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Sep. 2nd, 2013 10:03 pm
Taking one for the home team
We didn't know where we wanted to eat lunch today except that we knew we didn't want it to be Fox & Obel. There used to be several other choices in the same building, but now there's one and it didn't look too promising. So we strolled down to Grand where I spotted Yolk, a newish breakfast chainlet that I associated with vaguely positive buzz. It was busy, but not too busy, when we walked in. The hostess took one look at my St Louis Cardinals t-shirt and said:
"That's the wrong shirt."
"For what?"
"For this city, for...life. Just wrong in general."
This prompted my usual response, "So, tell me, how many World Series have the Cubs won?"
"But you're...it depends, do you like in this city?"
"It doesn't matter how long I'm in Chicago, I'm not going to stop being from St Louis. It was just luck of the draw, really. If I were from Chicago, I'd be rooting for the Cubs, too. It's a shittier city, but we have better baseball, so it all balances out."
The noteworthy thing to me was that she could not have taken a pleasanter tone with me during the exchange. If you didn't understand English, you'd probably have assumed she was complimenting me. We ended up waiting fifteen minutes or so for a table outside, and it was completely worth it. Not because the restaurant was noisy (which it was) but because it could hardly have been a more perfect day to be outside on their lush little terrace. Food and service were lovely, too; my only complaint, in fact, was the size of my coffee: They charge as much for an 8 oz. Metropolis mocha as I'd pay for a 16 oz. in the store. (Though, as I pointed out to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu, that price doesn't include seating in a garden space. And for sure not in a garden space in Streeterville.)
What were we even doing down there? you might ask. We were lured bymollpeartree, who was taking advantage of her temporary bachelorettedom by taking in a matinee of a new Bollywood release staring her pretend boyfriend Ajay Devgan. The Old Man was interested because he'd never seen a Bollywood film in a cinema before, and he was so impressed by the experience that he's talking seriously about returning to catch Krrsh 3 when it opens. She had another engagement afterwards, so it was only him who benefitted from the most fully-elaborated version of my postmodern analysis of Satyagraha.
The other attraction was, perhaps unexpectedly, Fox & Obel.monshu wanted a nice piece of fish to pair with our squid-ink pasta from Gene's and remembered their meat being as good as the produce was iffy. While there, we tut-tutted about the sorry state of the shelves once more but ended up leaving with Irish steel-cut oats (the local stores carry only inferior brands), a raw cow milk cheese from Schwyz, and--most surprising of all--a package of croxetti (the last they had, in fact). I read about this peculiarly Ligurian form of pasta only recently and never expected to stumble across it so soon. Now I guess I've got no choice but to learn to prepare a proper Genovese salsa di noci to cover them with.
"That's the wrong shirt."
"For what?"
"For this city, for...life. Just wrong in general."
This prompted my usual response, "So, tell me, how many World Series have the Cubs won?"
"But you're...it depends, do you like in this city?"
"It doesn't matter how long I'm in Chicago, I'm not going to stop being from St Louis. It was just luck of the draw, really. If I were from Chicago, I'd be rooting for the Cubs, too. It's a shittier city, but we have better baseball, so it all balances out."
The noteworthy thing to me was that she could not have taken a pleasanter tone with me during the exchange. If you didn't understand English, you'd probably have assumed she was complimenting me. We ended up waiting fifteen minutes or so for a table outside, and it was completely worth it. Not because the restaurant was noisy (which it was) but because it could hardly have been a more perfect day to be outside on their lush little terrace. Food and service were lovely, too; my only complaint, in fact, was the size of my coffee: They charge as much for an 8 oz. Metropolis mocha as I'd pay for a 16 oz. in the store. (Though, as I pointed out to
monshu, that price doesn't include seating in a garden space. And for sure not in a garden space in Streeterville.)What were we even doing down there? you might ask. We were lured by
mollpeartree, who was taking advantage of her temporary bachelorettedom by taking in a matinee of a new Bollywood release staring her pretend boyfriend Ajay Devgan. The Old Man was interested because he'd never seen a Bollywood film in a cinema before, and he was so impressed by the experience that he's talking seriously about returning to catch Krrsh 3 when it opens. She had another engagement afterwards, so it was only him who benefitted from the most fully-elaborated version of my postmodern analysis of Satyagraha.The other attraction was, perhaps unexpectedly, Fox & Obel.
monshu wanted a nice piece of fish to pair with our squid-ink pasta from Gene's and remembered their meat being as good as the produce was iffy. While there, we tut-tutted about the sorry state of the shelves once more but ended up leaving with Irish steel-cut oats (the local stores carry only inferior brands), a raw cow milk cheese from Schwyz, and--most surprising of all--a package of croxetti (the last they had, in fact). I read about this peculiarly Ligurian form of pasta only recently and never expected to stumble across it so soon. Now I guess I've got no choice but to learn to prepare a proper Genovese salsa di noci to cover them with.