I’ve been a bad blogger, but for one it not an act of God or betrayal by a man that summoned me back to this sacred space. It was an email.
Several month’s ago I stumbled upon The Chicago Blogger Network, an aggregate for local bloggers to meet, mingle and create content. Not only does the network act as a directory for bloggers, but also makes sure we have the resources we need to make our blogs succeed. This includes exclusive access to events such as Time Out Chicago’s Eat Out awards.
Sometimes when the weather is chilly and you have consumed 10,000 calories in the past two days thanks to Chicago Restaurant Week, all a girl wants is something easy on the tummy.
On lazy Sunday nights like these I like to make stew, chili or any big meal that will feed me throughout my busy week. If I could eat soup every day of my life, I think I would, especially in winter. Something about being able to drink my lunch appeals to my lazy-girl cooking-style. Canned soup however is ALWAYS lack luster, with too much salt and not enough flavor. Assuming you have some sort of a blender, soup is one of the easiest things to make and most difficult things to screw up. It’s all getting blended together in the end, so mistakes are easily covered. Why settle for something better used in an Andy Warhol painting than eaten?
Below, find the recipe for the delicious pot of potato-brocolli soup (adapted from here) that is now chilling in my fridge.
This is a foodie’s Christmas wish list. The 5th annual Chicago Restaurant Week released the list of participating restaurants. It is the holy grail of Chicago cuisine and has everything from Latin to Asian, steak houses and BBQ. And I plan on eating it all, without shame, and possibly without utensils. Each restaurant puts together a special menu with some of their signature dishes. The prix fixe lunch menus cost $22 and dinner $33 ($44 if you wanna be super fancy, and extra for drinks and tip) .
There are 215 restaurant to choose from, and only one week to hit up as many as possible. Rather than eating at a dozen places each day, I narrowed down the list to my top picks. Full menus can be seen by clicking on the picture above.
- Branch 27
- The Bristol
- Cafes des Architects
- Chicago q
- Grange Hall
- Nacional 27
- Paris Club
- Table 52
Fun fact: Chicago has one of the largest population of Mexican immigrants in the United States.
I live on the border of a town with the one of the densest Mexican-American population. My middle school was about one-third hispanic and two-thirds caucasian. We matriculated into a high school that was one-quarter hispanic and three-quarters caucasian. Then I went to a college that was about at white as you can get.
I like living on the border of such a diverse community because it lets cultures blend. One of my closest friends growing up there let me into her life as the daughter of Mexican immigrants. I went to her quinceanera and spent a lot of time with her family that could not have been more different from my own.I learned how to dance the Cumbia and more importantly, I developed a fine palate for Mexican food (dear Lehigh people, La Lupita is not authentic Mexican cuisine).
I live about twenty minutes from Great Lakes Naval Base. This means that train rides into Chicago are made much more entertaining on weekends when all the navy boys ride down to the city to escape training and return drunk. Usually, we treat these experiences like an amusing side show, but occasionally there is some audience participation.
(Such as the lovely winter day a few years ago that began with two friends and I going to Millennium Park. Alas all the seats on the train were filled. Six gentlmen in uniform saw our stuggled and invite us to sit with them. We returned their hosptality by inviting three of them to go ice skating with us. It was an interesting day where we learned about life on a military base and the regulations for courting a woman while representing the United States Navy. Some of the rules included never letting her walk near the street and not holding hands but rather linking arms. Who says chilvary is dead? The day ended with us walking through the train station wearing their white hats).