Tag Archives: Subway

The Top Ten Subway Riders I Hate Most

I’ve had this on my mind for awhile now, but have held off on posting anything out of fear I’d be declared the Grumpiest Person on Earth.

But, as each day’s commute has given additional reasons to seethe, I realized I can’t, in good conscience, not post anything. So…I give you: The Top Ten Subway Riders I Hate Most. Or, in other words, The Top Ten Subway Behaviors Most Likely To Make Me Hate You.

I understand one of life’s earliest – and perhaps hardest – lessons is learning to share. And, as an only child for the first ten years of my life, I perhaps lack adequate training.

But: It is a truth (more or less) universally acknowledged that people can be gross and terrible. And, therefore, sharing a car with roughly 8 million gross and terrible people is no picnic.

New York’s Worst Offenders:

10. Close Standers. I understand that sometimes trains get crowded. And, generally speaking, if a train is too packed, I’ll wait for the next one. (I heard a conductor admonish the passengers he was ferrying one summer day, “You’re human beings! Not cattle!”) But…if there’s enough room for you to stand at a reasonable distance from me, I expect you to do so. And I don’t think that’s irrational. I find it all sorts of unnerving when you do not respect this. In short: STEP OFF, BUSTER.

9. Seat Hoggers. So you went on a shopping spree and have 12 new outfits with matching shoes for each? I DON’T CARE. Figure out a way to transport your loot without taking up extra seats. Sure, I could come up and ask you to take your damn stuff off the damn seat, but I know you know that it shouldn’t be there. Empty trains are one thing – pretend you’re queen for a day for all I care — but if it’s crowded, you’re rude and terrible if you just leave it there. The end.

8. Closing Door Jumpers and Door Holders. I think this will be the most controversial as I expect readers to say, “What’s wrong with trying to make a train? Or helping someone out?” And this is one of the few times I’ll agree with the MTA: Jumping in while doors are closing and holding doors delays everyone else on the train. You may not be in a rush to get where you’re going, but someone else undoubtedly *is*…and nothing is worse than when YOU are in a rush and you have to watch commuter after commuter rush in the doors that keep trying to close so we can finally be on our damn way. I think New York would be a much more pleasant place overall if we could agree to respect closing doors. Sure, it stinks when you’re stuck on the platform…but you can take solace knowing that you won’t be inconvenienced the next time you’re not running late and actually made the train.

7. Crowded Train Freaker-Outers. I know the feeling – “OhmygoshhowamIgoingtogetoffthistrain??” But – trust me: in seven years of riding the rails — even when I was trapped in the center of the car and had my neck strategically craned so that I was looking at the only spot on the train that wasn’t blocked out by human flesh, I’VE NEVER SEEN ANYBODY MISS THEIR STOP BECAUSE IT WAS TOO CROWDED. Not once. Sure, you have to be a little assertive and let everybody know that you want to get off, but I promise the riders of New York City’s Subways aren’t conspiring to trap you on the train. In fact, it makes our ride all that much more pleasant if you are NOT there. So, dear rider, when you panic after the train leaves the station prior to your stop and want to move toward the door, please know that you are disrupting the delicate balance that all other riders have created in terms of what precious space exists for each of us. What’s more, with closed doors, we have finite space to move in…and it just makes it even grosser and more terrible until we’ve struck a new balance with you by the damn door. So. PLEASE wait until the train has stopped. We’ll let you off – I promise.

6. Backpack-Wearers. Including this sort of makes me a bit of a black-kettle-caller, but, at the same time, I always make a conscious effort to move my giant purse and/or laptop bag in front of my stomach or, when that isn’t possible, I take my bag(s) off my shoulder and hold it/them low in front of me. NOTHING IS WORSE in a crowded train than an idiot with a giant backpack. (I include purses, shopping bags, man-purses and laptop bags under the “giant backpack”-umbrella.) It’s like there’s a whole other person standing behind (or next to) him/her – that’s how much space it takes up. I’ve been in situations before in which a backpack-wearer continually bumps into me and, childish though it may sound, I hold my ground, refusing to move for said stupid bag. It’s annoying to get hit repeatedly, to be sure, but it also makes hating the bag’s owner totally justifiable. All you have to do is remove it and set it down at your feet. You don’t even have to put it on the gross floor – you can rest it on your shoes. And, in so doing, you’ll open up room for the rest of us. And we won’t hate you. It’s a win-win.

