I think I Figured it out

I won't be writing on various places, but I'll continue (or, switch) to write about people and things. Let's see how this works. I JUST figured this out, so I don't have anything planned for today.

Hmm, let me see.

Yankees v. Phillies? Ugh. Can't they both lose? I blame you for this, Kate Hudson! Goldie, come get your child!

Slight break

I need to take a slight break to refigure the way this blog is going to work. Don't cry for me, [4-syllable location]. This is a good thing. This is a VERY good thing. I'll be back soon enough. I promise.

Cost Plus World Market

2844 N Broadway St
Chicago, IL 60657
(773) 477-9912

Despite having lived in this neighborhood for 4.5 years, I had never gone into this store. I'd always mentally checked this place off as "the store with the giant wooden giraffes. Who buys that stuff??" and kept it moving. Then one night I was stalk...um, closely follo...er, forget you read any of that. I wound up in here and, in the midst of ducking behind & betwixt aisles, I began to notice that this place sells really cool stuff.

Surprisingly, I left the store as a single man. But I wasn't put out for too long because I'd found my go-to store for classiness. Yep, I am on my way to becoming The Continental. "How," you ask? It is really, ah, ah quite simple.

First, I buy scented candles and incense here. I find that the art of seduction is best aided by sumptuous, fragrant aromas. For some reason, musk is no longer a popular smell/candle. I don't know why. In any event, the World Market (Cost Plus sounds so...Sam's Club), has an abundance of candles, incense and holders from which to choose. Secondly, pillows. Yes, the World Market sells all sorts of furniture, but wood just gets in the way, n'est-ce pas? Oui, it does. I find that a good assortment of conversational adornments adds to dialogue and presents the opportunity to try them out. Thirdly, and this is the most important piece, wine. The World Market has great wines from around the world and offers them at great prices. My BYO secret? The wine cheat sheets. For every bottle of wine sold in the racks, you can discover the country, region, suggested food pairings, tastes and elements of the wine. This way, when you arrive at your Filipino/Japanese fusion spot with a bottle of South African rose', you look like a genius gourmand and no one is the wiser. Until now. Hmm. It's ok. I'm a sharer. A nurturer. I help people. And with the help of the World Market, I'm going to beat this "single" thing.

Recap: candles, incense, pillows, wine = Johnny T getting his Continental on. That's right. Stick to the script, offer no substitutions and you, too, can regale lovelies with enchanting - dare I say, bewitching - tales. But, if things go sour, buy white wine. It burns the eyes less than red and it doesn't stain. "Wow! Wowie-wow-wow-wow!"

Luscious Layers Bakery

2315 N Damen Ave
Chicago, IL 60647
(773) 661-1335

Once upon a time, there were two little girls: LiLy and Molly. Although both liked to bake cupcakes, their styles were very different. LiLy filled her cupcakes with love, sunshine and roses. Molly, a bad seed of a child, filled her cupcakes with chaos, maladies and DickCheneysauce. They both grew up and opened cupcake shops in the Second City of Wind. This is the story of LiLy the Good's cupcake shop - Luscious Layers...

This place is the best cupcake deal in town. $1 for a full sized, real cake (not cupcake cake - REAL cake), specialty cupcake? In Bucktown? What? It's true. Because the sight of myself in only a pair of underwear doesn't already make me cry hard enough, I decided that I should treat myself to some cupcakes. After all, swim suit season is behind us and sweaters are very forgiving. I walked in the front door and...what is this? Is this place a front for the mob? It's empty. There was just some lonely guy, sitting behind a sad looking cupcake display. I had my "mmm hmm" face at the ready. This couldn't possibly be the source of cupcake bliss.

Oh, but it is.

The guy worked the front of the house, while LiLy (or, Ashley) commandeered an army of rainbows and unicorns to make her delectable delights. The cupcake selection changes daily, so check the web site before you come in. I was hoping for Honey or Lavender but I was out of luck. What they DID have was Creme Brule, French Toast, Mojito and something else that escapes me. I tried three of the mini cupcakes (fresh from the cooler display) and was happy enough with how they tasted. I ordered a white with Mojito, Chocolate Cardamom and a white with Raspberry. The nice guy at the counter let me know that the large sized Mojito varied from it's mini doppelganger by virtue of it's creamy middle. Ok. Thanks. Later on.

When I got home, instead of putting the cupcakes in the fridge to keep them cool like they were in the store, I left them on my counter while I flopped on the couch and watched WordGirl. Satisfied with how Becky saved the day and eager NOT to watch that know-it-all Maya (and her beat down twin Miguel), I happened upon the white with Mojito cupcake. STOP THE PRESSES!! These cupcakes should only be eaten at room temperature. What was polite indifference at the store ("Justify my Love," if you will) turned into blind wanton lust at home ("Erotica"). Every part of this cupcake was scrumptious. The white cake was flavorful and cake-y (but light). The frosting was sugary, flakey and creamy (yes, all three at once). And the creamy middle was what those Hostess cupcakes always dreamt of being. Incredible. I fought the urge to devour the cupcake in one bite. I savored the flavor. Eating these cupcakes too quickly should be a crime. Luckily, I have two others.

...and, I lived happily ever after.

Calypso Cafe

5211 S Harper Ave
Chicago, IL 60615
(773) 955-0229

Obama made me do it! I mean, how can you come to Hyde Park and NOT eat at the Dixie Kitchen? It's tasty good Sout...er, what's that? It is? Really? Oops! Um...cue the steel drums!! Wehlcom tue Calypso Cafe, mon!! Me lovin' de island flavors!

Actually, I was a little bored by them. By the time we got to CC, we had traipsed all over Hyde Park on the monthly neighborhood tour. I wasn't as hungry as I should have been due to an ill-timed (but sooo yummy) Istria Cafe super-sized chocolate/raisin/nut cookie. So, maybe I should try the Cafe on an empty stomach. Nothing was bad and a few things were really really good. Too bad for me, the majority of it was nothing I ordered.

The bland: I ordered the pulled pork sandwich. Figuring that CC had absorbed Dixie Kitchen's southern gems, I thought I'd hit a home run with my order. The sandwich was a good size but the sauce was a little too vingegar-y for my tastes. Add to that, the pork was more dry & stringy than wet & pulled. I tried to salvage it by topping it with my cole slaw but that didn't help too much. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't memorable. The red beans that came with my sandwich were pretty disappointing. They were mushy and devoid of great taste. I'd had the black eyed peas at Dixie. I should have ordered them again.

The good: peach colada. Like Dave Foley before me, I am not ashamed to admit I am a girl drink drunk. The colada was frosty, refreshing, blended and I drank it with a straw. Also good: everything Ralph ordered. As Rhonda detailed, Ralph had the magical plate. Johnny Cakes: delicious. Fried green tomatoes: didn't try them because they came without remoulade but Rhonda liked 'em (I don't know that Ralph got to eat any). PLANTAIN NACHOS: holla if you hear me!! You know how that crazy woman with the super botoxed face on So You Think You Can Dance just screams because she hasn't mastered the art of speaking in full sentences? These nachos will make you do that. Hot.Damn those are good! And they're loaded. Every chip is full of bean and cheese and pico. Aw man, I could have made a meal of Ralph's lunch. Rhonda did.

