Japonais Restaurant

600 W Chicago
Chicago, IL 60610
(312) 822-9600

The food is really really good.

The booty is very nice to look at (but be careful about touch; I am not responsible for any social diseases you pick up).

Celebrities dine here when they're in town.

The river patio is surprisingly inviting (who thought you'd ever WANT to hang out by the Chicago River).

So, why does it suck? The management and doormen.

Initially, I went into a tirade about both but decided against it. All I want to say is: run your house better and keep things in better order. You'll see a nice difference.

Magnolia Cafe

1224 W Wilson Ave
Chicago, IL 60640
(773) 728-8785

I came here on a chilly November night for a business dinner and we all know what that means - COMPED! So, if I was paying attention to the prices, I may feel differently about this place. Even with someone else footing the bill, I was respectful of the price points.

I enjoyed the wine selection. My friend got a glass of Malbec and I got the Tempranillo. They were both excellent choices. We started the meal out with the crab cake and found it tasty and filling. I am usually quick to complain about not getting enough food and, for an app, I thought it was a good amount. I forget what my friend got for an entree, but I got the chicken with potatoes (mashed! yum!) and veggies (asparagus! boo! yuck!) and liked it a great deal. The chicken was thick, hugely portioned and served in its juices and it went wonderfully with the potatoes. I did not eat my veggies and was chastised by my waiter for leaving them on the plate. I let him off the hook. He was trying to be funny and, up to that point, was pretty helpful. He activated, however, the John William side-eye. He needed to.tread.lightly!

For dessert we got some sort of chocolate cake with ice cream that was good. It was nothing extra-ordinary but a nice way to cap off the meal. The dining room is intimate with exposed brick. There weren't that many people in the restaurant at the time - which I really liked. My father owned a restaurant and I know the pain of not being busy on a Friday night...but I was coming off a really hard week and having the space to lounge and the leisure to enjoy my meal (rather than wolf it down to free up the table) was intoxicating.

My friend scooped up the bill, so I don't know the damage, but I ordered as though I was paying, so I know I didn't spend an exorbitant amount of money. It's certainly not the wallet-hurt I have experienced at other north-side restaurants. Would I go back? Probably. Would I rush to do so? No. Did I enjoy myself? Yes. It's a pleasant restaurant with pleasant food and a pleasant atmosphere. I like the fact that it's a nice restaurant in a neighborhood other than Wicker Park/River North/Lakeview.

Santullo's Eatery

1943 W North Ave
Chicago, IL 60622
(773) 227-7960

I don't like Chicago style pizza. When I'm eating, I don't like there to be any question as to WHO is eating WHAT. Chicago style pizza makes me question this basic truth in the eating dynamic (people eat food = good; food possibly eating people = bad). I have never had that confusion at Santullo's.

I usually eat here when I wind up at one of the many bars/lounges in Wicker Park. Sometimes, I placate my usual crabbiness by telling myself that after the club is closed, I get to wolf down a couple of slices of pizza and gulp down a cream soda. Mmm. I like the emphasis on black pepper in the crust. I like the floury taste. The sauce is good, the slices are big and the sausage is...sorta flaky. Crumbly. That's the word. It's good. I steel myself for cleanliness issues. It is what it is. And I have been fortunate enough to not have suffered rudeness from the staff. But I chalk that up to the fact that I am batshit crazy and will go circus freak insane on an emo kid with attitude. I will. I have. And I've done the community service.

Do: come here. Get two slices. Get a carbonated beverage (to settle your stomach as you eat - if need be AND to churn up more stomach acid to counter a lack of cleanliness in preparation - if need be). [MOST IMPORTANTLY] Have some crazy in your eyes. Crazy trumps bitchy. It's a rule. Come with the crazy and you won't have to deal with rudeness. You'll get your pizza and all will be well.

Empire Liquors

1566 N Milwaukee Ave.
Chicago, IL 60622
(773) 278-1600

I don't know why I like this place. I shouldn't like this place. It's sorta narrow, expensive, no cuties with booties wanting Gucci, gets REALLY crowded and this Trixie spilled booze all over me - while she was sitting down. That's usually an immediate "oh NO you di'in't" and weave pull...but I didn't resort to violence.

