Business summer hours are a true thing of beauty! Whoever came up with the concept is a genius. You work your normal business week Monday through Thursday, and then you’re off at 2:00 on Friday just because it's summer. I usually just take off at one for a long leisurely lunch with no intention of returning until Monday. I think I’m the only corporate rebel who’s figured this out, but ahh well. Not everyone can be as smart as me.
Last week I went into the city for a hair appointment, and this week, I’m staying north and having a beautiful lunch at Biagi’s. It opened recently, and every time I eat here, I’m more impressed by this chain restaurant. That term usually has a negative connotation, but today, it’s really just a description. Today, however, nothing on the menu really caught my eye…that is until Sarah (friendly waitress) points out the specials menu. The first thing I see is the ‘Grilled Asparagus Salad’ and I gasp. “It sounds perfect!” I exclaim. Sarah says it’s her favorite on the specials menu, too.
Surely, they have to say that about all the menu items, so I just go with it. It reads delicious: grilled asparagus, blood oranges (that unsung star the show), soft boiled egg, oh my! I won’t divulge all, you’ll have to try for yourself, but I will say that every item on plate played like a symphony. I was a little worried about the truffle vinaigrette, thinking that the strong flavor of truffle would overshadow the other, more delicate essences, but it doesn’t! Textures and flavors all marry well…better than I did, but I digress. This peppery plate of wonderful should become a menu staple!
So here’s to summer hours, dirty martinis and garbage salads (my personal term for salads made up by the chef…usually me).
Regards,
Andrea
Friday, July 20, 2012
Friday, July 13, 2012
Tip of the Day
So after a much needed break from the norm called Chicago, I vacationed in Puerto Rico a few weeks ago (it’s safe to say on the net now, as I’m back home and ne’re-do-wells alike can’t take advantage of this information).
On the trip, I set out to find something amazing to remember the time spent with family in the PR. Or if I’m to be honest, I just wanted something hot that I wouldn’t find in Chicago. Lots of things came to mind, but I quickly abandoned everything when I spotted my hat in Old San Juan.
Forever, it seems I’ve wanted a fedora, but just have never happened upon one that made me swoon until the trip. Actually, I found two such hats. Anyone who knows me, knows that I love a hat—it can transform me from hot to scalding in mere seconds. So when I saw my reflection in the mirror, the second hat was sold (I was too far from the first hat, which was probably my favorite, but I digress…I bought a hat!)
I wear said fedora EVERYWHERE, bad hair day or not. I live and work in the burbs—the ones north of Chicago where few of permanently tanned hue dare to live. My scalding look is a little lost on about half of these northern ‘burbanites (women), while city dwellers (most) relish my look. No worries, someone has to push the envelope, and I’m well known for that.
So I happen upon a restaurant opening in Libertyville. This spot sports an open and welcoming atmosphere with a fabulous patio open to the restaurant with seating just inside the doors which is very different for Libertyville, so I went in. Unfortunately, they were in brunch-only mode until 3:00, so my 1:00 drop by resulted in a “fail’. Not willing to just leave, and because I’d already set up my laptop and notes, I declined brunch, but ordered a slightly dirty Ciroc, up with a lemon twist (my favorite drink of the decade…I’m in search of the perfect dirty, new article for another time). I continue my edit of Her Essence in Death (insert shameless plug here) and enjoy the very open patio. When hunger takes over, I pay my waitress and leave through the patio. Her counterpart spies me leaving through the patio and nearly loses it trying to determine if I’ve paid my bill. *Interesting*
I travel just south for a bite to eat and continue editing. I stop by a spot I’ve dined before with no worries whatsoever (name withheld to protect the guilty). I change tables to avoid the blowing AC on my bare back, and I happen to move closer to the door. I finish my mediocre meal and focus solely on the book. The waitress, however, decides to stalk me for the check—here’s the tip of the day for both the stalker and the spazz: “Don’t assume that because I’m wearing a brown gangster, that I’m a brown gangsta’”. I attribute their rudeness to my little brown hat, and hopefully not my little brown self.
