The bed is a bundle of paradoxes: we go to it with reluctance, yet we quit it with regret; we make up our minds every day to leave it early, but we make up our bodies every day to keep it late.
–Charles Caleb Colton
Yes, I looked that up on the internet. Just type in: (the subject you need quotes for) and ‘quotes’. It’s the stuff bad research papers are made of.
The reluctance to sleep the previous night had informed my mindset on this day, and by extension, the second of our GADAMN outings. Winter had become the houseguest who had overstayed their welcome even as you’re sure they had just unpacked. I was just shaking a cold (I thought), and looking forward to leaving the house for once.
The car ride was lively, but the best thing to come out of it was the suggestion of doughnuts for desert, and my committing the party to said doughnuts. It was gunna Raoul.
The first indication of what was to be the meal was when the Buick-Century-Mobile pulled up within reading distance of the neon sign. They changed the goddamn name! But it wasn’t even that simple. It seems they hadn’t changed ALL of the signs, so some read ‘Chicago Pizzeria Uno’ and some read ‘Uno Chicago Grill’ or some such shit. They couldn’t even keep the NAME of the place straight. If you’re going to rebrand yourself, keep it consistent, at least that’s what I learned in my economix 101 class. Don’t know how you do things out in Chicago, Chicago Grill Uno Uno Pizzeria Chicago, but that shit doesn’t fly here.
We were seated and our server for the night, Johnny, came over and introduced himself: “Hi, have a seat. My name is Johnny and I’ll be your server for the night.” Redundant. The second sentence came as he checked our IDs to verify appropriate drinking age. I can’t remember exactly what was said, so I’ll just write something to get you fine folks into the ballpark of how he made me feel. It’s close.
Johnny: (looking at my ID) “Wow, 1984. That’s the year I graduated high school. That’s also the year I met my first wife and got her pregnant and was forced into a long line of menial jobs to support my kid, crushing my dreams in the process.”
Italics and the entirety of the italicized sentence added by me, for emphasis. This was, however, not indicative of his demeanor throughout the rest of the night; quite the opposite. I believe we left a pretty decent tip.
Navigating the menu was a hell I do not wish to revisit. We settled on a few appetizers.
The nachos were standard fare; my only criticism being that instead of tortilla chips, Chicago Uno Pizzeria Grill Uno Chicago Chicago substituted their house made tortilla soggs. The texture was like that of a slightly less chewy slice of cartilage.
The wings were wings. Moving on.
The only appetizer we got that was worth getting was the potatoe (yes, spellcheck, I said it) skins, or whatever the hell they decided to call them. It was really just one of their pizza crusts filled with mashed potatoes and topped with classic potato skins toppings. Cheese, bacon bits, etc. Pretty great, actually, just wished I didn’t scarf it down first thing.
Oh, one thing about the wings, or rather, the blue (not bleu) cheese. I’m sure it was dispensed from some 50-gallon drum with a hand soap pump, because it tasted like it did. Not that that stopped me from dipping every type of food ingested that night in it. I may have even once drunk straight from the cup. Then I asked for more. There’s something about that stuff that gets my tongue hard. Rock hard. I may even start substituting it in some places instead of Mayonnaise (that’s a big ‘M’, like ‘God’).
By the time this ridiculous thing known as ‘appetizers’ was finished, I was too. I didn’t want to let on, which I think was a function of pride, which I was soon to swallow. It’s a difficult thing, swallowing pride, but it was easier than swallowing the pizza, which quickly drained my resolve. I let on. One thing though.
The crust was amazing.
I swear the crust was deep fried, and only then could it be filled with its “works”. Then baked, and pan fried in a ¼” of oil, soaking it in like a sponge. Seriously, the pizza comes in a cast iron pan with a grate in the bottom to let it drain off. Disgusting, Decadent, and Delicious. If you’ve ever seen the doughnut production equipment at a Krispy Kreme and eaten one straight off the line, you know what I mean. (At least the Northeast had Krispy Kreme to lord over other Philadelphians. Seemed like for once they had to come to US)
Dinner was over, and we paid our check, tipped the man, and left to get doughnuts and coffee. The doughnut nearly killed me, the coffee saved my life.
I’ll keep this short (TOO LATE!). If you have ever had the inclination to watch a Chuck Norris movie, you know that there’s a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’ about him. ‘Hellbound’ has none of that. Terrible. In fact, until you can prove otherwise to me, I’m gonna go ahead and say that this is the worst movie Mr. Norris has ever made. Yes, it’s worse than that one, too.