Heaven thy name is Margie

Since you all responded so positively to the gluttony that is my Icelandic hot dog blog, I think I will devote yet another blog to food. Also, food gives me more enjoyment than it should, so it is all I can think to write about. I really wanted to do a photo blog documenting my trip to one of my new favorite places to eat in Chicago, but I didn't have my camera and frankly, I'm doing my best to not go back for at least a week. But I looked online and there were plenty of pictures representing just about everything I would have anyway (except a picture of me taking a large bite) so I think this will work.

I was out eating dinner with a friend the other night at a place that had no desserts. We were both craving something sweet so she said, "What about Margie's? Have you ever been there?" I have passed Margie's a million times and always wonder about it, but never stop in. She said, "You just have to go. You are going to love it."

You know when you see something from the outside, or hear about something and build up a picture of that thing in your head an it turns out it looks completely different? For example, I always have a picture in my head of what radio personalities (I enjoy the expression "radio personality" because it really sums up the experience of listening to someone on the radio, especially a talk show host. Because of the fact that you can't see them, it is their winning personality that hooks you. Just like a fat, witty girl.) look like and they very rarely look as I picture them, with the one exception being Ira Glass who looked EXACTLY as I pictured him. I've stopped looking because I'm always disappointed. I had a crush in high school on Steve Dahl until I realized he was in his fifties and looked like this. Not to say he doesn't have his own boyish good looks, but just not what I had expected, and not appropriate for a 16 year old. I had to take a 6 year sabbatical from listening to him to recover from the shock. (The addendum to this story is I have since developed fairly substantial crushes on his sons who are my age-ish, one of which went to Northwestern, my alma mater, not that I met him. Those crushes started spiraling out of control so I pretty much had to stop listening to Steve Dahl for awhile. I realized it is time to stop when you start fantasizing about Steve Dahl as your father-in-law. Really, I'm not crazy, I just have a colorful imagination.) So that was a pretty big tangent to illustrate a point. Margie's looked nothing like what I had expected. This place escaped every decade since the 1950's without alteration. The vinyl beige booths are probably still the same. The individual jukeboxes at every table, which I assume don't work, are still there. The needle point pictures of flowers adorning the wood paneling are still the same. My friend told me, "It's not kitschy. It's not hip. It's authentic." I couldn't have said it better myself.

We looked over their sizable menu of ice cream options before I settled on the Banana Split. Fudge was a must so I went with the three scooper that clearly indicated it had fudge. When I ordered, our stereotypically-Chicago-adorable-beyond-belief waitress indicated that I might want to get the banana split that just had the two scoops. I had considered that option, but as it didn't specify that it had fudge, I had moved on. Normally there is nothing I can't stand more than a waitress suggesting I am eating too much. However, after a quick sneer, I realized I like this woman's salt and pepper hair and I don't think she is judging me, so I won't insist on eating three scoops just to prove a point. I asked if the two scooper had fudge, which it did, so all was good.

Individual orgasms in each of my taste buds would not have been as wonderful as eating this ice cream. The fudge, was "kettle heated" and on the side and was thick and silky and glorious. It was the best and biggest two scoop banana split I have ever had and it was only $3.95. Cold Stone can suck my ass with their $5 mini scoops of nothing. I really don't know how I existed before I knew about this place, or how I lived in Chicago for so long without anyone telling me about it. I promise next time I go back to take my own photos to share with you all. Until then, may you have hot fudge like Margie's incorporated into every dream.

Icelandic Hot Dog: The Journey

Back in May of 2005 I traveled to Iceland. You may have read about it or seen it. Well, among the many new experiences I had there, one of the best was the Icelandic Hot Dog. My friend Michelle recently returned from there and she brought back not only the Icelandic hot dog, but ALL the condiments. While I'm not sure there is a strong enough word to describe my joy, elated comes pretty close. The other night I decided to treat myself to the wonder that is Icelandic Hot Dogs.
1. Ingredients; buns, chopped onions,

Plysusinnep,
Remoladi, Hamborgara sosa, fried onions and Vinar Plysur, aka Fuckin' great hot dogs!

Now, I am not claiming that this is the "official" way to prepare Icelandic hot dogs. These are all the correct ingredients, but my order may be off. However, it all mixes together in the end. A delicious, hot doggy end.
First, delicately place the raw onions on the bun (If you like, you can toast your buns). Next, tenderly lay the hot dog on it's oniony, bready bed.