Moral of the story: if you come to Calypso Cafe, bring Ralph and eat his food. And make him pay for it. It _is_, after all, his food.

P.S. Thanks to our waiter for great service. Due to the size of our group, we were stuck with automatic gratuity. Because of this, our waiter could have disappeared and given us attitude. He did not. He was attentive and helpful...and appreciated. Thanks!

Falafill

3202 N Broadway
Chicago, IL 60657
(773) 525-0052

Those darn veggies!! Always trying to convert folks to their meat-free lifestyle! Sure, I experimented with hummus once or twice. It was college! But, to be walking down the street and to be *forced* into eating at a restaurant pushing a meatless agenda on the public...why, it's just shameful!!

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against a vegetarian meal like you would get at Falafill. I mean, who hasn't thought about a warm pita filled with falafel, hummus and fava bean spread? And, I mean, could you *blame* me for wanting to fill it with dill, garlic *and* jalapeno sauces? The beets and pickled turnips just sorta *fell* in there. I..I...didn't know what I was doing. I thought it was chicken...or bacon. Yeah, I thought it was bacon.

And the taste...oh man...the taste. It was so familiar, yet so different. Full of flavor and completely filling, I don't know how to describe it. Ok, ok, I do! It was delicious! Is that what you want to hear?? I admit it. I ate some dill and I liked it. The taste of its veggie chapstick... Hey! What I eat behind closed doors is my own business.

A change to Falafill's to-go protocol will change this review from a 3.5 to something higher. I had to carefully balance my chick pea secret in some sort of french bread bag. Luckily, just a little sauce fell out. Additionally, the value meal doesn't add much of a value. $10+ for a sandwich, fries and drink doesn't strike me as a great deal. Fix this. And, if anyone asks, I didn't *really* like it. Weeell, maybe a little. Don't tell anyone, ok?

Roeser's Bakery

3216 W North Avenue
Chicago, IL 60647
(773) 489-6900

Ooh, chile!! Touch me in the mornin'! After I bought my goodies and BEFORE I ate them, I caught a case of happy feet and I had to shout! I had waited months to be at this very moment in time and I had to pause & reflect in that moment before I dug in. To get here, I had suffered through long days, nights and WEEKENDS at the office - going without meals, sleep and shaving. To get here, I played real, live Pole Position on the streets of Chicago - flipping off drivers and shaking my fist at jaywalkers. To get here, I waited as a clown car full of children raced past me into the bakery, took numbers from the number-pulley-thingie and practiced their best screaming-at-the-top-of-your-lungs-while-running-a round voices. To get here, *I* got a side-eye from the parent of said Lord of the Flies children - for giving *them* a side eye!

But, I was here. This was now. My moment had arrived. I felt like Kelly Clarkson as she won American Idol and choked up while singing, "A Moment Like This." I took a bite of my apple fritter and a single tear fell from my eye. I took some more bites. Faster and faster. Not all of the food wound up in my mouth. I had several large crumbs stuck in my mountain man beard. No time to stop. I must eat more. I cracked open my chocolate milk chug, took a swig and brought the rest of the fritter home. Oh, could life be this good? Was I being rewarded for keeping the faith? I tested my luck and took a bite of my chocolate frosted cake donut. Two bites. Three. Done. Like the crafty owl who clowned that little kid into finding out how many licks it takes to eat a Tootsie Pop, I had taken down my donut in three bites. Okay, okay. Maybe it was five bites. Owls have big mouths.

Crazed and life transformed, I started to run into North Avenue traffic to testify. I had to spread the word. Yeah, this place has been open for ALMOST 100 YEARS but people didn't know. They.just.didn't.know. However, I stopped myself. This is North Ave and the drivers will run my sugar-crazed ass over. I couldn't die. Not today. I still had a glazed donut (with five whole strawberries in the middle) to eat. But, I waited until the next day to eat it. I'm not completely uncivilized.

Dolce

4114 N Kedzie Ave
Chicago, IL 60618
(773) 866-1910

Oompia Lumpia
Doopia Doo
I have another riddle for you

Well, I actually don't. But I couldn't resist talking about Pinoy food without the bad pun. Sorry. And, in the spirit of openness, I am friends with a good friend of the owner. That said...

THIS PLACE IS GOOD, Y'ALL!! I came here for the soft opening and I liked it right away. First off, it's in Irving Park. When's the last time you came to Irving Park? I love patronizing places in non RiverBucker Park North. That was the first awesome. I was able to find ample, easy, non metered parking. That was the second awesome. A man who reminded me of the Simpsons' Crazy Cat Lady started yelling in my direction when I parked. That wasn't awesome...but had nothing to do with Dolce.

The inside - easily, the third awesome. There's hard wood, exposed brick and an open floor plan. As the place settles in, I'd like to see more done with seating options. There are a lot of two tops around the perimeter and a lot of unused space. As I think this could be a group destination, I'd like to see more seating geared towards parties of five or so. But, this is a hiccup. I was here for the food. (But, before the food, I hustled some friends in a Filipino card game. That was the fourth awesome.)

The food (fifth awesome) is centered around Filipino, Japanese and Italian food. Right now, all three types of food are served separately. As Dolce gets its sea legs, I'd like to see some fusion in the dishes. More on that later. Since it's BYO until the liquor license thing works out (read: pay the alderman), I came prepared with a South African rose'. It was the perfect match to my Asian pork-y dinner. For appetizer, I had the lumpia. As I said in my Isla Pilipina review, I could eat lumpia whilst writhing in condiments for all the world to see. It's delicious. And it's delicious here. My main course was the Tocino. In.Credible. It's crispy, sweet, savory, tender, amazingly flavorful pork. I don't know how they get one pig to be so many things, but I applaud them for the result. The Tocino was served with rice and small, dressed salad. Delicious. Dessert was creamy green tea ice cream and that was a hit as well.

As delicious as the food is, I suggest switching it up some and fusing some of the dishes. For example, serve the Tocino with ginger-infused rice. Maybe the lumpia could be served with some sort of marinara/pepper-type sauce instead of the traditional sweet and sour. And the green tea ice cream? That could be green tea gelato. All I'm saying is you have three great cuisines to pick from. Why not try switching it up and playing with flavors? My consulting fee is in the mail.

The sixth awesome - the crowd. Wow! There were some smokin' hot folks walking around. Usually, I only say that when Jerome is holding my mirror, but I have to give props where they're deserved. Food tastes better when you eat it around sexy folks. It's a fact. It's why you see my life-sized cutout in so many Michelin rated restaurants. Don't hate. I'm just sayin'.