5. Pole-Leaners. Simply put, they are about as inconsiderate as it gets. Sharing is caring, folks – even my eight-year-old niece knows that and she’s been saying it for years. So when you lean up against a pole and make it impossible for anyone else to hold on, you’re being a jerk. And, even if you’re wearing headphones, I don’t believe that you’re blissfully unaware of what you’re doing, swept away to iPodland — and THAT makes you an even BIGGER jerk. Once, I was coming home from work with a men’s softball team and an idiot in a sweater and an iPod and a book. And said idiot was leaning against the pole, listening to music and reading. Nice for him. BUT…I had to gingerly hold the pole up by his neck (although perhaps I should have jabbed him in the neck with my fat finger? You think that’s what Emily Post would have done?) and the train suddenly started up and one of the softball players reached out for the pole, but realized he’d have to hold it down by the jerk’s nether region and he pondered it for a moment and then decided to hold on to the ceiling. I saw this play out and we both sort of laughed and, in theory, I suppose it was a nice, friendly moment with an anonymous New Yorker, but I would be willing to sacrifice said moment in exchange for a pole to hold onto.

4. Doorway Standers Who Lean. Nothing is worse than if you actually manage to snag a seat and some yahoo stands sideways in the doorway and leans back into YOUR seat space. I’m sure it’s a comfy pose, but then you, as the person seated, have to lean back or sideways in order to avoid said leaner’s back and/or you have to clear your throat or be a big fat meanie and say, “Excuse me!” when the whole thing could be avoided if the Leaner would just stand where s/he is supposed to.

3. Elbowers. Similarly, it is also annoying when someone seated decides to thwart Leaners by resting their elbows on the partition. (Some A trains have glass so you can’t do this. They are beautiful trains.) Then you, as the Stander, have to hold yourself at sometimes precarious positions to avoid said elbow. Can we declare a truce? I won’t lean on you if you won’t elbow me out of the doorway?

2. Platform Standing-in-Fronters and Rush-Aheaders. Literally nothing irks me more than when I am patiently waiting for a train at the station and someone comes along and stands in front of me. Do they really not understand that I was giving the Third Rail a little space? Or is it THAT IMPORTANT that they get on the train before I do? I’ve said it before – if I’m not in a hurry, I won’t get on a too-crowded train. So the odds are that I’ll happily let you by me if it’s not a train I need to board immediately. But one of the quickest ways to get scowls from me for countless stops is to stand in front of me when I was already waiting. I HATE IT. I also hate people who push ahead when you’ve been patiently waiting. They, too, are jerks. I hope Dante saved a ring for them.

1. Not-Waiters. Or, more specifically, Subway Riders Who Are In Such a Damn Hurry to Board the Train That They Cannot Possibly Wait For You To Get Off First. In general, rules are meant to protect us. I can get behind that, more or less. And so – here’s the only other time I’ll agree with the MTA – when that anonymous male voice asks people waiting in the station to please let passengers off the train first, I think everyone should listen. It’s simple physics really: Only so many people can fit a given space. And in order for new people to come on to the train, old people have to get off. And yet the #1 Worst Subway Offenders, IMHO, are those who throw this rule to the wind and stampede onto the train as soon as it pulls into the station. Just the other day, I was at Jay Street and two women who looked like linebackers (T is teaching me about football) were standing in front of the doors. And, childish though it may sound, I refused to move until one of them finally stepped aside a little. Again, New York, please: Can we just strike a deal in which I promise I will always quickly get off the train if you will stand in an orderly fashion outside the doors and GIVE me room to deboard? It’s not rocket science. And, until you Not-Waiters get it through your thick heads, I will continue to give you dirty looks. Ball’s in your court.

