Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Starting And Ending In Farts.

Motley crew of the homies all getting sloshed on the brew bus ready to see community college students duke it out at Medieval Times. A mandatory pee break happened at the Des Plaines oasis happened along with all kinds of shots and beers slammed. This is what adult fun that starts at 6pm looks like these days and I am completely fine with this. 

The table in front had a date going on until they decided we were being too obnoxious and left. 

Poor horses. They were probably roaming free and fucking each other just months they were forced into tap dancing for fat suburban kids. 

Ye broasted chicken my lord. 

This is what a nice dysfunctional family looks like. Medieval Times seems like a good time until you realize how many times they have to do this show. Also hearing things like "would you like a pepsi, my lord," doesn't have a good ring to it. Nor does, "1 Miller Lite my lord," with a name tag that says Jerry. All the maidens were pimply plump teens wearing peasant clothes and all the knights still were cracking their voices from puberty, not to mention that they all look like students from nearby Harper College. It made for an interesting introspective into a strange and sort of depressing show...or maybe I'm overthinking it? 

Finally finally finally got to check out Uncle Mikes place over in West Town/Noble Square. I've always wanted to try Filipino food but was afraid of the gout and square shaped bodies. I caved in and got one of the specials and it was pretty damn good. Sausages were spiced savory and sweet, fried rice, an egg its kind of the way I like to start my mornings...at 2pm.

On my way to work, I had the misfortune of witnessing a team from the chiditarod race around the West Fulton area. Basically a scavenger hunt/race where asshole yuppie fucks dress up, run around and drink until they become blackout asshole yuppie fucks. I dont care for shit like this and it gets annoying when they try to make you notice them. Bros, we get it...like you're so wild and crazy, like my mind can't comprehend like man bro, like slayin it brah. It must suck being an office jock during the week because it leads to this kind of shit...by the way, this was all for "charity."

The team and I knockin out some raw chalk on raw ass 100 year old brick for 312 day. This hurt...alot. My jerk off hand never looked so sad violating my balls that night. 

The homie Tarin did it up for her birthday and shared a story on stage about blacking out at The Blackout Diaries. Great story about friends, puking, passing out, and having to flick the bean in dire situations. Thing is, that none of us were really surprised and I can't speak for the rest of the group, but it made me want to drink.

Oh and drink we did. This off kilter shot was courtesy of Jameson shots, and endless Miller High Lifes at Ricochet's in Lincoln Square. Great watering hole, bartenders that look 15, and a serious range of characters in this bar. Felt like a strange purgatory kind of dream.

Spent the next day nursing a hangover and restarting another one at Scuba Steve's house. We grilled, Brian ordered wings, drank a lot and left. There really isn't much more to be said about this night except the pets are awesome, but always so damn serious looking. 

Went to McCormick Place to check out the Housewares show. I wanted free food.

Instead, I saw awesome Jap knives everywhere. So fucking cool and expensive, but well worth it in my opinion. It'll make chopping hot dogs drunkenly crying alone in your kitchen so easy and transitional. 

Man, I would HATE to have been that dude that had to hang all of those balls. 

Cool gun bro.

I seriously fell for the food illustrations for a sec. What douche needs a 500 dollar griddle just to make shitty vegetables and a Mcbreakfast? Americans, thats who. 

You say complementary meeting rooms, I see tug job city. 

This was the most productive part of the day. 

Checked out yet another ramen spot that just opened in Wicker Park called Furious Spoon. The spoon  ladle thing was furious and the size of my fucking face. I don't want a gigantic soup ladle making me look like a monster eating out of a garbage lake. Just give me a decent sized soup spoon and some chopsticks. The bowl was pretty good, creamy broth, toothy noodles and set me right to do the Taco Tuesday at Rodan which I have no pictures of...because, well I got drunk and forgot.

This isn't Rodan, but it was a tasty scallop I made for a dinner. Random but work related? Seared scallop, grilled endive leek salad, caper anchovy dressing and cheese pizza. 


Decided to take a weekend breaker to Bloomington, Indiana to paint with the homies, chill and check out Madlib. 

Well that was fucking boring. It was him playing CD's and vibing out to his own beats whilst two hula hoopers awkwardly hooped on each side of him...off beat...hoops kept dropping...they kept hooping...yeah, its time to leave. 

So Jimmy Johns delivery dudes aren't very careful here. We ordered a few sandwiches and homie almost jumped the curb almost knocking out the white girl equivalent to Freddie from A Different World. I should also note that someone from our group made an usher take a bite out of his sandwich after telling us that we weren't allowed to have sandwiches in the venue. Strange night. 

