Neighborhood: Greektown

I'm tragically behind in updating, and my parents are due to roll in any minute for a holiday visit. So I'm going to pound this out pretty quickly.

Last Sunday was Greek Fest in the city's Greektown neighborhood. I was pretty excited about this because: A) I like Greek Food, and B) I'm always ready to explore beyond the city's north side.

Greektown is in area called the West Loop or West Loop Gate, just a few block's walk from the El Loop downtown and fairly close to Union Station. The city skyline, and especially the Sears Tower, are right at the doorstep of the neighborhood. With disparate ideas of "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" , "Mamma Mia", and that place where Jerry, Elaine, and George would get their coffee on, I was expecting neat bungalows and greasy spoon restaurants, the streets filled with dancers (ABBA excluding) and folks yelling out "oompa!" every so often.

Unsurpsingly, the reality is quite different. As the shopgirl at one of the bakeries said, "We don't live here, we just eat here". There's no real neighborhood to speak of, as Greektown consists largely of about a three block stretch of Halsted Street. It's an interesting area, and wandering off of Halsted will put you in the middle of cool condo conversions, spas, and a restaurant called, intriguingly, "Butter". But there are no Orthodox churches nearby, no traditional single-family residences to speak of, and certainly no garage doors painted with Greek flags.

What it might lack in breadth, it makes up for in intensity. That short stretch of Halsted packs some serious Hellenic culinary heft, with restaurant after restaurant after bakery backed up one against the other. The fest consisted largely of each restuarant pitching a tent in front of its respective storefront and doing some serious foodie showmanship. I opted for two favorites: the flaming cheese appitizer known as saganaki and the grape leaves stuffed with beef, lamb, and rice with lemon sauce, also known as dolmades. Great stuff.

Me being me, however, the highlight was the trip to the bakery, which had cleverly prepackaged a sampler with rosewater cakes, pistachio mini-pies, a variety of other goodies and, of course, baklava. Redd, my cohort for the afternoon, showed considerably more restraint and opted for a single piece of chocolate-dipped bakalava.

I'm determined to get back for the unseasonable weather hits, as a couple of the restaurants had fantastic patios and specialities listed on the menu that were tempting enough to encourage movement away from my old stand-bys.

Southport Green Market: Kind of Lame, Kind of Not...well...Mostly Lame

A Saturday in-home brunch invite afforded me the opportunity to hit another green market in the city, this time the one housed in one of my favorite areas: Southport.

KKagogo had offered to whip up some french toast for me at her great apartment near the dog beach, and invited both me and pooch over for some vittles and R&R. Impressed as I have been by the seasonal produce lately, I offered to bring over a fruit salad. Southport, while not necessarily on the way to KK's was at least closer than Lincoln Park. I figured, given its great collection of pubs and cafes, that the green marked there would have some pretty fantastic offerings.

It's important to recognize that the Southport Green Market is only in its second year of existence, so I guess they're still trying to get their act together. It is housed on the grounds of Blaine School, right in the middle of all the action, and across the street from the Music Box Theater, Chicago's north side indie cinema capital. Wrigley Field is about four blocks due east. Hipsters, strollers, and hipsters with strollers containing baby hipsters abound. As do a pretty solid khaki-and-polo shirt set.

The market consisted of about seven to eight vendors, of which two sold fresh produce, one sold cheeses, and another had eastern European pastries. The others sold pottery and purses, a few flowers, and I can't even remember what else. Maybe insurance, or time shares. Florida swampland. Rainbows and promises. Whatever. Not the best selection.

I picked up a few Michigan peaches and a pint of blueberries, both of which were of very good quality. Even though I was on my way to brunch, I also picked up a pain au chocolat (croissant with a bar of chocolate baked in), because, well, it looked good and why do I have to explain myself to the likes of you? This ended up being fortuitous, as KK called shortly thereafter and begged a raincheck due a rough night out with friends the previous evening.