Image via vauvau/Flickr

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Who Cares What Nation’s Restaurant News Thinks? Here’s My Top 10.

On the same day the New York Times wrote about Pop-Tarts World, the Huffington Post added this blurb from a Nation’s Restaurant News report on America’s favorite restaurant chains.

Cheesecake Factory topped the list. And while some of my favorite restaurant chains were on the list, they missed some good’uns. So…if I ruled the world (or at least Nation’s Restaurant News), the list would have looked like this:

10. Quiznos/Subway — I like toasted sandwiches and LOVE QUIZNOS’ CATS. I could also go for a sandwich from Subway with everything in it — even the peppers — just about any day of the week. But only if it has everything.

9. In-N-Out — While I think In-N-Out is somewhat overrated — YES, I JUST SAID THAT — it’s a classic burger joint and it does things right, which earns it a spot at #9.

8. Carl’s Jr./Hardee’s — They clearly won me over with the ads featuring scantily clad Paris, Padma and Audrina + that French-talking mouth app. (Why, yes, I *did* write about it for ClickZ…)

7. Swensen’s — I have found memories of getting ice cream here as a child. Unfortunately, all I can remember is that it was good.

6. Coco’s — I used to go with my grandmother (who hid in a booth in a corner). I have fond memories of Coco’s southwestern melt (see? Told you I like toasted sandwiches….) and boysenberry pie.

5. Panera — This joint has one hell of a muffin…and was also the focal point of my first (…and admittedly only…) story in the Wall Street Journal.

4. Sizzler — A popular joint with my maternal grandmother. I loved the cheese toast and was once a bit of a smartass when the manager asked if everything was okay and ended up with an entire platter of it.

3. Baja Fresh — I perhaps love nothing more than Mexican food. And I think this place does a fine job. I don’t care if Wendy’s owns it.

2. Chevy’s — Annnd…I don’t care what Jonathan R. Duke says either. I love this place. Always have, always will. And I have the birthday sombreros in my closet to prove it. The cookbook proved to be a little overly complicated, but that’s just fine — gives me a more powerful excuse to go there in person.

1. Waffle House — I also have fond memories of the Waffle House, which I will forever associate with my brief stint in Mississippi and Georgia. Plus, their menu development team was genius — who doesn’t like saying, “Scattered, smothered, covered…”?

Image via Stevie Rocco/Flickr

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Filed under books, cheesecake, entrees, grilled cheese, ice cream, Mississippi, pie, UCLA

My Fancy-Shuffling, Fake-OTBing, Hair-Scam-Avoiding, 33-Cent-Cheese-Meltdown-Witnessing, Old-Lady-Cursing Wednesday

Remember those commercials during the Olympics with the snowboarder that snowboarded right off into space while Lou Reed’s “Perfect Day” played? Well…I wouldn’t call today a perfect day per se…but it was sort of strangely nice and/or memorable for a lot of little reasons:

1. I fake-gamble part-time to support myself now (…I had lunch with a friend from Martha last weekend and she said I should start a blog to debunk the myths of the New York freelance writer’s lifestyle — which sounds so glamorous! — but actually involves a lot of slapstick antics to make ends meet…) and I’ve felt that I can’t emerge from this experience without the ability to shuffle cards in a fancy way. I’ve always wanted to learn some card tricks…and I spend 18 hours a week with 416 cards now, so mastering the Fancy Shuffle (…which I Googled! And learned is called the Bridge Shuffle! And, I gotta hand it to SuperCardKid — he explains it really well…) seemed like a totally reasonable goal. And…it’s a very high-tech table that we play on and sometimes it dies and we have downtime…which is what happened today. So…I decided today was the day I was going to crack the Fancy Shuffle…and I did! I mean, I’m a long way from impressing anyone…but I at least figured out how to shift my hands to make the cards fall back in on one another after I’ve shuffled them. (Before long, people will totally be coming to my apartment for Poker Night…)

