Categories
books

The Road

Who is this Cormac McCarthy guy? I often get him mixed up with that Larry McMurtry guy. This confusion of artists seems to happen to me a lot. However, I’m not confused by the fact that this is the first book I’ve read by either. It’s also the second Oprah book I’ve read; the other one was Night by Elie Wiesel. I’m just stating facts and I’m not necessarily proud or embarrassed by them, I just think this context could be interesting years down the road when I reflect on this year in books.

It was dark and depressing, but The Road was also an ultra cool read. Picture a Mad Max-like burned-out world, but fewer people, less food, and more darkness. A man and his son attempt to navigate this world in their efforts to find the coast.

They are unnamed, referred to throughout the book mostly as “the man” and “the boy.” They have a shopping cart and each other, along with a pistol. They keep to the road but make occasional deviations to find food or avoid bad guys.

It’s short and straightforward. McCarthy’s writing is very spare in this book. He uses little punctuation and no quote marks in the dialogue. There are no chapters, but plenty of breaks. There is no picture on the cover and the only other colors besides black and white used on the jacket are some brown/gold tones (including the Oprah seal). It all fits with the sparseness of the book’s landscape.

But the emotions between the boy and the man are not sparse. They are deep and moving. I think the haunting details of their journey will stay with me for a long time. And I think I’m going to investigate how others interpreted the ending.

I’ve compared the scenery to Mad Max, but the feeling I had during the book was more like what I felt when I read Cold Mountain. I wonder if McCarthy was influenced at all by Frazier. They both tell of a journey through a somewhat mountainous landscape where hope and hopelessness are constantly present. The endings also have some parallels.

I also wonder if McCarthy’s landscape is the eastern or western United States. Did I miss something that would give this away?

Man it was good.

Categories
books

The 4-Hour Workweek

Here’s my mantra:

Balance is more respectable than focus. Anyone can put their mind to something and achieve it using a combination of ability and hard work; but true achievement is to get there without allowing family, friends, body, and soul to notice.

This is out-of-whack with the whole self-help genre that pushes the idea of focusing on goals (written in pen and reviewed regularly, of course) and envisioning success. I don’t set goals, I don’t have a lot of focus, and I don’t do a lot of envisioning; which has probably resigned me to a life of rampant mediocrity that I construe as balance in my own, warped mind. So be it.

Categories
food

Trattoria 225

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I just can’t seem to break the cycle of thin-crust, Neapolitan pizza. I used to love Chicago-style pizza, but in my old age I prefer to eat pizza that’s wafer-thin and heated in a brick or charcoal oven at about 800 degrees until the crust gets crispy and burnt. This style of pizza is just not for east-coast liberals that summer in the Hamptons anymore. No sir, even Chicagoans (and suburbanites) can enjoy it.

Pictured is just such a pizza from Trattoria 225 in Oak Park. This one is called The Goat and has roasted red pepper, spicy fennel sausage, goat cheese, basil pesto, and house-blend cheeses.

What a great combination. I just like the chef to choose the combination for me. That’s part of my loss of interest in the standard Chicago-style pizza joint; you have to choose what ingredients you get on your pizza. That’s not fun, I always end up getting frustrated and saying, “pepperoni.”

This is a great example. Even though I love goat cheese and I love spicy fennel sausage, I would never have thought to put them together on a pizza with roasted red pepper and basil pesto. I’ve said it before, the chef in the kitchen is an artist and for the most part, if he/she says “eat it,” I will eat it. I always order off the menu, never make changes, and rarely season my meals. Would I have told Van Gogh to use roses instead of sunflowers? Would I have told Jane Austen to let Elizabeth Bennet die a spinster? No and No.

This is another fine addition to one of my top 5 suburban downtowns. Heck, get on the elevated train and spend a day in Oak Park, you’ll love it.

Categories
books

A Death in Belmont

Chock one up for the “stranger than fiction” genre. In June of 1962, Anna Slesers was found raped and strangled in her Boston home. Over the next 18 months, another eleven (or twelve) Boston area women were victims of roughly the same heinous crime. Most of these crimes were eventually attributed to a person known as the Boston Strangler, who kept Boston and the surrounding suburbs in a constant state of fear for years.

About nine months into this reign of terror, in March of 1963, Bessie Goldberg of Belmont, MA was raped and murdered, also in her own home. This had many ingredients of a Boston Strangler slaying and was particularly surprising because until then, Belmont had been a quiet, quaint, murder-free town. Upon hearing of the murder, Ellen Junger, a young mother living not far from Bessie Goldberg in Belmont, came home with one-year old Sebastian in tow and described the horrific crime to a carpenter named Al DeSalvo. DeSalvo was around Junger’s house often because he was assisting on construction of an addition to Junger’s home.

