Dear Chicago

I get the sinking feeling that referring to my fish & chips + beef & Guinness binge as "Irish cuisine" was akin to spending a day in Times Square and bragging about the exquisite NYC food offered at the Roxy Deli and Famous Original Ray's Pizza (not to be confused with Ray's or Famous Ray's, but that's been covered elsewhere). I have no shame, and I will now proceed to judge Chicago by the two tourist-filled establishments in which I stuffed my face.

Billy Goat Tavern is a landmark of sorts. Aside from the total lack of natural light on the inside (which is comfortingly familiar to a graduate student), it's pretty much as depicted in the SNL skit from the dark ages 1970's: there will be a Burger Nazi working the counter who suffers from a bizarre form of Tourette's that forces him to scream "chee-burger" several times whenever he detects some form of motion from the corner of his wandering eye. Yes, that's the appeal.

What's to be said? This is a (double) cheeseburger in the purest sense. No grass-fed Kobe beef with Roquefort and foie gras on a Portuguese muffin. This is processed to the point that between the beef and American Cheese, only about half of the actual weight could come from real cows. It's a good, greasy burger... no more, no less. It's comfortable being what it is, and I can't not support that.

There's also a bar inside that looks like the Second City's answer to McSorley's, also serving up adorably undersized glasses of their own brews of "lager" and "dark." Unlike McSorley's, they did not insist that patrons order two at a time. That cheeseburger was purchased during breakfast hours, so maybe this is just their policy for morning drinkers. I happen to live across the street from a bar that opens for the vets at 8AM daily, so this place seemed a little cushy. Cushy, but oh-so-quaint.

As I've only lived in New York for four years, I can't call myself a New Yorker. I'll always be just a transplant. So with no strong ties to the Big Apple, I wasn't above trying this freaky pizza they serve here. Yes, the crust is THICK. Yes, they even put the sauce above the cheese. I don't think most New Yorkers realize that last part; the thick crust is so offensive that they just stop listening. Wandering around aimlessly, I found a place established in 1966 called Gino's East just before the clouds above me burst into a deluge of rain and hail. My lunch was meant to be.

Being charged $18 for a pizza with a ten inch diameter feels like robbery. That is, until you realize that the diameter only describes its spatial extent in two of the three dimensions that matter to your stomach. It's so thick that upon being seated, they warn you that your pizza will take at least 45 minutes to bake. That's for a small. There is at least large NY pie's worth of crust crammed into that dish. Guzzle some pop and that stuff starts expanding inside you. Really, pace yourself.

The sauce and cheese start mixing once you take a bite, so it's not actually that big of a deal for them to be presented to you in reverse order. This one had ground sausage on it, too. Now, in college, I used to scarf down a large Papa John's bacon+beef+extra cheese pie if I was up late calculating (more likely trying to calculate) something important, and I couldn't manage to get through 3/4 of this beast. The waiter had that certain look of "I told you so" as he bagged up the rest. I'd prefer not to need a cardiologist before age 30, so I'll let him have that victory.