I think the nicest thing about the Southport Green Market is the setting. Blaine School and its surroundings have obviously undergone a good deal of redevelopment lately, and there are a couple of playgrounds and a nice greenspace that were being entertainingly enjoyed by the hipster and preppie offspring. They also had a nice doggie bowl with fresh water and plenty of treats for the four-legged patrons. Not to mention plenty of outposts for a Bloody Mary or espresso doppio in which to drown your sorrows over the fact that you're still going to have to give up that sweet parking space outside your building in order to trek out to Whole Foods for those cepes or daikon you were hoping to score. Such are the trials of the bourgeois.

In the middle of all this stood me, with dog on leash and a backpack containing poop baggies and a bottle with the last few drams of balsamic vinegar I bought a few years back in Florence. It was hot, over 90 degrees at 10AM already and the man mane was being blown hither and thither by the breeze. I was confused, disappointed, and a little disoriented. Then I looked over and saw a pair of blondes looking my way and smiling.

"This is good," I thought.

Then they started giggling.

"This is not so good," I thought.

I looked down to see my charming pup, leg hiked, relieving himself on basket of cantelopes. So much for sophistication. I shot a nervous glance over at the vendor, who was negotiating a sale, and beat a hasty retreat. From what I could tell, it looked like Atlas had missed contact with the actual fruit, but had succeeded in creating a soggy corner of the basket.

Later, on the drive home, I stuck my greedy paw into the bag of blueberries and started liberally sampling. After about the second handful it occurred to me that if my dog could piss on this guy's cantelopes, who knows what had happened to these blueberries? The rest waited until we got home.

Gary Sinise and The Lt. Dan Band, Chicago Air and Water Show

Let's be thankful for that contract with CBS, Gary.

Bill Murray Skydives at Chicago Air Show

Just remember, when he finally jumps out of the plane, and you can see the land, somewhere far far to the left is little old me.

Get Thee To A Grocery

I've been trying to drum up some enthusiasm to post about this prior weekend's big Chicago event: the airshow. One weekend every August, all along the lakeshore just north of downtown, a pretty impressive collection of vintage and state-of-the art aircraft are demonstrated for masses of Chicagoans who collect at North Avenue Beach to watch not only the planes, but also such special goodies as hometown native Bill Murray making a parachute entrance (no kidding!) and a performance of the local band fronted by Steppenwolf Theater member (and CSI:NY lead), Gary Sinise. That's Lieutenant Dan to you.


But the truth is, I just couldn't get too enthusiastic about it. I didn't make it down to North Avenue Beach, and I was sort of infected by the local malaise that comes from the sound of constant jet screams disturbing the seemingly perfect summer skies.


I did have one cool encounter with the airshow. While driving KKagogo home from brunch on Saturday (Cafe Selmarie in Lincoln Square, scrambled egg whites, home fries, chocolate raspberry tart, yum), we were heading east, toward the lake, on Lawrence, when we heard one of those massive roars. I looked up directly in front of us to see a B-2 stealth bomber, making a turn to head back toward the crowds. Just as it crossed Lawrence, it banked away from us, from full massive bat-winged profile to the littlest sliver of a line in the sky, then sped away. Stealth, indeed.


So, multi-million dollar cutting edge military technology couldn't move me to write, but today, fruit did.


With the scooter, I've been taking smaller and more frequent shopping trips, which means I've been spending more time in various local groceries. I've also been more conscious of the quality of produce since visting the green market at Lincoln Park the weekend before last. I'm a food lover and amateur chef, so this is the kind of stuff that gets my attention. While at the green market, I had picked up some white peaches just to finish of my allocated $10 budget and they later proved to be the highlight of my carry-in lunches for the first two days of work last week. Subsequent shopping trips seconded the general quality of not only the peaches available, but also some eat-all-but-the-pits super-sweet nectarines. Add to that the beauty (and cheap prices) of late-summer strawberries and tomatoes, and it's a great time to be a fresh food lover.


When I first reformatted this blog, I said I was going to try to expand its content beyond resident tourism, but haven't been too successful so far. But moreso than any city exploration these past few weeks, I've been most excited about stuff like the great seasonal food I've been finding and a successful run at a classic french chicken stew.