What chills me out is that I get there before 11 (not cool but I will NOT wait in line for this place), there's usually decent music and my friends seem to like it and I like being with them. Oh! And I dance battled there. That was fun. Give it up for dance battling. If you see me there, let's battle. But don't spill booze on me. I will be forced to pull your weave.

Sweet Occasions and More!

5306 N Clark St
Chicago, IL 60640
(773) 275-5190

I never knew love like this before - it opened my eyes! Yes, these are song lyrics, but they are OH.SO.TRUE!! I am still saddened that this awesomely yummy ice cream place is no longer. Sorry to tantalize you with this recap - but that's how I get down.

Allow me to create the scene. Picture it: Summer of 2007 in Chicago. Cranky boy and practical girl go up north in search of Venezuelan food. CB and PG arrive at Caracas Grill. It's padlocked. CB starts to get bitchy. PG starts to think of an alternative. PG leads boy to some Peruvian restaurant she saw on Check! Please. They are accosted by a way small dining room, nonchalant host and bitchy patrons. CB and PG leave but CB makes a note to self to get revenge on shop, host and patrons. CB gets bitchier. PG leads CB on a death march throughout Rogers Park in search of food. PG leads CB under El tracks, through alleys, down small side streets and under the boardwalk. CB starts to worry that his bitchy ways have lead him to a mob-style hit, courtesy of PG. CB and PG finally wind up at some disgusting hippie-trippy cafe, complete with dirty silverware, hipsters in Che shirts (just think about that people; SO.NOT.THE.POINT.HIPSTER!!), strung out hostess and a food selection that included burnt beans and chicken butt. CB's bitchiness is off the scales and PG is getting increasingly irrational to try to deal with it. [Side note: said disgusting hippie cafe was later closed by the city for excessive filth. Like, mold-growing-inside-a-freezer-and-defying-basic-biology filth.]

After an unsatisfying dinner, complete with barbs, passive-aggressive behavior and under-the-breath mutterings, PG and CB agreed (progress!) on dessert at a place away from the 'pleasing' aroma of patchouli + B.O.). We hop on the Red Line and get off at Argyle. We traipse through the streets and make our way to Clark. Andersonville. PG wants Swedish Bakery goods. We head there but at that time of night, most of the good goodies are gone and CB reverts to type. What ever could save this night? Were our heroes doomed? Suddenly, in the distance, CB heard birds chirping, children laughing and familiar refrains of lovely songs. Lured by this siren's call, we stroll down Clark to..a place so beautiful...

I'm sorry. I needed a moment.

We walk in and are immediately overwhelmed by the lights!colors!cookies!cakes!icecream! We hug and promise to never scwabble again. PG, being practical, gets in line and goes over her choices. CB flits all over the restaurant, complimenting the servers, patting children on the head and spinning around to the tunes of Mariah Carey. CB decides on a slab of strawberry cake (yes, no slices here. They give you SLABS, i.e. your money's worth) a la mode. But which ice cream? CB wanted Bubble Gum (or was it Cotton Candy?) but the intrepid server intervened and told CB to try it first (take THAT Sushi Samba Nasty server!). IS was right and CB decided on a gallon of Zanzibar Chocolate ice cream. CB was so excited!!! CB got his food and was the envy of man, woman and child, alike. CB showed off his prize to everyone at the restaurant. He heard oohs and ahhs and comments like, "How could anyone possibly eat so much food?" Get ready. Because here comes the lesson.