Then add the Plysusinnep on top of the dog. You can use as much or as little as you'd like.
Next, add Remoladi (which is like a mayonaissy relish) on top.Out comes the Hamborgara sosa for a nice coating. The colors of these sauces might not be the most appetizing, but trust me, it's worth it.
Cover the sauces with a thick layer of fried onions. You can most likely make these yourself, but I was given a bag of fried goodness to use.
I like to eat my hot dogs with beer. Probably you can eat your hot dogs with whatever beverage you prefer.Finally take a delicious, gigantic bite. Don't sit on the good furniture when you eat this concoction, it is messy. Just think of every bit of messiness that falls from your hot dog onto the plate as a wonderful treat for when you are done with your hot dog and wanting more. At least, that's how I do.
Can't you see the enjoyment, nay, elation on my face? I'm high on hot dog. There really isn't a better hot dog experience out there. I HIGHLY suggest hopping on a plane to Iceland to try it out. If you aren't sold on the "going to Iceland for the authentic Icelandic hot dog experience" idea, you can buy all you need right here. There are a number of other Icelandic goods that you can get from there, but trust me, you want to start with the hot dogs. The rotten shark is really not for everyone.

PS. I did some REALLY interesting things with Sloppy Joe's last night. Remind me to tell you about it sometime.

Occupying time

Because my life consists of barely waking up, going to work, checking my mail for medical school news and watching everything on my Tivo, I decided to take up a few activities to fill my time. Cleaning is the most important one and probably the one that will see the smallest playing time. My apartment is a disaster and it is about time I got my life in order. I need to get rid of a lot of crap, but I also need to be more diligent about cleaning in general. More than once I've had people (people who know me well, I might add) come into my apartment, glance around and ask me in all seriousness, "Are you depressed?" If that is what my apartment is saying about me I need to seriously reconsider either my mental health or my design scheme.

I've started doing more knitting. This either makes me an old woman who is in the market for cats or a trendy hipster who is on her way to knitting a blanket that will cover the world in peace and love. I made my first real hat (the first attempt ended up looking like something Marylou Who would wear) over Christmas and it wasn't half bad. I am attempting another hat with some interesting accoutrements so we will see how that goes.
Lastly, I have decided it is time for me to become familiar with my kitchen. It's never been so much that I can't cook, but more that I have a secret (or not so secret if you've ever ridden in my car) love affair with McDonalds and I am lazy. As I drive home from work, McDonalds starts its siren song and I am lured in. But since the new year, I have successfully (except for 2 minor indiscretions) avoided McDonalds and feasted on my own creations at home. Now, for the most part, "my own creations" means macaroni and cheese, sloppy joes or a can of soup. Not necessarily rocket science, though their deliciousness quotiant cannot be ignored. But last night I figured it was high time to bring out my crock pot and go to town. Crock pots are the most wonderful things because it is virtually impossible to mess up your food in them. They cook everything beautifully. You just throw in a few ingredients in the morning, turn it on and then voila, you have a home cooked meal for when you get home at night. I made Coq Au Vin last night for my friends Caleb and Shannon. Caleb has meat and cheese restrictions (!!) so chicken was the clear choice. The only thing that would have made this meal perfection would have been the addition of goat cheese, but then again, what meal without goat cheese could ever reach perfection? I'm pretty impressed with myself, to say the least. Meals for the upcoming days include: Icelandic hot dogs (they are lamb) with all the Icelandic trimmings (Michelle just returned from their and brought back some goodies), beer cheese soup and chicken pot pie with cornbread topping. I cannot wait.

10,006*

This weekend marked the ten thousandth visit to my website. I only wish I knew exactly who it was because there might be a t-shirt in it for them. A t-shirt with a big picture of my face giving two thumbs up to their impeccable timing and breathe-taking good looks. It only took 2 years for it to happen, but happen it did. If my mother actually read this blog I would shove it in her face that people DO want to know about the most trivial details of my life, 10,000 times. In all actuality it is more like 10 visitors who are either:
1. People who know me personally and are obsessed with reading blogs, no matter how stupid (thanks guys.)
2. People who are sent here by blogger against their will
3. People who are referred here by dear, dear friends who have taken pity on me and linked to this website.
4. People who are searching for bestiality porn (I don't know why alljenny leads them to this but it does and also, do you have to say bestiality porn or can you just say bestiality and the porn is implied?)
5. People who are searching for some derivation of the word "poop."

All the same, I love you all and hope you continue to keep reading.

I wish I had a funny anecdote to commemorate this day. I had a great weekend, but nothing extraordinarily funny happened. Actually, a few things funny happened, but believe it or not, I'm not going to share them so they can be read 10,000 more times. A girl must keep some mystery about her.

* The 10,006 is the number on my counter I first saw when I noticed I'd reached 10,000. The 6 really gives me crediblity because it suggests 10,000 wasn't just a fluke.

Nine gay guys and a partridge in a pear tree

This holiday season has treated me nicely and provided me with a few things I'd like to share.