Like it or not, you're about to get more flavor from Chiblogo.


Really, these white peaches are not to be missed. Run out to your local grocer and pick up a couple. They should have just a slight give under the skin, and, like most all ripe fruit, at least a little aroma when you sniff them. For best results, an additional 24 hours in a brown paper bag should bring them right about to perfect.


My favorite way to enjoy them is sliced real thin, in a bowl, with a couple of quartered ripe strawberries. The white peaches have a clean, bright, subtle sweetness that pairs well with the more broad sweetness of the strawberries. To really deepen the flavor, drizzle lightly with a good quality balsamic vinegar and just a little honey, then give a toss. I say load up now, it's the perfect way to end what has been a beautiful summer with a minimum of missed-opportunity regrets.

Web Revolt

Um, yeah. I don't know why those YouTube videos of the "tornado" didn't post until the 15th. I sent them from my YouTube account the same day I wrote the post about the storm, the 9th. When I noticed they didn't post that day, I assumed they just got lost in the digital ether. Weird. My apologies for any confusion.

Tornado Evacuation at Wrigley

Lots of shaky cam action in this one with amateur commentator. Takes you right into the action.

Lightning at Wrigley 8/4/08

The original title of this was "WRIGLEY HIT BY LIGHTNING: CUBS LOSE". Only half of that statement was true.

Lightning over the Chicago El (Brown Line)

I like this video. It's short and has some good clean action in it. Plus, Brown Line is my line.

August 4th Video #1

Okay, I'm warning you up front that not much happens here. But it's a beautifully composed shot, and if you turn out the lights and put on some new age music, I'm sure you'll get some sort of trip.

Pay attention, however, to the way the Hancock Tower slowly disappears in the upper right hand corner.

Media Blather

The following is a quote from Allessandra Stanley's article "True or False: Everyone Looks 10 Pounds Guiltier on TV" in today's New York Times, about the recent media appearances by John Edwards related to his disclosed affair.  I thought it was fairly insightful, if a bit mean-spirited.
 
"Narcissism doesn't lead politicians to believe that they can have an affair and get away with it. It leads them to believe that they can go on television and dispel it. "
 
It's an interesting read: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/10/weekinreview/10stanley.html?_r=1&oref=slogin

City Treasure

I ran across this on the way home today:

Margie's Candies on Montrose. About a mile and a half from home. Less than 15 minutes by scooter. Directly under the Brown Line stop at Montrose. Homemade candies. Full-service old-fashioned soda fountain, with at least two whole menu pages of ice cream treats, including specialty sundaes, phosphates, and ice cream sodas. And, if the sign is to be believed, fresh apple pie by the slice.

Two scoops of coconut ice cream in a cake cone. $2.

Better Than Wonka's Golden Ticket?

As you have likely heard, the economic downturn has even Starbucks scrambling to try to turn things around.

One wicked, wicked, wicked tactic they are test-marketing here in Chicago (and, apparently, in Miami and Seattle) involves the Green Receipt.

The Green Receipt entitles you to a $2 grande sized iced beverage. This is nice for a couple of reasons. First, an iced drink on a hot day is refreshing. Secondly, for most items on the Starbucks menu, this is almost half its regular price. Thirdly, that price means its now with the realm of reasonable prices for a specialty beverage. This is a good thing, right? No, it's GREAT. Starbucks for the masses! Ticker tape parades! Sign. Me. Up.

How does one get The Green Receipt? This is where the evil bit comes in. The only way to get The Green Receipt is by buying FULL PRICE Starbucks beverage prior to 2PM. You then have to wait until after 2PM on THE SAME DAY before you can use The Green Receipt. Aaaannnddd...it expires that day. So, yes, in order to get the good deal, you have to visit Starbucks twice in the same day.

Cancel the parade. Call my lawyer.