CB joins PG at table (she got a 7 deadly sundae...I think, Lust) and digs in. CB is taken like a virigin on the wedding night. Enraptured by true lust by the party in my mouth and sensations in my body, the ice cream/cake combo spoke to CB: "WHOSE IS IT?? WHOSE IS IT??!! WHO GIVES IT TO YOU GOOD?! WHAT'S MY NAME?! WHAT'S MY NAME??!! SAY IT!!" "Ohh, it's YOURS, Sweet Occasions Strawberry Cake and Zanibar Chocolate Ice Cream!! It's yours, it's yours!!" I moaned and writhed and shook. Mothers covered their children's eyes at my sight. Fathers took notes. I was a beast and the cake and ice cream, my master. CB had finally gotten what he needed to stop being so damn cranky. After eating, I was spent. PG was quiet, but smiling. Lest you think we were the only ones to have a "Like Water for Chocolate" moment, one musclebound man, upon tasting his ice cream, took off his shirt and snapped the top of his shorts. I kid you not. The food was THAT good.

I didn't want to leave. I was no longer CB (well, for a little while). I wanted to move to Andersonville and give this relationship a try. The ice cream and cake had made an honest man of me. I was ready to give up boozin' and easy women. I was ready to settle down. Too bad for me, Sweet Occasions didn't belong to just one man (or one woman). Sweet Occasions was for us all. Sweet Occasions wouldn't be tamed.

I learned true love that steamy Summer night. Why did you close down and leave me, Sweet Occasions?? WHY????

Halligan Bar

2274 N Lincoln Ave
Chicago, IL 60686
(773) 472-7940

I liked the place more than I thought I would. I went here with an Irish-American buddy of mine who a.) is younger than I am and b.) is an accomplished drinker. I wanted to get something to eat. He wanted to drink. I acquiesced and we sauntered over to Lincoln Park for some brews. Since I wasn't getting dinner, I got my friend to agree to an early beer. We got there at 7:45 - pm (he is that hardcore but an am time would have been brutal for me).

The bar has a very familiar layout. It's on a corner and fills the space brilliantly. The crowd at that time of night was a little older. When I walked in, I fumbled for my wallet/id and the bouncer looked at me, furrowed his brow and waved me in. Come to think of it, I should have written a crappy recap for that slight. At least HUMOR me that I still have some youth left. Bastard. Anyway...I took a seat at a high top past the bar, took off my coat and got a load of all the games being played (college and pro basketball). Since all the college games were Big 10/12 and I am a SEC kinda guy, I didn't pay much attention but I appreciated the set up.

My buddy arrived shortly thereafter and we started drinking. It was a Friday, so I settled in with the $3 Blue Moons (served with orange slice, of course). That was my drink of the evening. My buddy kept changing drinks - but that was so he could keep going back to the bar to flirt with the very attractive bartenders. Wow. Those women were all REALLY nice looking. They also seem to be pretty friendly and attentive.

After three or four beers, we got hungry so we decided on a food run. Not wanting to give up the real estate, we went one by one to get food. Do this. This place gets packed in the blink of an eye and if you don't wanna give up your seats, keep a man at the table. My buddy got Potbellys. I, who can't eat beef, went to the hot dog place next store and got a Chicago style and a Dallas (chilli cheese) style dog - and chilli cheese fries. It was a dark day in the John William bathroom that next day but this recap isn't about poor food choices fueled by alcohol on an empty stomach. It's about Halligan - and the bar was fun.

By the time I had finished my food (and got the sense that my digestive system wanted to discuss the matter) and a couple of more beers, it was about 11:30. I couldn't believe I had been there for nearly four hours. Granted, my buddy and I kept ordering (and, at $3 a pop, my tab wasn't bad at all considering I was there for four hours), but no one ever hassled us to leave, buy more, etc. By the time we left, the place started to get really packed and much younger. I don't think I would have enjoyed myself by then. But, for an early place to grab a beer (or six) and watch some sports and eat some brought-in greasy food, Halligan is a nice spot.

Flo

1434 W Chicago Ave
Chicago, IL 60622

I had been meaning to get to Flo for a while. After corralling (is that how you spell it?) my friend, we made our way to West Town.

