My white trash dream come true: Cheesie's

Nothing excites me more that CBA has opened a location on Belmont, less than a half-mile from my Wrigleyville apartment, except maybe the homage to grilled cheese and all it’s glory across the street, at Cheesie’s. Running with a theme lately, I’ve set the intention to eat at a certain favorite of mine, this case being Chicago Bagel Authority, when suddenly something new catches my eye. Something enticing, bewildering, threatening my relationship to the aforementioned favorites. When this happens, you must resist the urge to stay the course, do not be a creature of habit, be a species of inquisition, of exploration. That is precisely what I am, a culinary adventure seeker.

Conveniently located in Central Lakeview on the very busy east/west street called Belmont Avenue, Cheesie’s takes up a narrow facade just west of the Belmont El station, across from my coveted CBA. This place reminds me of a million pizza and sandwich shops in New York. It’s tiny, very narrow, with a full view of the grill and the chef extraordinaire. Providing some color and laughs, there are 5 large, square paintings, all spins on classics, except theirs has Mona Lisa with cheese on her chin. I stared at them as I sniffed the buttery air. An ideal lunch spot, Cheesie’s is providing their take on an American classic, the grilled cheese sandwich.

Proudly serving 7 unique, original concoctions, in addition to the Sandwich of the Month, this ode to all that is dairy comes served the best way I can imagine, on Texas fricken toast! I always feel so white trash because I love Texas toast so damn much. Maybe it’s my time served in Dallas, my secret country roots, or the fact that it’s slathered in butter and then grilled, but I truly cannot imagine a better way to surround cheese, meat, condiments, breakfast, lunch or dinner. It is the way. Many sandwiches come served with their own, thoughtfully prepared dipping sauce. For some, it’s tomato soup, the jelly to the grilled cheese peanut butter. For others, it’s pesto or chipotle mayo. For any of the 8 scenarios, the sandwich and it’s partnered dipping sauce are excellent, as individuals, and even more so as a pairing.

On this particular lunch in question, I selected the Caprese grilled cheese. Mozzarella, basil, tomato, extra virgin olive oil, black pepper, on sourdough Texas toast with the option of dunking it into creamy pesto mayo oblivion, and washing it down with a carbonated beverage made for a very cheerful afternoon. My usual suspects in food-related crime were my handlebar mustache man, and the tall, skinny kid with glasses. Those descriptors tell you all you need to know. They both ordered the jalapeno popper grilled cheese. They do this a lot, ordering the same item, and it annoys me, as I like to share. Bite, bite, pass. Nonetheless it was fricken good; real good.

We rubbed our bellies, moaned about a million times, flatulated a bit (Cheese can be rough on their sensitive systems. Also, flatulated is a word. Just trust me.), and waddled home. I ate every single bite of that oversized, generously stuffed sandwich. I liked my lips, fingers, resorting to a napkin only once, and left Cheesie’s knowing it wouldn’t be long until I returned. Once again, in this wonderful food city, I was a happy camper.

Instead of spending money at the grocery store on boring bread and Kraft cheese, saunter on down to a local eatery, chuck 5 or 6 bucks their way, squeeze your American body down the narrow corridor to a high table and enjoy what will seem like a simple, some might say boring lunch, and be pleasantly surprised and downright blown away.

Texas can be bat-shit nuts. Their toast is in a good way. Eat some with cheese between it. And other good ingredients. You’re welcome. Enjoy.

The other white meat brings some color into your life.

Until this point in time, I’ve yet to review any restaurants beyond casual dining. I’ve kept the dollar signs at one, or between one and two. Today is different. Today is special. This culinary eatery may bring you into the 3 dollar sign range, but truthfully you’ll most likely hover in $$-$$$. Don’t let that frighten you. You’re treating yourself. You deserve it. We all do. This place also brings collaboration and community into the mix. You’ll be sharing a plethora of flavorful dishes. Bite bite pass. Welcome to the world that is the Purple Pig. I’ll caution vegetarians now. This is a pork centered-place; hopefully the name tipped you off. Their focus is cheese, swine and wine; so feel free to join, drink, eat some cheese and veggie focused spreads, but if this disturbs or disgusts you in any way, don’t ruin your friends' trip, simply move on or stay home. See: Pick-Me-Up, Chicago Diner, Pequod’s, or Panes Bread Cafe. Plenty to choose from friends. :)