2. Some of my comrades at the fake-gambling place like to really gamble…and, like I said, we were twiddling our thumbs this PM…and one of them had one of those OTB horse guides? And we were looking at the horse names and I saw one called “Im a Mosaic Rockstar” and said, “That’s it. That’s the horse I would bet on…” and — guess what — the horse I picked totally WON. So…the real gambler then asked what horses I liked in the next race…and three names popped out at me, but I only remember two: Downtown Hottie and Lady Gracenote. And I believe my fellow fake-gambler actually *put* $6 on these choices. And part of me would really be thrilled if it turned out that I have a hidden talent for picking good horse names…but he didn’t say anything like, “Oh, man, Lisa! You hit the trifecta!” (or whatever…) so I’m assuming Im a Mosaic Rockstar was my one-time hit. (Still a little thrilling though…)

3. People stop me for directions a lot. And…today, while I was on my lunchtime constitutional, a woman stopped me and said, “Excuse me?” and I stopped because I assumed she needed help figuring out where to go…but then she said, “Where do you get your hair done?” and *that* is totally a scam, isn’t it? I’ve had people stop me before and ask that very same question and it turns out that they want money or personal information or something…(although maybe I’m wrong? I Googled various street-salon-scam term combinations and came up empty-handed…which maybe means she was legitimately wondering where I get my hair done…but…I doubt it. I had my luxurious brown locks pulled back in a ponytail today…and it may have been a nice ponytail…but it wasn’t anything that was going to stop traffic). And…as soon as I discovered that she was not a poor lost soul but rather thought she could sucker me into some hair scam, I was sorry I stopped…but instead of having a normal reaction, like, “I’m sorry — I have to go…” I pulled a Lisa and ended up blurting out, “I have to go!” with wild eyes and, long story short, if she *did* just want the name of a hairdresser, I’ll bet she thought I was a real weirdo.

4. I’ll just come right out and admit I ended up at a McDonald’s — and I know you’re all judging me now, but I had a good reason…and yet if I was to pull *another* Lisa and explain *how* I ended up at this McDonald’s, it would be very much like my old coworker Paulie said the other night — that my stories are like a John Bonham riff in a Led Zeppelin song — and/or imply that there is something WRONG with going to McDonald’s…and there isn’t. So…we’ll leave it at that. I was there. The End. (Almost…)

I ended up next to this dude who ordered two Filet-o-Fish sandwiches…and then appended his order with, “But I want them to be FRESH. And they need to be HOT.” And the guy behind the counter sort of said, “Sure…okay…” and I thought, “Wow. Yes. Right. I’m sure they’re going to go out of their way to give your Filet-o-Fishes some tender loving care…” And, I mean, I guess I shouldn’t judge either, but…it was a little high-maintenance, no? (And this is coming from ME…which really says something…) There’s a time and place, right? My mom used to (and perhaps still does…I just haven’t seen her order seafood in awhile…) ask if the salmon on the menu was farmed or not (or something)…and I understand that if you’re, you know, coughing up some change at an actual sit-down place, you can make requests like that. But…this was McDonald’s. You sorta get what you get, right? (I confess I actually really think the latest commercial is catchy…) But THEN the guy says, “And I don’t want half a slice of cheese. I want a whole slice of cheese on both of them.” And the guy said, “I’ll have to charge you extra…” and he completely lost his mind — “What are you talking about?? The cheeseburgers have whole slices of cheese! Why can’t I get a whole slice of cheese on my Filet-o-Fishes??” and he asked how much he would be charged and the guy said, “33 cents,” and he had another meltdown — “33 cents?? I have to pay SIXTY-SIX CENTS for WHOLE SLICES OF CHEESE on my Filet-o-Fishes? This is ridiculous! Ridiculous!” and on and on and on and ON. They had to get the manager. I left before I learned the outcome…but, man, oh, man…I did not envy the two guys behind the counter who had to deal with him. Yowza.

