Ricky Sausage here with your report from the field - or rather, The Lawn. The sun has set on my fine day in Chicago with my wife, Beaky Sausage. A long day of worship to The Bean has left me peckish.
I waltz into the double doors of The Lawn with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. The melody of harmonica wafts into every orifice - eyes, ears, nose, etc.
I am here. I am home.
Today I dine with my fine family of Illinoisians (Illinoisers? Illinoise-boyz? I won't look it up.). We sup in preparation for the earth-shattering performance by Hoopla and Einstein's Brain. It would be foolishness to attend such a performance on an empty stomach. One would surely die.
We begin our meal with a round of drinks, primarily espresso martinis. An energetic and classy start to the meal! Biggie and Beaky have some keen insights to share. Beaky speaks elegantly (martini glass in hand), "It's strong. The more you drink, the less it tastes strong." Biggie nods sagely and adds, "It tickles my perennial." I have one as well and would remark it as unforgettable. Not bad! But not memorable.
We share a round of appetizers, dining as kings and queens. The first appetizer to arrive is the flat bread. Jardinera Sausage takes a bite and analyzes for a moment before noting, "I think it was a 7.7. I didn't think was worth an 8, but more than a 7.5 so I split the difference as much as I could. It was a weirdly good combinations of flavors that you wouldn't expect. I would order again. Hot honey is enough. It had cracker-thin crust - a little soggy - it could have been done a little better. "
The gluten free bread comes out next. Chella Sausage eyes light up and begin to tractor beam the bread. "I asked for a gluten free alternative for the spread and such. It came out warm!" She holds her hands over it like a campfire. I am worried that she will burn herself, but she never does. The Bean protects her.
While chewing our morsels, Windy City Sausage pulls a waiter aside and casually requests a song on the harmonica. The waiter casually pulls a harmonica out of his pocket and casually plays a 1 minute ditty in the middle of a crowded restaurant. With the self assurance of a Roman general, he ends with "That's it, thank you." He puts the harmonica back in his pocket and walks away from his dumbfounded audience.
This experience merits 5 stars unto itself. I will tell my grandchildren about it.
As our collective lives flash before our eyes, knowing that we have apexed and nothing will ever compare in the years to come, our food comes out. Another apex awaits! Sisyphus eat your heart out!
Windy City has ordered the Bolognese (not to be confused with bologna). She pauses for a moment, consuming the meal with her eyes before her mouth. She then proceeds to consume the meal with her mouth before consuming the meal with her stomach. While consuming the meal with her mouth, she notes, "It [The Bolognese] is good. It's a lot of words. It's not a very attractive word."
Biggie and Beaky have once again coordinated on their ingestive attack. The she crab soup! Biggie is philosophically consternated: "Why is it called the she crab? What is she? Too much crab, not enough she. Tastes like an it/that crab." Beaky's focus takes another route. "It's making me sweaty. Definitely Beaky hot, which is appealing. I have sweat through my clothes. 2/10."
Biggie has also partaken in the holy sacrament of the Mac and Cheese (made holy by the comparative shape of a Macaroni noodle and The Bean). "Ohhhh. The Mac and Cheese looks sizzlin'. It's the classic Macaroni pasta shape that you like to see. First I'm seeing non-Macaroni noodle, then I'm intrigued by the challenge, then I'm pleased because the real Macaroni is in the sauce. The Macaroni made me sneeze!"
I note each diner's experience meticulously - a slave to thrill of reviewing. I rest to eat my own Cheeseburger. It is an American classic and I dream of Uncle Sam as I chew. I salute the cows and the troops and my forefathers that made this burger possible. "Gaw bess Amerga," I erupt with a mouthful of food.
Time is the swift ever-rushing river and it has swept us once more. We are nearly late to see Hoopla! Is it the restaurant's fault? Jardinera had some opinions, vehemently shouting, "They did get busier, but it had been at least 30 minutes since we ordered, might be longer. I'm a 1 for anger, life is too short. If I hadn't ate all day, I'd be a 6." Biggie was out for blood. "They took criminally long."
It's a shrimp-eat-shrimp world out there and we, The Sausage family, will be the last shrimp standing. Tonight we flee and rest to see Hoopla and Einstein's Brain, but tomorrow we will be coming for you, shrimp reader. We will be coming for you with the blessing of The Bean and you best be prepared.
Thank you, The Mawn, for filling our vacuous war sacks! May other shrimp beware. read more