Back on message. I’ve had the sheer masticating pleasure of the Purple Pig 3 times now. Each visit was full of surprises and beyond spectacular food. If you’re visiting the Chicago area, TPP is a great option as it’s located right in the heart of the Loop on Michigan Avenue and East Illinois Street. Just past Michigan Ave’s breathtaking bridge across the Chicago river, after you’ve craned your neck to glance in awe at the Carbide and Carbon building, on to the historic Tribune and a quick look across to Wrigley’s dual structure facade, you’ll amble north and see the purple arch on the west side of the avenue. Early birds are probably the only chance of sitting immediately; if you’re willing to wait and enjoy the atmosphere at its most potent, then arrive around 730-8, squeeze past the tiny waiting area to the hostess, grab some wine and be patient. As always, it’s worth it.

The Purple Pig mostly consists of long, high, rectangular wood tables with fairly comfortable stools. You end up sitting right next to perfect strangers which is an excellent chance to look, hear and smell what they’re eating and emulate if you so choose. As with any restaurant experience, you’ll cut costs tremendously by not ordering alcohol, but that’s fun for no one. The high quality wine will make you less irritated by the noise and more appreciative of the flavors and scents wafting through the air. Plus it may make the company you keep seem more interesting. Just kidding of course, the company I choose to keep could not be more interesting. There’s something in sharing wine with the people you love; it imbues the occasion with even more magic and, in moderation, more memories.

Their menu is broken down into: Antipasti, Salad, Fried Items, Paninis, Cured Meats, Cheeses, Smears, A La Plancha and of course, Dulci. Being grade “A” fatties the salad portion was not even perused. Doesn’t mean it should’t be, just means I won’t be reviewing it. Let me just boldly recommend now that you go for weird. If you read it and it causes you to make a face, that means you need to face your judgments and fears and put that item in your mouth! My favorite items at the Purple Pig are the Roasted Bone Marrow with Herbs, Pigs Ear with Crispy Kale, Pickled Cherry Peppers and Fried Egg, and Pig Tails Braised in Balsamic. My argument to those thinking any of these items sound cruel is if you’re going to eat an animal, honor it, appreciate it, and don’t waste it. To those simply thinking they sound gross, give your palette a chance to mature, your tongue will not be disappointed.

To those with slightly closed minds and weak hearts, there are a slew of enticing dishes that will serve as food to your soul, comforting and satisfying. The cavalcade of choices from the Antipasti, Fried Foods and Cured Meat sections will stimulate any red-blooded American or International and leave you yearning for more. Whatever you choose, I can guarantee you won’t be disappointed. The tapas style portions are all well-balanced, savory, not too big, not too small. If I were to recommend just one dish, at this or any food merchant in Chicago, it’d have to be the Milk Braised Pork Shoulder with Mashed Potatoes. My mouth is salivating like Pavlov’s dog just at the thought, at the split-second memory of the vision, sizzle, aroma, and pure masticating nirvana this feature provides. My Mom makes a great roast, unbelievable mashed potatoes, and perfect complimentary sauces, rues, or gravies; and this conjures up sweet memories of childhood, of pork shank in an Italian restaurant, of family dinners, and settles in my heart that wholesome, safe, healthy feeling. I love it. Please try it.

Few things in life are more pleasurable than sharing a meal with people you enjoy. When I reflect on my life to this point, I don’t reminisce about cars I’ve had, homes I’ve lived in, clothes I’ve worn or overall consumer related items. Those are all transient and meaningless. Food is sustenance. It is necessary for survival and also pivotal in the enjoyment of the beauty this planet provides. I reflect fondly on laughs and meals I’ve shared. I’ll take that with me as I approach the end of my life.

Chew on this.

Eat consciously. Eat passionately. Laugh and chew. Drink a brew. Enjoy.

Support the little guy, screw the man.

Usually on hump-day I spend my few hours off between teaching and work writing about a film, song, TV show, book, artistic endeavor, or some entertainment related experience I want to pass along for your info-tainment. Today, I will not. I had such a lovely morning in this beautiful city I am compelled to write from my heart (mainly my stomach) and write another pseudo food blog. It doesn't involve a restaurant or meal, but something much greater and more influential; the Lincoln Park Farmer's Market. I taught my Sunrise Yoga bright and early and eagerly hopped on my bike to ride further downtown, further into the downright gorgeous neighborhood that is Lincoln Park. A mere 2 miles from my apartment in Lakeview, on the way to Chicago's famous Loop, which is another 2 miles from LP itself, the market resides at the southern most point, just beyond the zoo. Approximately where Clark street crashes into both the park and the lake is where these hard-working vendors set up bright and early, Wednesdays and Saturdays, 7 am to noon.