Before Christmas, I returned to my apartment to find Landlady waiting anxiously by the door to the building. I walked in, said hello and moved to my mailboxes. I asked her if anything was wrong and she told me that she found some suspicious people in the building, had asked them to leave and then called the police, who she was waiting for. She said she went in the elevator with them just to make sure they were leaving. At this point, she says they started saying, "motherfucker this, and cunt that." There are few things more hilarious than a 70 year old woman telling you how she was called a cunt. Or just a 70 year old saying the word cunt. It never gets old. (also, another story is via my father who said, as we were driving on Paulina to dinner, "there are three streets in Chicago that rhyme with vagina. Paulina, Molina (which, to my knowledge is not a street) and Rant." I looked at him laughing, understood where this joke was going and said, " you mean, Lunt?" He laughed a little more and said, "right, Lunt." My brother didn't quite get it at first, so I said, "Lunt...Cunt...get it." David looked at me, appalled and said, "I can't believe you just said cunt in front of our parents." I didn't start it.) So the police come, I leave. I call Landlady later to check that everything was ok. She starts on about how she is old and is a "ballsy old broad" and how she has become this way with age (which I highly doubt). She says to me, verbatim, "There is this old proverb that I just made up that states..." It isn't important what the old proverb she made up states. It is more important to acknowledge Landlady for the philosopher that she is.

In other Landlady news, I saw her after christmas with my brother. I asked her how she was to which she responded, "I've been hung over for 5 days. The doctor says it is because of my GERD." I said, "So you had a good time over Christmas?" She says, "Good time? I ended up passed out on the floor with nine gays guys and my dog on top of me." Good time indeed.

I spent some quality time with several of my friends this holiday season. Rud made a pit stop in Elgin which included empanadas was capped off with a beer at Dutch Inn West. Wow. I'd never been before. I always thought it was a place where old dudes sat and drank beer all day, like Moe's on the Simpsons. I wasn't far off. But there were also a lot of young, really drunk people there too. Also, there are hipsters in Elgin. Who knew? Rud was sporting some SERIOUS chops. As a huge fan of facial hair I give it two thumbs way up. It was an awesome time. I hung out with Didi and Adolphus and some old high school folks as well. The lawyer to non lawyer ratio at the table was 1:1 which is downright scary. However, I'm sure some time in my life I will run into a situation where legal advice is needed, so it is good to know I can get a first, second, third through 100th opinion on whatever my situation might be. At one point over dinner we were having a conversation about flashing, or poop or waxing and Erin said, "I think we had this same conversation seven years ago." There is a part of me that likes to see how old friends have changed, but there is also that part of me that feels good knowing some things never change.

More than anything, I watched a shit ton of TV. I watched the entire first season of Extras and the Ali G show, both of which are hilarious. I'm not sure, but I think I might be developing a bit of a crush on Ricky Gervais. My crush for Sacha Baron Cohen was cemented some time ago so these recent Ali G episodes really only fueled the fire. Also, I watched Wayne's World, Ghostbusters, Who framed Roger Rabbit and Groundhog Day. What I learned from these movies is 1. Cars looked funny in the 80's and early 90's. I can't wait to see what cars of the future look like. 2. Bill Murray is a stud. 3. Wayne's World introduced me to a lot of rock songs that to this day take me back to Aurora, IL when I hear them. I also watched Night at the Museum, Notes on a Scandal, Thank you for Smoking and Little Miss Sunshine. These movies taught me much less about myself except that I LOVE Little Miss Sunshine. (Don't even try and log the number of hours it would require to watch this much TV because first, you will be baffled at how a living, breathing person can sit on her ass for that long and then you will realize you have grossly underestimated the number because I am not even including the fact that I watched 50 First Dates 3 times, simply because it was on.)

I did not make New Year's resolutions. I have in the past and not one of them has come to fruition. Sure I'd like to lose weight and exercise more. I'd also like to shower more frequently and blow dry my hair more often. I could also try keeping my apartment from looking like a mentally ill person lives there and taking more public transportation. But saying that I'm going to do these things and actually doing them are two VERY different things. So why start the year off on a note of pending disappointment. If I accomplish any of these things I will be pleasantly suprised. Instead, I made a New Year's wish. It is like a birthday wish when you blow out the candles, but only more powerful because you have the weight of the earth's rotation thrusting it into being. I'll let you know if the thrust was strong enough by Dec. 31st 2007 at the latest.

I think that is most of what I wanted to say to you all. If there is more, I will use it for another blog entry, hopefully in the not so distant future. That could have been another resolution, blogging more, but I'm pretty sure I made that one last year and hopped on the disappointment train early. Let's try something new this year, shall we?