Chicago is a food mecca, but I'm on my own. I was wondering if my garbled
posts were perhaps divine intervention because they were a mini-rant about
traveling in groups. It might have gotten offensive, because I have little
patience for those who impose mundane tastes. Any post-work outing begins
the same, whether in Charlotte, Tokyo, or, in this case Chicago: "Let's
meet at the front desk in 10 minutes and git sumthin' t'eat." I have come
to dread those words. You don't want to be the outsider, but you know
you're headed to McDonald's. Last night. we ventured west from Columbus
Drive since we had come up empty-handed, really empty-stomached, the
previous night after venturing east to Navy Pier. Bubba Gump's Shrimp had
looked promising, but our Lowest Common Denominator "don't eat fish." I
went to check out the menu, but he noticed that "it looks like a place
where you just get drunk" because people on the sidewalk cafe all had
drinks. It was late and restaurants further down the pier had closed,
thankfully including "Mackey-D" for which LCD had developed an unholy
interest after seeing the golden arches. Eventually, we ended up at P.J.
Clarke's adjacent to the hotel, which wasn't bad. I got the back ribs which
were smoky and sweet and a couple of Bell's Amber Lager. LCD found Coor's
Light "a beer you can drink" and ordered one of those and a turkey club.
Our other fellow traveler had chicken breast and requested "salsa picante."
- a ray of hope, but they brought him Tabasco and when he shook his head
they brought him some thinly-sliced jalapenos. He told me how his mother
had made salsa in Mexico, with a large mortar and pestle.
During the day, I pulled out the hotel entertainment magazine and was
greeted with a cornucopia of restaurants. Mmmmm - but I knew it was
hopeless for LCD had noticed the Dunkin Donuts where you can "gitcha a
coupla donuts and a cup of coffee." But I wandered alone, westward to
Michigan Avenue and found a pleasant variety of ethnic restaurants and just
plain ol' food places. On the way back, I got my Hot Diggity Dog. Some
intense work at the customer site later, we really worked great as a team,
chugging out the night's work in just under 5 hours. Back to the hotel,
onto the elevator, and "Let's meet at the front desk" etc. What kind of
food do you have in mind. I dunno, you're the expert on that.
As always, the sojourn for food begins with a single random step. Y'wanna
go this way? Well, what's down there? I dunno, you're the one that knows
all about the food. Okay, let's head towards Michigan Avenue. We passed
Gyros, Italian - a place you instinctively know has checkered tablecloths,
Szechuan, tapas, Armenian ("I ain't never had none of that") and then there
it was: A corner place with big windows, bright flickering fluorescent
lights, and a long lunch counter. LCD paused and I knew it was over. He
stood there as though he was still open to discussion,"Well, what'cha wanna
do?" I looked at the dismal menu. No beer. I say, "I'm not really hungry,
maybe if we could find a place where I could just have a beer." (Tricky,
eh?) The lights from inside nearly blinded me, it looked like a gigantic
terrarium. Where's the hermit crab? LCD' s passive aggression took full
force. "You can git'cha a beer at the White Hen and drink it up in yer
room!" He opened the door and says to fellow traveler, "Looks like you can
git'cha a good burger here." Yes, I thought, and no extra charge for the
salmonella. I usually go along in these circumstances, but last night I
broke ranks. It wasn't just the food or the ambiance ("You can git'cha some
ambivalence at the White Hen"), it was the principle. This was a charade.
The reason the goal was ill-defined was to prevent balking. The object is
to find a hamburger, after token screening of window menus at places that
don't have 'em. Screw that. Life is too short and consumed calories too
precious to waste on hamburgers. I bolted after wishing them well and
headed back to the hotel where I had a bowl of French onion soup and a
Samuel Adams at the lobby lounge. That's my hamburger.
People in Chicago are the nicest and the friendliest I've met anywhere.
Strangers hold elevator doors for you. The bartender offered pleasant
repartee about the World Series game, including a description of the eagle
fly-by during the National Anthem that was hilarious. A patron lost his
glasses and the bartender got down on his hands and knees with a flashlight
until he found them. I thought North Carolina people were great, but
Chicago is even nicer.
7:35:19 AM 
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