This has led to something of a black market. As no one wants to be one of Those People who go to Starbucks twice in the same day, they'll go in the morning, get The Green Receipt, and then use it as a bit of leverage in a bartering exchange.

Which led to the following exchange, overheard at my office:

A: "I went to Starbucks on the way in."

B: "Yum. What did you get?"

A: "Mocha"

B: "Ooh. Did you get The Green Receipt?"

A: "Yeah, but I don't think I'm going there again today."

B: "Can I have it?"

A: "(laughing) What's it worth to you?"

B: "Well, I'm not going to pay you for it."

A: "Call my boyfriend for me and tell him he's being an [edited for general audience] about this trip."

B: "Ummm...okay."

See what I mean? Evil.

ChiScooter Outing #1

Today's forcast called for thunderstorms at some point, and all that I had heard most recently pointed toward an evening cloudbreak. Armed with this dangerous bit of speculation, I headed out thinking I would be safe in the open air. Needless to say, 10 minutes into the trip found me waiting out a brief rain at the Cafe Neo in Lincoln Square, about a mile from home. Obscenely large breakfast crepe of turkey and egg whites and good no-frills espresso. Free wi-fi. Patron of questionable mental status who left when his sandwich was served with tomatoes, which he claimed he had not requested.

The rain cleared quickly and I was soon on my way. As I've mentioned before, the streets of Chicago are laid out in a fairly consistent grid pattern, north to south and west of downtown, with a handful of streets running at a diagonal to make getting cross- and down-town more speedy. One of those diagonal streets is Lincoln Avenue, which defines the Lincoln Square neighborhood on it's northwest end.

The Green City Market is at the southeast end of Lincoln Avenue, terminating at Lincoln Park (the park) on the lakeshore in Lincoln Park (the neighborhood). In true Lincoln Park fashion, the Green City Market runs itself independently from the official farmer's market program sponsored by the city. It was everything you could hope for in a farmer's market: fresh produce at good prices, great speciality items (including flowers, meats, and local honey), outdoor troubadors, and made-to-order food stands. I picked up some french red shallots and mushrooms for a chicken dish I am going to try tomorrow, as well as some white peaches for lunches next week.

The market is right across a park road from a pretty nifty destination I had missed entirely during my first visit to the Lincoln Park Zoo, the "Farm". It's a faux farm, intended to give city kids the chance to gawk at cows and talk about planting corn with a real life "farmer". I had originally wandered in looking for a bathroom, but ended up hanging out for awhile, um, gawking at the cows and, errr, listening to some kids talk to a real life "farmer". My favorite moment came as I was leaving, when a tiny voice echoed out over the entire farm, "But Daddy, I don't have to go to the bathroom!".


I was determined to give scootering in Chicago a good trial, so I set my sights on driving through downtown to try to penetrate the navigational challenge that is collectively called The Museum Campus, on the lakeshore on the south side of downtown. The Museum Campus consists of the buildings for the Field Museum, Adler Planetarium, Shedd Aquairium, Soldier Field, and a few other marinas and park lands. Like Navy Pier, it sits at a remove from the bustle of downtown, separated by both Grant Park and the very busy Lakeshore Drive. I've been trying for sometime to figure out the best way to access it, and while I had several U-turns and more than one episode of doubling-back, I think I have at least a marginally improved understanding. Columbus Avenue. I think it's all about Columbus Avenue.Scootering in Chicago is fantastic! It is so much more of an immersive experience than either taking public transit or driving yourself. I had 10-second conversations with drivers at stoplights, surfed the tomato-basil wake of a pizza delivery truck, and opened up full-throttle for a northbound stretch of Lakeshore Drive. All of this on top of parking convenience (all of those parallel spots not big enough for your SUV? Not a problem. Wasted space in the corners of parking lots next to the grocery store? Insta-parking!). Not to mention that, in total, I spent about four hours on the road today and burned less than a quater tank of gas. Not bad considering my tank capacity is about 1.5 gallons. Cheaper than the CTA!

Whirlwind Visit

This news is already days old. My apologies.