Regards,
Andrea
On the trip, I set out to find something amazing to remember the time spent with family in the PR. Or if I’m to be honest, I just wanted something hot that I wouldn’t find in Chicago. Lots of things came to mind, but I quickly abandoned everything when I spotted my hat in Old San Juan.
Forever, it seems I’ve wanted a fedora, but just have never happened upon one that made me swoon until the trip. Actually, I found two such hats. Anyone who knows me, knows that I love a hat—it can transform me from hot to scalding in mere seconds. So when I saw my reflection in the mirror, the second hat was sold (I was too far from the first hat, which was probably my favorite, but I digress…I bought a hat!)
I wear said fedora EVERYWHERE, bad hair day or not. I live and work in the burbs—the ones north of Chicago where few of permanently tanned hue dare to live. My scalding look is a little lost on about half of these northern ‘burbanites (women), while city dwellers (most) relish my look. No worries, someone has to push the envelope, and I’m well known for that.
So I happen upon a restaurant opening in Libertyville. This spot sports an open and welcoming atmosphere with a fabulous patio open to the restaurant with seating just inside the doors which is very different for Libertyville, so I went in. Unfortunately, they were in brunch-only mode until 3:00, so my 1:00 drop by resulted in a “fail’. Not willing to just leave, and because I’d already set up my laptop and notes, I declined brunch, but ordered a slightly dirty Ciroc, up with a lemon twist (my favorite drink of the decade…I’m in search of the perfect dirty, new article for another time). I continue my edit of Her Essence in Death (insert shameless plug here) and enjoy the very open patio. When hunger takes over, I pay my waitress and leave through the patio. Her counterpart spies me leaving through the patio and nearly loses it trying to determine if I’ve paid my bill. *Interesting*
I travel just south for a bite to eat and continue editing. I stop by a spot I’ve dined before with no worries whatsoever (name withheld to protect the guilty). I change tables to avoid the blowing AC on my bare back, and I happen to move closer to the door. I finish my mediocre meal and focus solely on the book. The waitress, however, decides to stalk me for the check—here’s the tip of the day for both the stalker and the spazz: “Don’t assume that because I’m wearing a brown gangster, that I’m a brown gangsta’”. I attribute their rudeness to my little brown hat, and hopefully not my little brown self.
Regards,
Andrea
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Barcito, Chicago, IL July 6, 2012
After an impromptu trip to the city and prior to my much needed hair appointment with the fabulous Mohammed, I stopped at Barcito, just down the street. I arrive an hour early (yes, me, I arrived early, though now I fear I may be late to my appointment due to the delicious atmosphere here!)
Having just returned from Puerto Rico, one would think I’d had my fill of "Mexican” cuisine, however, this isn’t Mexican cuisine, and neither was the food in Puerto Rico for that matter. These are Northern Spanish tapas and they are beautifully crafted and absolutely delicious. Everything is priced, $3-5 per bite; most items are settled atop a crostini. Delicious romescos, hazelnut picada, shrimp, goat cheese…oh, my!
Every bite is heaven and the service is grand…after the girl was replaced by Juan. Juan helps me interpret the menu and in that helps me focus on what flavors I truly desire at the moment. We land on the Shrimp Brochette and the escalivada…and the sangria which is made with Hennesy. I’m certainly ready for my pampering with Mohammed. I’ll try not to be late, which will be a second in all the years I’ve known him. Wish me luck!!!
Regards,
Andrea
Having just returned from Puerto Rico, one would think I’d had my fill of "Mexican” cuisine, however, this isn’t Mexican cuisine, and neither was the food in Puerto Rico for that matter. These are Northern Spanish tapas and they are beautifully crafted and absolutely delicious. Everything is priced, $3-5 per bite; most items are settled atop a crostini. Delicious romescos, hazelnut picada, shrimp, goat cheese…oh, my!
Every bite is heaven and the service is grand…after the girl was replaced by Juan. Juan helps me interpret the menu and in that helps me focus on what flavors I truly desire at the moment. We land on the Shrimp Brochette and the escalivada…and the sangria which is made with Hennesy. I’m certainly ready for my pampering with Mohammed. I’ll try not to be late, which will be a second in all the years I’ve known him. Wish me luck!!!
Regards,
Andrea
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