Contrary to popular belief, an evening of Flatliner shots do not provide the previous night’s reveler with a sense of bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed-ness upon the greeting of the new day’s sun. Rather, one’s just reward for facing the Flatliner challenge head on is a headache which mutates from a slight throbbing to a “Sweet Jesus I think my cerebellum is attempting to secede from the rest of my brain and escape out my ear…” If you happen to be an American engaging in intercontinental travel that morning, the Flatliner throws in a lack of Parisian taxis and a missed flight as a bonus. One begets the other, of course, so perhaps the Flatliner had merely intended for me to suffer from the taxi drought, with the missed flight an unintended consequence. Regardless, forgetting to set an alarm and waking up late surely does not help the matter.
Fortunately I was flying to Chicago so there was nary a problem taking a slightly later flight. NYC, Chicago, and Houston are the cities to miss flights to – it always seems like there is another one just an hour later. But, as a final insult, I was soundly berated by the ticketing agent at Charles de Gaulle airport for my continued incompetence with the French language.
A sigh of relief, in all my disheveled glory, on the flight to Chicago.
July 3 is a special night in Chicago. The Taste of Chicago is in full swing, and the 3rd is when the fireworks are shot off over Lake Michigan. I have great memories of the third of July. One such memory is dropping several friends off with a cooler full of Red Dog at the entrance to Grant Park, parking the car, and meeting up with them thirty minutes later only to discover that they had been issued a citation by the valiant Chicago Police Department for bringing beer into the park. It was for memories like this that I had planned my return trip to the USA for July 3, although my good friend’s wedding the night of July 5 certainly lent an initiating hand.
Now…since July 3 brings fireworks, the Taste is absolutely packed on this particular day. A teeming mass of people, and when I say teeming I mean it. If you have ever seen a giant school of fish swimming around on the Discovery Channel or National Geographic, this is what the Taste of Chicago is on July 3, except the fish in my story are carrying paper plates of Uno’s pizza, flaming Greek cheese, turkey legs dripping with BBQ sauce, burgers from the Billy Goat Tavern, and so on. It is a mass of people and the risk of getting sauce dripped onto your clothing as you navigate the crowds is extremely high. So into this vortex of humanity I plunged, fresh off a plane from France and carrying my enormous green backpack that is a common sight among college kids backpacking through Europe for a month. As difficult as it is to walk around the Taste normally, try doing it with the equivalent of an eight year old strapped to your back. Jostling was taken to a whole new level. I was also on the receiving end of many bemused looks and heard many creative comments along the lines of “Daaaaaaaamn, look at that guy’s backpack!”
This is what is great about the Taste of Chicago though. The sights, the sounds, the extremely non-French food…getting frustrated about the crowds at the Taste of Chicago on July 3 is like going swimming and then getting mad that you are wet. It’s absurd! Get yourself a Goose Island, an Italian beef / sausage combo sandwich from Buona Beef, a spot on the grass with a view of the Chicago skyline, and soak it in.