My dad, ever the two-wheel enthusiast, made a special one-night visit to drop off the scooter, bringing my mom with him. I think she was thankful for the chance to scope out the place where her baby landed. With my work schedule, our time together was a little limited, so I was determined to get them down to Lincoln Square for a late supper.

As we headed off from the apartment, I noticed the skies darkening, and not too shortly thereafter rain started to fall at a pretty good clip. We settled quickly in a sandwich shop, me trying to fight off my disappointment that I couldn't walk them around the area or enjoy a meal al fresco. Meanwhile, the storm was really picking up (Clue #1), which we noted with passing interest as our conversation continued.

After finishing the meal, I attempted to drive them over for a glimpse of Wrigley Field, but were thwarted first by a flooded road (Clue #2) and then by barracaded streets and crowds streaming out of the ballpark (Clue #3).

It was only after we made our way home and turned on the news that we found out the city was under a tornado alert and that a funnel cloud of some sort had touched down right on Michigan Avenue, just miles away! I swear we never once heard an alarm, and the sandwich place had Muzak playing instead of the radio, so we missed all the warnings.

Brushes with danger aside, we had a nice, if brief, visit. They are set to come back through Labor Day weekend for a more extensive stay.

Meanwhile, I am so excited to have the scooter here! Today it is 78 degrees, with alternating sun and clouds, and I am off to find a farmer's market.

River City Revelry

Anticipating a break between sessions at Second City, I planned a trip home this weekend to catch up.

I had the most wonderful time with everyone. Really, the only way the weekend could have been more perfect is if gas prices had dropped to 1998 levels while my car started emitting gold dubloons instead of carbon footprints.

It was a busy weekend, for sure, and I am pretty wiped out right now, but it was worth it. I had at least a few stolen moments of good connection with friends and family, and feel grounded and rejuvenated and moved all over again.

I've entered the pictures from the weekend as their own posts so that I could allow myself the editorial freedom to write a little more with details. See below.

Sometimes, a bloke just needs some time with his ma, you know? Well, at least this bloke does, so I quickly committed her to spending Saturday morning with me on Main Street in Old St. Charles.

This is hands down my favorite part of my home town. I love the cobblestone streets and the independent shops and restaurants, as well as the proximity to the river and the Katy Trail. The buildings are, for the most part, original colonial-era brick houses and the whole thing feels just so much OTHER than suburbia.

My mom wanted to check out the farmer's market, which I also had never visited, so we headed there first. She picked up some great looking red and yellow tomatoes for a new salad reciped, and we sampled some homemade chutneys and mustards.

We then walked the length of Main Street, up several blocks and back down the other. Not really looking for anything in particular, but just glad to be out and about.

We ended with an early lunch at Lewis & Clark's Restaurant, an old family favorite. We indulged and ordered an appetizer combo platter to share, which brought all sorts of fried goodness, and talked reality TV and Hollywood gossip for a bit. We both agree that Shiloh Jolie

Pitt is an unusually beautiful child and that $14 million is ridiculous amount of money for anyone to pay for ANY photograph of wrinkly newborns. Superficial stuff, I know, but sometimes the brain just has to be shut off for awhile, and I think we both needed that, and enjoyed finding it together.

Mom, discovering the joys of a frozen Caramel Latte at Picasso's Coffee on Main Street. How cute is she?

Great little coffeeshop, fiercely independent, makes a good iced coffee the right way, and now actively recycling.

cA stretch of the Katy Trail, near the farmer's market in Old St. Charles. One of my favorite places in the world. A great place to run and the site of some good conversations between my sister and I over the past few years.

For the past several years, some counties in Missouri have offered tax-free weekends in August to help parents catch a break on back-to-school shopping. My sister and her husband have decided that this year the kids are old enough to be responsible for their own selections, so I was brought in as a consultant for my niece as she worked her way, meticulously, through the mall. Along the way, I was even able to knock out a little pre-headshot photo session shopping myself, and STILL got the tax break. Wa-hoo! Not to mention two pair of name brand jeans (one of them a "skinny" pair that look, I must say, to borrow a phrase from the 80's "boss" on me), each for under $15! Double the Wa, triple the hoo!