5. I had to wait for the A and the F trains this afternoon for a super-long time…and noticed a nice old lady get on the train with me at my A train stop…and, since we had to wait so long, the train was totally crowded…and as we were all sort of finding a spot, this nice little old lady says, “Give me some fucking room!” and THEN we got to Jay Street and a B train showed up on the F track…and she shouts, “This is fucking ridiculous!” and THEN she got on the train, but stood in the doorway as we all tried to hear what was going on with this mystery B train and they tried to close the doors with her still in the doorway and she says, “I can’t fucking believe it!” So. In three fell swoops, Grouchypants sort of debunked some commonly held old lady myths.

And then I came home and everything basically went back to normal. The End. (For real.)

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Filed under birthdays, blogs, Brooklyn, cheese, fish, Martha

The Halloween Postmortem

I had kind of a hard time deciding what to do for Halloween this year. One friend was going to see Paranormal Activity…but I knew that was out. (Heath Ledger‘s turn as The Joker scared me more than I care to admit…so something that legitimately bills itself as a film that will scare the pants off of you is simply not something I can handle.)

And, you know, I wouldn’t be completely averse to staying at home and handing out candy to adorable trick-or-treaters…except that this is my fourth Halloween in this apartment and I’ve haven’t had any little ones knock on my  door on any of the previous Halloweens. (Although I think there were some trick-or-treaters in the early afternoon yesterday…but I wasn’t expecting them and didn’t have any candy [I mean, really — me in a house with a bag of mini Snickers? I wouldn’t be able to fit back through my freakishly small door…] and so I had to pretend I wasn’t home…which makes me very much a Grinch, doesn’t it?)

One of my classmates had told me about a party on the Upper West Side…but that’s SO FAR AWAY and I hate the Subway on Halloween pretty much more than anything else…and there was another party in Midtown, but I wasn’t actually sure if it was the best idea to show my face there. So, like I said, I didn’t know what to do.

Then, on Friday morning, I was walking to the train and knew the Bartender wouldn’t be at his bar because it was so early…and so I allowed myself to glance over at it…which is sort of a rare treat as I don’t normally give myself this luxury when there’s any chance he *could* be there…as seeing him — even from afar — still makes me sad. But, when I looked over, instead of just seeing the bar stools where I spent so many hours when we were first getting to know each other, I *also* saw a stupid sign in the window announcing their big Halloween bash that was going to include a — wait for it — “Sexy Costume Contest.” With prizes. And this just bugged me to no end. I mean, come on — a HUGE proportion of ladyhood already uses Halloween as an excuse to get tarted up…so it’s sort of one of those things that goes without saying, right? (And, okay, okay — fine. If it had said, “Sexy Costume Contest…with All Male Revue!” perhaps I wouldn’t have found it quite as objectionable…and maybe would have even been intrigued…and so perhaps this makes me a huge hypocrite. But, at the same time, women have been objectified since the dawn of time, so I really don’t see anything wrong with evening the score a bit now.)

And his boss is quite possibly the worst person ever — seriously. If I gave you the name of this place and you Googled it and saw the reviews on Yelp, you would know that lots and lots of people complain about him. I’m not just harboring a grudge…and so I am absolutely certain that this stupid contest was *his* idea and I am sure that every woman who works there was specifically told to dress slutty that night and might very well have a good lawsuit on her hands…and I am also sure that my sweet, funny Bartender was very excited about the whole thing…and I just had visions of him in a sea of boobs…and it, too, made me sad. (Although my friend K pointed out that it would be “a sea of trashy boobs,” to which I replied, “That’s right! Mine are waaay classy…” and I guess I can begrudgingly admit it’s a pretty good way to look at it.) It also conjured up a pretty funny cartoon visual with his face in the middle of a bunch of boobs…like diagrams of cells in a biology class, just less detailed. (I was tempted to actually draw it for you guys but felt maybe that would be taking things a *little* too far.)