And I'm sayin' you should get a bottle of your favorite wine, head to Irving Park with some friends, look grown & sexy and prepare to spend an evening eating great food in a great space. Just don't be distracted by the disarmingly attractive man you see in the corner. I'm not really there. It's just my cardboard cut out. Mmmm, doesn't that food taste better already? That's the seventh awesome.

Ping Tom Park

300 W 19th ST
Chicago, IL 60689

On the disaster that was the Chinatown tour, Ping Tom was the shining light - and we never even made it there! That's ok. More for me. Ping Tom is a perfect example of why I decided to do the tours. I wanted a chance to highlight parts of Chicago that some folks can go their entire stay here and never experience. This is one of those spots.

Peace. I find peace at Ping Tom. Once you navigate through secret paths and cross railroad tracks to get to it, you'll be welcomed with open arms by the Four Dragon Gateway. These gigantic columns are covered with impressive etchings and gleam at night. Passing through the Gateway, you'll arrive at the China-style pavilion. Take a load off and contemplate the Chicago River. I promise you, the view will be one of the best of the River that you've ever had.

If you can motivate to move out from under the pavilion, cut left. To the right is the playground. Kids are cute and all, but I'm going for enlightened serenity not, "Timmy, sit down. Sit.Down. Honey, please don't throw those rocks. *Sob* whywon'tyoubehave?" So, cut left. If you do, you'll find concrete and dirt paths beset by those giant flowers that look like cotton balls, large bamboo trees, enormous ginko...wait a minute. It's sort of like the island of King Kong, now that I think about it. The vegetation is monstrous. But, beautiful. So, as long as none of it asks you to "feed [it], Seymour," you should be fine.

If man-eating plants aren't your thing, venture close to the water...and look up. The park is an old railyard and some of the equipment still towers above the river. The riverbank is at a bend in the river, so you can view it with some perspective to its flow. It, too, is quite pretty. It makes an impressive postcard at dusk.

Ping Tom is a respite from the insanities of urban life. Chicago is blessed to have many amazing and distinct green spaces. You owe it to yourself to experience them. Summertime lasts only a moment these days. Spend a few seconds of that time adding some yin to your yang and visit Ping Tom park.

Lao ShangHai Restaurant

2163 S China Pl
Chicago, IL 60616
(312) 808-0830

*Channels 1990 Julia Roberts - post-skank, newly 'prettied' in a snooty Rodeo Drive boutique*

Big-a$$ Hat? Check.

Jewelry? Check.

Pretty pretty princess dress? Check.

"Hi. You're the manager around here, right? You work off [reviews], don't you? [points to below recap] Big Mistake! HUGE!!"

I set up a reservation for 13 hungry Chicagoans to dine at Lao Shanghai as the restaurant of choice during the Chinatown neighborhood tour. I spoke with the manager, confirmed my party's number, time of arrival, preference of table and tastes. From scouting the location, I knew that the restaurant valued the positive reviews from diners.

Excited from reading the reviews, I was set for great food and an exciting recap set to the tune of "Boom Boom Pow." (It was going to start "I ate some Bomb Kung Pow, I said, "It tastes like 'Wow!'" Tragic, the loss.) Such a recap was never to occur. After a morning of snafus, crowded plazas and a foretold fate of marrying a mean, nagging woman, I (and the rest of the tourists) showed up at 2:28 pm for our 2:30 pm reservation. My friend, Awesome Alice, took the point while I held the door for the others. She spoke to the manager, furrowed her brow and called me in. The manager had given away our table not ten minutes before. Listen to me: THE MANAGER GAVE AWAY OUR TABLE BEFORE OUR RESERVATION. Un.Acceptable.

I tried to stay calm. I asked him when ("Uh, just a second ago."). I asked him why ("Uh, I don't know."). I asked him what (now) ("Wait for another table."). I asked him where ("At these tables." "YOU MEAN THE TABLES WITH PEOPLE JUST STARTING THEIR MEALS??!!"). By the time I got to "how", I had to leave. I was going to hurt him. I had 13 hot and hungry people I had led to Chinatown and promised a great meal. That wasn't going to happen through no fault of my own - but from the willful unprofessionalism of Lao Shanghai's management.

As we walked the green mile to Happy Chef, I looked back at the front window. It was full of positive reviews. After our group's piss poor treatment at the restaurant, I wonder where those reviews came from and if those reviewers had had reservations. You like reviews, Lao Shanghai? I got your review right here!

The Red Canary

695 N. Milwaukee Ave.
Chicago, IL 60642
(312) 846-1475

If Blue Canaries hang out in outlets by light switches and Black Canaries fight crime, what do Red Canaries do? If this place is any indication, they kick puppies. Wow. Complete let down, this place was. My friends and I scouted this place as a possibility for upcoming birthday celebrations - either for dinner or drinks. It failed in every aspect.

Building: It's in the old Avenue M spot so anyone who was there, has been here. With the exception of chandeliers and red walls, this place looks the same...that is, if you can see it. We came here at 7 and it was pitch black inside. We could barely see each other and we were sitting by a window. Not good. The bathrooms are at the end of a long hallway. I liked this. You could model strut (and smile with your eyes) your way past the kitchen and strike a pose before doing your business. But, if you do, you better have some hand wipes with you. The bathroom was sans hand towels. Not THAT big a deal...except the guy who came out of the bathroom before me was an employee. Not good. From what I heard, the women's bathroom had a large crack in the mirror. Isn't that "The Omen"-style bad luck? Not good.

Food: At the price point the food is offered, it's way overpriced and under-served. We ordered about 6 entrees between the four of us. I was underwhelmed. Hmm, let's see. Fries: ho-hum. Jambalaya: bland (former New Orleanian here). Pork belly. Good. SHORT (you ain't just whistlin' Dixie...) rib. Dunno (don't eat beef). Lobster something. Boring. The croquette. Ok. But nothing wowed me. To be fair, nothing was awful. But, for the portion size you get and the quality of the food, either lob off a couple of bucks here or there or make the portions bigger or....make it better. Butbutbut, Johnny T...the chef has worked at the best restaurants for the past FORever!! So? George W has degrees from Harvard and Yale. Your point is...? Paying A prices for C quality is not the business. Not good.

Drinks: Weak. Our first round was a complete disaster. Nothing we ordered had ANY kick. Nor did they have the proper ingredients. One round of libations was frustrated by the lack of ORANGE JUICE behind the bar. Really? No Orange juice? Stop. Just stop. Shut the doors. Drive to Dominick's. Buy some d@mn OJ. Not good. For a place that specializes in drinks, I expect them to wow me. Violet Hour. Wows. Tiny Lounge. Wows (and incapacitates). This? ..... Try to say something nice about the drinks...Oh! Ice is a special feature of many of the drinks here. Rather than alcohol or mixers, you'll find the drinks at Red Canary lovingly filled to the brim with boulder-sized ice cubes. 'Ice' is the new 'drink 'in 2009 dontcha know.