Cool vintage sign. 

Ubiquitous capital hill building that is in every small town square. 

Disappointed by the show, we headed for a local bar called the The Atlas. A local eccentric bar that had a decent beer list, non college students and loud enough to house lousy drunk graffiti writers.

Broing out at the Days Inn BRAH.

The two Mexican Rubens just waiting to kiss.  

Here is one ruben drunkenly massacring some shitty local pizza. Just looking at himself in the mirror, shamelessly dipping crusts into butter cups and yelling "you're so ugly!" into the mirror. It gave the other Ruben a chorizo boner bro. 

The homie Fove wanted to hit up his favorite family breakfast spot the next day. I forgot what it was called but it was right next to a seedy strip/porn joint. 

complete with computer printed random creepy family photos inside the menu. That should make you want to eat. It looks like evidence from a murder file. 

Step aside Alinea and Grace, this is how you gracefully plate food. Like it was dropped on the floor and quickly thrown back on. Meh, it did the trick. 

Finally, time to paint. 

Ruben the pizza whisperer gently whispering sweet nothings to his piece. 

and yes, I finished first again. Its been a while since I painted. Don't judge me. 

Cents murdering it as usual. 

Surprisingly, neither of us were drunk, just bored while we were waiting on Dwarf to finish his piece. 

Finally got to check out Upland and try out one of the best sours I've had in a while and only local to the brewery. I'm a sucker for any blueberry sours in the market. Upland can do no wrong with me in regards to sours. So fucking tart and funky, it made the trip a little more special, it also made me forget about the usher taking a bite of Ruben's sandwich from his hand. 

Went back to the Atlas to see Ruben's second cousin doing street food in front. We kinda grilled him about his operation out of sheer curiosity and barely noticed him rubbing our burrito with margarine and then grilling it. That margarine left a film with every bite and his habanero sauce made me want to burn his cart. It was what I should have expected out of a late night food cart in Bloomington. 

What better way to cure a hangover than to cover a brunch shift at 18th Street Brewery? I got some gems out of it at least. Labels killed by the homie Joey Potts. 

Straight from work to a whole rack of lamb ribs carefully crafted by the homie Brian. I was ready to bite his fingers off looking at this beauty getting carved up. 

Woke up and painted in one of the warm spells in March. 

Slugs going with that crazy non legible style. 

Why stop at one when you can paint the day after when the temperature drops 30 degrees...OH CHICAGO, we will never understand your bitchy temperamental ways. 

Finally checked out the Orbit Room off of California and Belmont. Right amount of kitsch, mellow and all around pleasant vibe. Food wasn't bad either. 

Wedding signage, pizza, bosco sticks, coffee, and multiple bike rides throughout the barrel warehouse is the only way to get through an underpaid gig...and beer. Lots and lots of beer. 

Got to assist a private pig roast bday jam over at the Garage in the West Loop. Great times, a lot of bourbon, beers, homies and just so much damn food. I also learned one of the best gambling dice game ever this night and actually won a round which finally made me a proud drunk gambling Korean man. 

Got to check out Cafe Floriole. This place made me never want to buy baguettes anywhere else but here. Great fresh tasting food, full functioning bakery and cozy atmosphere. Careful of the 300 strollers that are being shoved around in the neighborhood though. 

Pizza East at the Soho house was pretty tasty. Our server was on speed though and made me feel uncomfortable at the speed he was talking and run walking. Food was piping hot and that garlic bread was pretty off the chain. Kids, don't do speed and talk to people, its so damn obvious and unsettling. 

Random food shots of things I ate and made. 

How cool is this vault door? This is the entrance to the second building across from 18th Street Brewery where the barrel aging and second set of brewing equipment is housed. Homie Drew is killing it. 

Hell yeah baked chicharron. This was one of the snacks I made for the bottle share at the taproom. Fun day cooking and feeding people alongside the kitchen homies at 18th Street. Good semi happy people make any kitchen tolerable when feeding virgin beer nerds near Gary. 

So Alex and Jenna are getting married. I drank a lot at this point...a lot. 

Mr. Joe's on Broadway himself. Grumpy, cynical and sick. Just the way I like my bars. 

This is how you spend a much needed day off. Eating 13 different chilis, slamming high lifes, getting heartburn and then falling asleep at 730pm. I can't think of a better way to spend a Sunday. Cheers mothafuckas.