And, I mean, whatever. Any chick who goes out on October 31 dressed as a French maid or a slutty nurse or a police officer in hot pants named “Sergeant Sexy” is basically the Anti-Lisa and if that is what the Bartender wants, then, well, he and I never ever had a chance. (I don’t actually think that Sergeant Sexy *is* what he wants…as, despite his best efforts to convince the world otherwise, he really has a lot of substance to him…but I also don’t understand why he “can’t.” So. Questions for the ages, I suppose.)

But the whole reason I am beating this (very dead) horse is to explain that I had some options and I knew I should do *something* as it would be infinitely better than staying at home and watching TBS in my pajamas with an ever-present visual of the Bartender’s cartoon face being squished by an avalanche of cartoon boobs. But I also, as noted, could not think of a fate worse than riding the Subway on Halloween…especially all the way to the Upper West Side.

But…when I vacillated, my friend convinced me I was being stupid and I agreed to go.

My friend was dressing as Balloon Boy (I provided the box! Thanks, Zappos!) and said I could join her group and dress as a news reporter or something, but…I didn’t want to jump on that bandwagon, so I spent some time thinking about what I could come up with that I already had around the house…and I decided on a pregnant Pam from The Office.

I actually had a lot of fun putting my costume together — getting one of the books from The Finer Things Club and making those post-its with smiley faces on them and printing out a brochure for Niagara Falls…– and, in the end, I’m glad I went to the party. One of the hosts was dressed as Julia Child and there was a lot of good Halloween-themed food. (Although most of the guys there didn’t really know who Julia Child was, which I thought was weird…but then my friend’s husband said he didn’t really know who she was either…just that she was some sort of cook. So. I guess Julia is a girl thing.)

And I found I actually really like being pretend pregnant. And I got a little self-righteous about it — like, there was a woman on the train who had her stuff spread out EVERYWHERE and we rode that way for a few stops and then I sort of gave her a dirty look and she finally asked me if I wanted to sit down and I (sort of) haughtily told her I was getting off at the next stop. And a man at the party with an actual pregnant wife asked me when I was due…so I feel like I was convincing. (One friend said later that she was disappointed I did not pretend to go into labor.)

There was a man there dressed as “Super Drunk,” as in, like, a superhero but drunkenness was his superpower…and I said he looked like one of our professors and my friend said it was the meanest thing I have ever said. Later, Super Drunk asked if I was really pregnant and when I said, “No,” he said we could go into another room and change that.

And…this guy dressed as Cookie Monster was giving me the hairy eyeball all night, so I finally — with some help from my friend — positioned myself in the living room with the guys watching the Yankees game so he had to talk to me. Totally nice guy — name’s Doug; works as a copywriter; was in a writers’ group with one of the actual pregnant ladies; dressed as Cookie Monster because his nephew really likes him…and there was a guy there who looked a lot like *another* classmate and *his* wife told Cookie Monster that it looked like he was playing with his balls when he took off his head and was holding it by the eyeballs at waist-level.

And so Cookie Monster and I eventually left together, but only walked half a block and he said, “Okay — bye!” and that was it. Didn’t even walk a pretend pregnant lady to the train OR ask for her number…although I guess that’s for the best as there won’t be any waiting by the phone now. A few people on the train back asked if I was really pregnant…I guess maybe because I’d be the worst mom-to-be ever if I was coming back at 2:00 in the morning after a night of partying with my unborn child. And then a group of guys boarded around 14th Street and said, “YOU LOOK LIKE PAM!” and I said, “I am!” and we bonded for a few stops.

And, you know, when I was getting ready last night, I had all these fantasies in my head about walking by the Bartender’s bar…and, you know, sometimes his boss is out front and sees me and sometimes we acknowledge each other and sometimes we don’t…and so I was dreaming up this scenario in which he saw me walk by pregnant and ran in and said to the Bartender, “Squeaks got knocked up!” and then the Bartender wouldn’t really be able to appreciate the sea of boobs as he’d spend the whole night wondering if it was his. But, no. That didn’t happen. I didn’t even make it past the bar. Instead, I thought I saw him smoking out front and freaked out and ran across the street. Like, RAN. So much for emotional maturity. And it didn’t even turn out to be him after all.