DeSalvo and the Jungers play important parts in this story. Al DeSalvo would eventually confess to eleven of the Boston Strangler murders. Sebastian Junger would eventually become a world-famous author and write a bestseller about the strange circumstances surrounding his mother, his home, the Boston Strangler, Al DeSalvo, and a man named Roy Smith.

Wait a second, who was Roy Smith? Well, Roy Smith was convicted for the murder of Bessie Goldberg.

What?

Yeah, the Goldberg rape and slaying would never be attributed to the Boston Strangler because there appeared to be overwhelming evidence that a petty criminal named Roy Smith was the perpetrator. Smith had admittedly been at the Goldberg home that day on a cleaning assignment and was seen by many exiting the Goldberg’s home shortly after the murder would have taken place. It appeared to be an open-and-shut case and Smith was eventually found guilty, but authorities couldn’t pin any of the other Strangler crimes on him.

The Strangler crimes continued and eventually DeSalvo confessed to the murders, except for Bessie Goldberg’s, after being indicted on several rape charges. Smith was already locked up at this time. The Roy Smith trial and the Al DeSalvo confession are the central parts of the book. Did Roy Smith kill Bessie Goldberg? Was Al DeSalvo really the Boston Strangler or a just a sick, serial rapist who read about the Strangler in the papers?

Junger delves into all of this stuff with a zeal of someone who was actually there but still can’t believe it happened. Here’s how he sums it up:

The story about Bessie Goldberg that I heard from my parents was that a nice old lady had been killed down the street and an innocent black man went to prison for the crime. Meanwhile – unknown to anyone – a violent psychopath named Al was working alone at our house all day and probably committed the murder.

He goes on to say:

As I did my research I came to understand that not only was this story far messier than the one I’d grown up with, but that I would never know for sure what had actually happened in the Goldberg house that day. Without DNA evidence Smith’s guilt or innocence would always be a matter of conjecture. By extension DeSalvo’s possible role in the murder would also be a matter of conjecture, and I would never know for sure how close I had come to losing my mother.

Both Al DeSalvo and Roy Smith are dead. DeSalvo was killed in prison in November 1973 after being stabbed in the chest 16 times. He was a bad man and remained a bad man in prison. Smith, however, was a model prisoner. He never got in to any trouble, supervised the prison kitchen, and completed a college degree. His sentence was commuted in August 1976, but he wasn’t able to enjoy his freedom long because he died from cancer a few days after he left prison.

Riveting stuff. Junger digs deep into all aspects of this tragedy. He’s a curious guy and goes off on interesting tangents. He brings to light the racial situation at the time. He tries to capture the effect of the Kennedy assassination (it occurred during the Roy Smith trial). He describes in detail the legal differences between homicide, murder, manslaughter and all the permutations thereof. He digs into the American prison system, the death sentence, and the insanity defense. He throws in some interesting history on Boston, Belmont, and Oxford, Mississippi. It’s just an endless stream of well-researched, important information that I wish I could retain more of. It’s a lot to pack in to 266 pages. Reading it is well worth the time.

Categories
food

Wishbone

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Yes, I went a little crazy with the syrup. But that’s just how I roll. That’s the kind of death-defying, selfless act that it takes to get you, my fans, the best information on Chicagoland food and drink.

And fine food it is, this is the Crunchy French Toast from Wishbone (West Loop). Gosh I love Wishbone. I also love Southern comfort food. I’ve been lucky enough to have traveled a little in the south and they eat my kind of food down there. I like sugar, cream, and hot stuff (not necessarily together), and they just have more of that down there; more donuts, more blackened stuff, more bread pudding, and more hot sauce. I like it. When I’m south of the Ohio River, I feel like I’m with kindred food spirits. Didn’t I feel kind of the same in Greek town? Am I just flinging loads of bull or what?

It’s crunchy because they dip it in ground corn flakes after it comes out of the standard French toast batter. This addresses one of my major gripes with French toast (aka, eggy bread for those in the UK). Often, when the battered toast is drenched with prodigious amounts of syrup, the toast gets saturated with syrup and loses its bread-like consistency. It turns into a runny mess actually, especially if the batter-master missed a portion of the bread and allowed some bare bread to peak through the coating. Not good. Comfort food blasphemy in fact and I will not tolerate it.