Because I am a masochist, I take the CTA, Chicago Public Transit. I was able to get to the restaurant from my place in Lakeview with relative ease. That's a plus. The Chicago bus drops off right by the restaurant. I arrived before my friend and a little dread settled in because I saw the wait. I went inside to speak to the hostess. Mistake. She bared her fangs and hissed at me. Hissed! I thought I was in a really bad science fiction movie and had made a mistake in coming to Flo. I took out my Hiss-to-English decoder and discovered that the hosssstessss proclaimed I would never get a seat and that legions upon legions of people were before me on the list. Dejected, I bellied up to the bar, contemplated a smoothie, texted my friend (who was 10 - read: 20 - minutes away) and nervously smiled at the bartender/barista.

About 8 minutes later, a two top opened up. I glanced at it and wanted to sit, but was scared to move because I didn't know whether the hosssstessss was a constrictor or venomous. The superawesome barista/bartender looked at the spot, asked me how many were in my party (2!) and when they (she!) were coming (any minute!). Noddingly, she leapt into action, took me by the arm and sat me down. I felt victorious. I tried to thank her and she just told me to "tip your waiter." The hossstesss glanced over and scowled. I cringed. And then my friend walked in. And like that, we were good.

The food was awesome (mmm, pancakes and eggs with salsa). The atmosphere was homey. The waiter was attentive and pleasant and the experience (once seated) was great. But you knew all those things already. I just wanted to post and thank that wonderful woman who went out of her way to make my day a good one. You can get food all over this city. Kindness, sadly, is a little harder to come by.

SUSHISAMBA rio

504 N Wells St
Chicago, IL 60610
(312) 595-2300

After many millennia, I suppose Hell got crowded. It belched and from its fiery methane sprang the evil that is Sushi Samba Nasty. This place is horrible.

My friends and I eat out pretty regularly. We like all sorts of cuisine and go all over the city. Before I got really stressed about mercury in my salmon and tuna, I used to love sushi. This trip to the netherland happened before I gave up the yummy fish.

The place was packed with, what I thought was, a suburban crowd. Minus a point. I am all for suburban crowds. I will run you over to get some dessert at Billy Berk's. Thing is, when I am getting ready to drop some cash around 'pretty people', I want the genuine article. I tried to make my way to my friends who were lounging at the bar. In order to get to them, I had to go through a gauntlet of "Night at the Roxbury" guys. And yes, I was crotch bounced back and forth between them. I don't want to talk about it.

I finally got to my friends and our table was ready (SO happy I made my way through the crowd...only to make my way back). We sat, I ordered a drink and appetizers, exhaled and got ready to eat some good, if overpriced, sushi.

And then came the tears.

I got what can only be described as an "ass roll." It was beyond nasty. I don't remember all of the ingredients (by this point in the night, I was running back and forth from my table to the street, waving my hands and having other unfortunate side effects from my psychotic break) but central in my memory is cheese. Swiss cheese. THERE WAS MELTED SWISS CHEESE ON MY MAKI ROLL!!! Now, one could say, "Dear Sir, why ever would you order something so obviously disgusting?" To wit, I would respond, "I love cheese. I live in the MidWest. I love cheese." As dim-witted as my choice may have been, I would have expected my server to be like, "Dude. No." instead of rolling her eyes, popping gum and texting on her Blackberry: omg! i SO h8 work. 4 realz. LOL this t0t@l dumb@$$ just ordered the @ss roll. LOLOLOLOL! w8. he's talking. laterz.

My friends were laughing at my poor choice. They made bets amongst them with the penalty for losing the bet to have to choke down a piece of ass roll. All I know is that I was so hungry, pissed and tired by this point, I threw my hands up and declared that Sushi Samba Nasty had won. Pleased to have broken my spirit, the demonic force that powers that place (the red lights and gas in the central area of the main dining room) bellowed, cackled and gave me a bill for $160 with a p.s. that it "just kicked [my] ass. Laterz."

I hate this place.

Hi there!

I like eating. I like writing. I like going to places. I LOVE complaining. Add these things all together and you have - this blog!! I'll start by adding some of my favorite and not-so-favorite musings. I'm located in the Midwest but travel all around, so if you have a place you'd like me to write about, let me know.

In this blog you'll find pictures, stories and lots of complaining. My friends and I get a kick out of it. Perhaps you will as well. Let's get started...