally served frozen), husk cherries, Rainier cherries, and sweet cherries tucked into a ceramic version of the familiar cardboard carton. These selections range from underwhelming to fairly average in texture and flavor, but the presentation is certainly engaging.

In the final analysis, you would rank six dishes from this menu (“Shiitake x3,” “Cured Anchovy,” “Granita,” “July 11, 12, 13,” “Egg Whites,” and ““Elderflower Cake”) as clearly successful, 14 as acceptable, and 13 as disappointing. This makes for an overall hit rate of 18%-61% depending on how harshly one chooses to interpret the “acceptable” dishes relative to Feld’s price point and the high expectations “fine dining” often carries.

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July 17th, 2024

This meal begins in a familiar fashion, with the “Baby Corn Broth” now substituted for a “Tomato Broth” that displays more of a pronounced tang along with a tinge of sweet, anisey flavor drawn from dots of basil oil. A nice start.

The following bite, “Polenta—Fresh Cheese,” uses a thin chip made from the titular cornmeal as a vessel for the housemade dairy product, some leaves of purslane, and a dusting of purslane powder. It sounds like a bold combination—and, texturally, the bite is clean and crisp—but the flavors are too understated and you get no real read on what the cheese or purslane elements are supposed to offer.

An accompanying “Okra Flower” arrives dressed with an elderflower spritz and comes with the warning that it might be slightly slimy. The bite’s texture is actually rather pristine and crunchy; however, any accompanying flavor is hard to identify. This basically tastes of raw asparagus, but you can understand why the chef tended toward such a light touch given this ingredient’s fleeting lifespan and rarity.

A “Corn Panna Cotta” is more successful, combining a custard made from the cob with a sprinkling of crispy Benton’s ham crumble. Apart from a weird bit of separation (essentially, a “skin” that has formed on top of the thickened cream), the dish displays an attractive balance of sweetness and salt with a rich, soothing mouthfeel.

Next, something old and something new. “The Entire Carrot,” takes the same form as it did in the preceding meal and delivers about the same result, being rather reserved and fleetingly green in its flavor. Thankfully, its partner, the “Crostini” delivers the goods. It comprises a mushroom cracker topped with chestnut mushrooms that have been cooked in brown butter. Though the bite comes close to falling apart, it delivers powerfully savory, umami tones that really stand out among the rawer expressions of produce.

A preparation titled “Artichoke—Verbena” arrives looking beautifully crisped. The chef confirms halved section of heart is prepared “Roman style,” receiving a touch of the titular lemony leaves and a sprinkling of vinegar powder for good measure. Though you have high expectations for the bite, it feels thin and burnt on the palate without the meatiness you desire from artichoke. The flavor, in turn, lacks the delectable nuttiness that keeps you coming back for more. Still, the dish represents a decent effort and an enjoyable tip of the cap toward culinary tradition.

The new version of last menu’s “Potato Tart” is called “Potato Tart—Anchovy” and, understandably, substitutes its crab filling for the fish that previously featured as a topping for the corn cake. While this thin shell cannot quite measure up to the pillowy baked good, the bite is much improved. It marries a crisp crunch with a cooling, buttery filling and a pronounced degree of salt (cleanly rendered) drawn from the anchovy.

An accompanying preparation called “Shishito x2” reminds you, of course, of “Shiitake x3.” Here, the pepper is heartily charred and seasoned with a powder also made from shishitos. As it happens, you get a spicy one on this occasion, which counteracts the sweet and measured bitter notes with a pleasing heat. If that were not the case, you wonder how effectively the powder would distinguish the shishito from typical preparations.

Ending this sequence, you encounter “Zucchini—Basil,” somewhat of a successor to the “Squash—Kombu” dish from the last meal. Again, the gourd arrives boasting a beautifully charred crosshatch pattern across its flesh. Again (and despite the application of basil salt), you just do not get much sweet or savory depth from it. The zucchini offers a nice crunch, and, clearly, it has some latent character waiting to be unlocked. This dish might just demand a heavier hand.

The arrival of the “Benton’s Ham x3,” each an expression of eight, 12, or 24 months’ aging respectively, is a welcome sight. However, the clumped presentation of the meat still demands some work, and those who are impatient will find that denser bites strike the palate with too much salt. It may be more convenient if the ham slices were folded concentrically around each other, making for a flower bud shape that enables easier separation. Otherwise, in measured doses, this gradient of porcine flavor is a real treat.

Bites of “Chicken Heart” and “Enoki Tempura” (which you neglected to photograph) arrive next. The former, paired with a bagna càuda, offers a glossy, chewy mouthfeel that, despite its classically umami-forward sauce, ends up tasting bland. Only the strangeness of the heart’s texture is memorable. The latter, being fried, looks like a sure thing. However, while the tiny enoki strands are tempura breaded, the mushrooms retain a waxy consistency and do not achieve and real degree of crispness. Despite that, they are seasoned nicely, so the dish only really demands a refinement of the frying technique.

“Cultured Butter,” as the next dish is called, actually amounts to a bread course. It combines a warm, puffed bread that has been cooked in the hearth (and has the grill marks to prove it) with a schmear of the dairy, which has been allowed to ferment over nine days. The end result is a somewhat doughy, subtly sweet bun coated in rich, tangy butter. You certainly miss having a crust or crunch crowning the bread, but this makes for a enjoyably substantial serving in the context of the meal.

“Peach—Bacon” is a simple bite that aims at decadence and, more or less, succeeds. It comprises a segment of the titular fruit that has been charred on one end and glazed with a bit of bacon fat caramel. The peach, on the palate, is soft and surprisingly mild but gains smoky-sweet depth from its accompanying sauce. You like it, but you also want more: more acid, more sugar, a kiss of bitterness, and a really resonant presence of caramelized pork that fulfills the recipe’s promised hedonism.

With the “Sungolds—Green Tomato” preparation, you return to Froggy Meadow Farm and their first-of-the-season produce. In this dish, the former tomato is dressed in a liquid drawn from the latter and combined with thin shreds of shiso. On the palate, the sungolds pop with a bit of effort (still seeming a tad underripe), imparting a bright, only faintly sweet sensation. The green tomato juice provides even more supporting acidity, but the shiso serves to cool everything down. This amounts to a course of surprising lightness and refreshment that feels like something of a palate cleanser following the “Peach—Bacon.”

“Day Lily—Corn,” which arrives next, could very well stand in for one of the broths Potashnick uses to kick off the meal. It teases your palate in the same manner, combining the mild sweetness of corn husk juice with the delicate, green flavor of the day lily (that, in its own right, offers a tinge of sweetness). In sum, this is another lighter dish that serves as a reset for the other bites to come.

Of these, the “Eggplant—Green Tea” immediately ramps up the level of flavor. It comprises skinned and grilled morsels of the nightshade that are neatly stacked and dressed with smoked oil. On the palate, the eggplant is soft but meaty and totally clean. It takes on the bitter notes drawn from its manner of preparation but balances them with toasty, nutty notes taken from the green tea. You only miss more acid, sweetness, and salt from the preparation, which celebrates a darker, restrained side of its star ingredient.

A dish titled “Cherry—Fennel” goes in the same direction, combining slivers of the grilled fruit with a juice made, just 30 seconds ago, using the tops of the fennel. The resulting bites are plump and juicy but only mildly sweet, displaying a smokier, earthier quality instead. Anise, instead, takes the lead, displaying a degree of power that almost approaches absinthe. Certainly, it’s an impressive use of the fennel, but you are not sure the cherry is faithfully expressed here or that the recipe, as a result, displays the right balance.

The “Blackberry—Badger Beet” goes even one step further: combining its fruit and root elements with an interloping coating of chicken liver mousse. For your palate, it works beautifully. The blackberries could be a bit riper, but they display a tart-sweet character that, combined with the earthy tones of the beet juice, emphasize the rich, satisfying notes of the liver. This dish is as simple as anything Feld serves, but it aims at greater decadence and succeeds.

Potashnick invokes nostalgia with his “Beans and Bacon,” a familiar combination here rendered with cranberry beans, lentils, a bacon dashi, and a katsuobushi (dried fish flake) made from last meal’s horse mackerel. You love this idea, and the latter elements definitely promise a degree of complexity. However, you find the cranberry beans to be a bit chalky and undercooked while the dashi itself (in a manner reminiscent of the “Turnip—Benton’s Broth”) fails to display enough intensity of flavor. To be fair, you do get a hint of background porkiness—yet none of the katsuobushi’s intended umami or a prevailing sense of satisfaction that fulfills the nostalgia.

Next, the “Pickled Yolk—Crab” can be thought of as combining aspects of the “Cured Yolk—Cauliflower” and “Badger Flame Beet” courses from the previous menu. Namely, you have the former recipe’s egg (pickled in beer but similarly jammy) and the latter’s crab hollandaise (which coats the ingredients). Crispy leeks, too, are added to the mix, making for a dish of crispy, crunching vegetable and rich yolk that is adequately salted but only undone by a jarring level of tanginess.

Thankfully, the “Corn—Parsley” represents a return to form: an ode to the quintessential Midwestern ingredient that combines grilled kernels with honey water and a parsley butter sauce. On the palate, the corn is crisp yet tender with a mildly sweet character moderated by its charring. The honey water, to be fair, doesn’t seem to have much influence, yet the parsley sauce adds both richness and brightness to what is a comforting, savory creation that (as easy as it would be to go for decadence here) is pleasantly unconventional.

The “Tropea Onion,” by your measure, might be the best course of the night. The titular allium is steamed in whey left over from cheese production. A single piece is then served, simple as can be, in a broth made of the same onion. The resulting petal is soft and tender on your tongue. However, it is met by a concentration of sweetness that, balanced by milky and herbaceous notes, also offers deeply savory tones. This is liquid you want by the bowlful, and it marks one of the most memorable showcases of the Feld philosophy.

Next, the “Lamb Belly—Mint” certainly sounds familiar, yet the ingredient is treated rather differently than last time. The meat is no longer served in an amorphous strip but forms a neat rectangle with a dramatically crisped upper layer of skin. It’s been cider-glazed and seasoned with maple sugar in order to achieve such an effect, and, when it meets your knife, the lamb emits an audible shatter sound. On the palate, this brittle skin almost borders on burnt and is matched by flesh that displays, at times, a bit of a jerky consistency. The problem, you think, comes from strips of fat that remain unrendered in the very interior of the cut. However, with work, you still find enjoyably chewy, meaty pieces with gamey depth balanced by a bit of sweetness. This marks an improvement from the last iteration even if there is still room to grow.

As an interlude, the “Cabbage—Cream” offers the subtle crunch of brassica (steamed in this case) with a rich dairy coating. Despite the cream being salted, you find the dish to be a bit bland. However, allium oil adds to the intrigue, and this recipe still does its job of clearing the palate before a subsequent serving of protein.

That takes the form of the “87 Day Aged Lamb,” whose flesh has tallied an extra week or so of maturity since you last encountered it. Its preparation remains fairly similar, with the sour cherry substituted for a blistered plum and the seasoning now left in the diner’s hands courtesy of a sprinkling of Maldon sea salt. On the palate, the lamb feels dense and offers a good degree of chew—a bit of that same “jerky” quality that, nonetheless, does not overwhelm a sense of succulence. You definitely make use of the accompanying salt but, likewise, find a latent savory character that marries well with the tang of the plum. This all makes for good—though perhaps not stunning—meat entrée that only lacks an extra dimension of umami to really be memorable.

Moving to dessert, you start with a “Granita” made solely of thyme. Yes, while the juneberries provided much of the depth last time around, the present version is more straightforwardly sweet with harmonizing minty and critic notes. The result is palatable, but tastes a bit too much of simple syrup—that is, sugar without supporting depth.

Next, “July 11, 12, 13” provides the familiar pleasure of Uplands Pleasant Ridge Reserve rendered in larger chunks and longer, thinner slices that feel more texturally engaging. Your preference for the 13, then the 11, then the 12 remains.

A “Corn—Thyme” preparation takes the place of the “Egg Whites” while looking quite similar: a thin sheet of meringue glazed with (and sitting in) a sticky sauce. The result is a layered (lemony, honeyed, and beautifully caramelized) triumph that, to you, doesn’t taste obviously of corn but is just delicious.

Another dessert, the “Blueberry—Nougat,” takes the basic form of last menu’s “Blueberry—Mint” and augments it with the nougat that previously featured in the “Egg Whites” recipe. The result, which combines bursting grilled fruit with a kind of marshmallow fluff base, is smoky-sweet and totally convincing. It offers lip-smacking pleasure that reverberates throughout a lasting finish.

The “Svenska Kakao—Rosemary” takes the same form as before, balancing the chocolate mousse’s mild bitterness with salty, woodsy notes. You like the dish, but it looks rather melted on this occasion and cannot live up to the two preceding courses when it comes to hedonism.

“Corn Silk,” no longer situated on the savory side of the menu, does not fare much better when made sweet. The threads, again, are soft and jarringly spindly rather than resoundingly crisp. A coating of green tea powder, too, only imparts a note of bitterness that you would rather do without.

The “Elderflower Cake” is also more or less the same as before, yet its crumb feels a bit more coarse on this occasion and detracts from a sense of moistness and richness. Nonetheless, the accompanying lactic raspberry meringues remain a nice diversion.

Lastly, the “Fresh fruit on ice”—made up of blackberries, blueberries, the two types of cherries, and, on this occasion, slices of plum—is also fairly similar. The bites are now a bit more ripe and every bit as engaging, representing good (but not necessarily memorable) examples of their respective forms.

In the final analysis, you would rank seven dishes from this menu (“Blackberry—Badger Beet,” “Corn—Parsley,” “Tropea Onion,” “87 Day Aged Lamb,” “July 11, 12, 13,” “Corn—Thyme,” and “Blueberry—Nougat”) as clearly successful, 19 as acceptable, and 12 as disappointing. This makes for an overall hit rate of 20%-66% depending on how harshly one chooses to interpret the “acceptable” dishes relative to Feld’s price point and the high expectations “fine dining” often carries.

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July 27th, 2024

“Tomato Broth,” yet again, kicks off the meal. However, on this occasion, it benefits from the addition of melon, which works to balance the liquid’s tang and greenness with a rounded, ripe quality drawn from the fruit.