Not to worry here at Wishbone. The corn flakes add another barrier to syrup-saturation and add a crunchy texture to one of my favorite sweet breaky items. Crunchy-sweet is a great flavor sensation. Not quite as powerful as salty-sweet, but they could go toe-to-toe in my house anytime. How ’bout a battle royale between a frozen Kit-Kat and some Garrett’s cheddar cheese-caramel combo popcorn. It’s not necessarily a fair fight because the Garrett’s option is actually crunchy-sweet-salty, and that’s like the triple threat of flavor sensations…like the Carl Yastrzemski of sweet treats.

When was the last time you were at Wishbone? I was just looking through their lunch menu and they have Black Bean Cakes. Wow, that sounds good, I gotta get back there fast.

Categories
food

A Great Food Columnist You May Not Know About

Do you ever read the Newcity free mag? It comes out on Thursdays I think, about the same time as the Reader and The Onion. Well, if you like to read about Chicago restaurants, laugh your ass off, and have some serious discussions about Chicago-related food topics, then you need to go to the food and drink section of Newcity right now.

The main food writer, Michael Nagrant, mixes a warped sense of humor with a large reservoir of food knowledge. His articles are always relevant, very funny, and highly approachable for a foodie-hater like myself.

Just take a read on his last two articles and decide for yourself. Check out his tirade on the new wine legislation for Illinois. He mixes in some light political research with one of his food obsessions. Or how about this one about chain restaurants; he has a dirty little secret that will surprise you.

I don’t see a subscribe-to link or anything like that, so it’s not really a blog that you can stay updated on (I don’t understand why they’re leaving this on the table), so you have to stop back occasionally. I religiously grab the Newcity every week so maybe I’ll post links to his best articles as I come across them.

Categories
food

Pegasus

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What’s happening to me? Two of the last three posts have had green vegetables combined with some sort of thin pastry. Am I turning into some sort of health-food nut? Have I lost the taste for the meat of a hoofed mammal? I think not, don’t worry. To be completely up front, my mom was with me at Pegasus this night and she always wants me to eat my veggies. What could I do?

So I ordered the spanakopita. Trust me, it’s not health food by any stretch. Which is probably why it’s so good. Mixed in with the spinach is lots of feta cheese, eggs, and oil, along with plenty of seasoning. I love feta cheese and the taste is strong in this dish. It’s a ton of fun to eat.

I was pleasantly surprised with the taste and texture of this green stuff. The spinach is chopped up but it still retains some it’s leafiness, which is a fine line to walk. It’s green and leafy but it cuts more like a lasagna-type of casserole. This is great because you get a serving of vegetables but it’s real easy to eat. I like the ease of eating with my hands (burgers, pizza), so sometimes it’s difficult to get my greens.

I find veggies tough to eat. One of the reasons that I don’t like salads is because I hate trying to get the forkful right. You know what I’m saying? The lettuce and stuff are always hanging over the edges of the fork and you have to try to fit the whole thing into your mouth before it starts falling into your lap. I guess I could cut it up, but I don’t like to take the knife to my salad because it just doesn’t seem right. It’s like cutting spaghetti, I just don’t do it. So my relationship with the salad has never gone anywhere. I’m not going to let it get me down because I can get green veggies elsewhere, as evidenced here.

As I’ve said before, I have some Greek blood in me. When I’m in Greek Town I feel like I’m amongst family. I walk in and they treat me like royalty. What a nice group of people. I wonder if non-Greeks get the same treatment.

The standard Greek fare here at Pegasus is always good. Plus, they have this outdoor, rooftop deck that has a killer view of downtown. It’s perfect for a summer evening of drinking and eating. Try it the next time your at Halsted and Monroe.

Categories
food

Tamales

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Yeah, it’s a huge burrito, and it was good. When you think huge burritos, Highland Park probably doesn’t pop into your head. Well, that’s your problem, because Tamales in downtown Highland Park makes a killer burrito and this place will also wow you with an impressive, all-around great dining experience.

Just so you’re not confused, you may have known this place by it’s former name. It used to be Hot Tamales, but it just changed ownership, so now it’s Tamales – A Mexican Joint. I know this because we had the new owner spend about 10 minutes at our table talking about the restaurant and Highland Park in general. He’s a cool guy and I think the future of great Mexican food on the North Shore is in good hands.

Before we go any further, let me digress into my rankings of “top suburban downtowns,” here they are.

  1. Geneva
  2. Highland Park
  3. Oak Park
  4. Wheaton
  5. Evanston

More on that another day, but be sure that the Highland Park downtown is a keeper.

