DnC Studios Versus Chicago: No Reservations

We grabbed some grub in the North Carolina airport knowing we would be going on a food safari and we might as well start enjoying ourselves. Chris had some ribs and I had to get some Carolina Bar-be-que. It was on point, but the games had only begun.

Day one of the Con was kinda a bust, but after the show things were looking up. Linda and company helped us take our things back to the hotel and then we hopped the L to head into the city to Giordano's. If you're going to be in Chi-Town then you've got to have some deep dish pizza. We arrived and some friends had a table already, so we joined them. Chris, Dylan, Vince, Linda and myself get a stuffed crust pizza with pepperoni, sausage and black olives. The meat was baked into the crust while the olives rest atop this glorious thing before us. I had a 312 Ale to wash it down as Chris and I absolutely crushed our first pieces. I think we shocked Linda a bit, but construction guys eat fast. We held court sharing our stories of Virginia, and probably guaranteeing that none of them will ever come and visit us.

Then we faced a problem. There were three slices left and five or us. Who would be the asshole and go after the second piece first? Vince and Linda in a show of class begged off, saying they were stuffed, opening the door of Chris, Dylan and myself to descend upon the rest of the pie like a pack of wolves. Never had pizza like that before. Truly top notch.

The five of us then braved the L back to our respective hotels. I say "braved' due to Lolapalooze letting out about the same time and the L was teeming with dirty footed hippies. One of which was in dire straights and spotted the fact that I had a bottle of soda.

Hippie: Dude, can I please have a sip of your soda? I'm dying here.

Me: Dude, before you have a sip of my soda I need to now what you're dying of.

I hate hippies. But I digress.

The following morning there was a steady downpour of rain preventing Chris and I from grabbing fast food for breakfast. We didn't have a vehicle on this trip. So, we had breakfast at the hotel restaurant. I had never had lemon crepes before.

The hotel staff continued to spoil us with complimentary fruit smoothies and pastries. The food was more sophisticated then I'm used to. It was a real treat.

There was a communication break down on day 2 with Linda losing my phone number. So we hit the town with our con neighbors, Andy and Kim. Dodging horrible lumps of stuff on the stairway out of the L we made out way across town. It was a real treat to see the areas that doubled for Gotham city in the recent Batman movies. We saw a guy, drunk to the point of caveman status, stumbling along and dropping his liquor bottles. How he made it back to his hotel and didn't get ran over is beyond me.

We crossed the river and the air was thick. I found it a bit hard to breath as the air was heavy with the scent of the river. I was hoping to be away from it soon. We passed street performers playing drums and break dancing. I looked around to try to spot where we might be going. Andy led us to a staircase in the sidewalk, which had me confused for a moment until I turned to go down it.

Then the smell hit me. Actually, it embraced me. We descended into history.

Hidden from the tourists and the very sky above was a practical hole in the wall: The Billy Goat Tavern. Established in 1934 the Billy Goat is an institution. We had hot dog, double cheeseburgers, whoops, I mean CHEEZBORGERS, with chips and Billy Goat Ale to wash them done. We were surrounded on all sides by pictures of athletes, movie stars and politicians all of whom had come to this place. It was incredible. We sat there, looking at the pictures, enjoying our food and just soaking in the history around us. That place is special. I'm in Andy's debt for leading me there.

Linda brought us Chicago Style Hot Dogs the next day for lunch at the Con, which was an unnecessary but greaty appreciated apology for the previous night. Chicago dogs versus Convention center dogs? No contest.

After the show, Linda Vince and Dylan yet again helped us with our stuff and we hit the southside on a mission. Google maps yet again led us to somebody's doorstep, and they would not feed us. Still we found the Silver Palm.

We were in the hunt for the Three Little Piggies. This sandwich was reviewed in Maxim Magazine as one of the top 5 in the nation. It's a deep friend pork tenderloin, a slice of ham, bacon, two kinds of cheese, a fried egg and an fried onion ring.

I know what you're thinking. That can't be kosher. This sandwich not only isn't Kosher, it's flat out anti-Semitic. This thing is a Swastika on a bun!

Linda and Vince in a fit of sanity did not order the sandwich. Chris, Dylan and myself had no such rationality to save us.

We ordered that thing and the waitress asked about our medical history.

We got our beers and then came the sandwich. The sandwich comes with fries and I still wonder why. We looked at the sandwiches. I pondered briefly what they would say at my funeral. This was beyond sustenance, beyond a vicious case of the noms... this was man versus food. Three of us. There of them.

We clinked our beers and it was on like Donkey Kong.

We tore into our opponents, and Father God save me, it was the greatest sandwich I have ever eaten. I nearly wept. Still this was a battle, and our opponent played for keeps. This was eating the Chicago way! You sent one of theirs to your stomach, it sends your ass to the morgue!

Chris was forced to tap out about half way through. It was up to me and Dylan. Sweet Geebus, even the gristle was good! Dylan subdued his foe. The score was tied: 1 to 1. It was all up to me. The sandwich was an unweildy beast. I had great difficulty controlling it. I approached the end game with the others watching me and cheering me on. Goaded on, I shoved the rest of the bastard sandwich into my gaping maw. After some chewing and hanging onto the table for dear life, I finally swallowed the last of it and then ran a brief victory lap.

It took three hand washings and shower before I stopped smelling like pork.

We returned home the following day. Although we were paupers at the convention, after the show, we ate like Kings.