I didn’t really care when I was walking *home* though. That’s another thing…I wasn’t really pregnant, but…I felt weird about drinking. Part of it was that I was sort of in character — like with that lady who made me mad on the train because she didn’t get up to give me her seat — but part of it was also because I was afraid people would judge me. And all of these worries lasted 5 or 10 minutes, tops…so I’m sure it was liquid courage that helped me walk by, stomach out and head held high. So maybe he saw me then. Although, then again, I was REALLY pregnant. And he’s a smart guy. And he probably knows there’s no way I got *that* pregnant in eight weeks. So…so much for my revenge plot, I guess.

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Filed under books, Brooklyn, clothes, cookies, feminism, Halloween, holidays, parties

A Consistent Bacon Theme…with the Best Burgers in Chicago and Pies to Boot.

My fat-themed trip to Chicago began with K meeting me at O’Hare with a pumpkin spice latte (say what you will about Starbucks, but it’s become a rite of fall…), which was absolutely perfect as my flight from Denver left at 6:40 and I needed just a *little* more coffee to really feel like Lisa.

Our first stop was Vosges, a chocolate shop with the tag line “Haut Chocolate.” We were there specifically for a bacon bar, but discovered there were actually several to choose from — milk, dark and caramel toffee. I don’t actually remember which of the chocolates I liked better with the bacon bits (it’s sweet and salty…which is one of the reasons I used to love Take 5 so much…), but I generally like milk chocolate better, so that was probably it. The bacon caramel toffee was certainly good, but we couldn’t tell there was any bacon in it…which may defeat the purpose of actually buying bacon chocolate. But, in the end, neither one of us was compelled to buy a whole bar…in part because I could not tell how much they were…and if I had to ask, maybe I couldn’t afford it? (Turns out they’re about $7.50 each…so it might be worth it as a special treat for bacon lovers.)

From there, we stopped off at Dominick’s (…which sells Safeway products! A nice little kickback to my California roots…) for pie ingredients. K is participating in the Bucktown Apple Pie Contest on October 18 and wanted some pointers. I told her the one big thing I learned from the 2007 APC Crisco National Pie Championships — Plain apple won’t do it. You HAVE to have something unique and/or distinctive. — and we found a recipe on Epicurious for a Deep-Dish Caramel Apple Pie. (She actually used her iPhone to do it…which made me long for one even more…but then I worry that I will never be able to make calls in my apartment as the reception is so bad…and I continue to hem and haw…)

We used my aunt’s crust recipe…and, in all honestly, all I think K needs to do is practice a bit to get her confidence up…and *maybe* purchase a few tools (a pastry blender! a pie crust shield! a silpat liner!). Otherwise, the only advice I gave was the standard “make sure your water is really, really cold” and “don’t let the dough get too sticky.”

And…even though the recipe does not call for an upper crust, we improvised a bit and added one…and I think the pie was better for it. It was definitely a memorable spin on standard apple.

After baking, we hit up the Bristol…which allegedly serves a Bacon Manhattan for brunch. We thought maybe we could ask nicely and they would serve us one anyway for happy hour, but, alas, the barkeep said he did not have the right bacon-infused booze on hand. He later let me try some bacon-infused scotch (and the brunch menu says the Bristol’s Manhattan is made with bacon-infused Dewar’s, so…?)…and I told him I liked it better than regular scotch — the truth! — but I did not tell him that I do not like regular scotch. The bacon infusion sort of took the edge off of it…and totally made it drinkable. (Another bonus? They had duck fat fries…which I have been unable to try at Hot Doug’s for TWO consecutive Chicago trips. [They are only served on weekends.])

