Want to be my little (Twitter) friend?
Fine. Then, listen up.
My time is precious. Got it? I don’t fuck around with people or subjects that bore me. It’s that simple.
If I so happen to select you from among the millions of people worldwide I could follow, it’s your obligation to perform for me. It’s your duty to provide something I can’t get from someone else.
Try this: Amuse me. Entertain me. Educate me. Question me. Inspire me. Enliven me. But don’t bore me.
If you bore me, then I’ll drop your ass quicker than Paula Deen’s invitation to speak at an NAACP convention.
How do you go out to two seperate dinners at two different restaurants and still end up starving at night’s end?
Well, it happened to me tonight in the industrial garden spot of Hammond, Indiana — which is right cross the Illinois-Indiana border, outside of Chicago.
First, a few words about Chicago — the city I’m visiting over the next nine days. It’s basically a city of trains, truckers, tolls, and traffic. Ranks right up there with Philadelphia, Cleveland, and Detroit, only with more people, and apparently far worse food. What would you expect from a city made up mostly of Eastern Europeans? World class cuisine? What’s the only thing worse than spending nine days in Chicago. Answer — spending ten days in Chicago. Not a fan.
But I’m here.
Here’s the story. Last time I was in Chicago, I stayed here two weeks. During that entire time, I don’t remember having one memorable meal, unless one considered shocking disappointment to be a virtue. I’m sure there are some great restaurants in this city. There has to be. I just haven’t experienced one yet. I’m zero for 20. I’m the Chicago Cubs of snob diners. In all fairness, most of the restauants I’ve tried have been either around O’Hare Airport or over in Gary-Hammond — which is kinda’ like saying you hate New York’s food because you spent most of your time in Flushing or Newark. I realize Hammond is not the charming neighborhood of the northside.
I do remember one thing. Last time I was here, I had a horrible meal at some Italian place on Calumet Road. So, where did I chose to go for dinner tonight?
You guessed it — the same Italian restaurant. The place couldn’t be that bad twice, could it?