Ellard, you foooool!
I guess I ain't quite got the hang of this here internet-machine...
I enabled "moderate comments" a while back and have never bothered to check my comments since then.
For anyone who suspected that I'm a fascist that is trying to stifle opinions that do not reflect my own on my little piece of blog real state... well, your suspicions have been confirmed!
Nevertheless, I'll check the comments from now on, and post everything but spam.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Chicago: Post numero quatre
On Thursday morning, I got up early and took a walk down to Navy Pier. Although it looked like a fun place to spend a bit of time, I didn't linger there long. I hadn't come all the way to Chicago to visit amusement parks, but rather, to accompany my new bride on her shopping trip (he wrote sarcastically). We spent that afternoon walking up the Magnificent Mile, which is the stretch of Michigan Ave. north of the Chicago river where one finds Saks 5th Ave, Ralph Lauren, Bloomingdales, and all the other big American chain stores that Nesrine and I could not afford. In spite of not being able to purchase anything, we still had a blast checking out the sites:
The Chicago Tribune
Looking for Bloomingdale's
Eventually we ended up stopping for lunch at a great Italian Restaurant on Rush Street.
Finally, after an exhausting afternoon of walking all over downtown, we headed back to the hotel to rest a bit before heading out for supper. One of the "must do" things on my list was to try the city's famous deep dish pizza and I had scouted out a restaurant on our way into the city for that very purpose. It was a pretty garish looking place on Ohio street, but I was encouraged by it's bold claim of being the "birthplace" of Chicago-style pizza. Our server advised us to get the small, but looking at the puny diameter of the pieplate that the staff had helpfully traced onto a poster and measuring my now considerable appetite, I scoffed at the very idea. We ordered a medium, and because we were told the pizza would take up to an hour to prepare, we got some cheezesticks to tide us over. Big mistake.
Forty minutes later, the pie arrived. I immediately understood why they called it a "pizza-pie" in those parts. More quiche-on steroids that pizza, it was three-inch deep concoction of mounds of cheeze, sauce and toppings in a real honest-to-goodness pie crust (yup, the kind made with shortening that Mom uses for apple and rhubarb pie). On top of that the crust was extra-thick. I balked, considering the irreparable damage I was about to do to my arteries. Nesrine looked revolted. Nevertheless, we tucked in, and an hour later, we staggered out of that restaurant/gastrointestinal-torture-chamber with aching bellies, having demolished barely half a piece each. We were anxious to put the ordeal behind us. My left arm began to ache on the way back to the hotel. In it, I cradled the remains of our pizza, approximately two-thirds of which was in pristine condition. The greasy cardboard box containing the leftovers of our meal weighed approximately twenty pounds. Nesrine eyed me curiously. "Wait til the old man tries a piece of this!" I said sadistically.
As it turned out, that was only a prelude to Friday's culinary adventures...
On Thursday morning, I got up early and took a walk down to Navy Pier. Although it looked like a fun place to spend a bit of time, I didn't linger there long. I hadn't come all the way to Chicago to visit amusement parks, but rather, to accompany my new bride on her shopping trip (he wrote sarcastically). We spent that afternoon walking up the Magnificent Mile, which is the stretch of Michigan Ave. north of the Chicago river where one finds Saks 5th Ave, Ralph Lauren, Bloomingdales, and all the other big American chain stores that Nesrine and I could not afford. In spite of not being able to purchase anything, we still had a blast checking out the sites:
The Chicago Tribune
Looking for Bloomingdale'sEventually we ended up stopping for lunch at a great Italian Restaurant on Rush Street.
Finally, after an exhausting afternoon of walking all over downtown, we headed back to the hotel to rest a bit before heading out for supper. One of the "must do" things on my list was to try the city's famous deep dish pizza and I had scouted out a restaurant on our way into the city for that very purpose. It was a pretty garish looking place on Ohio street, but I was encouraged by it's bold claim of being the "birthplace" of Chicago-style pizza. Our server advised us to get the small, but looking at the puny diameter of the pieplate that the staff had helpfully traced onto a poster and measuring my now considerable appetite, I scoffed at the very idea. We ordered a medium, and because we were told the pizza would take up to an hour to prepare, we got some cheezesticks to tide us over. Big mistake.
Forty minutes later, the pie arrived. I immediately understood why they called it a "pizza-pie" in those parts. More quiche-on steroids that pizza, it was three-inch deep concoction of mounds of cheeze, sauce and toppings in a real honest-to-goodness pie crust (yup, the kind made with shortening that Mom uses for apple and rhubarb pie). On top of that the crust was extra-thick. I balked, considering the irreparable damage I was about to do to my arteries. Nesrine looked revolted. Nevertheless, we tucked in, and an hour later, we staggered out of that restaurant/gastrointestinal-torture-chamber with aching bellies, having demolished barely half a piece each. We were anxious to put the ordeal behind us. My left arm began to ache on the way back to the hotel. In it, I cradled the remains of our pizza, approximately two-thirds of which was in pristine condition. The greasy cardboard box containing the leftovers of our meal weighed approximately twenty pounds. Nesrine eyed me curiously. "Wait til the old man tries a piece of this!" I said sadistically.
