When I first decided I should start a blog, I had a really funny (or so I thought) blurb in my head about how much I love food and how that excessive food love gets me into a lot of arguments with my jeans… I’m hoping that comes back to me and ends up way more funny on here than it was in my head. Stay tuned.
While I was standing stark naked in my bathroom, fully disgusted with what was looking back at me in the mirror yet also thinking about food at the same time, I remembered the fucking amazing dinner I had earlier this week. Queue amateur photo of food…
Brisket. Turkey. Flank steak. Glazed salmon (and a carrot?). Roasted Yukon gold potatoes. Pasta (’nuff said). Not pictured: Pasta salad, Caesar salad, bread, cheesecake, flour-less chocolate cake, a brownie, blueberry tart, and, last but not least, a Blue Moon.
Did I really eat all of the above mentioned food in one sitting? You have a 50/50 chance of answering that question correctly. Get it right, and you’ve won free acid reflux for a year and a brrraaannnddd nnneeewww trip to the toilet.
Can you say de-fucking-licious?
I made the trek to Chicago on a cloudy Tuesday, because that’s what you do when The Search for Everything Tour is within a 10 hour drive of your apartment. The plate of mouthwatering goodness pictured above is my $53.00 meal at Chicago Stadium Club. (I’m used to getting a burger, fries, and diarrhea for $15.00 in West Des Moines, okay?)
The brisket was to die for.
Not only did I eat myself into oblivion on Tuesday night, but I woke up and did it again on Wednesday. When your S.O. says that Pizza Hut doesn’t count as deep dish pizza, you comply by eating so much of the real stuff that you have to unbutton your pants when you get back into the car. Thank you for that, Pequod’s.
I’ve never been comfortable in securely buttoned pants anyway.
I found a really cool, hole-in-the-wall bookstore that didn’t have anything organized by genre. Fiction on the left, non-fiction on the right. They did, however, fence off a big erotica section right in the front of the shop. I’m not sure I would have even entered the store if it wasn’t for that, since I could see it from the sidewalk.
I managed to find The Last Tycoon (an unfinished novel that even Goodreads isn’t aware of) by F. Scott Fitzgerald, a Jojo Moyes book that I really hope has a happier ending than Me Before You, and a retelling of the Titanic by four of the survivors.
Shout out to my beau for not only finding the bookstore, but following me around in it for an hour.
I promised you an Emma Stone movie quote, so here goes…
“Perhaps you should get a wardrobe, you abominable twat!”
Wait… wrong movie… Here we go.
Anyway, John Mayer was amazing, of course. I was desperately trying to conserve my phone battery so I could Lyft home, so I didn’t get any videos (or any good pictures); but I did get this cool, rather pink photo from our seats up in the rafters!
You know what? The sound is just as good from section 312.
That’s all for now.