Service: The wheels? They are off. Way off. It took twelve minutes for the waitress to greet us. We should have left. When she finally came by, she told us that the bussers would be by to give us some water. And they did - at the end of the meal. [I kid you not. They walked past our table all evening and not once stopped to give us (fill? Ha!) water until our food was gone.] Embarrassed that no one had come by, the waitress generously filled our glasses with cucumber water. We didn't realize this was a good thing until we suffered through drinks with no mixers, no choice ingredients and/or no...drink. But, at the end of our meal, we couldn't get the bussers to stop serving us water. And plates. After a meal of snafus, the busser came by and gave our party small plates and new silverware. "Oh, we're getting comped desserts. Cool." No. He was JUST PLACING THE PLATE AND STEMWARE FOR THE NEXT CUSTOMERS WHILE WE WERE STILL SITTING!!! I asked him, point blank, what he was doing and this is what he said. Not good. Scratch 'not good.' Try health code violation! I was incensed at this point.

I asked for the check.

There's some weird math thing going on here. Busser to waitress face time is an inverse ratio. The more we saw one, the less we saw of another. We flagged our waitress down and asked for the check. We waited. And waited. We lay our heads down on the table. We told the table next to us to leave & save themselves. AFTER TWENTY-TWO MINUTES, the waitress comes by and claims that the printer was unable to print checks. Orly? My friend, Lady J, springs into action, goes to the bar, demands our check, HAS ONE PRINTED OUT and gets a $35 comp. Then, the waitress comes back to the table and claims credit for the comp - in front of Lady J! Ballsy or stupid? I don't know. To her credit, the waitress grimaced and mentioned what a 'disaster' the evening was. One star for absent lucidity.

To wit: Red Canary is to restaurant/lounges as sharts are to thong bikini bottoms.

Martini Park

151 W Erie
Chicago, IL 60610
(312) 640-0577

As some bimbo wailed "So What?" on the karaoke stage, I saw a white 'roided out bodybuilder with t!ts bigger than Dolly Parton and a spray tan that made him darker than Wesley Snipes.

Is that cute?

My friends and I sat/stood next to a table of wh0res - complete with pimp/fat John. Seriously. The madam rolled up in her Bentley, double parked outside the bar, gave the girls the what for for not working with the client and getting out there and making money - and then she took off into the night...no doubt on her way to lead Pat Benetar down the path of marching an army of street walkers to rise up against the gold toothed.

Ok, the madam was sorta awesome. One more star for her.

But, for real for real - who *are* these people? Do they really live in Chicago? Is this some sort of experiment? What is this place? It's as though I paid $10 to drink expensive juice and witness the Viagra Triangle form an unholy union with River North sports bars. This is the place to be to see skunk hair, skanky women, fake b00bies and guys with big asses. It's true. I have never seen so many men with huge a$$es in one place. Does Chicago have an obesity problem or is J-Lo spiking Lake Michigan?

The band transitioned from "Rock Your Body" ("Heeey!!") to "Sweet Home Alabama" (not "Heeey!!") seamlessly. That's not a compliment. Somehow, Miami met Carbondale on the way to Las Vegas. When keeping it chill goes wrong, there you have Martini Park.

This place makes no sense.

We Won't Forget About You

R.I.P. John Hughes.

Palette Bistro

2834 N Southport Ave
Chicago, IL 60657
(773) 477-2565

You broke my streak!

Due to a healthy mix of alchemy, ESP and computer algorithms, I am the go-to guy amongst my friends when it comes to selecting restaurants. Usually, I get oohs and ahhs. This time I got, "What chu talkin' 'bout, Willis?" and plentiful side-eyes.

I suppose this experience can best be summed up as a HOT MESS.

Hot: the place was stifling! There was no a/c in the restaurant and we suffered for it. The windows and doors were open, but tropical breeze, there was not. For being in the Windy City, this was one stagnant night. I saw my friend's hair go from full to limp. My underwear stuck to me in places that...well, I should not discuss them in public forums. My buddy - a man of great patience - continuously wiped his brow and fought back annoyance of sweating into his food. Just getting through the meal was exhausting. Sweltering is only fun in saunas, steamrooms and beaches - and those all involve some aspect of nudity. Here, no nudity. Just heat. Not fun.

Mess: everything else. I knew the evening was starting on a bad note, when I could barely make out the menu. This place is DARK. Romantic lighting is low. Horror movie lighting is pitch. This was closer to the latter. And the music...no. I think we heard the entirety of The Light's™ morning rotation. "Daniel" doesn't make me want to get my groove on. Depending on my emotional state, it makes me weepy or contemplative. NOT.Romantic. Ever.

Okay, so bad lighting and music. What about the food? Heh. This. We asked our waiter about the deal of the evening. Soup/Salad, Entree & Dessert for $25. Sounds good. He rolled his eyes at us like we were cheap skates. "Do you, at least, want some appetizers?" he quipped. Translation: how cheap are you? Really? It's YOUR restaurant's deal!! Incidentally, this was the last meaningful interaction we had with this guy. Foolishly, we obliged him and ordered the antipasti and portabella mushroom apps. The antipasti tasted like Water air with a side of Paper. Nothing. It.tasted.like.nothing. I shouldn't have complained about that. "Nothing" tastes better than nasty. The other app? Nasty. The mushroom tasted like burnt garbage. I felt myself developing heartburn with every nibble.

But wait. There's more! The entree. I ordered the pork belly. I received pork jell-o. It weebled, wobbled and made me gag. It was brown fat. Typically, bacon (amazing, yummy, delicious bacon) is made from pork belly. The only thing that could have been made from this pork belly was tears. Horrible. Laughingly, I anticipated dessert. I ordered the chocolate molten cake. There was nothing molten about it, but it was edible - so that's a plus. My friends who ordered the passion fruit torte were disappointed. Imagine that!

We made it through the meal. We had dilated pupils, easy listening ear bugs, sweaty crevices, simultaneous indigestion & empty stomachs and headaches. But we made it. Then we got the bill. Turns out the reason for our non-existent service was the automatic gratuity. At Palette, groups of FIVE or more are hit with the automatic gratuity.

Insult added to injury, all I could do was laugh. All my friends could do was strip me of my restaurant-choosing privileges. Do you hear that, Palette? Baby was put in the corner because of you!!

Hot.Mess.

The Copernicus Center

5216 W Lawrence Ave
Chicago, IL 60630
(773) 777-8898

Michael Jackson is greater than Chris Brown

GI Joe the cartoon is greater than GI Joe the movie (I can see into the future)

The Real World first season is greater than any Real World after SF

They don't make 'em like they used to.

The old Gateway was re-named, refurbished and transformed into the Copernicus Center and the place is something to behold. It's a beautiful and versatile building that houses concerts, plays and anything else that might need a touch of class.

