Archive for June, 2010

You people are weird.

You people are extra weird. I know this because WordPress has a handy dandy widget that shows me the Google search terms people have used to find my blog. Yeah that’s right, WordPress has a built-in stalker finder. I know who you are! So, please stop being huge giant creeps because I can totally see everything.

For some reason, “bjork” is the number one most common search term people use to find my blog. Which is kind of strange because I think I mentioned her once, like, a long ass time ago. I’m presenting to you, my (hopefully noncreeptastic) readers, a top ten list of my personal favorite words or terms people have Googled that somehow led to my blog. Here we go:

#10: Uncommon types of melon. This makes sense because I did a post on Cindy Crawford and her extremely rare melons.

#9: Infants with heads snuggled into our mot. Um. What?

#8: Trousers fantasy chef. This, I totally get. Sometimes you just really want some fantasy chef trousers.

#7: Girl crapping pants. Sick, sad world indeed.

#6: Giada de Laurentiis man hands. Honestly this was a toss-up, the other most popular Giada-related search being “Giada de Laurentiis booobs.”

#5: My baby pants when hungry. I honestly don’t even know what this means. Why are people finding my blog when Googling things about babies? I don’t know shit about babies.

#4: Guy eating Cool Ranch Doritos. I can only assume this is some sort of weird fetish…carry on.

#3: Cow themed chef pants. Who doesn’t like pants that are cow-themed? Chef pants or otherwise, cow print is just really really stylish.

#2: Bjork robot. This would make so much sense.

And, my personal all-time hands down favorite:

#1: Bryan Campbell’s mother makes pies. HA! Is this some sort of “yo momma” joke? Is this what the kids are saying these days? “Yo son, yo momma makes pies n’ shit. BOOYA!!” Get off my lawn.


Big & Little’s

Today, I found myself suffering from a food drought.  Sick to death of the lunch places around my office, I couldn’t imagine stuffing another tasteless sub down my gullet, nor could I stomach the thought of yet. another. stupid. salad. My office is located in a charming part of River North, surrounded by tiny eateries and art galleries,  but I have frequented the nearby lunch joints nearly daily for the past two years, and eaten pretty much everything on the menus. Brett’s Kitchen is a favorite of mine, but eventually all their melts and burgers and salads started to taste the same, and even Adriana, the charming, mohawked lesbian Latina who always remembers my name and calls me baby wasn’t enough to keep me coming back.

Luckily, A. mentioned that she’d heard rave reviews about Big & Little’s, a tiny hole-in-the wall on Orleans & Oak, a strip of the city I refer to as Death Valley. There’s literally nothing around there except Pakistani cab driver stands and Baptist churches. Oh, and Stone Lotus. Barf.

I was skeptical, but hopped over to Yelp (don’t hate) to see what Chicago’s helpful Yelpers had to say. Never have I seen so many rave reviews for what is essentially nothing more than a cubbyhole churning out fish tacos. Yes, I said to myself. This place shall cure my lunchtime blues.

And holy amazing deliciousness Batman, cure them it did. Whatever Big Star is, Big & Little’s is the exact opposite. Drenched in yellow paint, Big & Little’s features little in the way of seating, relying on their customers to get in and get out. There’s a long counter to the right of the entry, and three picnic tables set up outside in the parking lot, but most of the patrons waiting in line were there for takeout. I was greeted by a cheerful cashier, and after a moment contemplating the chalkboard menu decided to go with the Mahi fish taco on special, a regular fish taco, and an order of truffle fries. The cashier happily jotted down my order and I moseyed over to the counter and flipped through an abandoned Red Eye and sipped a Diet Coke as I waited, half-listening to the Caribbean reggae music being piped in through a pair of speakers.

 The “kitchen” is right there out in the open, with a fry station and grill manned by two pleasant, scruffy-looking men, each wearing thick-framed black glasses and rocking some flannel and tats. I had a momentary Big Star-anxiety flashback, but that was eased when my order was bagged and ready to go and each of the men thanked me politely for coming in and the cashier smiled and waved and told me to come again soon. I left feeling like I’d just made three very nice friends and had to reassure myself that I was in Chicago and not Grover’s Corners.

I got the food back to the office and unwrapped the fish taco, still warm and loaded with shredded cabbage and lettuce. The fish was flaky and delicately fried, seasoned with light spices and drizzled with a creamy, spicy, garlicky sauce, wrapped in a warm corn tortilla. I ate it in about three bites and instantly wished I’d ordered another one. It was crunchy, creamy, spicy, and hot, and hit all my requirements for what a fish taco should be. The special Mahi taco was a little more hefty than the regular fried fish taco, and more generously portioned. The hunk of Mahi inside the taco was about as large as four of my fingers, and was grilled rather than fried, and topped in the same manner with cabbage, sauce, and lettuce.

 Confession: I’m aware that the Mahi was the “special,” but damn if fried doesn’t make everything taste better. Next time I’m definitely going with two or more of the regular fish tacos (and perhaps an intriguing crab tostada), and at $3 a pop, it’s absolutely doable. Um, the fries? The fries. The. Fries. Get the goddamn truffle fries if you know what’s good for you, and that’s all I’m going to say on the matter. If it were socially acceptable, I’d bathe in truffle oil and exfoliate with truffle salt. Then I’d get ino my truffle car and drop my kids off at truffle school. In a world…

I can’t wait to try the rest of the menu, which is quite small and offers burgers and dogs in addition to tacos. If you find yourself in that neck of the woods, or even if you don’t and just have a craving for some good ass tacos, Big & Little’s is the jam.

RIP Blanche Devereaux

When I was a kid, I would fake sick so I could stay home and watch reruns of  The Golden Girls. Now, that sassy troupe of bluehairs is down to one, and we are left with Ms. McClanahan’s finest legacy: her love of cat parties. May she rest in peace.

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