Upon arrival I park my bike and am greeted by the smell of fresh strawberries, blueberries, rhubarb, and a cavalcade of exquisite flowers. I saddle up to the smoothie tent, purchase a $5 blueberry and mint smoothie and am off to peruse. The smoothie has such a bright, bold flavor, and the nutritious effects set in almost instantly. No longer am I tired from my hot-yoga class, I am renewed and ready to spend my hard-earned dollars.

I decide to do a lap before I commit to a location (nerds will recognize the movie reference). I greet and overlook each vendor and their goods, taking a strawberry, some greens and some tasty cheese as I move along. The slender, bright green asparagus is calling my name. I buy an organic bunch from a cheerful woman for $4 and continue my hunt. Next is a small, L-shaped pavilion with some of the most plump, argent, juicy looking tomatoes I'd ever had the fortune to see. They spanned multiple colors of the rainbow and I snatched them up real fast and in a hurry. I also grabbed some basil, sprouts, a lush variety of greens, and a pint of strawberries for what shall be a damn healthy week.

Taking a side-step from health for a moment if I may, I'd like to succinctly discuss my time with a local Wisconsin cheese merchant. Holy monkey balls. I love cheese. I get that it's not healthy. Sure I convince myself of its benefits by saying it's natural, it has protein, and there's certainly a chemical effect in my brain while consuming it, but I'm well aware it's merely a treat, and should be treated as an actual food group. My quest for cheese has landed me in the windmill dusted hills of Holland, the vineyard lined landscape of Italy, the blue-roofed homes in Santorini, but I will sit at this desk and take my hat off to Wisconsin. They have every right to wear that ridiculous cheese hat on their heads. When I approached the tent, the vendor was sauteing this soft, milky looking cheese that smelled so potent I could almost taste it. There was a diverse array of samples so I grabbed a toothpick and went on my way. Some cheeses were infused with such nuances as garlic, dill, mustard, tomato and basil, smoked bacon, and some were just brilliant as they were, but all were savory and delicious. I relished each morsel as it bounced around my taste buds and traveled to my throat. I ended up purchasing the sautéed cheese, rendered of his moisture, and harnessed with its flavor. MMM, life is good.

At this time in the morning it was about 80 degrees, the Lake Michigan breeze wafting through my hair, birds chirping, the air crisp. Chicago residents brought their dogs, significant others, kids, friends, and their happy hearts. Everyone was smiling, friendly, very happy to support this local effort, knowing not only the top quality, wholesome food they were investing in, but the benefactors being those who really deserved it, those who earned it with their own two hands. It was so satisfying to chat briefly with each vendor, see the passion in their eyes and hear it in their voices. I can tell you for certain the Wal-Mart CEO doesn't give a shit what's in your food, nor does whatever large grocery store you frequent. So if you can take time and perhaps a modicum of extra income, you and others will reap the benefits ten-fold.

Green City Market

Masticate. Eat consciously. Chew well. Purchase wisely. Enjoy.

Food Coma curtesy of Kuma's Corner

I’ve done a burger place in a previous review. THIS is a burger joint. Unapologetic, no-nonsense, huge, juicy, meaty, make a man outta you burgers that will ruin you. Forever! This place speaks to my cactus sensibility, rough around the edges, but a satisfying center, if you can survive the 2 hour wait, ultra loud metal blasting, shuffling in between bodies in the 4 square feet of waiting space trying to get an aloof bartender’s attention to fill your stomach with something during which the rage hunger is building incrementally with each song, each minute, each burger that wafts by. Only the strong survive. And I mean the hours before, the 5 minutes you spend scarfing, and the hours after, for this better be a day off for you because productivity is out the door as soon as you commit to this place. I wish you luck, strength, and patience. It’s worth it. I could describe my first experience at Kuma’s, which you’d undoubtedly assume is where the most interesting story is. That’s simply not the case. Went with my mom, brother and husband, waited a bit as expected, ate, enjoyed, left, slept. The most interesting Kuma’s endeavor was with three other ladies, on a cold Sunday afternoon. Well, morning into afternoon truthfully.

