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?

Pho Xua

1020 W Argyle St
Chicago, IL 60640
(773) 271-9828

Knock knock!

Who's there?

Banana. (repeat 2 times)

Knock knock.

Who's there?

Orange.

Orange who?

The decor inside Pho Xua is a relaxing orange color. I didn't think that I would care for it, but I found it rather relaxing. What I found better than relaxing was the Pineapple Coconut smoothie! Wooo!! That is pure fruity yumminess. I advise to get it without the tapioca balls. Why ruin perfectly good liquid fruit with, what looks like, you know what. Mmm, appetizing...only...not at all. Get it without the balls. During the week, PX offers what might be the best value on Argyle Street: appetizer, soup, rice & entree for UNDER SIX DOLLARS!!! You heard me right. Lots of food. Minimum cash. PX is my new best friend. The rice, apps and entrees are flavorful but the Egg Drop Soup is out of this world. And, if the soup tastes this good, you KNOW the pho has got to be outta sight.*

PX gets an extra star for its management. Unbeknownst to it, many cold, hungry and potty mouthed city tourists were going to scare away its usual clientele on a Saturday afternoon. The management bent over backwards to make sure that we had a pleasant experience and good food. I can't say enough nice things about the way this restaurant is run. Patronize this wonderful place - and, please, refrain from discussing minnows, blue colored spherical objects and Japanese video stars who attempt to break world records.

*Orange you glad I didn't say banana?

Chicago's Home of Chicken and Waffles

3947 S King Dr
Chicago, IL 60653
(773) 536-3300

Mmm hmm. This is not the contented "Mmm hmm" of a full belly and happy thoughts. This is the "Mmm hmm" of an "I see you & your triflin' self" side-eye. To be fair, this place was already on my "Mmm hmm" radar after its shady RosScoe's beginnings. While it's sorta humorous that the CHoC&W ptb tried to pull such a sorry fast one, it should give the public a glimpse of the kind of business tptb are trying to run. I've eaten at Roscoe's. I've eaten at Sylvia's. Depending on whom you ask, I am from the South. I am pretty well acquainted with fried chicken & waffles. The sides were slammin'. The chicken was pretty good. The waffles were pitiful, verging on "sorry."

I ordered the white chicken dinner with mac & cheese, greens and red beans & rice (complimentary cornbread). The dinner came out really quickly. I was impressed - and a little suspicious - by how quickly it came out, but I wasn't going to complain. I was here to eat. The mac & cheese was delicious. It was buttery, firm & starchy-cheesy. It was definitely reminiscent of post-baptism dinners in the church basement. I added hot sauce to the red beans. I didn't do so out of disrespect. It's how I grew accustomed to eating them in NOLA. They were great. The bean to rice ratio was a *little* dry, but nothing to complain about. The greens were well seasoned, slightly bitter and served with meat hocks in the bowl. Just right.

The chicken was pretty good. I ordered the white pieces, so I was prepared for them to be slightly dry. It was nothing a little hot sauce couldn't handle. The skin was the same consistency as KFC Original Recipe, but didn't have the flavor. Thumbs down for that. I was expecting the crunchy fried chicken that comes as a result of a hot skillet, flour, seasoning and several grease pop/splatters that taught me not to go by the stove when my grandma was making chicken. I was confused by the 'smooth' skin. The cornbread portion was healthy, but the cornbread was dry. I could take or leave it.

The waffle. Hmph. This wasn't a waffle. This was a tortilla with Sharpie-drawn squares. It cost $4.95! That's more than a waffle at Roscoe's! That's a five dollah foot-a-looonguh. For $4.95, I was expecting a waffle steak. Or, a waffle sheet cake. This pitiful thing came out cold, flat, small and soggy with a couple of pats of hard butter. Pitiful. I tried spreading the butter on the waffle. It looked at me as if to say, "I don't know what you're trying to do, but while you do it, I'm just gonna sit here and not move. Oohh-kayyy?!" Yes, the butter had an attitude problem. I wound up dousing the waffle with syrup and throwing my cut up chicken on top of it in order to wolf it down. This was *not* the C&W experience of my west coast, east coast and southern lives. In fact, it singularly dampened my experience here.

Yeah, the chicken & sides are good but this is not Chicago's Home of Chicken & Sides. When you only deliver on half of your namesake, either change the name or improve the quality of your product. That being said, I was considering a complimentary recap. Then, the waiter hovered over us and, repeatedly, asked us for "[our] money so [he could] go home." So so place. Then, after being shaken down for our cash, my friend was told that her credit card was denied three times and she needed to pay with cash. Fine. She got home to discover her card had been charged twice. The third time, the credit card took it upon itself to deny the charge. Pitiful, trifling, sorry-ass place. Shady.

Mmm hmm.

Outlook Inn

916 Baxter Ave
Louisville, KY 40204
(502) 583-4661

What happened here? In my day, the Outlook Inn was a fun, divey little bar at the tail end of the Bardstown Rd/Baxter Ave drinkapalooza. It was the de facto meet up my for my friends & I during the holiday post-eating rituals we had with our families. It was a little dirty, low key and fun. Not anymore.

Imagine my surprise to find the Outlook filled - from doorguy (a bouncer at the Outlook??) to patron - with huge meatheads. Que? No no no. This isn't Molly Malone's. This is the Outlook. The only _____heads that should be here are "pot" or "crack."

With the change in clientele came a change in the music. I get it. I'm not 21 anymore. I shouldn't expect to hear The Pixies or the Beasties on the jukebox while some of my friends play pool and the others catch up on gossip and avoid people from high school. I know. But, I shouldn't be blasted out of my seat by whatever high decibel Garth Brooks/Gwar hellmeld that was playing. No, Outlook. Bad, Outlook.

Frightened by 'roidheads, deafened by the musical stylings of whatever that was, I attempted to get a drink. Nope. Person to my left. Served. Person to my right. Served. Person down the block at Cahoots. Served. Greatly annoyed and standing by myself, the bartender finally acknowledges me. "Oh. I didn't see you." Cannotstrangleherandgetarrested. Cannotstrangleherandgetarrested. Mmm, what? Oh. Sorry. That's my version of deep, cleansing breaths.

Scared? Strike one. Deafened? Strike two. Thirsty? Strike three. You're out and I'm out of here. I found out that the hipsters have fled the Outlook for Butcher/Smoke/Germantown. I can't say that I blame them. Oh, Outlook, what happened to you while I was gone? They paved paradise and put up a parking lot - and stuck a syringe full of steroids in its ass.