Let me tell you, these kids are more disciplined with money than I could ever dream to be. The counted every penny, worked every two-for-one sale and special promo they could. After about three hours, they each had several new items and had still only spent about 20% of their generous allowances. I blew more than that in my first 40 minutes.

A part of the good Lord's mercy toward me is that I was given the most spectacular group of friends with whom to weather the massive craphole that was my mid-to-late 20's. I love these men and women like my own family, and feel so blessed to know and be known by them.

The past year and half or so has brought a lot of change, and we're now spread about the country (and abroad, for some lucky b-tards), but there's a core group still in St. Louis, and we were able to get together for several hours on Saturday night.

For a good little stretch awhile back, we were able to have themed "family dinner" nights together, and we got close to that again this weekend. We had a Good Old Fashioned American Cookout, with burgers and salad and cheesy potatoes and lemonade and ice cream sundaes and more ('cause it IS America, and there's always more). We caught up, we played with each other's kids, we teased each other mercilessly, talked politics, and ate, ate, and ate.

Hopped up on sugar and trans fats, we floated our inhibitions down the mighty Mississippi and picked up the digital instruments of Wii Rock Band. This a group generally unafraid of a little histrionics in the first place, but put a microphone or electric guitar in our hands, give us a digital alter-ego with better abs and cooler hair, and you're asking for a show. Flora DaBluntwon overcame her initial protest over the lack of Joni Mitchell songs to find out she shares a similiar vocal range with Sting. Her husband, Fresh Inkk, proved to all of us that, alas, in spite of sharing a quality Georgian education, he is no Michael Stipe. Meanwhile, the curious pairing of myself with MacScot and Songbird Escalatia proved powerful enough to unlock TWO, count 'em, TWO songs that none of us had even HEARD before---on the first try! Amusement AND a sense of accomplishment, in the same evening. What more could you ask for?

I have been getting anxious to get my scooter up here for some time now. In the interim (and actually since winter), my parents have been very graciously storing it at their house.

My dad's support of my scootering habit has been pretty great. He's been a Harley guy for about 10 years now, and you'd think that his son showing up on a 125cc scooter would be the equivalent of asking for Barbies for Christmas instead of a baseball glove, but he's been nothing but enthusiastic about my interest in anything on two wheels, going out of his ways on several occasions (the day I drove it home, the day I first wrecked it, the night I had to go to the urgent care center...) to pal around with me and the bike.

So I was really thankful that we were able to squeeze in a nice little ride this morning. I wasn't too sure it was going to happen at first. Early on the skies were awfully overcast, and we even had a brief patch of rain. But the weather quickly cleared, and so, after a terrific ham and eggs breakfast my mom whipped up, we hit the road.

Even I have to laugh at the what the pair of us looked like: my dad, in his jeans and Harley t-shirt, on his great big bike, and me following, on a Taiwanese-made, Italian-retro-styled scooter wearing skinny jeans and a bright green windbreaker and cherry-red helmet. We snaked around some country highways just north of St. Charles, and I noticed more than one good ol' boy in a pickup doing a double take and starting to chuckle.

Critics be damned, however, because I was having a blast. Sharing a biking trip like that with your dad can be a pretty moving thing. Maybe it's a cliche, but the idea of two loners making their way down the road together really resonated with me. I think it's hard for fathers and sons to put some things into words. This ride, for me, was one of those moments in life that isn't about discussions, or plans, or ideas even, but simple shared experience, the one who's gone before and the one who is following, in the moment---together.

How do you top off such a wonderful weekend of activity? With awesome food, of course. For lunch before I left, my prodigously talented sister and her husband grilled up some wonderful Mexi-Cali flavors, including shrimp tacos on toasted tortillas with an amazing pablano-avocado salsa, homemade guacamole, and the above dish, called Oyster Bar Trash, that includes a whole mess of shellfish meats, rice, and veggies.