A special friend from Minneawfulous (the well-known town in Minnesota) was visiting a warmer climate here in Chicago back in the grey days of March. I was stoked to see her, and my other smart and funny friends, but they were just obstacles, or I should say, avenues, on the way to an amazing burger. We left at 1115 in the morning. Luckily we drove, as it’s west of California so public trans is out of the question. Kuma’s opens “around” 12. Again, unapologetic.

We arrive minutes before noon to the shock and horror of an open and running restaurant, stuffed like sausage with people, and the scent of greasy meat and spilled beer. The best. You can barely walk in, that’s how many true fatties for food there are in Chicago and there is truly no better winter remedy than hot, melty, big food. So we yell our name to the girl with gauged ears and the asymmetrical hair-cut, she shouts something about an hour and forty-five minutes and we walk back outside, feeling stung by the cold air and excited about the relatively short wait.

After minutes of red noses and bouncy knees we decide to brave the crowd, force our way to the bar and spend this 105 minutes the right way, by drinking. We all have boobs, if we can’t make way and get served, something’s wrong with this country. Naturally, all is right and we had delicious brews in our now warm hands within minutes. It should be mentioned here that I deliberately went on an empty stomach. It was a Sunday morning at this point, I’d barely been up for significant amounts of time and knew I had a heaping hot mess of food about to enter my hot mess of a mouth. I do not recommend it as a diet plan, it’s actually counter-productive, but this is about taking advantage of an experience and I needed room to challenge the shit out of my digestive system.

Kuma’s is small. They proudly boast about a 16x6’ kitchen and implore, rather demand, patience. Shut up and wait, do it nicely, or go home. Seriously, I’ve included the link to their site, read it. So blunt and wonderful. What they lack in horizontal space they make up for in the vertical. This place has pretty damn tall ceilings, interesting and provocative art-work, including multiple breasts, the aforementioned borderline death metal breaking sound barriers, and maybe 45-50 seats, including the few at the bar, for the fortunate single or double who wonders in and lands a coveted stool.

Back to the booze. They have really fricken fantastic Bloody Mary’s. I’m a beer and wine girl and I tried a sip of my friend’s and fell immediately in love. I’m in awe of this drink. I stuck with beer as they have a unique and high quality selection on tap. I had 3 pints. On an empty stomach. Yeah.

The over two-hour wait flew by! We had fun catching up. And drinking. Now for my 1st favorite verb. Eating. We snagged a four top, a nearly as cool server covered in tattoos and attitude, more beer (don’t judge me) and the glorious menus. We started with their famous jalapeno poppers, keeping it classy. We continued with our genius burger selections, all with clever names, assaulting your senses, and intelligence. Most are metal inspired, the “Megadeth”, the “Black Sabbath”, the “Goatwhore”. You get it.

On my 2nd quest for burger nirvana I opted for the Kuma Burger, #1 on the list, right out of the gate, in your face, 10 ounces of ground beef, bacon, cheddar, fried egg. Now for whatever reason it didn’t read as enough fat to me, so I added avocado. Haha. I laughed when I recollected that little memory. What a fatty. Oh well. This isn’t everyday, its quarterly, like my taxes. It also comes with delicious french fries, which I ate. Naturally.

So I finished the burger, on my own, no sharing, no doggie bag, just me and my belly in it to win it. I’m so strangely proud of this accomplishment. In my food and beer delirium I forgot that I had a class to teach at 630 that evening. It never occurred to me as a factor because this was intended to be lunch; but by the time we finished our meal it was almost 3! I was done. Gone. Sto finito, as my beloved Italians say. I mumbled some goodbyes to my friends and immediately threw my wrecked body on the couch, waved so-long to my mind as well and took a nearly 3 hour nap. I had to be shoved awake and somehow made my way to the yoga studio. A hot yoga studio, by the way. Beer, beef, cheese, fried potatoes and jalapeno poppers all somehow trying to get along and make their way through my intestinal tract while flowing upside down, side to side, and god knows what directions in 97 degrees with 40% humidity is not a recommended combination.

All of the above considered it was still beyond worth it. The burger is so damn juicy. Did I mention it’s served on a pretzel bread bun? The beer is so refreshing, makes the waiting, and the chewing, much easier. This happened months ago and the memory is still so profound despite alcohol use and coma causing food. This is because of the defiantly bold atmosphere and flavors and who you choose to take it all in with. I can’t wait until my quarterly return.

