Three days in Chicago

It was a short trip, packed with plenty of activity. We saw a lot of friends and ate a lot of pizza. Not the over loaded and over hyped "Chicago style" pie, but real normal pizza made by real normal Chicagoans. I know a few people who say Giordano's stuffed pizza is the best, but in their heart of hearts they know they are fooling themselves. It's tolerable stuff, but it just doesn't compare to a good quality thin crust. This has nothing to do with New York. Nothing at all. Their pizza is as good or as crappy as anywhere else and they can do whatever they want with it as far as I'm concerned, so long as they keep it in New York and stop bragging about it.
I see a few places here in Tucson that try to call themselves "Chicago style," as if that means anything. If you want to savor a place, go lick the pavement there. A city is not defined by the food they serve, I think it is more likely the other way around. It is equally easy to find good and bad selections of any given cuisine in any well heeled city. Some places, like Chicago, are greater metropolii with greater populations of big fat egos. They may claim they are the preeminent city of X "style" of food, but at the end of the line it's usually the same imported labor teams assembling the same haute cuisine. Supervised by Mr. Food, overseen by Mrs. Sauce, masters on high who refuse to respond to any name if not prefaced by "Chef (insert name here)". The people who actually do the work are part of the labor-borg, the same faces from town to town, a vast army of choppers, slicers, dicers and platers assimilated into one being. They move the food that moves the earth.
I was trapped in a high end kitchen for a lengthy a/v install this past winter, so my presumptions are based on a limited exposure - I beg correction from any who have an opinion that differs from this reality.
I do not consider myself a foodie, but I do recognize talent and good craft, and I respect it tremendously. The truth is, I like to make fun of the people who act as if the food they serve deserves more respect than the underpaid kitchen staff that put it on the plate. Or the wise-ass a/v installer. All food winds up in the same place at the end, and the people who pay too much to eat it are probably more concerned with how they look and who is watching them eat than what the stuff tastes like. Give me honest pizza.

What about the other two days?

Glad you asked.

The weather was good, the company was pleasant, and the futon put kinks in my spine. I am glad to back in my own bed. I know we've lost something in a few relationships which were made convenient by proximity, but others have grown stronger with absence.