As it turned out, that was only a prelude to Friday's culinary adventures...
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Chicago, Part III
The city of Chicago leaves the first-time visitor with a peculiar impression, if they enter the city by car. The closer one gets to Michigan Avenue and the Chicago river, the more one gets the impression that the city is set up on a vertical plane, rather than a horizontal one. The tall spires of the Chicago's famous skyscrapers disappear as you enter the downtown area and are funelled down into the bowels of the city, where streets stack up one on top of the other in parallel arteries. Then you have the L-train, which runs a good twenty feet above street level --the city does not have a subway... something to do with the water table, or perhaps soil conditions? Above the tracks, you also may catch a glimpse of skywalks between buildings, sometimes 5 or even 6 stories above ground. So basically, there may be 4 or 5 levels of trafic at some locations in the city, not counting the river-borne traffic, each moving independently one on top of the other.
We sped through the downtown, emerging from one of the subterranean streets to crossed the river and arrived at our destination, the Chicago Sheraton, just before 8 pm. We were delighted with the hotel's location, a stone's throw from the Magnificent Mile, which promised easy access on foot to most of the sights we wanted to get to in the three days we would spend in the city. We knew it advertised itself as a "downtown hotel", but past experience in booking on the web suggested that particular description may sometimes leave some room for interpretation (my favourite qualifier is "adjacent", as in downtown-adjacent --which usually means "be prepared to walk a bit or take a cab to get downtown"). When the lady at the front desk found out that we were newlyweds, she bumped our reservation up to "club level" and put is in a room on the 34th floor, suggesting that we go to the club lounge to enjoy some complimentary hors d'oeuvres and relax. Being quite exhausted, we were more than happy to oblige, and after dropping off our luggage and taking in the incomparable view from our room, we headed to the lounge, which was deserted.
As we sat and sipped glasses of wine and munched on some finger food, we tried to think of what we should do that night. We were both knackered, and we both seemed content to just relax and take in the panorama of downtown Chicago at night. Before we knew it, it was after 9 pm, and we found ourselves staggering back to our room. Unsure of our next move. Well, as it turned out, we didn't even go out that night. We had had enough for one day, and besides, the spectacular view from our room was all the entertainment we needed.
The city of Chicago leaves the first-time visitor with a peculiar impression, if they enter the city by car. The closer one gets to Michigan Avenue and the Chicago river, the more one gets the impression that the city is set up on a vertical plane, rather than a horizontal one. The tall spires of the Chicago's famous skyscrapers disappear as you enter the downtown area and are funelled down into the bowels of the city, where streets stack up one on top of the other in parallel arteries. Then you have the L-train, which runs a good twenty feet above street level --the city does not have a subway... something to do with the water table, or perhaps soil conditions? Above the tracks, you also may catch a glimpse of skywalks between buildings, sometimes 5 or even 6 stories above ground. So basically, there may be 4 or 5 levels of trafic at some locations in the city, not counting the river-borne traffic, each moving independently one on top of the other.
We sped through the downtown, emerging from one of the subterranean streets to crossed the river and arrived at our destination, the Chicago Sheraton, just before 8 pm. We were delighted with the hotel's location, a stone's throw from the Magnificent Mile, which promised easy access on foot to most of the sights we wanted to get to in the three days we would spend in the city. We knew it advertised itself as a "downtown hotel", but past experience in booking on the web suggested that particular description may sometimes leave some room for interpretation (my favourite qualifier is "adjacent", as in downtown-adjacent --which usually means "be prepared to walk a bit or take a cab to get downtown"). When the lady at the front desk found out that we were newlyweds, she bumped our reservation up to "club level" and put is in a room on the 34th floor, suggesting that we go to the club lounge to enjoy some complimentary hors d'oeuvres and relax. Being quite exhausted, we were more than happy to oblige, and after dropping off our luggage and taking in the incomparable view from our room, we headed to the lounge, which was deserted.
As we sat and sipped glasses of wine and munched on some finger food, we tried to think of what we should do that night. We were both knackered, and we both seemed content to just relax and take in the panorama of downtown Chicago at night. Before we knew it, it was after 9 pm, and we found ourselves staggering back to our room. Unsure of our next move. Well, as it turned out, we didn't even go out that night. We had had enough for one day, and besides, the spectacular view from our room was all the entertainment we needed.
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