Thursday, April 15, 2004
I can, without too much difficulty, imagine myself as R.W. Apple, the NY Times reporter who used to cover politics but now writes mostly about food. I always got the sense reading him that the reason he covered politics in the first place was that it got him out to places where he could try whatever the regional specialty might happen to be. He impresses me as the kind of guy who, finding himself in Omaha or some place for the first time would say, "Hey, you know, I've always wanted to try..." and know where the best steakhouse or ice cream parlor or whatever was. I think of him as red-faced and porcine, the kind of fat man whose face is always glistening as though freshly buttered., and whose manners are always dainty.
He had a lengthy piece in the paper yesterday about Chicago's contribution to the frankfurter arts. I had intended to sample a Chicago hot dog when I went last Fall: warmed poppy-seed bun dressed with a crisp pickle spear, sweet green relish, a wedge of raw tomato, chopped onions, yellow mustard, celery salt and two or three hot little green chilies-- pressed for time I went to the Billy Goat Tavern instead. Neither of these are training table fare, and I don't want to go to Harry Caray's, either-- I've been there twice, and found it undistinguished. So, where are we going to eat?
He had a lengthy piece in the paper yesterday about Chicago's contribution to the frankfurter arts. I had intended to sample a Chicago hot dog when I went last Fall: warmed poppy-seed bun dressed with a crisp pickle spear, sweet green relish, a wedge of raw tomato, chopped onions, yellow mustard, celery salt and two or three hot little green chilies-- pressed for time I went to the Billy Goat Tavern instead. Neither of these are training table fare, and I don't want to go to Harry Caray's, either-- I've been there twice, and found it undistinguished. So, where are we going to eat?