So, pictured is the steak burrito. It’s got beef and beans and a great salsa. It’s large, but it only took me about 12 minutes to get it all into my stomach. It felt like the bean to steak ratio was about one to one. That’s the balance we shoot for here at Tasty Chicago. I don’t want one major item overpowering the other and you get that at a lot of other places. Not here, this burrito is well-made.

There are a bunch of other reasons to go here. My wife had the skirt steak and liked it. Just for the heck of it, the owner brought out some special mushroom sauce for the skirt steak and it was darn good. Also, check out the bread pudding with ice cream and caramel sauce below. Mmmm, tasty.

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It was about a 30 minute wait, but what do you expect on a Friday night. We dined outside on that main east-west drag through downtown. What a great atmosphere. The service was extremely friendly and I will be back.

Categories
books

A Hike for Mike

This is the story of Jeff and Beth Alt, a young couple who hiked the John Muir trail (JMT) in California to increase depression awareness after Beth’s brother committed suicide. They did it back in 2003 and you could follow along via the website, but it looks like they’ve since taken it down and replaced it with marketing content. Jeff, the narrator, takes you through every step of the 211 mile journey with a good mix of seriousness and humor.

This book has been on my list of books to read for a long time but I don’t have any idea how it got there. Beth is from Chicago and the local Chicago papers gave it some pub, so I may have heard about it that way. They both live in Cincinnati and Jeff has family in Toledo, so I may have seen or heard about when I was home visiting (my hometown is Findlay, Ohio). Or I could have stumbled upon it in the the book reviews of Outside Magazine, which I grab occasionally when wandering through airports.

I harbor a near-secret desire to hike the Appalachian Trail someday, so I was drawn to this book (Jeff did the AT prior to this book and wrote about it). I’ve been on a few backpacking trips and have the pictures to prove it, but backpacking never took hold with Gail. I eventually sold all of my backpacking gear.

The John Muir trail is a big undertaking because of the altitude. You regularly hike above the tree line (around 10,000 feet) and instances of altitude sickness are common even among the very fit. There are plenty of tree-less mountain passes that are especially rigorous and dangerous. By comparison, I think the Appalachian trail maxes out at maybe 6,000 feet above sea level. But with the difficulty of the JMT comes the reward of some of the most remote and beautiful wilderness in the US. I’ve never been there, but my dad has preached of Yosemite’s beauty and Jeff the narrator certainly describes it with awe.

This is a cool book. It’s self-published (I think) so there are typos (at least in my version). It’s a very folksy look at a serious adventure for a good cause. It was a lot of fun for me. At some point I will do an extended backpacking trip, mark my words.

Categories
food

Fiddlehead Cafe

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Hold on, don’t go! This is Tasty Chicago…yeah, I’m serious.

I know, you don’t often see me eat things that are green. But I do. Really.

This is the Asparagus and Goat Cheese Strudel from Fiddlehead Cafe at 4600 North Lincoln (a whopping $15). It has some grilled green garlic, spring onions, and sorrel puree. This was my entree a few weeks ago for my wife’s birthday celebration and it was surprisingly good.

As I’ve said before, I love cheese made from a goat. I talked about it after a trip to Scoozi a few months ago. I’ve never entertained the idea of wrapping it in a pastry, baking it, and tossing some veggies on top, but it was extremely appetizing. The pastry was light and crispy and the goat cheese was warm and smooth. And much to my surprise, the combination of cheese and vegetables in each bite was very good. I cleaned my plate and used other carbs from the table to soak up the sorrel puree.

Fiddlehead is a cool place right along the strip of bars and restaurants in Lincoln Square. It’s a wine bar with an eclectic American cafe style menu. Lincoln Square, it’s nutty I tell ya’. We ate outside, but it’s a lot different from the grittier West Town type of outdoor dining that I usually partake in. There are just so many more people walking up and down Lincoln Avenue (versus Chicago Ave) and the outdoor dining options are all out on the street. It’s quite a scene.

I want to add a story about the service. The crew at Fiddlehead struggled this evening a little. We had a fine waitress who busted her tail, but she was new and one bartender called in sick. Needless to say, it took forever to get drinks and food. Now my wife and I are very patient and we take it slow, so we hardly ever complain. And we didn’t this time, but there were two moments when I was just about ready to get up and ask “what’s going on?” But alas, each time I was pleasantly greeted with our order, so no problems. We ended up staying a few hours and in return for our patience, the host brought our table a complimentary after-dinner drink. It was a dessert wine that we all loved (all four of us). Awesome, awesome gesture, and we will be back. I appreciate stuff like that and it tells me this place is in it for the long haul. Way to go. The reviews at Yelp for Fiddlehead are mixed, but generally positive. Check them out.