Burgers are about $10-12 a pop, including fries, and if you’re not a glutinous pig like the author of this review you may stretch it into 2 meals, as the burgers are large. Perhaps you can split one and share their mac n cheese, which is as aggressively delightful as everything else at Kuma’s.

Life is too short to eat mediocre or boring food and the same goes with the company you keep. Set the standards high and your life will be memorable, to you, which is most important. There’s Dr. Danielle’s advice for the month.

Mmmmm!

Unlock your jaw. Bite into a high quality burger. Wipe your face. Wash it down with equally high quality beer. Enjoy.

Sandwiches, Salads, Soups and Soul at Panes Bread Cafe

Ahhh, bread. So simple, yet to vital. And so easy to f*ck up. There’s some colossally shitty bread out there. You know who you are. And if your idea of good bread is of the Wonder variety then you may as well move on and read the Wal Mart blog for food recommendations. This isn’t about bread though, this is also about sandwiches. Bread is very obviously the essential component in a sandwich, without it, it’d be like a hug with no arms. Apologies to my amputee friends out there. Panes bread cafe is a little Chicago gem run by a group of feisty European women. Clearly, I love them. We have the same cynicism for lesser food and the same enthusiasm for real quality food and simple ingredients. A great sandwich should not be hard to come by, but in many ways it is. Panes is attempting to make that craving for a mind-blowing sandwich an attainable reality by providing Lakeview customers with the best of the best at a great price.

Located on the 3000 block of Sheffield Ave, just south of Belmont, Panes has a small, modest sign out front, and an almost equally small operation inside. This only adds to its charm as inside is brightly painted in a beautiful Tuscan yellow, with industrial beams painted in a complimentary rustic red. It maybe sits 30 people, mostly those finding time on their lunch hour to scarf down something that will brighten their day, and their pallet. Upon approaching the counter you see a slew of freshly made breads, spanning from Spain, France, Italy and Greece inspired and cornering even the banana market. The menu is on the wall to the right and beyond selling bread, they serve appetizers, soups, salads, pastas, and of course, sandwiches.

I first had the privilege of a Panes experience about 6 months ago, when a great friend who has now left Chicago ordered it for our co-workers at my 2nd job. For $5.95 I got a large sandwich with grilled portabella mushrooms, homemade pesto, tomato, fresh mozzarella on tomato bread. It also came with a side of chips. I was so amazed the bread was not soggy in the least, despite the 1.5 mile delivery length and 30-40 minute wait. It was delicious, plain and simple. I could not wait to order again. When I did, I ordered their roast beef, which is home cooked and sliced, served with avocado, spicy mayo, grilled onions and monterey jack. Oh man, so good!

Just recently I went to Panes in person. It’s even better because you can pick up fresh bread and peruse their selection of hand-crafted desserts. I’m a whore for sweets so naturally I took home one of their “monster cookies.” I’m salivating just thinking of this. It’s a large cookie, as you probably imagined, made of peanut butter, oats, M&M’s and chocolate chips. It’s fricken fantastic. This trip I picked up a Sunny California and Super Panes sandwich and we enjoyed every finger licking bite. Not a bad item in this place, just no nonsense women giving you their best. They’re my heros.

If I’m slumming and forced to be in suburban America I’ll settle for a Quizno’s or Firehouse sub, but if I’m in Chicago and I’m fortunate to have such incredible options, I’ll ride out of my way or have Panes delivered. Every. Single. Time.

They don't even have a website, so here's a link to their menu.

Raise your expectations. And standards. Quality of life is important. Especially with food. Enjoy.

Oh My Crust!

Oh my Crust! Pequod's! Three words: Chicago. Style. Pizza. This evokes a variety of reactions from people who, for whatever reason, claim some sort of expertise on the consumption and critiquing of pizza. There’s the classic debate, NYC v. Chicago, for many things other than pizza, but food seems to be on top of that list. I’ll come right out and say right now that I typically prefer New York style pizza, but as a foodie I find myself loving pizza in all forms, and I crave Chicago pizza strongly. It’s a very specific desire that only this style pizza can fulfill, and in my humble opinion only one establishment can truly satisfy. Pequod’s.

Yep, Pequod’s pizza. Strange name, even stranger meaning. Something to do with Moby Dick, the logo is a whale with a thong over it’s face? Try finding the metaphor or symbolism in that. Regarding pizza. No clue. As I’ve so eloquently stated before, I don’t care. And neither do you. I’m sure there’s some literature out there with the story, but I was too concerned smelling and tasting delicious pizza to care. The pizza is beyond excellent, and that’s all any of us really care to know.