Next, the “Corn Panna Cotta” may sound familiar but has totally changed its form. Rather than being a proper custard, the dish is more like a broth in its own right that has been injected with corn cream and a bit of that same crispy ham. Certainly, you cannot say that the panna cotta has separated this time. Instead, the liquid (made from corn stock) is nicely savory with a subtle dose of sweetness from the cream and a punch of salt from the pork.

The ”Korean Melon” is Feld’s latest ode to simplicity, combining a long slice of the titular fruit, which boasts a striking white tone, with nothing more than a dusting of fresh za’atar. The spice blend promises savory complexity, yet the fruit—while crisp and clean—is just too watery, washing out any intended taste sensation. Still, it’s an interesting idea that may come into balance with further ripening.

“Jimmy Nardello,” is, in fact, the name of a sweet pepper, one that now features at the center of the restaurant’s enduring potato tartlet. On the palate, you encounter the same crisp crust and creamy filling as before. The pepper crowns the top, but, while well-salted, the dish remains nondescript: failing to express much of anything once the components combine.

Served alongside this bite, the “Shishito—Quince” performs as it did during your inaugural meal, being bitter and smoky without much perceivable fruit or ultimate enjoyment at hand.

A “Badger Flame Beet” is served, on this occasion, in a tempura style. On the palate, the root vegetable’s coating is crisp and delicate, yet its interior remains firm and undercooked. That being said, the ingredient does offer a mild sweetness that is appealing.

Accompanying this, you find the “Zucchini—Basil,” another familiar bite from last meal that has been grilled and crosshatched in the same manner. However, in this instance, basil oil and a heavier sprinkling of salt make for an improvement. To be fair, the squash also remains a bit raw, but you like the overall flavor expression: one that effectively marries sweet, savory, and bitter with a cleansing crunch.

“Benton’s Ham x3” is the same as always, and your usual critique remains—especially so in this case. It might have something to do with the natural lifespan of the haunches Feld is cutting these slices from (which grows smaller and harder to handle over time), but, on this occasion, you really notice how much the end result resembles mere shreds. More than before, you need to carefully handle the ham in order to separate these clumps and avoid being hit with too much salt. (Of course, with a product of this quality, you can certainly stomach the added effort.)

Next, you come to another double feature. First, you find “Baby Corn” that has been grilled, coated in a shallot emulsion, and sprinkled with a honey crumble. The end result is crunchy (though just a bit too much for your dining companion) and satisfying with an incredible sweet-savory richness drawn from the allium. Very nice.

Second, you reach for the “Artichoke—Za’atar,” a new rendition of the fried heart you first encountered on the previous menu. Here, the ingredient feels meatier, which better balances the crispness of the leaves and also benefits from the diverse savory notes of the accompanying spice blend. A good improvement on a texture level, but you might prefer the original flavoring style.

“Peach—Bacon” is also familiar, and it even feels a bit more convincing than last time. The bite of fruit (sourced from Seedling Farms) is riper, and the coating of porky caramel is every bit as decadent. This makes for a seamless, balanced morsel of great pleasure.

“Cultured Butter,” which you might remember denotes the restaurant’s bread course, now benefits from a serving of housemade boquerones—the anchovies you so enjoyed from the first menu that have subsequently been marinated in vinegar. Otherwise, the accompanying “donut,” made from Meadowlark Farm and Mill’s heritage Red Fife flour, looks largely the same. It is puffed and boasts golden-brown grills marks across its top but, on this occasion, feels a little too doughy when you reach the crumb. The lightly soured butter and the tangy brine of the boquerones are welcome accompaniments, but the bread needs to be better executed to make this course work.

A preparation titled “Sungolds—Melon” represents the latest showcase for the fruits of Potashnick’s relationship with Froggy Meadow Farm. Really, the recipe is quite a bit like “Sungolds—Green Tomato” and even, as before, features those thin strands of shiso as a topping. However, you prefer the ripe, musky quality of the melon as a foil to the acidity of the tomato and the uplifting notes of mint. For your palate, the dish demands a bit more salt or further pronounced sweetness (via riper produce). Still, the combination is a sound one—and it works nicely with Shaum’s pairing of Junmai Daiginjō.

The subsequent serving of “Halibut—‘Shoyu’” is also intended to be juxtaposed by sake. It comprises a raw slice of the titular fish dressed in a reduction made from all of Feld’s vegetable trimmings. The idea here is to develop an umami application reminiscent of soy sauce while reducing waste and abiding by the “relationship-to-table” ethos. In practice, the halibut displays a soft yielding texture with faintly savory supporting notes. You want more intensity, but you love the idea. This “shoyu,” with further development, may prove to be an ace up the restaurant’s sleeve.

Arriving next, “Green Bean—Garlic” takes its inspiration from the “String Beans with Garlic” dish served at famous dim sum chain Din Tai Fung. Here, the pods are combined with three expressions of the allium: a bagna càuda, a foam, and a vinaigrette. The dish is amply salted, but you find the green beans to be too raw and crunchy. Further, while the various expressions of garlic offer a creamy sensation, they fail to deliver the vibrant sweet or savory notes you would expect to carry the recipe. You appreciate the nostalgia at play here but want more from the execution.

Thankfully, “Corn, Corn, Corn” delivers ample pleasure. You might ask why the dish is not titled “Corn x3” (to match how other ingredient studies are written across the menus), but you think you know the answer. There’s a certain bursting enthusiasm about this recipe, which amounts to a multilayered pudding, that just cannot be contained. On the bottom, you find a corn broth. Piled atop that, there’s a serving of polenta. Finally, gilding the lily, you find a dab of huitlacoche (i.e., corn smut or corn “truffle”) cream. Texturally, the preparation is smooth and soothing with a nice sense of substance sourced from the cornmeal. The resulting flavor sensation is mildly sweet but moreso savory (being astutely salted) and complicated by a bewitching tinge of earthiness. The end result is both intelligent and hedonistic.

A dish titled “Tiara Cabbage—Salted Cream” actually involves a second appearance of the same halibut that featured earlier in the meal. Here, the fish takes the form of a glistening, grilled fillet. It sits in a bath of the titular cream and comes joined by shreds of that aristocratic cabbage. On the palate, the halibut feels plump and displays a gentle flake. Though the cream adds a sense of richness, the cabbage feels waxy and, in combination, almost feels slimy. The dish, thanks to the pervading salt, is well-seasoned. However, you are missing a jolt of acid or some other driving element to really make it sing.

The ”Au Bon Canard Foie Gras,” sourced from the Minnesotan family farm of the same name, represents one of Potashnick’s most worshipful preparations. Proudly presenting the whole lobe of liver (en papillote) to each table, the chef notes that its extraordinary quality inspired him to cook it simply over the hearth “Michel Bras style.” He serves the foie gras with nothing more than a couple Vidal grapes harvested from four-year-old vines at Au Bon Canard by the Feld team. On the palate, the liver is soft and rich (though your dining companion notes some stringiness in their serving). It’s almost too much—too mildly flavored—but the acid and sweetness of the grapes shoots the foie gras into the stratosphere, unfurling a full range of fatty, umami nuance that tastes simply divine. This is a beautiful homage to product and craftsman.

Arriving next, the “Lambic Yolk—Tropea Onion” somehow manages to up the ante. Following in the footsteps of the “Pickled Yolk—Crab” and “Cured Yolk—Cauliflower” recipes, this dish combines the same kind of jammy egg (infused with beer flavors) with the “Tropea Onion” broth you so enjoyed last meal. The end result is expectedly sublime, combining the yolk’s rich, mouthcoating quality with deep, sweet-savory notes of allium and a tinge of tartness that drives this intensity ever higher. This is so satisfying and, for you, the best dish of the night.

A preparation titled “Pink Eggplant—Jus” looks to fortify the nightshade with a broth made from lamb bones (a meat that, given the past two menus, you might expect to appear momentarily). As with the “Eggplant—Green Tea” dish, the star ingredient’s texture is beautifully rendered: being soft, tender, and capped by a bit of caramelization. However, as with that preceding recipe, the eggplant’s bitter notes are just too forceful. They overpower the jus and undo the desired effect.

Though, on previous occasions, the “Lamb Belly” (now “Lamb Belly—Stone Fruit”) and “Aged Lamb” (now “99 Day Aged Lamb”) have been separated by servings of vegetable, Potashnick has now decided to combine the two cuts on the same plate. A piece of grilled plum and a brown butter-plum sauce form the accompaniments (along with the Maldon salt) in a presentation that now looks particularly substantial. In practice, the belly possesses the same incredibly crisp (almost bordering on bitter) layer of skin as before but displays a more tender interior in this case. The loin, by comparison, continues to offer a high degree of chew. You are not sure you really sense any notes drawn from the extended dry aging. The plum, too, is pronouncedly sour. However, the plum sauce is delicious and does a good job of expressing the savory side of the lamb. While not yet a showstopper, this dish has shown a clear evolution and continues to offer a respectable amount of enjoyment.

The “Granita,” this time around, is made from the same Korean melon served toward the start of the meal. A couple gooseberries are hidden within the ice, offering a jolt of tartness that does well to accentuate the ripe, rounded quality of the encompassing fruit. This is tasty, but the granita is a little on the chunky side tonight.

“July 11, 12, 13” (that is, Feld’s cheese course made from Uplands Pleasant Ridge Reserve) remains as enjoyable as ever. You also note that there’s now real consistency in how the various ages are being sliced.

A dessert titled “Corn—Thyme” has been carried over from the last meal, and it remains a welcome sight. The crisp sheet of meringue yields to layers of sweet, salty, and caramelized flavor that are uplifted by notes of citrus and that drive each other toward a staggering intensity. This is a tiny but mighty dish.

The “Blueberry—Nougat,” too, forms an enjoyable repeat. It offers the same “marshmallow fluff” consistency as before with bits of maple crumble and grilled blackberry added to the mix. The end result is sweet, smoky, but refreshingly tangy, delivering ample decadence without overloading your palate ahead of the final courses.

Next, the dish termed “Svenska Kakaobaloget” may look different on paper but, indeed, is now simply utilizing the more formal name of the Swedish Cocoa Company from which the chocolate is being source. The preparation still centers on a mousse; however, it is now much more neatly formed and tinged with a light-brown tone drawn from the inclusion of local pecans. Along with a touch of sea salt, the nuts imbue the chocolate with a sweet, buttery depth that better counteracts its natural bitterness. The mousse, otherwise, is as smooth and rich as ever. On this occasion, you like the recipe more but still wonder if its hedonistic enough to follow in the wake of the preceding two items.

Reaching the final few bites, you find that the “Elderflower Cake” has been replaced with a “Corn Puff” that looks to drive one of the evening’s principal themes home. Structurally, the bite is soft and airy, yet it fails to deliver any sweetness or richness of flavor to get excited about. The “Corn Silk,” appearing once more in its tangled form, also still fails to achieve a high enough degree of crispness. Its flavor its straightforwardly earthy and also lacks any pleasing sweetness. Nonetheless, those lactic raspberry meringues can still be found on the plate and ensure you end with some degree of pleasure.

Tonight, the serving of “Fresh fruit on ice” is also enjoyable. Though the blueberries and gooseberries fail to impress, the blackberries, currants (a new addition), and peaches (also new) are ripe and delicious. Plus, the larger this medley grows, the more colorful and engaging the experience.

In the final analysis, you would rank eight dishes from this menu (“Baby Corn,” “Peach—Bacon,” “Corn, Corn, Corn,” “Au Bon Canard Foie Gras,” “Lambic Yolk—Tropea Onion,” “July 11, 12, 13,” “Corn—Thyme,” and “Blueberry—Nougat”) as clearly successful, 11 as acceptable, and 11 as disappointing. This makes for an overall hit rate of 27%-63% depending on how harshly one chooses to interpret the “acceptable” dishes relative to Feld’s price point and the high expectations “fine dining” often carries.

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August 3rd, 2024

The latest pour used to preface the meal is a “Cucumber and Verbena Broth.” Also featuring celery, this liquid tastes particularly pristine and cleansing—almost like a high-quality “green juice” from a specialty shop—but also carries enough sweetness and concentration to be palatable to a wide audience. The baby corn and tomato renditions may be more intriguing, but this broth is the most convincing.

Next, the “Cape Gooseberry⁵” is not, as you might expect from “Shishito x2” and “Shiitake x3,” another means of flavoring the star ingredient using several other expressions of itself. Rather, five pieces of the fruit are arranged “Olympic ring” style at the center of a bowl, and each is flavored with a different emulsion. The chef encourages guests to taste the pieces are try to guess what the sauces are made from. As best as you can tell, crab and basil feature among the five (with the remaining three also seeming herbaceous). However, what strikes you most is that the emulsions are beautifully intense, contrasting the gooseberry’s natural tartness and making for a series of truly cohesive bites. In sum, the dish is not only fun but surprisingly delicious. To date, it represents one of Feld’s most successful odes to simplicity.

The “Summer Melon—Benton’s” that follows represents a shift away from the “Benton’s Ham x3” comparative tastings that have been served on the restaurant’s preceding menus. Rather than serving three ages of the cured meat in slices form, the chef transforms the pork in three ways and pairs each with a different kind of melon. Of these, a combination of cantaloupe and bacon caramel is the strongest, being ripe and sweet with a savory edge. A piece of honeydew topped with a ham crumble features fruit that is less ripe and that, as a consequence, dilutes the Benton’s influence. The same holds for a pairing of Korean melon with an actual slice of the 18-month ham draped over its top. Ultimately, you love the core idea that guides the course, but the melons need to measure up to the quality of the pork for it to really work.

A double feature arrives next. First, the “Dunkelburg Plum,” a small variety of German origin that ripens early. Here, the fruit is grilled and paired with the same fresh za’atar that featured last meal. The result feels soft and juicy on the palate with a pristinely sweet (not noticeably tart) flavor complicated by bright, green, and savory flavors drawn from the spice blend. This is nice.

Second, you come across the latest iteration of the “Potato Tart,” which now features—along with its crisp shell and cream filling—a bit of bacon and a topping made of frozen Dunkelburg plum. The frozen fruit sure sounds like a bold addition. However, the transition from crunch, to cream, to crumble, to cold—then—soft sensations works seamlessly, and the resulting flavor—salty with big burst of pork flavor—delivers everything you wanted from the melon course. This is the best “Potato Tart” yet!

