![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Feb. 8th, 2014 10:55 pm
Further adventures in consumerism
"Are you up for an adventure?" asked the Old Man today. And, truth to be told, I wasn't. Last night, under the spell of camaraderie and bourbon, I'd let ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
clintswan talk me into doing a shot with him. Knowing if I didn't come up with something better, I'd be partaking of his Goldschläger, I scanned the rack and asked for Patrón. The consequences of that choice were still with me when I woke up the next morning, expecting to share an "austerity breakfast" of Irish oats with my spouse. But despite going to bed four hours before me, he still got up two-and-a-half hours after me, right when I was thinking there was nothing in world more tempting in a nap.
Unfortunately, that was also the time Scooter decided was optimal for hacking the back porch free of ice. After a half hour in bed cursing his name, I got up and toldmonshu, "Okay, let's go." Snow was falling in large fluffy flakes when we set out and, at first, the streets seemed as choked as usual. When we reached Lincoln Square, he urged me to look into Pannenkoeken even though I didn't hold out much hope of a free table in a reasonable spell of time. To my amazement, there was no wait at all. "I think everyone just looked out the window, went *uhhh*, and decided to stay in," I told him after we'd ordered.
And at this point, it was really coming down. We both ordered the joint's namesake, his sweet (ginger and apple), mine savoury (bacon, havarti, mushroom, and a fried egg), and it was everything I'd always hoped. He vouched for its authenticity (I'd only had Pfannkuchen, which are a bit different--at least in the South) and I relished one of those rare meals which is perfectly matched to your mood and situation. Afterwards, we hit Merz Apotheke (soap and zinc) and The Chopping Block (wooden spoon and instant read thermometre) after which came the cornerstone of the expedition: Gene's Sausage Shop.
In the evening over a meal of bison and bacon brats, red cabbage, and rapini with sour rye, he said, "I just wish Gene's was a little closer. Of course, if it were, we'd go there too often." Perhaps; perhaps we'd just eat a little less meat but of better quality. On the other hand, Lincoln Square would lose a bit of it exoticness and we'd miss out on the expeditionary experience that comes from going someplace off our well-beaten ruts (even on days when we're not braving a snowstorm).
clintswan talk me into doing a shot with him. Knowing if I didn't come up with something better, I'd be partaking of his Goldschläger, I scanned the rack and asked for Patrón. The consequences of that choice were still with me when I woke up the next morning, expecting to share an "austerity breakfast" of Irish oats with my spouse. But despite going to bed four hours before me, he still got up two-and-a-half hours after me, right when I was thinking there was nothing in world more tempting in a nap.Unfortunately, that was also the time Scooter decided was optimal for hacking the back porch free of ice. After a half hour in bed cursing his name, I got up and told
monshu, "Okay, let's go." Snow was falling in large fluffy flakes when we set out and, at first, the streets seemed as choked as usual. When we reached Lincoln Square, he urged me to look into Pannenkoeken even though I didn't hold out much hope of a free table in a reasonable spell of time. To my amazement, there was no wait at all. "I think everyone just looked out the window, went *uhhh*, and decided to stay in," I told him after we'd ordered.And at this point, it was really coming down. We both ordered the joint's namesake, his sweet (ginger and apple), mine savoury (bacon, havarti, mushroom, and a fried egg), and it was everything I'd always hoped. He vouched for its authenticity (I'd only had Pfannkuchen, which are a bit different--at least in the South) and I relished one of those rare meals which is perfectly matched to your mood and situation. Afterwards, we hit Merz Apotheke (soap and zinc) and The Chopping Block (wooden spoon and instant read thermometre) after which came the cornerstone of the expedition: Gene's Sausage Shop.
In the evening over a meal of bison and bacon brats, red cabbage, and rapini with sour rye, he said, "I just wish Gene's was a little closer. Of course, if it were, we'd go there too often." Perhaps; perhaps we'd just eat a little less meat but of better quality. On the other hand, Lincoln Square would lose a bit of it exoticness and we'd miss out on the expeditionary experience that comes from going someplace off our well-beaten ruts (even on days when we're not braving a snowstorm).