Winning the genetic lottery as I did, I was born with Italian blood coursing through my otherwise American veins. I also lived in the blessed country for three years. This gave me the built in right to judge food on such a ridiculously high standard and therefore have pure disdain for anything mediocre and everything cliche. Sure, I’m cliche in many ways, but not with food. You’ll never hear me enthusiastically revisiting a delicious Pizza Hut pie I consumed, or McDonald’s hamburger, or Subway sandwich. Mom n Pop, individually run establishments are always %100 better than any chain. Of course this is a matter of “taste”, but I’ll just say I’m confident you as the reader can trust my taste because of the standards my family so lovingly instilled. I know pizza, trust me. And thanks to a local friend, we were lead in the right direction, straight to Pequod’s. Ask a local, always.

So I’ve had Uno’s, Lou Malnati’s, Gino’s and Giordano’s. All are well known pizza places here in Chicago with multiple locations and an underlying rivalry. Similar to Pat’s and Gino’s cheesesteak in Philly, all claim to have the #1 best pan pizza here in Chicago. To all I call bullshit. You’ll enjoy yourself, don’t get me wrong. I’m not a snob. In a real fatty moment I can slather garlic butter all over Papa John’s and force it down my gullet, but this is about quality, an experience, something you won’t forget. Having family in Philly, speaking for them I know there are better cheesesteaks than the famous Pat’s or Gino’s. And the same can be said for Chicago.

Pequod’s has two locations, on N Clybourn Ave, between Webster and Greenview, in the neighborhood DePaul, western Lincoln Park, so college kids are abound and certainly a large part of the clientele in this place. The other is in a suburb called Morton Grove, won’t be trekking out there any time soon. It’s essentially a sports bar. Plenty of flat screens to watch any Chicago team currently playing, a decent sized bar and surrounding booths on two levels. It’s always busy, but you won’t ever have to wait too long. Pan (deep dish) pizzas take a good 45 minutes to cook, so you have the option of placing your order while still waiting for a table and I highly recommend you do that. As soon as you smell the cheese and sauce combination and catch a glimpse of the beautiful masterpiece you will be ruthless in your pursuit. Grab one of Chicago’s many delicious local brews, something of a Goose Island variety perhaps.

I’m choosing to discuss the pan pizza, because I’ve visited Pequod’s 3-4 times now and I’ve never wanted anything else. It should be said; however, that they do offer thin crust. So order that if you must. I’ll be reviewing thin crust eateries soon. After 45 minutes of painful anticipation, a deep dish consiglieri will bring your pizza, place the pan on a thick, wooden cutting board, and cut through that crunchy thick crust himself and place it on your plate. I most often opt for mushrooms and fresh tomato on top of the cheese, but you can add any combination of fresh toppings, meat, veggie, or cheese. Dust the top with a little parmesan and you’re good to go.

What makes this pizza such a stand-out is the crust, as is often the case with any type of pizza. With deep dish it's essential. Pequod’s crust is buttery and carmelized and thick, but never soggy, never succumbing to the tall layers of cheese, sauce and whatever else you’ve chosen to challenge it with. You fork and knife this pizza, which may throw you off, but it’s worth it. It’s more than a pizza. It’s a visceral experience. The cheese is gooey and smooth, the sauce savory and not too sweet or overwhelming, and the extras are top quality, but they all pale in comparison to the crust. It’s so crunchy that it has syllables when you bite. C-c-c-crunch! Not simply, crunch! Like any impeccable pie, the crust is almost crumbly when you bite, but hugs and supports it’s ingredients valiantly.

When we have visitors here in Chicago, everyone wants a Chicago style dog and Chicago style pizza. And while most are ignorant enough to want Uno’s, my judgmental ass won’t let that happen. They’ll be visiting Pequod’s if I can help it, and they’ll slap me they’re so satisfied. I’m still a lover of all pizzas, thin crust usually winning out, and it should be stated here that this pizza is not the best left over. But stuffing yourself with a fresh, just out of the oven deep dish Pequod’s pizza will be nothing less than memorable. I hope you get the chance to eat here.

Pequod's

Bite. Chew. Crunch. Mmmm. Enjoy.

Now that you're finished giving up something, eat this...C.B.A.!