The next duo that arrives celebrates Potashnick’s favorite farm (the very one depicted on his restaurant’s walls). A “Froggy Meadow Tomato” is coated, on one side, in Jimmy Nardello pepper powder and dotted, on the other, with a corn emulsion. While the ingredient is a bit underripe (and, thus, lacking sweetness), it crunches cleanly and offers a nice burst of acidity with a long, spicy finish. The “Froggy Meadow Shishito” is dressed, as it was in the preceding meals, with quince oil. The pepper’s texture is satisfying, but you still do not perceive the fruit element or comprehend how it is supposed to support the ingredient’s flavor.

One more pairing follows: a presentation of “Squash Blossom” alongside a “Badger Flame Beet.” The former item is not, in fact, fried but simply served in its raw form with a stuffing of local cheese and honey. The resulting bite threatens to be cold and limp but, actually, displays a subtle crispness and nice balance of sweet, salty, and tangy flavors. The latter item, as it appeared on the last menu, comprises a tempura-fried rendition of the root vegetable. On this occasion, the beet is crisp and crunchy with a more adequately cooked interior and a mild degree of sweetness. This bite needs one more garnish to really sing, but it does represent a clear improvement in execution.

Feld’s bread course, previously titled “Cultured Butter,” now takes the name “12 Year Hook’s Cheddar.” The preparation centers on the same kind of grilled donut as before and, indeed, is still served with a dollop of that soured dairy. However, the chef now also provides a sizable pile of that titular cheddar to enjoy with each bite (sourced the very same brand that featured in his most-viewed TikTok of all time). On the palate, the bread remains soft and, on this occasion, too doughy. The butter is good and the sharp, honeyed cheese is too. But you are dying for some greater sense of crust and textural contrast from the donut, which still forms a welcome offering but does little to distinguish itself as anything beyond the most basic vessel for its accompaniments.

Thankfully, “Sungolds—Melon” represents a clear improvement on the version served last meal. Here, you find the tomatoes combined with watermelon juice, a watermelon vinegar, and the usual shiso. And, on this occasion, the fruit element charges the sungolds with a degree of sweetness and tang that melds seamlessly with their own bright, ripe character. The resulting balance of flavor here is beautiful, and it marks the restaurant’s best use of the tomato to date.

“Cucamelon—Quince Vinegar,” for your palate, proves rather challenging. The latter element, whose pairing with shishito peppers you have not quite understood, is not to blame. Rather, it is the former—a kind of mini sour cucumber that looks like a watermelon—that proves jarring. The halved segments of cucamelon (the first crop of the season you are told) are powerfully waxy and plasticky against your teeth. The resulting sensation makes you cringe, and the quince vinegar jelly, being chunky and gelatinous, does little to help. Any other flavor to be found here is dominated by a jolt of acid—one that only serves to compound the cucamelons’ traumatizing texture.

Next, a preparation titled “Surf Clam—Horseradish” marks the debut of this robust bivalve. The chef grills the shellfish and pairs it with a sauce made from the raw, pungent root. He then buries the combination under a layer of thinly sliced tomatoes. On the palate, the surf clam—rendered as small strips—displays a faint, pleasant chew but is otherwise tender. The tomato slices are ripe, yielding bursts of acid and sweetness, and the horseradish, here, offers only a fleeting degree of heat. These elements meld seamlessly and make for one of the meal’s most involved, thoughtful compositions. You just wish the clam’s own flavor was a bit more pronounced, serving to accentuate the tomatoes rather than being more or less carried by them.

The “Spigarello—Cured Lemon” represents another textural delight, one that adds a welcome degree of substance to this midpoint in the meal. The dish comprises leaves and stems of the titular brassica (an heirloom variety of broccoli) that have been grilled and dressed with a sauce made from Meyer lemons grown by Potashnick’s partner’s mother in Orange County. On the palate, the spigarello is hearty and crunchy but is quickly pulverized with just a bit of mastication. In terms of flavor, the greens are powerfully vegetal and a touch bitter but take on a savory quality from their time on the grill and tangy-sweet note drawn from the cured lemon. A careful application of salt makes everything click in what amounts to a particularly personal “relationship-to-table” creation that is bold and delicious.

“Green Bean—Garlic” delivers the next engaging mouthfeel. This comes courtesy of Kankakee Valley Homestead’s wax beans (both green and, on this occasion, yellow) dressed in that familiar bagna càuda. Compared to the waxy texture that tortured you with the cucamelons, the pods here display an appreciable crunch but ultimately prove tender. The beans’ flavoring, too, combines latent grassiness with a pronounced degree of salt and umami drawn from the accompanying sauce. In sum, this iteration of the recipe is much more successful than the one served as part of the previous menu.

Closing out this sequence, you find the “Corn⁴,” which represents the latest version of the “Corn, Corn, Corn” preparation you so enjoyed last time. Here, the general form—that is, a combination of broth, polenta, and huitlacoche cream—remains the same. The newest, fourth element escapes you. But, whatever it is (and maybe this could also be a problem with one of the original ingredients), the dish is blemished by an overpowering bitterness that counteracts all the soothing textures and attractive sweet and savory flavors at hand. This is a confusing showing.

The “Lambic Yolk—Topinambour” takes the familiar egg element from the previous menu’s “Lambic Yolk—Tropea Onion” preparation and combines it with a broth made of local pecans, artichoke, and onion. A crumble of Jerusalem artichoke (also called topinambour or sunchoke) completes the presentation along with some grilled spring onions. On the palate, the combination of broth plus yolk is creamy and satisfying. The crumble offers a contrasting crispness while also underscoring the dish’s savory, nutty notes. Though the green onions offer some harmonizing sweetness, they also feel a bit waxy and detract, ever so slightly, from the soothing mouthfeel of the other elements.

Visually, a preparation titled “Grilled Rockfish—Parsley” stands as one of Feld’s most entrée-like portions. It comprises a sizable fillet of the titular seafood (technically termed the canary rockfish) in a bright green sauce made from the headlining herb and the skirts of the surf clam that appeared earlier. As enticing as this plate looks, the fish’s skin displays no crispness, and its flesh is lukewarm and gummy. The sauce, whose bivalve base promises a savory character, also comes across as bland. It’s hard to know what’s gone wrong here, but you do appreciate seeing the menu embrace this kind of substantial serving as a juxtaposition to all the smaller plates.

The “New Potato—Goat Butter” also seems a bit off. This recipe combines the young tubers with the aforementioned dairy element and, best of all, a tare (or enriched, thickened soy sauce) made from the kitchen’s vegetable scraps. You loved seeing this latter element utilized in last meal’s “Halibut—‘Shoyu’” course, and, here, it offers savory power that cuts through the creamy, tangy character of the goat butter. Though the new potatoes, you are told, are meant to offer a certain degree of crunch, they are too raw on this occasion. Rather than being robust and creamy, the tubers—with a waxy, reverberating crunch—clash with the sense of decadence the ingredient combination has otherwise achieved.

After enjoying lamb loin and belly of increasing age over the past three meals, Potashnick’s substation of the meal’s main protein must rank as the most consequential change he has made tonight. Thankfully, his “Aged Berkshire Pork au Poivre” is an absolute triumph. This particular cut of loin has been aged for 36 days and comes, like the lamb once did, with a piece of pickled plum. Nonetheless, the meat is more aggressively seasoned with a sauce made from Ohio River Valley spiceberries, a native fruit whose character is reminiscent of black pepper. On the palate, the pork is absolutely succulent with a pleasant chew, plenty of juices, and an expert dose of salt. While the plum offers a nice tangy-sweet contrast, the spiceberry sauce really is a revelation: mimicking the best elements of a traditional au poivre while even augmenting it with fruity depth and weight. This all amounts to the best dish of the night and, likewise, one of the very best Feld has yet served. Bravo!

Tonight’s “Granita” is flavored with currant leaf and comes dressed with sauces made from tomato seed and beet juice. Though this sounds like the most adventurous rendition to date, it is actually the most delicious, with fine ice crystals and concentrated fruity notes delivering sheer enjoyment. Well done.

“July 11, 12, 13”—Feld’s familiar cheese course made from Uplands Pleasant Ridge Reserve—is now, you are told, sourced from the restaurant’s second wheel of each respective age expression. Owing to the fact that the same raw material was used for a given day’s production, you do not taste any difference with the new batch. Rather, each day delivers its expected contrast and pleasure while maintaining the same shape as before.

A dessert titled “Blackberry—Nougat” forms the predecessor to the previous menu’s “Blueberry—Nougat,” a dish that also utilized blackberries but, in its new guise, makes them the star. Here, you encounter the same sticky, creamy, and crumbly textures with a good dose of tartness and sweetness. The preparation feels warm and rich, but you’d really like more contrasting coldness given that one of the elements is billed as an “ice cream.”

That being said, the “Svenska Kakaobaloget” is, on this occasion, stunning. The mousse is made from the brand’s 74% Tanzanian blend (utilizing beans sourced solely from the Kokoa Kamili Fermentery) and flavored with a praline sauce that uses local pecans as its base. The resulting combination is stunning, offering all the same smoothness you have become accustomed to but marrying it with a nutty, cocoa depth that finally delivers the degree of decadence you have sought. This ranks among the best desserts the restaurant has served.

A ”Pecan Cake” is also quite nice, marking a return to the “Elderflower Cake” form that you enjoyed during the earlier meals. Here, the steamed dessert offers a soft, fluffy crumb and a deep, pleasing sweetness. You do not really sense the nut element all that clearly, but this is still a great bite. As always, the accompanying lactic raspberry meringues are also a nice treat.

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A separate serving of “Grape Tomato,” all stacked in the center of a bowl, is confusing. Though, perhaps, meant to accompany the “Fresh fruit on ice” (an impressive collection of blackberry, gooseberry, peach, and plum in this instance), these orangish orbs are pretty straightforwardly acidic. They do not provide enough supporting sweetness to fit among the other desserts, nor do they offer a tingly and cleansing sensation between bites like the meringue. The grape tomatoes are just sort of there, but you can certainly appreciate the gesture of trying to highlight this produce where guests might least expect it.

In the final analysis, you would rank nine dishes from this menu (“Cape Gooseberry⁵,” “Potato Tart,” “Spigarello—Cured Lemon,” “Green Bean—Garlic,” “Aged Berkshire Pork au Poivre,” “Granita,” “July 11, 12, 13,” “Svenska Kakaobaloget,” and “Pecan Cake”) as clearly successful, 12 as acceptable, and seven as disappointing. This makes for an overall hit rate of 33%-74% depending on how harshly one chooses to interpret the “acceptable” dishes relative to Feld’s price point and the high expectations “fine dining” often carries.

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August 10th, 2024

This meal begins in the same manner as the previous one, with a “Cucumber and Verbena Broth” (tinged with celery) that delivers a surprising fullness of flavor that is reminiscent of a pricey “green juice.”

Next, a double feature. First, you find the “Yeast Pancake,” which serves as a vessel for chestnut mushroom and frozen plum in a way that reminds you of past preparations like the “Crostini” and “Potato Tart.” The smoky, earthy, and sweet flavors at hand work together surprisingly well (even accounting for the temperature contrast). However, the pancake itself is gritty and bland, detracting from the combination rather than forming its most decadent part.

Second, you find the “Dunkelburg Plum,” which has been grilled and topped with fresh za’atar in the usual manner. Though the fruit is soft and juicy like last time, its flavor seems muted. You get none of the same vibrant sweetness, and this causes the accompanying spice blend to fall flat.

When the “Fresh Cheese” arrives, your eyes light up. The dish comprises a beautiful whole wheat donut coated in the titular, homemade dairy product and topped with chopped tomatoes. A sprinkle of sumac powder forms the finishing touch. On the palate, the donut displays a soft crumb and a slight sweetness that borders on bland. Neither the tomatoes nor the cheese (both being just faintly tangy) nor the sumac do much to flavor the dough either. Though you love this bite’s basic form and the mouthfeel it delivers, you would like to see a stronger whole wheat character come through along with vinegar or salt that might provide more savory depth.

A ”Green Tomato,” which is tempura-fried using a cornmeal batter, tells the same story. You love what this bite represents: a blend of nostalgia and hedonism that always resonates when compared to Feld’s more minimalist preparations. However, while the fried tomato is decently crisp and rather meaty, its flavor delivers nothing but a slight expression of acid. Serving smaller pieces may help the bite achieve better balance (relative to the seasoning already present in the batter), but you think the kitchen should look to do more in terms of some further garnish or potential dip.

Next, you come to another duo. The “Artichoke,” a fried baby artichoke heart dotted with chive oil, is crisp and meaty with a pronounced allium note. While the bite is enjoyable, you want a bit more of the ingredient’s nuttiness to shine through.

Nonetheless, a “Squash Blossom,” on this occasion, is totally convincing. As they were during your first meal, the titular petals are served still attached to the base of the gourd, which displays an attractive crosshatched pattern taken from its time on the grill. On the palate, the squash displays a nice crunch but proves perfectly tender. It is well seasoned, and a drizzle of tomato honey offers a tinge of acid and sweetness that really accentuates the bite’s savory character. This is great.

A subsequent set of bites is comprised, first, of “Benton’s Ham.” Rather than being served in a flight or as a topping for several types of melon, the porky product is used to top the familiar potato tart. In this case, the shell is filled with fig emulsion and draped with the 24-month expression of ham. The result is crisp, crunchy, and pronouncedly salty (perhaps bordering on too much). You do not sense any of the fig’s honeyed, nutty flavor, but this is still a decent use of the pork—showcasing its intensity—that overcomes the blandness that plagued the summer melon preparation.

Second, a “Spot Prawn Head” forms another piece of finger food. The crustacean’s crown has been fried nicely and offers a clean crunch that extends seamlessly through every tiny leg and layer of shell. The head is well seasoned, and its resulting flavor, in the context of the powerfully salty ham, also displays a pleasing degree of sweetness. Simple as it is, this bite is executed expertly and quite enjoyable.

The “12 Year Hook’s Cheddar,” as Feld’s bread course is now titled, has swapped the previous puffed bun for what the chef terms a yogurt crêpe. Boasting grill marks, the circles of batter feel more like a pancake or blini than the faintly crisped French delight. You try to coat the crêpes in the grated cheddar, which itself sits strewn atop the familiar cultured butter element, but struggle given their limpness. By folding and pinching the bread, you are just about able to assemble a bite. Yet, its texture is uniformly soft and makes for a strange, cold, and congealed sensation of butter and cheese as it goes down.