Admittedly, walking in, I was tempted to run around like a little kid. Y'see, I have always had a thing for well-designed, wide-open spaces. It makes me happy. I don't know why. And there's a lot to make me happy here. The long lobby stands guard to a gorgeous theater space. With ample seating and balcony views, I don't think there's a bad seat in the place. But you might not be able to concentrate on the stage when there's frosty beers (and other drinks) to be consumed (in glasses!!), dramatic chandeliers at which to marvel and woodwork etchings to study. The entire center is a throwback to when people gave a da[rn] about their craft and buildings told stories & prompted conversation. From its giant towers gleaming with Polish pride to its inside of grand staircases, dramatic loges, grandma cabinetry, big stages, comfy carpets and a full, old-timey bar, you'll be transported back to a time when Glen Miller played, songs made the hit parade and [old white guys with bad attitudes] had it made.

Hmm. I guess not everything changes.

Tiny Lounge

4352 N Leavitt St
Chicago, IL 60618
(773) 463-0396

"Uggghhh, I feel awful."

"Wow. I can't believe I woke up in time for work. 9:38 am??!! What??!! Oh no!!!"

"OMG. I'm alive. Thank you, Lord."

Wake up at foot of bed with head hanging over the side, wearing only a t-shirt. My apartment is approx. 101 degrees because I forgot to turn on the a/c. The overwhelming stench of pore-seeped alcohol fills the air with angry condemnation. Wall hangings are strewn across the floor. Electrical outlets are torn out of the wall. Mail is everywhere. Garbage lies across my foyer and bathroom floor. The toilet is fresh outta Happy Chef.

"Oh dear Lord God. I think I'm gonna die."

Stumble in the door. "Gotta pee. Ugh. I think I'm gonna hurl." Falls over hall table. Tries to get up. Knocks into wall. Starts to disrobe to make it to bathroom. Knocks over garbage can. Flails around bathroom in the dark, praying for the toilet or shower. Finds one. Starts to...zzzzz. Wakes up. Stands up. Falls. "OMG. I think that evil guy bartender gave me a roofie."

"yeahum my building's overrr herrre. kthx. urr a real' nice cabbie. i'm glad u cam to 'merica. how much? hererr's twenty. kthxbye."

"Later on, man. I'm not gonna make it to the train. I'm starting to feel a little sick. I'm gonna take this cab."

"You guys aren't driving are you? No? Ok. Good. It was a pleasure having you here. Come back soon!"

"Heeey. Um, distract that girl's boyfriend while I give her my number."

"I can't do another round. *Really*"

"Hi, I'm Sarah. What can I get you?" "Do I know you? You look really familiar." Hemingway made by Sarah. Ahi Tuna tacos. WOW! So good. Strawberry milkshake alcohol drink with an umbrella made by Sarah. No shame. Tiny Cider made by some dude. "I don't taste any alcohol! The guy bartender screwed me! I want Sarah back." Pee. Shots with Sarah. "What if the guy bartender put poison in my drink?" Vodka/berry concoction Sarah made up. Shots with Sarah. Shots with Sarah. Gin/orange concoction Sarah made up. Pee.

"Good to see you, bro. How you been?"

"Let's meet up at Tiny Lounge. I hear it's really cool."

Ringring. "Hey! What's up? Yeah. I'd be in for getting a drink on Thursday. Yeah, let's do something low key because I have to get up early in the morning."

Duh!

In other breaking news, Paris Hilton is a skank.

The Happy Chef Dim Sum House

2164 S. Archer Avenue
Chicago, IL 60616
(312) 808-3689

*cradles self*

**rocks back and forth while whimpering "i'll never teeeelllll**

***tries to eat while visions of dirty diapers, clogged toilets and nasty mops flood (hyuck) the recesses of my memory banks***

...THE BATHROOMS!!! ....THE BATHROOMS.... DEAR GOD ALMIGHTY....THE BATHROOMS!!!!!!! Dem some nasty folks up at the Dim Sum House.

I HATE you, Lao Shanghai.*

*For reasons soon to be recapped.

Arrigo Park

801 S Loomis
Chicago, IL 60607

So, we were touring around Little Italy (I refuse to call it by its slave name, "University Village") when we came across this really creepy statue of Christopher Columbus. Like, Lost, creepy. Hmm, no, maybe more like those paintings on Scooby Doo where the eyes came alive and followed folks. Yeah, like that. So, as we were contemplating what lies in the shadow of the statue, I thought to myself, "I really like this park."

No, it wasn't the threat of polar bears lounging on the beach or buggy-eyed weirdos that gave me Stockholm-Syndrome and made me think I liked something that was, actually, bad for me. It was:

-the cool entrance to the park. As creepy as the statue is, it is impressive. It's large, looming and distinct. Surrounding the statue is an undulating concrete design that goes well with the pool of water in which CC stands (and glares). Chicago is known for its architecture and I love finding small gems such as the CC statue/patio to remind me of this. Our group was transfixed by the scene and spent a lot of time throwing pennies into the pool, making wishes, mocking the statue and looking over our shoulders to ensure that said statue wasn't coming alive and preparing to chase us;

-the peaceful easy feeling of the layout of the park. You won't play in a baseball diamond and it's likely you won't buy tamales from a cart here, either. This park is about sunbathing, reading books, playing frisbee and enjoying a breezy, greenspace. The park layout is rather simple: a huge plot of green grass, bounded by a thicket of trees. That's it. But this description doesn't give the park it's due. This is the kind of park that you bring your little ones to in order to play tag and tire themselves out. This is the park you come to with a blanket, your honey and...well, if you need me to fill this in for you, odds are you'll never come here with your little ones. This is the kind of park that is not too big, not too small - it's just right;

-the secret nature of the park. Like I mentioned, it's smack dab in the middle of Little Italy. It's bounded by trees and, beyond the trees, homes. The homes are large and breathtaking. This is one of the few areas of Little Italy that resembles the way the neighborhood looked before it was laid to waste by Daley the First. I felt a serenity whilst walking the grounds. In a lot of city parks, despite the beauty, you never forget that you're in a city. Not here. It's quiet and I was easily transported away from the hustle and bustle of the city. It's not sceney, but you'll feel like an insider for having made this your spot.

The above applies to the park in daytime.

If cartoon dogs, hungry stoners, immortals with guyliner and freckle-faced women who travel through time in order to mess up my girl, Juliette's, good thing are more your speed, come here at night and wear your Nikes. CC tops out at, about, a 4.35. Good luck.

Mexique

1529 W Chicago Ave
Chicago, IL 60622
(312) 850-0288

Eeee!! I loved it!! I was throwin' panties all over the place. Believe the hype. This place does it right. I was a bit apprehensive that the meal couldn't possibly hold up to the stories I'd heard. It did.

Hostess, waitress & bus staff: attentive, helpful, present, kind and (when applicable) sexy. Everyone seemed to enjoy what they were doing, where they were working and sought opportunities to help. Nice. Lace panties to the face.