After meeting up with K’s new husband, we headed over to Kuma’s Corner for what was supposed to be one of the best burgers in Chicago. I don’t like eggs, so the Kuma Burger (with fried egg) was out, but it was really hard to decide between the YOB and Iron Maiden and Neurosis (among others). In the end, I went for the Iron Maiden and K ordered the Neurosis…and both were really, really good…on the order of not-much-talking, lots-of-eating kind of good. I was at Subway once with a guy (hey, big spender…) who was sort of shocked that I ordered a sandwich with everything on it…so, what can I say? I like lots of stuff. I actually kind of wish I lived closer to Chicago so I could try some of the other combinations at Kuma’s. Worth noting in so many words: Definitely worth the trip if you’re in the area.

With bellies full of burgers, K’s husband dropped us off at the Green Eye, where we continued to catch up and whatnot…and we were thrilled to see it had one of those collegiate banners hanging from behind the bar that said, “Bacon!” (The theme continues!) And…I’ll blame it on the bacon-infused scotch, I guess, but it maybe seemed like I had nothing to lose by contacting Wall-E at that point…although it was kind of weird when he showed up and I think I was maybe kind of mean and ignored him a little. So. There ended that.

The next day, our first stop was the Hoosier Mama Pie Company…which K had emailed me about long, long ago. We were both kind of sick of sweet stuff — we had, after all, had pie for breakfast — but they had a peach raspberry pie…which contains, like, my two favorite fruits of all time…so I couldn’t not get a piece. (K, for her part, got a slice of bacon quiche.)

We couldn’t eat it right then and there though — so we dropped off the baked goods at K’s house and headed downtown…where K had the brilliant idea of eating at Rick Bayless‘ new restaurant, Xoco. We had to wait in line for a good long while (and a ballsy woman pulled up in a Corolla and wanted someone to give her menus and phone numbers)…but it was totally worth the wait. (Plus, RICK BAYLESS HIMSELF was working in the kitchen…so we were sort of able to gawk while we waited…) K had the choriqueso, I had the milanesa…and by the time we actually had seats, it was another one of those no-talking, more-eating moments. We were approached by a WGN reporter at the end of the meal who wanted to talk about our food. Unfortunately, nerves got the better of me and I sounded like that version of myself that I hate…and even though it didn’t come out very clearly to WGN, it *is* true that my mother LOVES Rick Bayless and that my torta was really good…I just couldn’t think of any other way to describe it while on the hot seat. Perhaps I’ll give it another go here: it was kind of like a grilled cheese sandwich, but with this tomatillo sauce that gave it a little zing…or maybe you could even think of it as a Mexican spin on an Italian cutlet sandwich?

K and I did some kind of arty, shoppy stuff in the afternoon…and then, finally, we more or less ended everything with a trip to (O)enology at the InterContinental Chicago for — that’s right — more chocolate-covered bacon. One of my classmates had tweeted or Facebooked or somethinged about trying chocolate-covered bacon in Chicago…and so we knew we had to add ENO to our fat list, too. And, you know what? It had one of those menus that seems like it would be really fun to write (Another? Le Peep.) and I would totally dig a job like that…except, even though I realize they have a schtick, I might feel kind of like a schmuck with the whole “Wine. Cheese. Chocolate. Sensation.”-thing. Regardless, the chocolate-covered bacon was only available with the “Wine and Swine” Chocolate Sensation…and so that is what we ordered (along with flights called “Tickled Pink” and “Ring Around the Rose”). It also came with a shiitake truffle…which I was not sure about…but our waiter (who looked like Bradley Cooper from afar) assured us we’d wish it had *more* mushroom. I can’t say I really tasted any shroom…it was pretty much just chocolate. And the chocolate-covered bacon was, you know, good. Same sort of sweet/salty combo as before…but perhaps with more salty this time as there was more meat…and it was covered in dark chocolate…which I suppose was a nice complement to the higher chocolate:bacon ratio?

And then that was it. I had to go home and eat leftover burger and pack so I could wake up super-early and fly back to NY. (And I will share my thoughts on *that* momentarily…)

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Filed under beer, chocolate, eggs, frying, gadgets, grilled cheese, hot dogs, pie