Next, a preparation titled “Froggy Meadow Tomato—Shiso” continues the restaurant’s longstanding exploration of the headlining produce, from the same favored farm, with the refreshing flavor of mint. In this instance, you find an unnamed tomato variety in shades of red and orange. The slices sit in a broth make from spot prawn heads (the same ones you ate fried not long ago) and are seasoned with fresh tōgarashi pepper. As promising as this combination sounds, the tomatoes are underripe, robbing them of any supporting sweetness. The broth, too, is rather bland—lacking the kind of savory power its base ingredient promised—and the pepper is just as anonymous. It’s hard to know what has gone wrong here.

Thankfully, the “Spot Prawn—Vinaigrettes” is a rousing success. It combines the crustacean’s raw tail with a pair of sauces made from melon and Meyer lemon (the same ones sourced from Potashnick’s partner’s parents in Orange County) that sit on either side of it. These vinaigrettes have a nice creaminess and weight to them, coating the prawn’s flesh (smooth and tender as can be) while drawing out the shellfish’s subtle sweetness. They also offer dueling notes of tang and ripe, round fruit that keep your palate engaged across three or four substantial bites. This all makes for one of the best preparations Feld has yet served.

A preparation titled “Sungolds—Tomato Dashi” extricates this particular variety from its usual shiso-studded presentation. Instead, the orbs are blistered on the grill and dressed in a broth made from spot prawn shell and dried tomato. This liquid, along with the charring, makes for a decidedly smoky, savory preparation that still possesses a concentration of fruitiness and tang. You quite like this—even though you think the dish skews more toward intellectual (rather than hedonistic) appeal.

The “Melon—Irish Moss—Papalo” course that comes next draws on a particular kind of melon (the kiku or “chrysanthemum” variety) originally grown by Froggy Meadow for use by Smyth. The three-Michelin-star restaurant no longer wanted the ingredient, so it has found its way to Feld, where it is combined with slices of cucamelon and a dressing made from Irish moss (a kind of red algae), apple, and papalo (a Mexican herb also called “summer cilantro”). From these colorful ingredients, a really wonderful dish forms: one that combines ripe, sweet melon with a bit of crunch (not too much) from the cucamelon and an encompassing sauce that combines flavors of zest, spice, and anise with an extra dose of tart-fruitiness. It’s hard to fully express the dish’s complexity, but you know you like it.

Next, the “Sweet Potato Greens—Goat’s Butter” almost reminds you of the previous menu’s “Spigarello—Cured Lemon.” Both compositions, at this later stage in the meal, aim to offer a hearty, leafy crunch that bolsters a sense of satisfaction. In this case, the goat’s butter (made into a beurre blanc) works to amplify the vegetable’s richness while the greens themselves (which the kitchen jokingly acknowledges smell like marijuana) offer a more uniform, less stemmy mouthfeel. Their resulting flavor is earthy and well-seasoned, combining with the tang of the dairy to offer a balanced savory sensation. You might only like a bit of textural contrast to really make the sweet potato greens sing.

A preparation titled “Pickled Yolk—Corn” melds the best parts of the “Lambic Yolk—Topinambour” (and other yolk-based dishes) with what you encountered in the “Corn—Parsley” recipe. That is to say, the bowl combines the rich, jammy texture of the egg with a surrounding corn husk broth and plenty of grilled white corn. A corn purée tinged with brown butter forms the finishing touch, driving the various elements (crunchy, creamy, and engaging with each bite) toward a degree of sweet, nutty, and savory intensity that is simply astounding. This soothing course—though not at all shy when it comes to decadence—ranks as the best of the evening and the best the restaurant has thus far served.

The “New Potato—Pecan Cream” represents the next version of the “New Potato—Goat Butter” you first encountered on the last menu, and, you are happy to say, this iteration offers a clear improvement. The tubers (a young crop of the Kennebec variety) are still left a bit undercooked, but they combine a crisp exterior and buttery interior in a manner that feels more intentional. The saucing, too, comprises the same vegetable scrap tare as before with a cream made of Jerusalem artichoke, onion, and pecan that achieves a beautiful savory depth. What a surprising, delightful expression of potato.

A dish titled “Beetroot—Pork Jus” (which you have neglected to photograph) braises its titular vegetable in a master stock before serving it with those porcine juices and a bit of tomato sauce. The resulting combination, while earthy, savory, and quite a bit meaty in its flavor, is undone by just a bit too much crunch from the beet. Greater tenderness would really complete the carnal effect, but you still find this item enjoyable.

The “40 Day Aged Berkshire Pork au Poivre,” which you found delectable last time, has not changed all that much. The meat is now older and the accompanying plum is served fresh (instead of pickled), but the spiceberry sauce remains. For that reason, the flavors here—salty, peppery, with backing notes of ham and fruit—remain superlative. However, on this occasion, the pork loin proves lamentably tough and chewy. The flesh is missing the same bewitching, explosive juiciness that it displayed during the previous meal, and you think such a lapse might have more to do with a lack of marbling in this particular cut rather than the actual cook of the meat.

Tonight’s “Granita” (which you have neglected to photograph) is made from currant leaf that grows in Potashnick’s own home garden. It is flavored with a sauce of badger flame beet (in a so-called “snow cone” style), displaying a good amount of sweetness, some earthy richness, and just a bit too much bland iciness to equal last meal’s incredible rendition.

“July 11, 12, 13,” as Feld’s presentation of Uplands Pleasant Ridge Reserve is titled, remains unchanged. However, on this occasion, the chef notes he has altered the order of the slices and concealed their identity in order to engage your party (now on its fifth visit) in a guessing game. This represents a nice diversion given that the course has become so familiar. It also forces you to taste through the ages with a fresh perspective—one that, again, gravitates to the July 13th cheese due to its notable intensity.

A dessert titled “Buttermilk—Polenta” is a totally new creation (though the latter element, admittedly, was used to great effect in the “Corn, Corn, Corn” and “Corn⁴” preparations). It features a mound of the cornmeal coated in a tomato jam and sitting in a pool of buttermilk soup. Though the presentation might not be the most attractive, the resulting sweet and tangy flavors—appended to the crumbly, mouthcoating, and appreciably “corny” polenta—are totally delicious. This all makes for a soothing, satisfying serving that also successfully showcases tomato at the tail end of the menu.

The “Blackberry—Nougat,” which you have encountered in one form or another over the past three meals, makes a strong showing tonight. Here, that familiar “marshmallow fluff” sensation is joined by a sheet of meringue (which you have seen pop up in other presentations here and there). The fruit hides below, providing ripe, mildly tart and tangy notes that add depth to the sweet and salty flavors that dominate. On this occasion, the nougat’s soft, sticky texture seems to display greater refinement and the dish, for that reason, finally seems more complete.

In contrast, the “Svenska Kakaobaloget”—a dish that reach its highest expression last time—is, tonight, just a little less convincing. Surely, you appreciate the effort to continue changing this recipe: one that is now billed as a “candy bar” iteration featuring the titular chocolate, some local pecans, and a bottom layer of crumble. However, while the mousse tastes good, the accompanying elements aren’t as chunky or crunchy as expected. They also do not deliver the same concentrated sweetness and nuttiness that the pecan praline provided last time, diminishing the degree of decadence you desire at this closing stage.

Nonetheless, the “Pecan Cake” remains delightful, offering the same soft crumb and rich, sweet flavor as before. An accompanying bite titled “Sunflower Petals” serves to replace those longstanding raspberry meringues. That may sound like a tall order, but the orangish petals are seamlessly candied, displaying a crisp, sugary texture on the palate and offering a pleasant floral sweetness.

Lastly, the “Fresh fruit on ice,” on this occasion, comprises gooseberry and peach (which are nicely ripe) and a couple types of plum (which are underripe).

In the final analysis, you would rank 11 dishes from this menu (“Squash Blossom,” “Spot Prawn Head,” “Spot Prawn—Vinaigrettes,” “Melon—Irish Moss—Papalo,” “Pickled Yolk—Corn,” “New Potato—Pecan Cream,” “July 11, 12, 13,” “Buttermilk—Polenta,” “Blackberry—Nougat,” “Pecan Cake,” and “Sunflower Petals”) as clearly successful, 11 as acceptable, and five as disappointing. This makes for an overall hit rate of 41%-81% depending on how harshly one chooses to interpret the “acceptable” dishes relative to Feld’s price point and the high expectations “fine dining” often carries.

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August 16th, 2024

The evening starts with the “Cucumber and Verbena Broth” you have come to enjoy for its concentration. However, as always, the liquid calls green juice to mind more than it does the soothing, savory tones you associate with “broth.”

Next, a double feature that doubles down on one of the restaurant’s favorite fruits. First, a “Bubblegum Plum” (served for the first time here) that has been glazed in a sake reduction. On the palate, the flesh feels slightly under but still provides ample sweetness with only a mild tinge of acid and some tropical tones drawn from its flavoring. Second, the “Dunkelburg Plum” takes its familiar form: grilled, garnished with fresh za’atar, and offering darker fruit flavors enlivened by complex savory and bitter notes.

A dish of “Benton’s Bacon” that follows actually continues the menu’s study of the same stone fruit, comprising a yeasted pancake base topped with brown butter-plum emulsion, bacon jam, and a slice of frozen plum. Feld has played with several of these elements before, but they reach their peak here. The pancake, for your palate, remains a bit brittle. However, it possesses a latent sweetness that cushions its accompanying nutty, savory, and freshly fruity notes, making for a complete, quite enjoyable bite. The bacon, in particular, really resonates (something that has not always been true when paired here with fruit) without, in turn, overshadowing your sense of the plum.

The ”Baby Squash” that arrives next features the same crosshatching you have come to expect. It also comes coated in the tomato honey you enjoyed so much in the “Squash Blossom” preparation served last meal. Here, the gourd displays a soft, yielding texture with a mild sweetness and a careful dose of salt. The execution is textbook and totally acceptable in the context of the restaurant’s extended menu. However, having encountered this kind of bite several times now, you want a little something more—perhaps a pushing of the tomato flavor to the extreme.

Once more, the “Green Tomato” is served fried. Once more, its texture does not quite come together. On this occasion, the surrounding batter is mushy and the inner flesh is too dense and crunchy without enough supporting flavor to fight its blandness. Certainly, the application of some tomato powder as a seasoning is a good idea. However, you think the slices of the starring ingredient must be thinner and more manageable for the dish to ever achieve the right balance.

A preparation titled “Froggy Meadow Tomato—Shiso” is also familiar. The produce comes coated in the same sauce (made of spot prawn heads) as before, but the fresh tōgarashi element has now been excised. The end result is good, with the tomatoes being particularly tender and displaying a pure, fruity flavor with only a mild degree of acid. The shiso serves to uplift this sense of ripeness, but you still desire more savory power from the spot prawn (or, otherwise, another distinguishing ingredient to make the produce really pop). Still, this represents a good effort compared to how little you liked the preparation last time.

The ”Spot Prawn—Vinaigrettes,” you are happy to report, remains a stunner. The crustacean’s soft, raw flesh melts on the palate and sees its subtle sweetness accentuated by dual sauces of melon and cured lemon. You, perhaps, get a touch more bitterness on the finish this time, yet the tang of the vinaigrettes is well managed, making for a dish of simplicity and pleasure.

“Dumpling—Tomato Dashi,” an entirely new creation, looks to build on the spot prawn sequence. It comprises a traditional quenelle (that is, creamed fish or meat bound with egg) made from the crustacean and served in a broth made from the titular produce. The “dumpling,” which you hear several tables compare to a matzo ball, is soft and custardy but beautifully seasoned. The dashi, too, displays all the savory depth and supporting tang you might expect when hearing the term trotted out. Overall, this tip of the hat to French gastronomy is not only unexpected but rendered in a unique fashion that is convincing and delicious.

A ”Prawn Head,” which you liked last time around, keeps the theme going while aiming even higher than before. On this occasion, the piece of crustacean boasts long, spindly legs that threaten to overwhelm the starring segment of shell. Nevertheless, frying the prawn in corn starch delivers a perfect, rigid crunch that carries throughout the entire bite. A coating of honey, too, drives the head’s golden-brown, savory flavor toward a new peak of decadence by helping to reveal the crustacean’s own latent sweetness. This is another highly successful dish in what amounts to one of Feld’s strongest ever series of courses.

The ”Blistered Heirlooms—Prawn Dashi” represents a variation of the “Sungolds—Tomato Dashi” you sampled last meal. Indeed, the latter dashi did feature flavoring drawn from the crustacean’s shell. However, the sungolds are, in this version, substituted for the green zebra variety. On the palate, the charred tomatoes display a soft, bursting quality with plenty of ripe fruit flavor and a touch of smokiness on the finish. Nonetheless, the accompanying broth is only vaguely savory and kind of muddled. Its influence makes the dish feel disjointed, but you still appreciate blistered heirlooms in all their glory.

A ”Spot Prawn Surf & Benton’s Surf” preparation also falls just a bit short of its potential. This dish takes the familiar potato tart form, filling its shell with a shrimp emulsion and draping the vessel in a sizable slice of newly sourced 22-month Benton’s ham. You love how thin and translucent this pork is (relative to the clumps you had become accustomed to), but its salt content remains too pronounced. Thus, despite the crisp delicacy of the tart, any sense of the spot prawn is overshadowed by the powerful (and still enjoyable) expression of cured meat. This bite has potential but simply needs better balance. And, at the end of the day, these last two courses do not take much away from what is otherwise an impressive five-part sequence with a few really memorable items.

Next, you come to the “Melon—Irish Moss—Papalo” preparation that impressed you so much last meal. Combining balls of cantaloupe, honeydew, and watermelon with slivers of cucamelon and a tart-sweet broth, the recipe’s quality remains ironclad. On the palate, the three pieces of fruit feel ripe and juicy. Likewise, the respective character of each melon is accentuated by the combination of moss, apple, and herb—a singular blend of ingredients (with savory undertones) that remains subtle enough to let the headlining trio shine. This is nice.

The ”Sweet Potato Greens—Goat’s Butter” course that arrives subsequently is also familiar. You found that the dish, while pleasant, was missing something when you encountered it previously. However, on this occasion, the crunching leaves are rendered in larger chunks (adding an extra degree of textural intrigue) and dressed more liberally in the titular beurre blanc. This all makes for a more satisfying, rich mouthfeel with a greater intensity of earthy-tangy notes—a clear improvement, by your measure, that makes the recipe now feel complete.

