Italian Nook

After I quit my first job in Chicago (did that even happen?) I got quite engaged in the Yelp.com community. It's a perfect site with which to explore the city and share treasures and foibles of what you ate, saw, smelled and touched along the way. I actually met one of my best friends through the user-driven site. Talk about return on investment. But as my life got busier with school and money shriveled away, I stopped writing. After all, I wasn't part of the community to meet people or pass time or make new friends (though I did). I was there to write.

So, this past weekend, I was awarded what many Yelpers covet: The Review of The Day. What? Right. Your review is put on the front page for all to see. I've received it a few times in the past, but found it ironic it was bestowed upon me when I wrote a half dozen reviews last year. I'm no longer Elite (a category reserved for their most dedicated users; there are perks). I'm just a town person, with shoes in need of cobbling and aging teeth.

But I read it, and it transported me back to the experience. It was a wonderful night that neither I or my in-laws will forget. This I'm certain. And therein lies the twang of regret for letting it go. . . wanting to get back in but thinking it's not the medium for archiving those memories. Knowing it isn't.

Regardless, here it is. Cafe Bionda. Total indulgence.

"Guilt, I banish you. Same as anger, it has little use in our lives and yet its a part of our everyday. I shouldn't, I couldn't, I won't. . . and in the name of that our crazy family opened the door to Cafe Bionda and plunged into cozy comfort. It's interior induces a similar experience to the heft of a down comforter on a dreary day. Warm, dark, incapacitating. Because you will be so full, not just with food but experience too, that moving is a touch slow when you finally. . .FINALLY, leave.

The five of us were situated next to a massive wine rack, tucked away out of the traffic. And believe me, if you're in the main thoroughfare I suspect you might get some restaurant rage. It's jammed on Saturday nights so I recommend earlier than later and not being shy about asking for a table you spot and like. It's close quarters mos def, but if you focus on the food (and you will) the periphery melts away.

We started with a special roasted seafood salad, fried zucchini and fried calamari. I've had calamari up, down and sideways like a long-term relationship and this was top tier ovals. No rubberbands, as so many restaurants are guilty of. Bionda does seafood right as was evidenced by my sister-in-law ordering the grouper and the rest of us lamenting our (totally delicious) choices for the rest of the night. Bitch took those leftovers back to Kalamazoo too. *resentful*

In true family style, we passed and ooh'd and aah'd with each fork full. Rigatoni ala Vodka, Aunt Mimi's Stuffed Shells, Rigatoni Genovese and just straight up Spaghetti and Meatballs. The hot sausage was hippity hoppity hot and delicious. There was heat rising from the dishes and from the conversation ("Mom, we think you might be an alcoholic") but in concert with chianti it was all dim and delightful.

Our waiter (what a) Guy, encouraged us to go tiramisu, but we went cannoli and weren't disappointed. It's just such a damn rarity that food is solid throughout the entire episode. The endings of movies and books and long-running TV series (we just finished "The Wire") can be disappointing but Bionda did it up with fireworks.

We left without guilt. I mean you simply can't feel anything but bliss when you emerge from this place. That feeling cancels out calories. It's scientifically proven, I swear. And if you must, walk your fine self back up to Roosevelt to get on the Green, Red or Orange and call it good. Good and guilt free."

Hungry? Honey.

Review for Meli Cafe and Juice Bar; Greektown

A Meli, a Meli, a Meli. . . it means honey in Greek, so you know Lil' Wayne might very well have considered it as inspiration for "Lollipop." Sadly, I'm not sweet over heels for this corner shop. Now with 300+ Yelp reviews, I threw a bookmark on it long ago. With a Monday day off in concert with my refusal to wait to dine, I took Ruthie there for lunch.

Parking in G-Town, if you're not eating gyros or souvlaki, is a grand pain so take the #8 or Blue and make a trip of it or just pay. We got seated right away at 11:30 a.m. on a holiday Monday, which I would say is hardly normal judging by the throngs of people who came in behind us. Nothing makes lunch more fabulous than being able to say, "Man, we got here at JUST the right time."

The menu is ample and everything, seriously everything, sounded good. Fresh ingredients, ample portions. I likey. Like the lovely Jelena Z., I chose the Chipotle Chicken wrap as a tip of the hat to the lunch hour though many a scramble were calling my name. It packs a punch, makes you wait to cool off and then applies an elixir of avocado. The wrap was deep. Poetic, even. And so were the potato crisps (p.s. they're chips, sir).

And hot damn the food came out fast. Everything was lickety split. As I often do with my mom, I got in a few good questions. Today was, "Where were you the day MLK got shot?" She was teaching at Cather Elementary on the West side. Shots rang out around the neighborhood. She grabbed her sister and hightailed it north as things got revolutionary, out of anger, frustration and grief. The next morning? Bullets in the chalkboard as those who mourned made gunfire in the wrong direction. Tumultuous for sure; important to remember.

It seems trite to say, but Meli wasn't memorable.

And, ack, the price. For two juice drinks, a cup of soup and two sandwiches it was over $40 with tip. That makes me sadzies. On the other hand, I will not be eating for the rest of the day, so perhaps it's worth its weight. No matter as time with moms is time well spent, and a good meal is just gravy on top of it all.

Cream Puffery

**Note: I am going to start posting my Yelp reviews here, because I know most of you don't hit up that site and I can't ask you to. Times are tough and at a premium. Without further adieu. . .

Beard Papa's Cream Puffs

"Can you say hype? I mean, who knew the Gordon's Fisherman could be repurposed for such a sweet and nifty gimmicky, trendy, puffy purpose. It's Japanese people. As a business culture they are brilliant masterminds of turning toward Americans and saying, "Look at this. It's cute, you love it, buy lots of it."

Cream puffs are not my idea of a treat. I don't sit at my desk at 3 p.m. (prime craving time) and think, I neeeeeed a cream puff. Well, shit, those days are gone because instead of trying to avoid walking past Sugar Bliss for a frosting shot when I'm itching my arm in anticipation I'm headed underground to hit up BP's.

You can't hide the fact you've eaten one of these puffs, and you certainly can't eat it on the train. No, if you get it to go (and you will) you will need to be patient and get home before you devour. They're beautifully messy, irresistibly marketed and unexpected enough that you ought bring them to any occasion. From birthdays to break-ups, celebrate with BPs. Truth."

p.s. Have my California or New York folks had these??