Food: everything tasted incredible. Seriously. I'd never had Mexican fare served like this and with every bite, I gained a greater understanding of 'Mexican food, french style.' What I ate: tres sopes appetizer (amazing; the escargot was my favorite), tilapia (I think it was tilapia) was bathed in a spicy sauce, served with spicy cole slaw and on top a well seasoned mashed vegetable (I want to say...cauliflower...?) that helped balance out all the heat. Dessert was the chocolate enchiladas. Incredible. Chocolate served as enchiladas...with chocolate sauce!! During the appetizer, Chef Carlos came over to check on us, describe the food, how it should be savored and experienced and what we should order depending on our mood & tastes. I know he does it for everyone, but I appreciated his interest in his customers. Sexy care deserves sexy panties. Satin thong lovingly draped over the ears.

Decor: hip but not annoying. The lighting is low but not romantic. The glassware was cool. The wide mouthed, no-stem wine glasses helped my white wine breathe and allowed me to get my greasy paws around it without fear of dropping it and looking foolish. At first, I didn't like how close the tables were to each other...but that meant plenty of bubbly booties in my face! Yay! I like a show with my dinner. Edible panties (not worn before being thrown; I'm not nasty).

I'll be back. And I'll be wearing more pairs of panties to throw. I nearly ran out. Nearly.

Lovely: A Bake Shop

1130 N Milwaukee Ave
Chicago, IL 60622
(773) 572-4766

Truth in advertising.

Lovely in the past: I walk in this place and I just feel...good. Not "Ohh, I wanna DANCE wit' someBODEH..." good or "Oh no, LET'S go.." good but, like, "Happiness is..finding a nickel...daytime and nighttime too...cuz happiness is anything or anyone at all...that's looooved byyyy youuu." I learned that song for a fourth grade recital. That's how I feel at Lovely. I feel like a nine year old little boy with no cares other than singing a Charlie Brown song whilst standing on a riser.

Lovely in the present: Yeah, shabby chic is sorta done. And, yeah, dirty menchildren in tight stretchjeans make me itch. But the lovely ladies who work here seem so earnest in their interactions...the space is so homey and inviting...none of the bad stuff seems to matter. The food helps. The sandwiches are filling and just different enough to not be typical (I enjoy the turkey with garlic/shallot spread, red peppers and provolone cheese). The cupcakes are deliciously homemade and authentic. Typically, I wolf down sweets. I take the time to taste these. I _know_!!

Lovely in the future: This is the kind of place where I can steal glimpses of the future. Glimpses that involve cute toddlers, sundresses, bare feet on green grass, giggling and happiness. Who knows why? Maybe it's the warm weather. Maybe it's the warm smiles behind the counter. Maybe it's the sugar in the tarts. I dunno. It's sorta like this place is a physical version of Jason Mraz's "Lucky." Yeah. Maybe that's it. Lovely.

Crocodile

1540 N Milwaukee Ave
Chicago, IL 60622
(773) 252-0880

So, here's the thing: I didn't hate it. I thought I would. I was even looking forward to hating it. I haven't hated on a place in a long time and I was all set to chug a 64 oz. bottle of Ruby Red Haterade. But I didn't. The description is a bit misleading. I was expecting something out of a college fraternity house - you know, basement with mismatched (and filthy) couches, sticky (and filthy) floors, busted up (and filthy) beer pong table, cheap (and filthy) Jeno's personal pizzas, skanky (and filthy) townie girls of questionable age. I was surprised to not find any of this.

The place was bright and clean (for a fratty lounge). I didn't have to prop my head from touching the banquets for fear of catching head lice. The drinks were decent - although I, typically, only get bottle drinks at bars lest I catch a case of the herps thanks to non-washed re-used glasses. The pizzas were tasty and non-Jeno's. The booty was eye catching but I was much too sleepy to try to touch any of it.

Decent.

Two problems. 1.) The music. I was hoping for 90s rap/hip hop. I have been watching old episodes of Living Single recently and I miss _that_ NYC (not the homogenized, overpriced and boring NYC that exists now). I wanted some New Jack swing. I wanted to get my nails did with Coko & SWV. Instead I was subjected to droning monotone 'beats' straight outta Rockford. No. 2.) I was molested by a crackhead. To my assailant: you drug-addled, greasy-haired, halitosis-spewing methqueen...no one in my party had your F---ing backpack, lest of all me.!! I was too in shock to do anything to you at the moment but, trust, if I see you again, expect a karate chop to the Adam's apple.

But, not as bad as I expected, Crocodile.

Isla Pilipina

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Nazareth Sweets

4638 N Kedzie Ave.
Chicago, IL 60625
(773) 463-2457

Dubious, I was. I knew, going in, that Nazareth Sweets was the real deal but I didn't think that it was a real deal I could appreciate. Y'see, I don't do 'sweets' with honey and/or simple syrup. I want SWEET. I want insta-sugar yum yums. Honey is for bees. Phyllo dough? What fo'? Nuts? Crunchy. Not sweet. So...dubious, I was.

The initial selections didn't do much to make me reach for my wallet. I discovered that the doughnut hole looking things were crunchy. Blargh. The churro looking thing was wet & squishy. Eeeww. I was a'feared that I wouldn't have anything sweet on which to sup. And that's when I saw it: the western wall glass case. While the southern (and longer) glass case is full of flaky, squishy, nutty, honey baked goods, the west wall is full of chocolate, caramel and...well, those are the only two things that really matter, right?

I spied some chewy caramel cup-things, cookies with chocolate, caramel and pecans on top and some sort of chocolate macaroons. I didn't know where to start. Yes I did. I had a cup. And...oohhh.....myyyy....mocha choca latta ya ya...whooo...Middle Eastern Marmalaaaad-uh. I didn't know where I was or what happened. I opened my mouth, bit down and was transported to a land of enlightenment. Forget talks and mediation: drop these caramel cups onto the Gaza Strip and I guarantee peace and harmony will last for ages.

One tip, however: in my zest for bringing about peace in the Middle East, I had three of these cups in a row. Don't do this. I thought I was going into a diabetic sugar shock. My left calf & foot started hurting and I got scared. Save yourself from this. Eat one at a time, take a moment to enjoy your elevated state and prepare to pick some up for me. Papa needs his bon bons.

Hookah 101 Village Bazaar

4505 N Kedzie Ave
Chicago, IL 60625

So, I am wandering around Albany Park, scouting it for a neighborhood tour, when I spied Hookah 101. Being Albany Park, I'd already passed by exactly 483956 hookah shops. What made me stop in this one? I have no idea. "What the h(ookah)," I figured, and walked in.

I stumbled in. Literally. I tripped over something in the doorway. It's a small shop that sells hookah and tobacco products wholesale and on an individual basis. On the southside of the storewall are a bevy of ornate hookah pipes, tobacco, incense, incense burners (including the kind you see in Catholic churches that you get to fling around; what fun!), hand-carved stools and a lot of other things I couldn't discern. The northside is the home of oils and a store-length long jewelry case. Most of the effects are Middle Eastern/North African and everything was very shiny and beautiful. I saw rings, necklaces, broaches, head adornments and earrings. I tiptoed around gilded cups, plates and stemware that looked expensive. I saw familiar icons such an ankhs, eyes, birds and cats. By the door are books on language, culture and religion and all over the shop are really gorgeous dresses, shawls and frilly things.