You crowned the “Pickled Yolk—Corn” preparation from the last menu Feld’s best ever, and, now titled “Pickled Yolk—Corn³,” the composition maintains its lofty reputation. The change in name here only really describes what was already present: the egg, yes, but also the corn husk broth, the grilled corn kernels, and the brown butter-corn purée. These latter elements provide the sweet-savory concentration you so adore, and, when applied to the soft, rich, and crunching textures at hand, the dish remains Feld’s most memorable creation.

A ”Corn Miso Soup” that follows almost has an impossible task on its hands, but your expectations are high. The broth is made from a miso that Potashnick has aged for two years and that the kitchen, for this recipe, has finally tapped into. Meanwhile, a couple chunks of egg tofu and a tinge of bacon dashi seem like winning accompaniments. When it reaches the tongue, you find the soup’s flavor to be a little meaty, a little smoky, and a bit reminiscent of corn (savory not sweet) but ultimately unconvincing. The tofu, for what it’s worth, is nice and custardy. However, despite the right amount of salt, the broth is missing the fullness and depth of flavor you expect from the miso.

The ”Sweet Potato Pavé” that arrives next stands, alongside the “Dumpling—Tomato Dashi,” as another wink toward French tradition. The chef stacks and fries thin slices of the tuber, tucking a couple leaves of green shiso among the layers. A sprinkle of flaky salt and a soubise made from pecan and onion form the finishing touches. On the palate, the sweet potato displays a crisp, tempura-like crunch that yields to a buttery (but still distinguishable) assemblage of layers. The sense of fullness here is really something, and the accompanying sauce helps to underscore the ingredient’s sweetness while putting forth a pleasantly savory, nutty flavor. You only sense a slight chemical note in the finish that prevents this pleasing preparation from truly being great.

A dish titled “Badger Flame Beetroot—Pork Jus” follows in the footsteps of the recipe served last time. Yet, on this occasion, the vegetable is grilled and set atop a hearty dollop of tomato yogurt. On the palate, the beet displays a slight degree of char and a crisp (yet ultimately tender) interior. The accompanying yogurt adds a sense of richness and weight, but the dish’s flavor is primarily drawn from the pork jus—fortified with foie fat and corn—that only provides a mild degree of sweet and savory character. This has clearly gotten better, but you are not sure this beet is impressive enough to be the second-to-last savory course.

That honor, as before, belongs to the “40 Day Aged Berkshire Pork au Poivre.” Not much has changed in this instance. The pickled and fresh plum elements have now been substituted for a plum and vinegar sofrito. Meanwhile, the portion of meat the chef serves has been nearly doubled. On the palate, the pork is—thankfully—as stunning as it was the first time you met. It displays a hearty, satisfying chew with plenty of juiciness (and a couple small tough parts if you’re being honest) that lives up to its entrée status. The spiceberry sauce works as well as ever (being peppery while also possessing added depth), and that sofrito may even match it—offering concentrated tangy-sweet tones that the fresh or pickled expressions of the plum never came close to matching. With this plate, you think the restaurant has finally figured out how to anchor the meal.

Tonight’s “Granita” has actually been replaced by a “Sorbet,” one made from tomato and flavored with fig leaf oil. Though the frozen dessert offers a smooth texture along with some attractive sweet and fruity tones, you also sense an unpleasant musty note that detracts from the dish.

A preparation titled “Kiku Melon—Anise Hyssop” again makes use of the Froggy Meadow fruit that was formerly destined for Smyth. Here, it is rendered in small orbs that sit atop a layer of fresh cheese made from Kilgus Farmstead milk. On the palate, the melon is ripe and juicy, contrasting the thicker, milder cheese. The sweetness here—tinged with licorice drawn from the hyssop—is surprisingly mild. It reminds you a bit of a ricotta cheesecake. However, you think the cheese element could still be slightly improved upon, offering greater depth of flavor relative to its rich mouthfeel.

Feld’s cheese course, titled “July 11, 12, 13,” remains as grassy, fruity, and satisfying as ever. You’re convinced that the slices are even growing in size (a pleasant development when considering how quickly you make your way through the serving). You do not have much else to add other than your curiosity and excitement regarding which wheels—from which dates—might eventually appear as replacements.

Next, “Bee Pollen—Red Tea Peach” represents the newest iteration of the restaurant’s familiar meringue- and nougat-based desserts. This time, the starring elements include the titular stone fruit (poached in tea) and the sweet, grainy pollen (used to flavor the nougat). On the palate, the peaches are soft and tender with a rich, creamy coating and a bit of contrasting crispness. Their resulting flavor is sweet, yes, but surprisingly salty, which serves to underscore a deep nuttiness and deliver a sense of decadence. This is one of the best interpretations of this idea to date.

The ”Svenska Kakaobaloget” is also familiar, replicating the same construction (i.e., pecan praline and a bottom layer of crumble) you encountered last time. The dish is not billed as a “candy bar” this time, which helps to manage expectations. However, while the combination of pecan and chocolate mousse is still sound, the crumble is not convincing. It contrasts the prevailing smoothness without doing enough to augment the recipe’s decadence, and you still prefer the earliest example of the recipe (that only featured the praline).

Feld’s closing bites now number four. They include favorites like the “Pecan Cake” and “Sunflower Petals” that remain as enjoyable as they were last meal. However, a “Pecan Tuile” is new, offering a beautiful intensity of nut and caramel notes. There’s also a “Tomato Doughnut” (stuffed with tomato and rolled in tomato sugar) that is soft, rich, and amply sweet. This donut ranks as the best baked good the restaurant has served, and this quartet—in total—makes for the best end of any menu across all six meals.

Of course, there’s also the “Fresh fruit on ice,” which includes blackberries, gooseberries, peaches, plums, and raspberries on this occasion: a bursting assortment of bites that really maximizes the presentation’s interactive appeal.

In the final analysis, you would rank 15 dishes from this menu (“Benton’s Bacon,” “Spot Prawn—Vinaigrettes,” “Dumpling—Tomato Dashi,” “Prawn Head,” “Melon—Irish Moss—Papalo,” “Sweet Potato Greens—Goat’s Butter,” “Pickled Yolk—Corn³,” “Sweet Potato Pave,” “40 Day Aged Berkshire Pork au Poivre,” “July 11, 12, 13,” “Bee Pollen—Red Tea Peach,” “Pecan Cake,” “Pecan Tuile,” “Tomato Doughnut,” and “Sunflower Petals”) as clearly successful, 11 as acceptable, and three as disappointing. This makes for an overall hit rate of 52%-90% depending on how harshly one chooses to interpret the “acceptable” dishes relative to Feld’s price point and the high expectations “fine dining” often carries.

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With that, you reach the end of the meal—the end of six meals—and the evening’s denouement. You will have already been offered espresso (hand-pulled for $15 a pop) at this point, but the chefs now return to the entrance hall and retrieve the set of bottles that make up Feld’s bar. Though originally numbering closer to a half dozen, the array of libations—comprising various shapes, sizes, and colors all perched on the front counter—has grown to 14. It includes amaro, Austrian fruit brandies, Blanton’s bourbon, Japanese whisky, Roulot’s apricot liqueur, Spanish rum, tequila, and vermouth (along with oddballs like a sunchoke- and honey-flavored eau de vie), with prices ranging from $12 to $50 per ounce. Choosing from this selection can be daunting, but the staff helps guide the way toward something familiar or esoteric depending on one’s palate. Most patrons, it appears to you, choose to indulge in a tipple, making for a memorable farewell toast in the context of such a performative meal.

Teetotalers, nevertheless, are not left out of the fun. The chefs also come around with what the restaurant titles its “guest books”: a set of journals that serve as a “nightly time capsule” and “living and breathing memory” of diners’ time at the restaurant. Participation, they make clear, is not mandatory, but you are free to sign the pages, leave a note, a critique, or whatever flows naturally. In your experience, the books are filled with gushing praise that can fill entire pages and may features drawings or poems. Others write simple, heartfelt notes congratulating Potashnick on the fruits of his journey and noting how far they’ve traveled (or how long they’ve followed along). Some entries couch minor criticism among the kind words (e.g., “this one dish didn’t hit, but we loved everything else!”). Recommendations, like adding a bread course, have actually been taken to heart. However, you do spy an occasional bit of nastiness: like a comment (though it could be tongue-in-cheek) revealing the author is “going to source nuggets from McDonald’s across the street.”

The guest books and after-dinner drinks close out the evening in a festive, personal way. They soften the impact of the check, which is already dampened (at least when it comes to sticker shock) by the $95 deposit per person. There, you find a 20% “service charge”—a fair figure when it comes to mandatory fees—joined by a line that clearly states “additional tip.” The chefs make clear that no further amount is expected, a classy move that demonstrates how easy it is for fine dining restaurants to manage this kind of model without confusing customers or making them feel squeezed.

With everything settled, the staff (from the occasion of the third meal and, weather permitting, moving forward) invites each party out onto the back patio to enjoy s’mores. The space, freshly clad in stone, brick, wood, and touches of greenery, is gorgeous. It allows the various guests to mingle and involve themselves in another memorable, interactive pursuit. More importantly, it allows Potashnick to dote on his customers directly (roasting the marshmallows and assembling the s’mores), pose for pictures, and chat (about the meal or just casually) without the pressure of service. Certainly, the chef is charming when addressing tables during the flow of the meal (where, you have already noted, he always has time to linger and meaningfully engage). But, in this setting, Potashnick’s passion for food, his love of Chicago, and his appreciation for the guests shines particularly brightly. He taps into the persona that fans of his from TikTok will be delighted to meet in the flesh, yet the chef still ensures this backyard farewell feels heartfelt for those who may have no sense of his social media fame. It forms a nostalgic, totally intimate finale (think peak-end rule) to an experience characterized, from the very beginning, by overflowing warmth.

• 

• 

Sated with marshmallows and chocolate, you retrace your steps past the kitchen, through the dining room (being sure to grab your copy of the day’s menu), into the entrance hall, and, with one last smile from the waiting staff, back onto Chicago Avenue.

Under cover of darkness, the block looks even more subdued. The last tables are slurping their noodles at Lao Peng You. The last shoppers are filling their trunks over at Mariano’s. The city goes about its last bits of business for the day while the Feld team, with a second seating ahead of it, resets the restaurant and readies themselves to put on another show.

It’s a performance that could be hidden behind any façade on any quiet street across the city. It is one that, with more time and fine-tuning, could easily anchor an address in one of Chicago’s glitziest neighborhoods. But would Feld ever desire that kind of association with what has been done—what is being done—by fine dining’s most established names? Potashnick has built an immersive, transportive experience that transcends what you have ever encountered here. He has aimed beyond the “where” of the city—its contemporary tasting menus, its conventional grammar of luxury—to establish the somewhere of the Midwest. He has taken the emphasis off of what was served (and photographed, and touted) then in order to assert a sense of “when”: the here and now, the moment, the singular meal that can never be repeated.

From the start, it sounded idealistic, and, in practice, the restaurant has traversed the highest of highs and endured some of the lowest of lows in pursuit of its philosophy. Foundationally, the hardest battle has already been won: an inviting space with the warmest hospitality, with storytelling, sincerity, superlative wine, and an engaging, challenging format that turns the chef’s counter concept on its head. With these factors in place and a fair value proposition on offer (at least when it comes to the length and breadth of the experience relative to its peers), Feld has almost unlimited potential.

The sticking point, as exemplified by the polarization surrounding the restaurant’s professional and public reviews, comes from a particular approach to experimentation. It comes from natural growing pains and from an ethos that, in a marketplace where consumers still believe their tastes have primacy, seems to care little about catering to the mainstream. It comes from the gap between intention—from the realization of longstanding dreams—and actuality: the food being offered for the price being offered translated through each guest’s unique understanding of what fine dining should or must offered.

The question, as you have gestured toward in your appraisal of the food, is one of expectations. And expectations, in this case, have been irrevocably tinged by digital histrionics that, like Feld’s concept itself, appear to be a total first for the dining scene.

For you, the story starts on February 8th of 2024. Before then, Feld had not really been on your radar: you had a vague sense of the pop-ups (the kind of limited engagements you do not usually patronize) and the TikTok fame (a platform whose content you do not consume), but the concept had remained up in the ether since its original announcement at the tail end of 2022. But, with the dawn of 2024, the restaurant finally looked like it would come to fruition. You gave it a follow (on Instagram) and began viewing the stories posted by Feld and its chef in anticipation of one day visiting and reviewing their work.

This prompted, on that day in February, a call-out from Potashnick. You had recently published a piece on Akahoshi Ramen, and the Feld chef declared it to be “the worst restaurant review…[he’s] ever read.” It “bristles with a seeming anger at other’s success on a platform the writer doesn’t seem to comprehend” and “reeks of ‘back in my day we walked uphill both ways to school.’” He would “not even…touch” the “review of the food” because the writer “discredit[ed] themselves [sic] so much with everything leading up to that part of the review.” And Potashnick would advise his followers to “pay no heed to this tomfoolery. I beg of you.”

Certainly, you understand the negative reaction your piece on Akahoshi prompted, and you hope the resulting conversation that ensued (in the comment section) has offered some additional insight. You are also happy to weather personal attacks (as personal as one can get with an anonymous writer) in response to what some readers viewed was a personal attack on Mike Satinover.

However, as you clarified, it is impossible to talk about Akahoshi Ramen in any meaningful way without deconstructing the “Ramen_Lord” persona and understanding the man behind it. Writing about the restaurant wouldn’t be worth your time otherwise, for the story is more about the mechanics of personal branding than whatever is being served in the bowls. Yes, you sampled at least a half-dozen servings of ramen at Akahoshi before ever writing a word, a set of middling experiences that made you want to untangle the source of the shop’s appeal.

In short, Satinover was a ramen obsessive who wrote the entire restaurant industry off as abusive due to a bad experience as a teenager. He stumbled into the /r/ramen subreddit in its nascency and began a career in marketing around the same time. A prolific user, he shared his experiments, recipes, and expertise on the forum, cultivating a fanbase and becoming its moderator. “Ramen_Lord” stewarded the subreddit’s growth along with the burgeoning popularity of the larger site while continuing to lead in content creation.

