A meal and a half

[muckefuck]

So if you're wondering whether Twist, the tapas joint I went to on Friday, is any good, I'm afraid I can't tell you. I nursed myself on tea and toast and by late afternoon my innards felt recovered enough that I tried a little chicken qorma. That may have been a mistake. As the Express swung past Graceland, I felt rumblings again and was thankful to reach the restaurant when I did.

So while everyone else raved about the crab cakes, stuffed mushrooms, I glumly nibbled at bread and tortilla española between trips to the mensroom and sips of San Pellegrino. Fortunately, the place wasn't quite as noisy as I feared, so we were able to fit in some snatches of conversation (but so little that I felt obliged to set up a rendezvous with the 'rents the next day to really talk).

We had an hour or so to kill before the play, which gave us time to seek out some drugs at a corner store. As I was swallowing my Imodium and Dad was buying TUMS, I remarked to the South Asian storekeeper on the presence of Tayto Crisps by the counter. "That's an Irish brand," I told my stepmom, "you can't normally find them here." "I have all the Irish products," your man told us, and led us to a freezer stocked with bangers and loin bacon; there was Club Orange in the refrigerated section. Turns out he lived in London before coming here and "I wanted my store to be a little bit different." So, expats, now you know: When in Chicago, stock up at Clarkport Pantry.

The dose seems to have worked, because I felt good enough to down a black-and-white mini cupcake from More Cupcakes, a concern owned by the house manager's sister. And not only did I make it three an hour-and-a-half one act play with no trouble but I even joined the cast at O'Hagan's afterwards for a snakebite. (Don't judge me.)

When it comes to Pete's Pizza on Western, however, I can certify it Bad. The thin crust cheese pizza my stepsister ordered for her girls was perfectly acceptable; the "Green Garden" pizza my father and I shared, however, was not. It read well: portobellos, red pepper, spinach, and garlic with ricotta on a whole wheat crust. But the mushrooms were cut small and scattered ungenerously, the spinach was crisped from going into the oven raw, the whole thing was bland (no oregano? really?), and the crush was burnt. As for ambiance, it's exactly the kind of place you get dragged into when you've got small kids in tow. Do not like!

Comments

[bitterlawngnome.livejournal.com]

we spent an hour in ORD yesterday afternoon, and had lunch in a fake pub there ("Burghoff", amusingly, we thought of someone local when we aw that ...); but the interesting part was that I was being cruised hard by a cubby guy sitting in the corner. when I didn't return the interest he moved on to a lonely-looking middle aged woman sitting by herself at the bar.

and I thought ... REALLY? that works? post-911? I mean the logistics are staggering.

[muckefuck.livejournal.com]

"Berghoff" actually. If you look back through this journal, you'll find paeans to their original Loop location from the days before they turned heinous. (Basically, they staged a fake closing to rid themselves of their highly-skilled foreign-born waitstaff, then reopened as a self-service café.) It's a local landmark, so I cannot tell you how much grief that spelling has caused me over the years.

As for the rest, that's so hilariously old school.

[bitterlawngnome.livejournal.com]

And of course there is a giant photo of the olde-tyme restaurant, with neon sign and a staff of hundreds, above a little plaque extolling the olde-fashionede service and foode.

[muckefuck.livejournal.com]

Meinst Du "althmodisch", nicht? Hopefully they didn't screw up the food too badly. The red cabbage and creamed spinach at the old place were outstanding, and I was a partisan to the Rahmschnitzel.