While she arrived in Chicago via limousine, I schlepped random nonsense out to Schaumburg, Elmhurst, Pilsen, Hyde Park, Lincoln Park, Arlington Heights, Logan Square, and of course The Loop.
I fell asleep in a client's parking lot around 1pm.
My own drool woke me up.
The weather's getting nice.
For dinner Lauren used the remainder of her DC per diem to order a pizza from great lake, an organTic spot that associates capitalization with capitalism.
We stepped into the tiny establishment around 5:45 and placed our order.
The staff did not greet us, and the man kneading the dough seemed annoyed that we wanted to purchase one of their pizzas.
And you know what? That's okay.
The world doesn't need any more falsely friendly Trader Joe's cult behavior.
Though a simple "hello" would have been a little human.
The pizza would be ready at 7:15.
With some time to kill we downed Belgian beers nearby.
It was wonderful to catch up with my own girlfriend.
This year has been a whirlwind of activity for both of us.
And it's only going to get more busy and more distant until June.
So I cherish these nights we have to enjoy each other's real life actual company.
The pizza delivered.
It was simple. Each bite seemed to showcase a different ingredient.
Some bites it was the cheese. Others the sauce. And for many it was the fresh basil.
Everything was fresh.
The real star of the pie was its crust. Crispy and partially burnt but fluffy and soft on the inside like a warm, fresh bagette.
Nice goin', great lake. You deserve your detached service and lower case pretentiousness.
Recently Alan Richman of GQ named great lake the best pizzeria in the world.
Now that seems like a stupid thing to declare.
It could inspire all kinds of ALL CAPS RETALIATION on the good ole interbarf.
But it was some of the best I've had.
And I've eaten pizza in its birthplace...
(WHO CARES ASSHOLE!?)
(GOOD FOR YOU JAGOFF!)
(FUCK YOU IN THE FACE!)