Lest y'all think my meals out are always charming soirées in delectable nooks, let me fill you in on two recent experiences that were simply not All That.
Last night, I wanted soup. The film got out at about 8:30 and I hurried (as much as was possible with the ovine mass of humanity ahead of me) a couple blocks up to a Japanese café whose name translates as "snowflake", unless I miss my guess. I'd eaten there before and found it, if not great, at least perfectly acceptable. Why didn't I go to my Special Place? Like I said, I wanted soup, and Rokucha is all about sushi. Plus, I was famished at this point and it was here as opposed to 15+ minutes away.
Compared to my haven, this place is dimmer, larger, more empty, and less friendly. The sushi chefs didn't greet me as I came in, so I was caught quite off guard when one bid me farewell on my way out. Everyone there who wasn't staff annoyed me. At first, I thought it was just low blood sugar, which makes me impatient and irritable. But chowing down did not improve anyone's charm. The male half of the couple at ten o'clock reminded me of Giovanni Ribisi's character in Boiler Room. (Note for those of you who haven't seen the film: This is not a compliment.) He was arrogant, critical, belligerent, and just generally obnoxious--basically, think of me yuppier and drunk. He got pissy about the woman's not economising by eating leftovers from restaurant trips. And, boy, I hope the talk of finding a sugar daddy for her was merely facetious.
Behind me was an older gay couple. The chubby one projecting his shrill, nasal voice in my direction managed to completely undercut any attraction he might hold for me with his precious outfit (at some point, we all outgrow overalls) and mannerisms. The giggly girls directly behind me were innocuous enough I mostly forgot they were there. Besides, I was distracted by the newly-arrived couple at 12 o'clock. At first, she seemed attractive, exuberant, and funky, but kept drifting into loud and cranky. He remained badly dressed and excruciatingly whiny. They got into some acrimonious tiff, apparently about what to order. Yuppie and Drunk had paid up well before this point and I was anticipating their imminent departure, but they lolled around until shortly before I left myself.
And the food, you ask? No complaints; a good bowl of nabeyaki udon, which was all I wanted, and a decent hamachi roll. (I felt I had to try some sushi to confirm Rokucha's superiority in my mind.) But I was very glad to have it in my belly and be out the door on a chill, crisp, moonlit night.
The night before had been Monshu's pick. We were in the Loop for the AI's evening hours and wandered about a bit before he suggest the Atwood. My gentleman friend and I were enthusiastic about the makeover of the Burnham Hotel and looked forward to trying out their restaurant. Lovely, but not great. We thought maybe we'd caught them when they were still hitting their stride and decided to give them another try. Still lovely, but not really worth the price.
But I've been cautious about restaurants ever since the debacle of a few months back, so I let him have his way. Our big gay waiter was too big mouthed. I was in a good mood, so his chattiness didn't bother me until he screwed up our order. Actually, mine was fine, but he asked for the wrong entree for Monshu. (Hey, big mouth! Maybe you should get a pad!) Which meant, of course, that they slung my pasta under a heat lamp while they braised his beef. (And I'm almost sure that the chicken delivered by mistake went to the elderly gentleman sitting next to us; the turnaround time was just too suspicious, given how long we'd waited in the first place.)
On the one hand, it wasn't like we had an appointment--if this had been before an opera, I would've howled--but we were both tired and wanted our food so we could go home. Monshu made it sound like his ribs were worth the wait, but my pasta was sweet and soft. Also, forgive my pickiness, but I expect a confit of duck to be a sizable piece, not some spread-around shreds. None of it was bad, but for that money, I could've had something much more interesting.
And, with any luck, I shall. Continuing the current aberrant trend, I'll have to grab something out before Morvern Callar tonight. And Monshu and I might follow up our carousing tomorrow with a meal in Boystown. (Please, God, not Buddies again! There's such a thing as too much comfort!)
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