Pizzeria Oh-No
I've never had any particular urge to visit Chicago. Not counting airport layovers, I've never even been in the middle of the country, just the edges (though I did spur-of-the-moment visit a few southern cities in summer '04 just to begin rectifying this extreme east-west exclusivity). But out of nowhere I was struck with the urge to check out the windy city (oh, that's big apple lame). And when I say urge to check out, what I really mean is eat.
I think I've had an aversion to Chicago because I'm less than enthralled by its trademark foodstuffs: deep dish pizza, weirdo hot dogs (no regional pride, I don't care for any city's buns and wieners), Italian beef sandwiches. I don't know, I'm all about hearty everyman food, but none of these tempt me in the least.
But after this recent MLK Monday, I had wished that I'd planned something more substantial for my three-day weekend. Maybe it's because I just started a new job, but I'm feeling nervous and restless and in need of mini-vacation (I still can't believe that my big S.E. Asia excursion was almost half a year ago) despite having no vacation days yet.
My next opportunity for escape will be President's Day and I totally want to try Moto and the nearest Trader Vic's to NYC. I'm thinking I can somehow turn this into a belated Valentine's celebration. How better to say I love you than with crab rangoon and "sweetbreads with real snow that tastes like goat cheese." I shit you not.
Follow