The owner is very laid back and friendly. He explained that he'd been having tea with a friend and that was why the stools were in the middle of the floor. After he asked if I would like a cup of tea, he encouraged me to walk around, pick things up, ask questions and try things out. He didn't hover but he was quick to interrupt his conversation with his neighbor (a restaurant owner) to offer me suggestions. I wound up buying some burning oil, incense and one of those incense-thrower things. I have plenty of incense holders but this one is stainless steel, fancy and is what I would use to bless my (or yours, for a fee) house. Pretty cool.

The cost for all of this? I can't tell you. Seriously, I was shocked at how little I paid. I thought that he told me wrong and I sorta stood around and looked at him for a bit. Then he asked me what part of Egypt I was from. I answered, "Kentucky." "Oh. Like the chicken?," he replied with a laugh. "But really? You're not Egyptian? Muslim?" "No. I'm sorry." "No worries, my friend." My friend! I make friends wherever I go. It dawned on me that, perhaps, my good price fortunes were the results of ambiguous ethnicity and I should high tail it out of their before I was charged "white people" price. So, with a handshake and smile, I left.

And I left feeling really good about my 'discovery.' If you like Middle Eastern/North African smells and/or bling, definitely check this place out. It's a small shop but there's a lot to see and experience. Plus, the owner is a really nice guy who will answer your questions, show you jewelry and offer you a seat & tea. What's not to like about that?

Beverly Bakery and Cafe

10528 S Western Ave
Chicago, IL 60643
(773) 238-5580

Weeks later I can still taste the fritter/cinnamon roll I ate...and I still have no idea exactly what it was. What I do know it *was*, however, was darn tasty. Much like Jules and Vincent debating the virtues of canines with good attitudes, BB&C is much the same.

That's a compliment, I promise. This place has personality. And personality goes a long way.

This is a real deal, neighborhood kind of place which belies the truth of its two year (give or take) existence. Armed with coffee and baked goods on a cold day in March, sitting here made me feel like an authentic Chicagoan. I was waited on by minors (take THAT child labor laws!), ate sweet things my waistline did not need and was guaranteed not to run into a wayward Chad or Trixie.* And that's fine with me.

You can keep your Lincoln Park lattes, scones and twitterskypes, Chixie. I'll gladly take my Beverly hazelnut-served-in-ceramic, oversized cinnafritter and Sun-Times. This place is real. And it's real good.

*Shh, I don't think they know Beverly exists.

Top Notch Beef Burgers

2116 W 95th St
Chicago, IL 60643
(773) 445-7218

Calling oneself 'Top Notch' forces one to live up to a high standard. Such a standard must apply to the food, service and environs.

the bathroom

We wandered into Top Notch after a long day spent outside. We were a little cold and in need of a neighborhood staple. Top Notch! Of course.

the bathroom

Our large party was seated at the back of the restaurant but I didn't feel any shame in that. We sat at the kings' table - the only table big enough for a bunch of hungry neighborhood tourists who'd just toured all around Beverly. I don't eat beef and was very happy to discover that Top Notch has a variety of tasty turkey burger options. Since these are old-school type burgers, they're on the thinner side. So, do yourself a favor and order a 1/2 pound deluxe (onions - grilled or raw, pickles, lettuce, tomato, ketchup, mustard) with cheese (jalapeno peppers) and a 1/2 plateful of very seasoned and great tasting hand-cut fries. Oh, and a bottled soda. I chose grape. Our waitress was awesome. She took everyone's order, asked questions and repeated them so as to confirm she was correct in her notation. Was she a chatty Kathy? No. But, she did her job with polite professionalism and kept it moving. I appreciated that.

the bathroom

I'm a bit OCD, so after a day of trekking through neighborhoods, I tend to enjoy washing my hands before eating. I excused myself from the table so as to wash up in the bathroom.

the bathroom

That bathroom was one I had seen before - in my nightmares. Before I had fully judged the room, I closed the door, turned on the dingy light, walked in and turned the knob. What was a routine act of making sure no one walked in on me, unknowingly became my tomb. I turned on the faucet, washed my hands, lowered the faucet with my wrists and looked for an air dryer. That's when I saw it: one of those cloth towel dispensers that go every which way but clean. You know, the kind that rotate around and around, but is only as clean as the hand dried before yours. Terrified of what a black light would reveal on my cloth antagonist, I looked for a way out of the restroom but there was no way out! I couldn't dry my hands on the terror wheel, nor could I open the door handle sans paper protection. After, what seemed like an hour, I looked to the sky, gulped hard and...I can't reveal the awful truth of that day. ..i...just...can't. *choke* *sob*

I returned to the table, shaken but determined to eat my meal. With an unsteady smile, I resumed the conversation. The food came out and I was pleased with my selection. I ate everything but wasn't fully invested in my meal or company. My mind was elsewhere. You see, I had to go home, take a Silkwood shower and cry.

If in the neighborhood, I'd probably go back. I'd just bring some Purell and (page from the waitresses' playbook) keep it moving.

Nuevo Leon Bakery

1634 W 18th St
Chicago, IL 60608
(312) 243-5977

1 Churro-donut thingie. 1 Pineapple empanada. 1 oversized Chocolate M & M cookie. 1 Chocolate frosted cake donut.

Judging my the increased size of my @ss, expanding waistline and haste with which I ate them, I'd say this place is pretty decent. I gave away a jumbo chocolate frosted cake donut. I knew it would be too much for me. The cookie was just OK but the Churro-donut thingie and the empanada were both great! Wandering around the bakery, I noted that they had a decent selection of items but most things centered around chocolate. I was in the mood for fruity filled baked good and didn't see much to satisfy that craving.

FYI: All the transactions were in Spanish. Considering that the majority of the Spanish I know I learned from the Ozzie Guillen School of &^^%*, I was sorta lost. I faked my way through it and hoped for the best.

Cafe 787

6019 W Fullerton Ave
Chicago, IL 60639
(773) 237-0787

COME HERE!! If you think you'll find better Puerto Rican food in Chicago, you are one crazy MOFOngo. Seriously, hands down, THE best Puerto Rican fare I have had in the Second City. Cafe 787 hits on all points.

Yes, it's a drive. No, it's not in Humboldt Park. Yes, you will come here again and again. I was not ready for this jelly. Cafe 787 was too Boricua-licious for me. My friend had been fiending for some mofongo. Y'see, I'd taken her to a recommended Southside Rican spot - for mofongo. We were served matzah balls and told it was mofongo. We were unamused. After we set it off in there (and went on the run to avoid prosecution), we decided to give the search another try. We made the long drive west on Fullerton and found a parking spot right in front.