In 2017, the Chicago Tribune legitimized Satinover’s digital fame by terming his ramen, served to small groups at events in his home where “no money changes hands,” the “best…in Chicago.” At the time, he was “actively against opening a restaurant.” Eventually, “Ramen_Lord” began serving bowls at pop-ups in Chicago and around the country. Violating the same rules against self-promotion he enforced as moderator, Satinover posted his events on the subreddit. He also, from time to time, wielded his status by taking shots at local restaurants. Satinover was “not really in this to make money,” so it all seemed fair enough.

“Ramen_Lord” released a cookbook in 2020. Then, in 2023, he had a change of heart: kitchen culture didn’t have to be “brutal or messed up” like he endured as a teenager. He was going to open up a restaurant after all (having continued, as moderator, to denigrate the competition up until that point), and the same “journalist” he hosted for free in 2017 was there to trumpet the announcement. Akahoshi Ramen opened in November of last year, combining Satinover’s established fanbase with a scarcity model that ensured a spectacle of long lines and fully-booked reservations.

In your experience, the shop’s hospitality—save for one shining server—was forgettable bordering on aloof. Satinover, by all accounts the star attraction, had no stage presence. And, save for excellent noodles, the broth (no depth of flavor), pork (burnt tasting), and egg (overcooked) elements were underwhelming. Ultimately, Akahoshi felt like an average ramen shop with a clever marketing plan. You dared to ask: was it really worth Satinover spending a decade doing everything but working in a professional kitchen just to put out a product of merely competent quality? Does Chicago really need restaurants that leverage social media fame to pervert consumer expectations and further divorce perceived quality from actual craft?

“Ramen_Lord” chose his strategy because he couldn’t or wouldn’t work for a chef, any chef, who might demand some degree of sacrifice in return for being able to stand on the shoulders of all those who have come before. Satinover wanted fame and esteem without leaving the comfort of his apartment, and he concocted a marketing myth that would paper over a fundamental lack of experience. After seven visits (and despite standing in opposition to a wave of mainstream praise), you could feel it and taste it. You resented wasting so much time making doubly sure what you sensed was accurate, and you put forth a piece—for consumers who may also be disappointed by or simply skeptical about Akahoshi—looking to explain what you perceived.

Does the resulting argument sound personal? Sure. But, in this case, it is impossible to separate the product from the man, and you would not hesitate to deploy the same argument against any local sushi chef claiming to serve “the best” raw fish and rice without a clear connection to the established tradition. (That is, of course, unless they really have mastered the craft without bowing before a master.) At the end of the day, Akahoshi is doing just fine with its target audience. Nothing you write can change that—though you do note an increasing proportion of consumers recognizing that the shop’s reputation is driven by a degree of “hype” that cannot be satisfied.

Now, returning to Feld.

You would eventually come to learn that Potashnick and Satinover are friends, which makes the former’s defense of the latter easy to understand (and maybe even virtuous). However, good or bad someone finds the argument you made, the Akahoshi piece has a clear thesis (i.e., the shop is the product of a marketing strategy that looks to obscure the owner’s lack of experience) with myriad points that can be meaningfully debated: the actual utility or necessity of apprenticeship (which one commenter pointed out), the need to separate the art from the artist, the validity of cultivating online fans in order to compete with established restaurant groups, the emotional satisfaction that comes with supporting an industry outsider/underdog, and so on.

Potashnick, like many of “Ramen_Lord’s” defenders, attacked the style of the piece rather than engaging with any part of the substance. He literally pleaded with his audience not to engage with it either, which struck you as the strange part (why highlight or call attention to something you do not want your followers to see?).

Again, there’s the friendship angle. Or, given that Potashnick singled out the review’s “seeming anger at other’s success on a platform the writer doesn’t seem to comprehend,” the obvious similarity between Satinover’s use of Reddit and his own use of TikTok. Yes, that would explain the extra degree of defensiveness: the chef would not want his audience to engage with an article that frames social media marketing (the kind he does so well) as a means obscuring a lack of experience. But, at face value, why would a chef who clearly has worked in great kitchens resent your critique of someone who could not survive in even one?

Looking at some of the press surrounding Feld, you immediately noticed the phrasing describing how Potashnick “spent the last eight years traveling all seven continents” and “even worked at fine dining restaurants during some of those stops, highly acclaimed places like two-Michelin-starred Kichisen…and one-star Daniel Berlin Krog.” His resume, it was said, “borders on ridiculous, also including stints at Willows Inn in Seattle; iNG, a West Loop restaurant from the late Homaru Cantu; and at Michelin-starred Ernst in Berlin.” Elsewhere, Potashnick would be described as “a native Chicagoan who’s traveled internationally to work at some of the world’s best restaurants.”

The confusion of “worked at” with “staged at” or “cooked at” or “cheffed at” might have only been the result of sloppy reporting from Eater Chicago. However, it might have also been the product of willful ignorance or manipulation from a talented personal brander who knows how to work the press. Social media fame would take the lead, but a shiny resume would ensure Potashnick could not be branded a “TikTok chef”—so long as nobody looked too closely (and a mass audience, certainly, cares little about distinguishing staging in a kitchen from proper employment). In truth, the chef—on his favorite platform—makes quite clear which restaurants he really worked his way up the ladder at. Stages, in turn, are presented with the proper context. You are not sure how or why Eater blurred those lines, but this seemed like a potential vulnerability: that is, a possible case of conscious misrepresentation.  

Digging further, you came to an obvious (somewhat related) question: who was funding the fine dining restaurant from the young chef with the murky backstory? This information was not volunteered in any of the press pieces you found, and it seemed like it could mark a part of your research (if the detail of the Akahoshi Ramen piece was anything to go by) that Potashnick would feel self-conscious about.

As early as August of 2022, TikTok users asked the chef: “How are you financing all of this? Do you have investors?” Potashnick, in that first instance, stated he would “write a blog post about this, because it’s much longer than a tik tok vid.” You never came across that post, and would note one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen other examples of users asking about how he was funding the restaurant and also how he was able to afford traveling so much as a chef. These comments received as many as 63 likes at times but either prompted no response or a deflective one.

On one occasion, in response to a user who stated “you need to talk more about the financing in general where’s all this money coming from,” Potashnick replied “I don’t need to do anything. I make these videos for you for free.” In another instance, a user asked “how do u afford to work for free so much?” The chef described that he “saved $$$” and “lived cheap” to do so, prompting a different user to claim “daddy is an executive” and Potashnick to respond “my dad was a dentist.” Elsewhere on the same post, a user speculated “prolly trust fund,” prompting the chef to reply “LOLOLOL I do not have a trust fund. If you’d like to make me one though it would be greatly appreciated.” Lastly, in April of this year, a user commented, “I think at this point we just gotta ask, how can you afford all this, when your restaurant isn’t open yet and generating income for you?” Potashnick responded, “Why do people assume that Feld is my only source of income?? Chefs can’t have investments or side projects?”

Feld certainly retains the right to keep the identity of its investors private, but, given that Potashnick’s whole personal brand centers on giving viewers a peek behind the curtain of opening a restaurant, it seems strange that he would leave out one of the most consequential parts. Certainly, there must be a way to talk about how he was able to secure funding without giving specifics. If any degree of privilege was involved, it also would have been easy to talk about the thankfulness and pressure he feels as a result. Instead, the chef’s responses—often to other chefs and individuals looking to fulfill the same dream—are flippant. Some reek of insecurity. For a creator that always had plenty to say, this also seemed like a sore spot: a calculated omission that could call his bonafides into question.

Satisfied that you had some possible explanation for Potashnick’s outburst over the Akahoshi review, you tabled these issues. Neither would really matter if Feld was as good as restaurant as it aspired to be—the proof is in the pudding after all—and the concept still had quite a ways to go before opening.

In May, with Feld’s opening imminent, you witnessed a narrative begin to take shape on the /r/chicagofood subreddit (a forum you monitor to get a sense of public opinion but do not participate in). A post regarding “upcoming West Town openings” mentioned Potashnick’s restaurant, which one user characterized as “trendy bullshit” (citing the chef’s TikTok stardom) and another (citing his work experience) defended as being “a ridiculously small and niche concept” that was “the opposite of trendy.”

At this point, Extruder_duder (self-identified as Wilson Bauer, chef-owner of Flour Power and former chef de cuisine of Schwa) offered his own thoughts, hoping “for the best” with Feld’s opening but accusing Potashnick of using “his social media to tear down others in his field-he did this to me in a now deleted post” and bashing “Homaro [Cantu] on the anniversary of his passing.” Additionally, Bauer claimed he “has not ‘worked’ in 2/3 Michelin starred restaurants, he staged-big difference” but, later, conceded “he very well may have held paid positions in that echelon of the culinary world. I’ve never seen his resume.” The Flour Power chef’s broader critique seemed to be that Potashnick’s “style of cuisine…is only genuine when done in destination type setting” and that executing it “in a major city seems fake and for show.” However, again, he hoped Feld “does great and becomes the best restaurant in the city.”

Ultimately, this was a fairly obscure post with almost no wider engagement from the subreddit. Nonetheless, it offered a glance at some of the negative sentiment that (at least among two users) had built in the community regarding Feld. And, at the key moment, these misgivings would rear their head again.

On June 25th, concurrent with Potashnick’s own post announcing the restaurant’s opening date and the launch of its reservations, a user posted the same information on /r/chicagofood. Compared to the brand the chef had built on TikTok—the product of an overwhelmingly supportive environment that had gotten to know him well and had come to share his dreams over the course of two years—Feld was met with skepticism on Reddit.

The ticket price of $195, one user wrote, “seems super steep with no menu and a single photo of a veggie greenhouse. Did these guys all work at 11MP?” Another replied that the wine list, with “maybe 5 bottles that are under $100,” is “wild too.” A different comment would echo that they were “super intrigued” but the beverage pricing was “turning…[them] off.” More concretely, a user explained that they had “watched an instagram reel with a preview of the plates and plating was… not great, kind of boring.” The “price tags and the weird vibes” from the chef’s “Instagram ‘interviews’” would keep them away until Feld was “solidified as a great restaurant.”

The most consequential comment came from Extruder_duder, who prefaced he “wasn’t going to say anything” but felt “compelled” to share his experience after people kept sending him Eater’s latest article (one, you might remember, that cited “doubters within the industry” and “trash-talking about someone else’s restaurant”). Bauer reiterated that “it would be great for the restaurant Feld to be as great as… [the owner is] claiming to strive for” and that “it would be fantastic for the staff and diners to have such an experience.” However, the Flour Power chef admitted it was hard to be “emotionally invested” in the concept “after getting to know Jake,” whom he accused of “giving rusty trombones to anyone that will hype him up and perpetuate the false narrative he’s conjured” and “making claims that I don’t believe he understands or has the know how to execute.”

Bauer claimed that while Potashnick has “painted himself a victim of bull[y]ing chefs,” he is the one “that is definitely the shit talker.” Extruder_duder made reference to “an Instagram post that most people thought was about hermosa [but was about his restaurant], basically saying a 16 seat hole in the wall is nothing compared to what he’s opening.” Potashnick was said to have “deleted that post, and claims to have only posted positive things about flour power-which is not true.” Bashing “Homaro Cantu on almost the anniversary of his death” was again mentioned, as was bashing Miru—”it’s the only one he admitted to.” Skepticism was also voiced regarding “the whole ‘farm to table’ ‘local’ thing,” which was framed as “a trend he’s leaning on to maximize the dollar he can charge, without staying true to it.”

Bauer, once more, promised that “no one wants to see him fail, we’re just telling him to humble himself” rather than “using Eater to shout his stories loud enough till they become true.”

Potashnick, under the username Jake_Feld jumped into the thread to respond, claiming that Bauer, “in a private text… threatened to punch me in the face over the video I made saying that Homaro Cantu (who I externed for during college) was abusive to his staff. Which, is well, true. He was awful to me and everyone else at iNG.” The Feld chef also noted that he had only met the Flour Power chef “twice” when they “were in a group dinner…and sat on opposite ends of the table,” casting doubt on the claim that Bauer had actually “gotten to know” him.

Extruder_duder seemed to use that term figuratively (i.e., “got to know” his character), particularly in reference to the claimed bashing of Flour Power (that Potashnick did not in any way address in his response). Bauer would also argue that the threatened violence the Feld chef alluded to was in reference to “a meme [Bauer had posted] quoting a Transplants song which was ‘two faced mother fuckers get both jaws cracked.’” Extruder_duder included a screenshot of a text conversation (said to be with Potashnick) clarifying that he “would never hit someone.” The Feld chef would not engage any further with Bauer in the comments.

Nonetheless, Potashnick would take the opportunity to converse with other users who had posted. He noted, by way of introduction, that he was “thrilled to be a part of the West Town Neighberhood [sic] and to finally share with you what we’ve spent so long working on.” The Feld chef explained how “we believe that you’re not just paying for food, you’re paying for the entire experience” (in response to a comment saying the concept “seems to be as much performance art as culinary”). He assured one prospective diner that “we can do vegetarian during the spring and summer months” and looked to quell concerns regarding the wine program by affirming “I know and trust our Somm very much ;).” Ramen_Lord would even stop by to tell readers that “Feld is probably one of my most anticipated openings this year,” prompting a reply of “<3 buddy” from Potashnick.

Most interestingly, the Feld chef responded to a comment (quoting his preference for a daily-changing menu over a seasonal menu because the latter “narrows your ability for guests to come back because they’re only going to come back four times, three times a year”) questioning how “4x a year” could be construed as a “low amount of repeat business per year.” Potashnick acknowledged that he expected “80% of people to treat Feld as a celebration restaurant, and I love that. I want people to celebrate with us, that’s a great honor.” But he also referenced “a small crowd of diners, both local and national, who make patronizing fine dining restaurants the focus of their life” and made clear his “great pride in knowing those super regulars, should they decide to dine at Feld, will have signifcantly diferent [sic] experiences everytime they come.”

Later, Bauer jumped back into the fray when a user asked, “has this chef worked at any notable establishments?” The Flour Power chef responded with a simple “no” while another user went so far as to assert “he’s a silver spoon who worked all over the world for 6 months at a time and now daddy bought him a restaurant. Yay nepo babies!” Potashnick addressed the latter claim, clarifying that “there is nothing on my resume (Daniel Berlin Krog, La Marine, Ernst, etc) where I worked less than a year. I was a Sous Chef at 1* Ernst, and the Head Chef of Barra in Berlin. And yes, Ive staged around the world a lot, because in Europe they actually give employees paid time off so you can travel and learn. My parents aren’t invested or involved in my restaurant. But please keep spreading false rumors without any factual basis.”