C.B.A. Chicago Bagel Authority. Enough said. Oh. My. God. I know what you’re thinking, “bagels? really? boring.” Rest easy because it’s not simply a bagel place. Oh no, it’s so much more than a bagel place. Steamed bagel sandwiches. That’s right. Steamed, mmm, such a sexy word. Steam. I’m getting hungry again and I’m fairly certain I’ve yet to digest my last sandwich from this blessed place. We first got wind of this place by walking the wrong direction on Armitage attempting to meet friends for dinner at a nearby tapas restaurant. Seeing the sandwiches being prepared through the window was enough to stop us in our tracks and set the intention to visit the establishment soon. And so we did.

C.B.A., as it’s affectionately known to Chicago residents, is situated just steps west from the Armitage (New location on Belmont! Right near the EL station) Brown/Purple line stop, in the heart of Lincoln Park. Probably one of the most charming areas of the city, with beautiful Amsterdam-like architecture, tree-lined streets, and a plethora of boutiques and restaurants, to suit any taste. Just upon entering C.B.A. you’re greeted with a waft of delicious smells you can almost taste. Meat and cheese mainly, but other goodies as well. It has a very casual charm, exposed brick lining the interior, a few rectangular high tables toward the back and a couple cozy booths perched next to the windows, mostly inhabited by moms and toddlers. Avoid it weekday late mornings, later afternoon is best as that’s when the children and moms are napping. There are random photos, drawings, and subtle odes to the Ohio State University Buckeyes, as the owners are from Ohio. No need to worry Wolverine fans, it’s a subtle homage, almost lazy in it’s execution, which adds to it’s charm, so damn casual. The staff is very friendly, at any time of day, and are composed of mostly young, relaxed bagophiles. There’s some cute ladies for the men to enjoy and one AHdorable gentleman, who despite being with my husband I make a bee line for each visit. C.B.A. is no doubt ripe with delicious meat.

The menu is broken down by the type of meat, including 7-10 veggie options that hold their weight against any meaty selection. There’s also a breakfast menu and the option to simply pick a basic bagel, prepared in-house, including a wide variety of spreads and bagels with specific flavors, whatever you fancy. There are easily 50 sandwich choices, all come steamed, and they’re described in chicken scratch on 3 large chalk boards behind the employees. For the convenience of those with regular sight, or worse, they provide menus at the bar where the sandwich artists line up and you simply let them know you’re selection, pay the cashier, be sure to tip and go anxiously wait for what will be a life-changing sandwich.

Now, at this point I’ve had at least 10 of their sandwiches, including breakfast, veggie, and at least one from each meat column. None of them, zero, have been bad or even mediocre. All have made me make the “O” face. Today, for the first time, I ordered a sandwich I’d had in the past. It’s called the Messy Katy. It’s not even on the chalk board! It’s turkey, sliced ever so thin and piled generously with avocado, tomato, sprouts, cream cheese, honey mustard, and here’s the kicker, steamed on Bialy. What’s Bialy? Those familiar with bigger cities, New York in particular, will be well acquainted with baily and all its glory. The shortest way to describe it is a bagel hooked up with an english muffin and had nothing short than the bread equivalent of a Brangelina type child. There’s no hole, its not steamed and then baked, just baked. I think. Ah, well. It’s the perfect texture and flavor for a sandwich, slightly salty, soft enough, not too thick for the sandwich and it’s co-habitants. All sandwiches have adorably clever names like the DePaul Ruben, Hide the Salami, the Ritz and so on. Again, all are highly satisfying, cleverly designed, the flavors complimenting each other perfectly and the accompanying bagel flavor perfectly snuggling and rounding out each bite. Most importantly, they’re made with love. The employees seem sincerely jazzed about their little hole in the wall and love to share in their customer’s enthusiasm.

The good people of C.B.A. gave their labor of love a name befitting of their product. They are the authority on bagels here in Chicago. We’ve made it a weekly trip. They have free wifi for customers, a cooler of tasty beverages to wash down your even tastier grub, and a selection of high quality potato chips with accompanying flavors, and for real fatty’s like myself, uber fantastic rice krispie treats, smore cereal bars, and large chocolate chip cookies. You can consume the food pyramid in one sitting and I encourage you to do so. Prices range from 5-7 bucks a sandwich, well worth it. They have a punch card for frequent customers. I hit my free sandwich milestone today.

Everyone’s life could be steamier. This is a great place to start. Enjoy.