Visually, this place is awesome. Hardwood floors, exposed brick walls, Puerto Rican masks, paintings of Puerto Rico, mounted tvs, black wood seats, comfy & plush booths - the place is decorated really nicely. Even the bathrooms are nice - Kohler faucets, high tech hand dryers, sparkly black tile floor... I was in a good mood from sight alone.

My friends and I ascended to the second level, settled in and got to the business of ordering. Champagne cola, mango juice, Malta, aranitas (with garlic bread & sauce already mixed), el trio (maduros topped with creole chicken and bbq pork - OFF THE FREAKING CHAIN good), three orders of mofongo (two pork, one chicken; ask for it because it's not currently on the menu) and three orders of arroz con gandules. Our waitress repeated the order as though to verify we knew what we were ordering. Yep! We weren't scurred. We wanted to eat like we were chillin' with Don Omar in Old San Juan as we plotted to backhand that f00l, Daddy Yankee.

Seeing we weren't playing around, she put in the order. The owner came out to chat us up and he found out we were for real when a member of my party made some bioluminescence from Vieques magically appear in her Malta. Impressed, he went back to the kitchen to make sure our food was on point.

How good was it? We didn't speak for nearly twenty minutes after the food came out. We barely used utensils and managed only to grunt for hot sauce for the pork and mofongo. Unbelievably good. The maduros were sweet and huge & the meat on top served as perfect savory compliments to every bite. The aranitas were crunchy, filling and nicely seasoned. My Cola Champagne on ice was the nectar of kings. And the mofongo...oh me oh my. It was HUGE. Gigantic portion of the plantain delight (full of cracklins) and the pork and chicken that accompanied it could have fed two people each. Add to this: salad AND three orders of arroz con gandules? Wow. I'm flashing back to the eating and I am both ashamed and proud of myself. We took so much food down that Kobiyashi bowed down to us and took notes.

After we gorged ourselves and stretched out to lie down (you think I'm kidding; we had grease on our mouths & fingers and in our hair and our bellies were distended), the owner and waitress came out to have a conversation. We found out that they've been open about a year. A liquor license is a couple of weeks away and they have plans to keep the place open to 2 on the weekends with live music and dancing. All this food AND Puerto Rican Rum AND booty shaking? It's about to be on & poppin' - literally! Even though we didn't have room for dessert, the owner gave my friend a huge container of freshly made sofrito just because it came up in conversation. And, oh yeah, tax & tip came out to $30 a person. That's right.

There is no other place in Chicago one should go for Puerto Rican food. Great decor, nice music, friendly service, COOL owner and fantastic food. Man, I am getting hungry again just thinking about it. Come here and bring me along. Think of it as a finder's fee.

Let Me Tell You 'Bout You Part 1

Another break from the restaurant recaps for another feature on whatilovetohate: Let Me Tell You 'Bout You. In this feature...I tell people about themselves. Simple.

For the inaugural telling - Holly Robinson Peete.

I *know*!

She was on 21 Jump Street.

She's Gordon from Sesame Street's daughter.

She's beautiful.

And she's wrong.

In the aftermath of the Steve McNair homicide, she tweeted (that just sounds nasty) something to the effect that if he were her husband, she & the kids will skip the funeral. Well, Holly Robinson Peete...

Let Me Tell You 'Bout You.

If you think, if you *really* think, your man never ran (or, doesn't run) around on you, you're trippin'. Almost all professional athletes cheat. It's part of the culture of the profession. Groupies, jump offs, baby mamas and the like go hand in hand with the wife™. It's a fact. Look it up. And, stop playing yourself. You'd hate to get embarrassed by one of Rodney's jump offs. Your tweet was disrespectful to Mrs. McNair and rife for schadenfreude. Be careful.

Am I advocating cheating? Of course not. But, to Ms. Peete, I suggest she speak on things pertinent to her at the appropriate time. And, when the jump offs come out of the wood work...be prepared to walk.

St Adalbert's Church

1650 W 17th St
Chicago, IL 60608
(312) 226-0340

I haven't been to church in a while. I am still trying to work through some hurts that haven't fully healed. I'm not Catholic. I don't know the tenets. I don't live on the South Side. This place is nowhere near my home. Yet, I was drawn to this church. I dunno why. Maybe just...because.

If churches, cathedrals, are supposed to be monuments - no, testaments - to God's grace, mercy, power & majesty...well, whoever built this one got it right. It's located in Pilsen and, as evidence of the neighborhood's Slavic and Mexican communities, has scripture and sentiment written languages befitting the people it serves.

The inside is stunning: stained glass as far as the eye can see, lacquered pews, flying buttresses, colossal painted ceiling, ornate carvings and etches. No detail was spared and there's beauty in every view. I walked through the doors and into the sanctuary and I was the only person there. In that magnificent stillness, I felt so small but so cared for. I felt vulnerable but protected. I felt like crying...but I also felt like rejoicing.

Was it a religious experience? Maybe. Was it God? Perhaps (I'd like to think so). Was it what I needed? Absolutely. In that beautiful stillness, I felt a penetrating peace that filled my heart. I have no snarky anecdotes. I have no bitter words. I have only an appreciation to have experienced...something...I can't quite put into words.

Molly's Cupcakes

2536 N Clark St
Chicago, IL 60614
(773) 883-7220

Do you believe in fate? In destiny? That, no matter what you do or what choices you make, you're going to wind up at the same spot? I am not speaking of scary horror movies or scarier Gwyneth Paltrow vehicles. No. I speak of something much more sinister: Molly's Cupcakes.

I went here about a year ago. I'd had a tough day and wanted to eat some cupcakes to cheer me up. I bought two. During the walk home, I came across a homeless man who was begging for change or food. I gave him a cupcake. I thought to myself, "I did some good and I still have one left." When I arrived at my building, my doorman told me that he was starving (after I asked him how he was doing). I gave him the second cupcake. I went upstairs to my place and poured myself a vodka. No, I didn't have a cupcake but the vodka did me better than the sugar and I was able to make some days brighter.

Everyone won.

Well, maybe just me. You see, after finally eating one of Molly's cupcakes, I realized I dodged a bullet back then but that all changed today. Much like Alex Luthor trying to reset the multiverse after the Crisis, the universe deemed it so that I should have a cupcake from Molly - and that I should suffer what should have happened back then. Today, at work, there was a multitude of Molly's cupcakes - chocolate, white, red velvet, carrot. They were all adorned with thick icing and pretty sprinkles. I chose a chocolate cupcake with white icing that reminded me of the one I would have had a year ago. Thanks to this cupcake, I received an a$$-whuppin' that was a year in the making. The cupcake was AWFUL. It was, simultaneously greasy and dry, bitter lemony tasting and stale. The cupcake was a paradox. It broke the space-time continuum. The icing was like eating cream cheese from the tub. I had to gulp down hot coffee in order to keep myself from wretching. Not satisfied to just upset my stomach, the evil cupcake deigned to wreck havoc upon my lower intestines.

No good deed goes unpunished and you can't outrun your fate. I received a lesson in existentialism and a case of food poisoning all at the same time. What did I ever do to you, universe?