Bauer would reply with a screencap supposedly confirming that the “buyer [of the Feld space] is one of his parents.” The other user (who had originally made the “silver spoon” comment) responded that “his dad is a dentist in the Chicago loop who has the world’s largest collection of toothpicks, does this sound like any regular person you know? The only thing worse than the beneficiary of nepotism is a beneficiary of nepotism in denial.”

Potashnick would never respond to these subsequent claims, ultimately deleting his Reddit account. Bauer, in turn, would be banned from /r/chicagofood for posting a screenshot (one that has already been deleted in the archive capture you are linking) that displayed the Feld chef’s phone number.

From your perspective, it was interesting to see some of the vulnerabilities you had sensed back in February play out in the public arena. Potashnick addressed the issue of experience head-on, distinguishing the kitchens where he really worked from those in which is simply staged. He also looked to quiet questions regarding the source of investment for Feld, definitely ruling out his parents without directly contradicting the purchase record Bauer later presented.

Then there was the central issue of trash-talking other restaurants: one that seemed to inspire Bauer’s rather persistent wrath and that, as it relates to Flour Power, was never acknowledged, rebutted, or apologized for. The feud between the chefs devolved into a mutual attempt to discredit each other over perceived threats of violence. And Bauer, throughout the threads, made sure to have the last word—seemingly winning the approval (if upvotes are anything to go by) of the Reddit audience.

Still, as with the previous post, these conversations remained pretty obscure in the broader context of the subreddit (judging by overall number of comments and upvotes). The doubters had made their concerns known, but could they move the needle when many more people, cultivated on other platforms, were ready to celebrate Feld’s opening?

On July 13th, the negative sentiment that had been bubbling beneath the surface of /r/chicagofood exploded with a post titled “Went to Feld. Hated it, thanks for asking.” The review, which would go on to become the most upvoted and commented-on piece of content in the subreddit’s history, was made by a user who had not participated (as far as you can tell) in the previous threads bashing Potashnick and the restaurant.

Instead, they articulated how they “went to Feld and really disliked it,” highlighting how “all but two of the dishes were under seasoned and those other two were over seasoned.” The drink list was “expensive,” and “though they said the paired tasting was about 3/4 of a bottle of wine, the pours were extremely light.” They also resented “paying $195 and having the pleasure of sitting in fried oil scent”—finding that the restaurant needs “much better air scrubbers than they have.”

There were some positives: the wines (despite the size of the pours) “were well received,” “the servers over all were fine,” and “some people in…[the] friend group enjoyed a few of the courses.” However, “with the exception of the cheese course, no dish was universally liked.” Ultimately, the table was “split as to whether we would give it [the experience] another go in a year” and “everyone left hungry.” The OP “would not agree with the assessment [based on Potashnick’s experience] that he has chops,” as “there was not one dish served without issue.”

What really captured the public’s attention were the photos of the food—ones that, perhaps, did not capture the dishes as attractively as possible but did, indeed, render them faithfully. This visual documentation fueled many of the post’s most highly upvoted comments: a cheese plate that gave someone “secondhand embarrassment,” another dish reminiscent of “snot,” a different one compared to “pubes.” Users wondered if the presentations were the result of “someone satirizing pretention” and asked “is that for real?” Others honed in on the design of the plateware itself, noting that certain designs are indicate of what is “not generally considered a food safe pottery technique.”

With the floodgates opened, everyone got to opine. One user brought up (from the previous thread) that Potashnick “was interested in landing fine dining whales rather than local neighborhood foodies.” Another divulged that they “went to high school with the guy and honestly the pretentiousness of his restaurant matches his personality. He was a huge douche to people outside his clique and based on the recent drama I’ve seen about Jake in this subreddit, seems like nothing’s changed.” Someone simply labelled Feld “biggest fucking culinary grift I’ve ever seen in Chicago,” and people began asking “how are the Google reviews so high”? OP’s only thought, in response, was that they must be the product of “friends of the restaurant.”

Coming full circle, another user wrote “Chef Wilson was right – Feld is trash.” This was echoed by a call of “justice for Chef Wilson!!” Others said “hopefully it [the restaurant] closes soon.” They called it a “waste” and a “scam,” but one diner, who had also eaten at Feld recently, countered that OP wants “to sabotage a great restaurant and looks like you might be in the industry.”

This discussion would continue via a repost on /r/finedining, prompting a similar response from a wider community of gastronomes. A different user (the same one who accused the other OP of “sabotage”) put forth a more positive experience but received overwhelming derision in response. A week later, another perspective was posted on /r/chicagofood: it balanced “the good” (aesthetics, service, “fantastic” wine pairing with “fair” pours, and some “absolute bangers” when it came to food) with “the bad” (a lack of seasoning and “a lack of precision and consistency”), acknowledging that Potashnick “saw last week’s post and made some much needed adjustments” but still admitting “there is just no reason to go to Feld over any of the other great tasting menus in the city right now.”

Engagement with this more even-handed review (one that attested to a certain degree of growth at the restaurant) only reached something like 1% of the original, viral account. Lampooning Feld had become a pervasive part of the subreddit’s culture, prompting a parody post and a joke crosspost (featuring Feld’s “Svenska Kakao” preparation) to /r/poopfromabutt. Users who had missed the boat on the record-setting post and innocently wondered how the restaurant had turned out were brought up to speed: “100% social media grift, at this point almost a predatory exploitation of the unaware and their wallets.”

On July 26th, Michael Nagrant would drop his aforementioned review: providing professional critical firepower in support of all those who had derided Feld’s food (while, to be fair, praising the essence of the concept and acknowledging the talent of its chef). The subreddit would seize on the piece’s most extreme line—“this is the worst meal I’ve experience in nineteen years as a food writer”—in the comments of a post that was otherwise devoted to Potashnick.

The Feld chef had taken to Instagram the same day to acknowledge he knew the restaurant “would be divisive” but was “shocked by the extremity of the divide and the hostility from the vocally unenthused.” He noted the dichotomy, “on a nightly basis,” between “guests who won’t leave because they are extolling over [sic] their love of the meal and experience” and “guests who actively disliked it. For its simplicity. For perceived lack of seasoning. For any number of reasons.”

Potashnick admitted he didn’t “know how to meet the divide” and “create a universal experience when everything you do is right for a strong majority of the people and everything you do is wrong for a smaller but more vocal minority of people.” He affirmed that they “have never paid for google or yelp reviews, and did not get friends and family to give them when we opened.” But the chef had “a lot to think about…only 3 weeks into being open.” They would not be “changing yet” and would “keep refining and refining.” However, the “diversity of opinion” was “not lost” on him “and us as a team.”

This seemed like a concession from Potashnick: an acknowledgement that the concerns that had gone viral had been heard an accepted (albeit contextualized by a larger proportion of praise). Nonetheless, certain turns of phrase—like “perceived lack of seasoning”—and the revelation (from Nagrant’s piece) that the chef doesn’t taste his completed dishes continued to draw ire. They spoke, in the community’s eyes, to a sense of “ego” and “hubris” that still needed to be taken down a peg.

TriedForMitchcraft, moderator of /r/chicagofood, discussed his own experience in the comments: appreciating “how ambitious the concept is” but wishing Potashnick “was more open to constructive feedback.” He “did not enjoy…[his] meal and found the entire experience to feel incredibly bizarre.” “Many people that said they loved [Feld],” according to his conversation with the chef, “told him that they had never been to a fine dining restaurant before.” The moderator even revealed, in response to a user who defended Potashnick’s offer (in reply to negative Google reviews) to reimburse diners, that “someone…[he] know[s] ate there and emailed them that they actually really did not enjoy the meal, provided much feedback and was denied this refund offer.”

This same defender of the restaurant—”someone who ate at Feld and actually really liked it and had to create a fake account since everyone who writes something nice here gets called a paid agent for Feld”—would be roundly criticized for their efforts.

The narrative against the restaurant would also make its way to TikTok (Potashnick’s native platform) in late July, with an underwhelming review (corresponding to a meal occurring around the same time as the viral /r/chicagofood post) receiving close to 100,000 likes and 2,500 comments.

On August 4th, Potashnick would again share his thoughts on Instagram: framing the negative reaction to his previous posts as ironic given “how people complain non-stop about how everything on social media is fake and corporate PR and all that jazz.” The Feld chef seemed to be decrying the Reddit post from about a week prior, which interpreted his “honest and vulnerable thoughts about the first couple weeks” as “complaining and whining.” Further, he disliked that what was said on his “personal Instagram” was being interpreted as “an official statement” when it was only meant to “share the highs and lows of opening and running a tiny fine dining restaurant” as he “did non stop during the build up.” He advised critics: “if you don’t like it, simply don’t follow me here.”

This latest statement was screenshotted and put on /r/chicagofood shortly after Potashnick posted it, prompting the chef (posting his own screenshot of the resulting thread) to label the community “literally a cesspool.” Therein, the comments continued to take aim at Feld and its owner: “he needs to hire a PR rep,” “he needs to go back to passing judgment and being a nepo baby for a living,” “my bet is this place will be open for 1.5 year tops,” “I had 0 opinion of this dude or restaurant…now I see he’s probably just a little bitch,” “if his food had the salt of these tears a lot of the criticism would be addressed,” “from this alone I know I’ll never step foot in his restaurant,” “Jake comes across like an entitled weasel that has only ever been propped up by his folks and been lead to believe he can do no wrong.”

The overwhelming thought seemed to be that “all statements [a chef/owner makes] are official” and the subreddit’s reaction was totally fair game. Nonetheless, one user “from western Canada” with “no skin in this game” acknowledged “Jake needs to stop fuelling the online Reddit fire with this stuff” but found “the way people are foaming at the mouth to watch a genuinely earnest kid and his restaurant fail…[to be] absolutely insane and fucked up.” They thought the “dogpiling” was “getting a little out of control,” but other users claimed “live by the sword, die by the sword.” Potashnick was said to have “built his TikTok following largely by shitting on other try-hard restaurants and openly mocking people who dared question high-concept fine dining restaurants.” He deserve his comeuppance, for (another comment argued) “it feels good to pile on the dbag who shows disdain for his patrons and the Chicago food community.”

Potashnick’s most recent TikTok post (dated to August 5th and primarily addressing criticism regarding the cheese plate, you might remember) prompted a renewed discussion in /r/finedining. The chef was accused of deleting negative feedback on the platform (“all I commented was that he might want to have a look at Reddit for some perspective if he thinks unhappy customers are just outliers”) and of “lying to us saying that 90% of people leave super happy and satisfied” (particularly, in that TikTok, by claiming “all his negative reviews came from one table”).

The thread offered users the chance to repeat that the Feld experience was “terrible” and the “worst by far” in Chicago. However, someone else contended that they “enjoyed 2/3 of the things” they had and “thought the menu had a lot of potential.” They found the concept to be “ambitious” and felt the chef “really wants to do something great” but weren’t surprised “that people are hating the food more or less when…[the restaurant is] not capable of maintaining consistency.”

August 11th would see a different user take to /r/chicagofood and post a thread titled “We went to Feld and had a Blast.” The diner, who was “visiting from NYC,” found that the “main critiques we’ve seen here were in no way our experience. Seasoning was on point. Dish after dish was interesting, fun, and the story and context to each dish really added to the experience.” They noted “this subreddit clearly has a love for hating on this place” and affirmed that “there were no straight up duds” during their meal. In fact, the dinner was “more than a meal, it was a delightful experience” with “incredible” hospitality and “certainly the best food the Midwest has to offer.”

The post would yield zero (net) upvotes and 44 comments, with the subreddit’s users calling the review “highly sus” and taking issue with the “delusional” “best food the Midwest has to offer” claim (that the OP never returned to explain or contextualize). This prompted people to respond “sounds like the Feld PR team wrote that” and “how much is Jake paying you?”—being thoroughly unconvinced by the positive account.

When The Infatuation posted its 5.7 rating of Feld to Instagram on August 14^th, /r/chicagofood was gifted with another opportunity to express their disdain: “owner diatribe incoming,” “I don’t think this place is going to recover,” “thank fucking god for some fucking justice,” “can’t wait for the chef to post on IG about how this all social media’s fault,” “I’m shocked that a guy who was a line cook for like 4 years can’t pull off a 30-course tasting menu,” “as someone who has zero chance of ever ending up at Feld…gotta say I’m enjoying following this whole saga + unraveling process way too much.”

TriedForMitchcraft, the subreddit’s moderator, would reveal in this tread that he was part of the “one table that has had the loudest voice,” yielding “the viral reddit post that got a couple million views…and the viral negative TikTok review.” Potashnick reached out to him personally to ask the diner that posted on /r/chicagofood “to remove their post because of how negatively it was impacting their business.” The diner “asked that Jake reach out to her directly but he declined because he deleted his reddit account after his public beef on here with chef Wilson from Flour Power, so the post stayed up.”

Potashnick then “inexplicably blocked…[TriedForMitchcraft] on social media as well as everyone that ate with…[him] or posted on reddit.” The moderator found the fact that only his table was called out “pretty outstanding” given that “every person… [he’s] spoken to that ate there has had a negative review of it.” The chef, it seemed, had “obfuscated the lions share of the criticisms” via his TikTok and destroyed any of the user’s optimism regarding Feld’s growth by “digging his heels in” and arguing “it is just the guests that are the problem.”

Another user, who had posted one of Feld’s more balanced reviews, acknowledged they were “probably too generous” in giving Potashnick “the benefit of the doubt.” Instead, “the more he’s posted the more frustrated I’ve become with the experience. It feels like classic gaslighting”: “It’s not bland food. It’s perceived lack of seasoning. It’s not bad plating. It’s food free from the tyranny of aesthetic. It’s not a cheese plate. It’s a litmus test.”

Elsewhere, the comment sections on The Infatuation’s Instagram posts (as seen when Nagrant highlighted his review) would also form a beachhead for negative perceptions of Feld to take root, with some satisfied guests electing to fight back by offering their own, more positive experiences.

