The skulking kung-fu robeast rouses us from lush dreamscapes. The James Hotel really does provide all variety of services.
Today is our final full day in la Ciudad del Viento, and we got a whole lotta walkin' to do. Aeolus shines good fortune upon his most favored subjects; it is a maximally gorgeous morning.
Chicago is stunning in so many ways. It is the character of New York minus the attitude, the relaxation of San Francisco minus the hipster. It is a total foodie paradise and utterly walkable. It has a friggin' BEACH. The ~40 minute sunshined walk to brunch is an obvious highlight of the day.
John, famous Jarritos-spokesboy, scores a freebie Amp in a clear malicious attempt to thwart prior branding plans.
We settle in at Cafecito, home of legendarily succulent Cuban sammiches. I peruse electric disco fashion photography while they are assembled.
Mom's chivito - steak, ham, bacon, fried egg, mozzarella, lettuce, tomato, onion, shoestring potatoes, and citrus mayo - is the most picturesque, but my ropa vieja - slow roasted skirt steak, sweet plantain, black beans, and tomato creole sauce - is practically disintegrating with goodness. John chows a tuna somethingorother, which he claims is "happening". The crispy bread is particularly exceptional, as well as the dark, rich coffee.
Time waits for no man, however; upon finishing our final crumbs, we head straightaway to our second destination. Millenium Park, situated at water's edge, is varied in color, texture, and accoutrements. Unexpected sculptures abound in the midst of bright swathes of thriving flowerbeds. Summer has definitely kissed this corner of the earth, likely slipping in a little tongue.
The Thunderdome!!! Also known as Jay Pritzker Pavilion. Spacey piano music loops its way around playfully careening frisbees.
Mom, shockingly, has an agenda. Codenamed "El Frijol Espejo," her plan involves seeking out a giant reflective bean. We suspect foul play until rounding the corner on this lil' beastie.
It's called "Cloud Gate" by the sculptor, "Dude, Whoaaaaaaaa" by its spectators.
We
take
turns.
All together now!
We are not alone.
Reflective frivolities aside, it is time to prove our mettle as Ferris Bueller diehards. The Art Institute of Chicago beckons.
"Do something artsy."
I love these behemoths, entitled "Ice." Think they're Gerhard Richter pieces.
The wall blurb claims that "subtle brushstrokes" make these 100% white works worthy of inclusion on museum walls, to which I say " ".
If you stare into the Abyss long enough, the Abyss stares back at you.
Friedrich Nietzsche
More love. Want very much to do collage work within this kind of aesthetic.
Mom contemplates the eternal.
Mom and the famous Capital-A Art (it actually IS p cool to see all the zillions of dots in person!).
There's no dedicated area for statues (like the Louvre), but the ones we find hither and thither are captivating. Check out the horse's skin texture.
Many dead things.
And one live thing.
Hello.
Mom is totally uninterested by ancient art, but I'm fascinated - look how the shadow further multiplies the movement of the limbs. I love the urgency of this pose, and just think how long ago this was crafted. Pretty incredible.
Great art takes all shapes and sizes.
We tire long before exploring all the massive wings and head back to the James Hotel by way of Nordstrom, where I pick up a few essentials. We gussy up and head North towards our dinner destination.
Photo ops along the way are fully taken advantage of.
It's true!
It's a bit of a hike to Riccardo's Trattoria, and we're the first ones to filter in at the early bird hour of 5 PM. We have good reason, however - our tickets to an 8 PM Second City performance tonight are first-come, first-serve seating, and we like to languish our way through dinner.
"Languish" might be, indeed, the sole applicable word for the experience of savoring white-wine soaked burrata and prociutto accompanied by prosecco and oven-fresh peppered foccacia.
Al dente orecchiette with wild boar sausage handmade on the premises, accented with rapini, explosive sun-dried tomatoes, and pecorino cheese.
Irresistible rabbit provenzale with white wine, artichokes, olives, and herbs du Provence, including a giant bay leaf.
The cleaner: the silkiest panna cotta possible, kissed all over by a flirtatious passion fruit coulis.
When we do manage to extricate ourselves from the vice grip of Italian delicacies, we turn out to be near the very front of the waiting line for Second City, ensuring the real possibility of being sweat upon by a real live actor.
We try our own hands at funny biz while in line.
Woobert.
Glee. (don't stop.... belieeeeeevin)
The show is absolutely excellent and highly recommended. But this blog is about MY comedy, so for more specifics, go see it yourself (salt boners!).
Free pizza?
It's a bit of a hike to Riccardo's Trattoria, and we're the first ones to filter in at the early bird hour of 5 PM. We have good reason, however - our tickets to an 8 PM Second City performance tonight are first-come, first-serve seating, and we like to languish our way through dinner.
"Languish" might be, indeed, the sole applicable word for the experience of savoring white-wine soaked burrata and prociutto accompanied by prosecco and oven-fresh peppered foccacia.
Al dente orecchiette with wild boar sausage handmade on the premises, accented with rapini, explosive sun-dried tomatoes, and pecorino cheese.
Irresistible rabbit provenzale with white wine, artichokes, olives, and herbs du Provence, including a giant bay leaf.
The cleaner: the silkiest panna cotta possible, kissed all over by a flirtatious passion fruit coulis.
When we do manage to extricate ourselves from the vice grip of Italian delicacies, we turn out to be near the very front of the waiting line for Second City, ensuring the real possibility of being sweat upon by a real live actor.
We try our own hands at funny biz while in line.
Woobert.
Glee. (don't stop.... belieeeeeevin)
The show is absolutely excellent and highly recommended. But this blog is about MY comedy, so for more specifics, go see it yourself (salt boners!).
Free pizza?
Burrata and prosecco? You've got to be kidding me! Why didn't you call . . . I could have been there in 3 hours! I didn't see any fresh maters on there though.
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