This brings you roughly to the present day, where Potashnick’s reputation across several platforms (Instagram, Reddit, and TikTok alike) has been seriously undermined. A contingent of users and professional critics who have endured bad experiences at Feld have fed a mob that, thanks to narratives regarding inexperience and privilege you identified back in February, are happy to judge a book by its cover. To this population, Potashnick and his restaurant represent the height of pretension, posturing, entitlement, and impotence. Feld has crashed and burned on arrival, the photos corroborate the negative accounts they have read, and the chef’s own response to the criticism has completely buried him. There’s no need to waste $195 to taste it yourself—to keep the charade going when this scapegoat, beaten over and over again, just needs to be put out of its misery.

A second contingent, diametrically opposed to the first, includes Potashnick’s longtime fans (i.e., true believers, who have followed his dream and may believe detractors simply do not understand the chef’s intention). Some have visited the restaurant and fulfilled years of support with a personal, engaging experience. Others await that day and keep the faith online. You also find a broad array of customers (whether fans, friends, or mere members of the dining public) who have visited Feld at some point over the past two months and been impressed. Their positive reviews dominate Google and Yelp. They’ve appeared on Instagram and Reddit too. These users may be average joes, the slimiest of shill “influencers,” traveling gastronomes, or even prominent local chefs. They appreciate what Potashnick is doing, having felt and tasted it themselves. Some even take aim at the “trolls” and “crusty, bitter old writer[s]” in defense of the restaurant. Inevitably, they all get branded shills or thought of as having no sense of taste because the first contingent’s negative reviews were so convincing, their photos were so abhorrent, and the Feld chef has done himself so flavors by deflecting criticism in such a way that makes it look like he’s consciously cultivating an army of sycophants.

What you have here is a feedback loop: two virally-charged populations utterly convinced that the other side is acting in bad faith—totally convinced that the people who do not share their perception (or the perceptions of those whom they trust) cannot be trusted and should not be respected. It’s a microcosm of all contemporary online discourse, isn’t it? But here’s how you see it…

Potashnick possibly erred in how his conveyed his kitchen experience to the press but undoubtedly clarified it on TikTok and Reddit. He invited skepticism by refusing to address the source of Feld’s funding to his followers and, despite clearly asserting his “parents aren’t invested or involved in my restaurant,” did not counter Bauer’s evidence that seemed to indicate otherwise.

Really, the whole feud with Bauer seems totally unnecessary. Was Potashnick’s best defense really accusing him of threatening violence when the central point—the only one really worthy rebutting—is whether or not he disparaged Flour Power? It is hard to think of any other reason Bauer would be so obsessed with taking revenge (and if it just has to do with some sense of jealousy, and his restaurant was never referenced negatively, why not state that?).

Just the same, a public or even private apology to Bauer could have worked: an acknowledgment of (understandable) immaturity and expression of humility that could have framed Feld’s culinary missteps more charitably. The same applies to that question of investment: if the restaurant is any way the result of personal privilege, why not come out with it (embracing it and the responsibility it entails as expressed in Potashnick’s old Medium post)? Certainly, other great chefs (you think of Charlie Trotter) benefitted from their parents’ support. The only sin here is inauthenticity.

And why oh why, when he seemed open to accepting that first wave of criticism against his food, did Potashnick have to tarnish a good message with the passive-aggressive comment about “perceived lack of seasoning”? Forget about not tasting the finished dishes. The chef had a clear opportunity to own the criticism, accept the mockery, make his detractors feel heard, and affirm a commitment to the consumer (whether or not he actually sacrificed any part of his creative vision) but chose to act out. He could not resist expressing the petulant side—no doubt the product of insecurity and entitlement—that you first sensed with his criticism of your piece on Akahoshi Ramen.

For all the effort Potashnick made to work for the right kind of chefs in the right kind of kitchens, he epitomizes (rather ironically) many of the profession’s worst qualities. Certainly, you do not mean any sort of abuse (for the team he has built could not shine otherwise). No, just the myopia, stubbornness, refusal to admit you are wrong or consider, in good faith, the perceptions of others: allow your cuisine to grow, as it must, through honest interaction with its audience.

All that said, across six visits to Feld, you—who might have more reason to dislike the chef than most who are commenting on the restaurant—have actually come to like Potashnick. Though his flaws have been laid painfully bare on social media, the man—face-to-face—is affable, sincere, and truly obsessed with his craft. As you have observed and experienced firsthand, he makes a special effort to connect with his guests in a meaningful way. He has also hired, supported, and sustained a collection of kind souls on his team, several of whom are masters of their craft.

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What’s most frustrating is that, having visited Feld in its second, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth weeks of operation, the evolution in Potashnick’s approach was clear. After the negative reviews hit, he did begin seasoning more, plating with more intention, serving larger portions, and moderating the menu’s dynamism so that stronger ideas persisted longer and guaranteed a greater degree of pleasure. The chef just wouldn’t, despite making total honestly about the process of opening a restaurant his personal brand, bow before the public and admit as much.

Tallying up each of those six meals, Feld’s window of quality (that is, the percentage of clearly successful dishes to the percentage of clearly successful and acceptable dishes) grew from 18%-61% to 20%-66% to 27%-63% to 33%-74% to 41%-81% to, finally, 52%-90%. In raw numbers, of all the items Potashnick served, 56 were clearly successful, 78 were acceptable, and 51 were disappointing. This makes for an overall average of 30%-72%.

However, it is worth mentioning that, on the occasion of your sixth meal, only two dishes were disappointing (an admirable figure considering the 29 courses). More than half of the items Potashnick served on that night were clearly successful—the kind you’d like to eat again—and the remaining 38% were fine (maybe even more than fine in the context of an experimental, ever-changing, somewhat educational concept).

You actually enjoyed a seventh meal at Feld in late August: one that was purely for pleasure (no notes, no photos) and that, after so much time spent analyzing the restaurant, offered a chance at pure emotional engagement. Only a handful of dishes on that occasion were new, but only one and maybe even none were disappointing. On that night, fully observant of the action with no need to document the minutiae, it was clear that Potashnick had evolved his philosophy toward careful (rather than wholesale) change. The chef prized pleasure, never faulted in fundamental seasoning, served generous portions of attractively textured food, told stories, schmoozed, listened, and led his team.

The way you see it, Feld’s haters are not wrong: the restaurant’s first three weeks were a culinary trainwreck, the three weeks after that were still rough, and the three weeks after that only finally started to approach competence—the most basic fulfilment of the lofty expectations the chef had set. The viral /r/chicagofood post, the viral TikTok post, Nagrant’s review, and The Infatuation’s rating all centered on meals that occurred during the most sensitive period (The Infatuation’s being the latest of the four and occurring, based on the menu shown in their video, on August 3rd).

You also dined on August 3rd and noted nine successful dishes, 12 acceptable dishes, and seven disappointing dishes (making for an overall hit rate of 33%-74%). It was only on August 10th (41%-81%) and August 16th (52%-90%) that Feld, by your measure, started to hit its stride—reaching an acceptable (dare you say enjoyable) benchmark of quality that was further confirmed by your seventh, late-August meal.

This is all to say: the haters faithfully described what they experienced. You certainly believe in (and abide by) the standard that professional critics should wait two months before reviewing a restaurant. Feld’s model, more than almost any other concept, clearly demands that you judge the fruits of its process at several points during its lifespan. But Nagrant and The Infatuation followed their standard procedures. They presented snapshots (as most reviews are) of a restaurant charging full price that their readers might be curious about visiting. They acted as canaries in the coal mine, looking to protect consumers’ wallets, without any special malice being pointed toward Potashnick and his team.

These critics might have missed the whole story, but they (and you) are doomed to underrate and overrate in accordance with the number visits you are able to make at myriad points (unknowable, undefinable until one looks back and tracks era) in a restaurant’s existence. The blade cuts both ways, as your analysis of critical darlings—overhyped at launch and downright dysfunctional later down the road—has shown.

Negative reviews certainly attract engagement, forming one extreme (the other being the highest praise) on a scale that is mostly filled with lukewarm or otherwise qualified recommendations. Consumers want to know “the best” (what to aspire toward and save up money for) and, perhaps more cathartically, “the worst” (what to avoid so as not to tarnish their supreme sense of taste). Reveling in “the worst” actually saves you money. It gives you a good excuse to devote your resources to fewer places (like those “best” ones that make you feel left out and less than until you’ve shared the experience).

Readers, no doubt, were grateful to hear they could save the $195 trouble of going to Feld: a definitive answer, based on honest appraisals of the food, that maybe discounted the restaurant’s capacity for growth but looked to warn the majority of consumers (those who might only visit once) to stay away. Mind you, these reviews never went so far as to say “never go there.” They simply said, “not now”—helping consumers to avoid the same kind of scarring experience that would, even if Feld won one or multiple Michelin stars in the future, keep them away forever.

In a healthy digital ecosystem, this collection of negative accounts would be accepted in their proper context: snapshots of a new restaurant that is not ready for the limelight. Consumers would stay away until a critical mass of positive reviews (accepted in good faith) proclaimed that the concept had turned the corner and ironed out its kinks.

Potashnick, you have noted, complicated this process. The feud with Bauer primed (wherever the truth ultimately lies) the Reddit audience to view him as inexperienced, benefitting from nepotism, and in over his head. His concept (one that rightfully holds substantial appeal for a small demographic of serial diners) was also painted an elitist and pretentious.

The negative reviews that found their way onto Reddit (representing four covers out of several hundred that had been served at that point) were used to justify every preconceived notion Potashnick had been saddled with. Underwhelming food, despite what anyone had to say about ambiance, beverages, or service, confirmed every one of the chef’s character flaws anyone had ever speculated upon.

Of course, Potashnick’s response to the criticism (and response to the response) only compounded his trouble: a sneering, halfhearted apology downplaying the reviews and further evidence of thin skin that the haters seized upon. The chef would not sacrifice his vision or bow before the lynch mob even if, from your perspective, he had meaningfully transformed his cuisine in accordance with the feedback. He dug in—just as the haters did—and seemed happy to maintain the established battlelines of this critical trench warfare.

Potashnick’s “army,” cultivated through TikTok, would play a multifaceted role. They (along with anyone else who chose the restaurant in spite of the negative press) kept the lights on and helped the kitchen continue to grow. They took to Google and Yelp to raise Feld’s average rating, and they fought the mob in the comment sections of Instagram, Reddit, and TikTok by vouching for the restaurant via their own positive experiences.

However, by this point, the discourse surrounding Feld had grown so poisonous that these accounts (the ones that should have balanced out the bad reviews and attested to growth) were undermined as being friends and family of Potashnick or, otherwise, shills. Their own honest opinions were taken as expressions of the same kind of privilege, nepotism, and know-nothing pretentiousness that the chef had been so powerfully branded with.

Nonetheless, the way that you see it, Feld’s lovers aren’t wrong either. Sure, you struggle to understand how anyone could respond in an overwhelmingly positive manner to the food the restaurant served during its first six weeks. These reviews, as best as you can imagine, came from friends of Potashnick (naturally supportive of his work), fans (primed parasocially to also support his work), and “influencers” (incapable of critically assessing food when there’s a shiny new space to show off).

Given that Feld could count a novel design, warm hospitality, and a great wine program from the moment it opened its doors, you cannot fault people for labeling the food (all 30 bites of it) as “interesting” and reveling in what was otherwise a superlative experience. You think of the patrons, attracted by TikTok, who have never indulged in fine dining before and find meeting a chef like Potashnick in the flesh to be an incredible memory. They are too set on enjoying the evening—too unfamiliar with what is being served—to ever view it as flawed.

Now should these guests, if they are going to review the restaurant, disclose that they are fans? Yes, you think, for a parasocial relationship is still a relationship, and (as in the Ramen_Lord case) even imagined friendships can work to cover up a great deal of mediocrity. The user who approaches Feld like any other tasting menu—rather than one served by their favorite TikTok star—seems more likely to get at the truth. But do mainstream diners not fall for the same trick when they buy into Grant Achatz’s or Curtis Duffy’s mythos?

Your hope is that the impressions of the fans, the haters, and whatever truly neutral parties possibly exist (at this point) find some natural balance. You can declare, from your vantage point, that people dining at Feld after its sixth week of operation can credibly attest to good food and a great experience overall. Potashnick has grown immensely during the past two months—even if he won’t give his detractors the satisfaction of hearing it. Ultimately, it is up to the chef to forgive them and for they to forgive him if Feld’s vision—its celebration of Midwestern sourcing and seasonality—is to ever succeed.

You’ve forgiven Potashnick for his petulance and all kinds of self-inflicted wounds. After seven visits, you believe in his process and believe that being the kitchen, among his team, is the best place to work through the personal flaws that have overshadowed the true expression of his restaurant. Feld, when you’re in the thick of its experience, possesses a singular, infectious kind of energy. The food, too, has now reached the point where it reliably surprises and delights you with a degree of dynamism that, while more measured than before, is still largely unseen in Chicago. (You must also consider that there are flawed chefs in some of the city most renowned kitchens who have completely given up on any meaningful creative work.)

All that said, it’s not really your place to defend Potashnick or make nice between him and the dining public. In this realm of luxury, some consumers may never feel comfortable spending money on an experience stewarded by a chef who has behaved in this manner. Experienced gastronomes, in turn, may confidently discard negative reviews from the opening period because they sense and value what Feld’s approach has signaled.

The best thing you can do is make two recommendations:

If you find Potashnick’s personal brand to be obnoxious and his behavior to be offensive, this is your rating. If you expect (fairly) that fine dining (whether or not it uses luxury ingredients) should aim at delivering maximum pleasure through bold compositions and expert technique, this is your rating. If you have any hesitation about Feld as a concept or only choose to indulge in one or a handful of tasting menus per year, this is your rating. This is not, mind you, your lowest rating. It is a rating that affirms Feld as a valid expression of gastronomy—not a scam—in need of a bit more refinement to convince the non-believers but already in possession of some real, firm virtues.

If you can look past Potashnick’s early missteps, his underwhelming opening menus, and his prideful response to criticism—understanding them to be conventional products of immaturity/insecurity—this is your rating. If you can approach Feld’s cuisine with an open mind, expecting some estimable degree of deliciousness but also elements of simplicity and story that transcend pure pleasure, this is your rating. If you can lose yourself in the experience—space, kind faces, fine wine, and a moment in time—and bring your full self to the table, this is your rating. (Better yet, if you can conceive of someday making a return visit, this is your rating.)

Personally, you place yourself in the second category, and you look forward to tracking Feld’s growth in pursuit of an experience that will unite and convince even the most polarized patrons. With more time and commitment to its process, you predict the restaurant’s rating may even go higher.