Pelican is celebrating it’s 10th anniversary of deliciously textured instrumental metal this year with a box set, limited to 500 in a wooden box containing their 4 LPs and 3 EPs on Viva Hate Records. They’ll also be playing a show at the Bottom Lounge on October 23rd. And, yes, 3 Floyd’s is releasing an as yet unspecified doppelbock to help mark this momentous occasion.

It’s times like these that make a fellow proud to be alive.

Recently, I’ve been appalled to the point of shedding blood-stained tears by the inept writings of one Steve Dolinksky, Chicago’s self-proclaimed Hungry Hound. Not only did he put Pequod’s on the honorable mention for top over-hyped pizza in Chicago, he then followed that up by putting the epitome of over-hyped Chicago, the fucking Bongo Room, as one of the top 5 breakfasts in Chicago. Clearly this man has been sipping wine poisoned with his own urine for too long.

That being said, he did make a recommendation this week I’m going to check out, Super Dawg’s Whoopskidawg. Unfortunately, WBEZ doesn’t allow you to embed their videos so you need to go to their site to check it out.

Here is Andrew Huff’s, from GapersBlock.com, description:

The Whoopskidawg is wholly different from your typical Chicago-style dog. The link itself is described on the Superdawg menu as “Romanian, Hungarian, Polish sausage” and is smokier and spicier than a hot dog, and it’s served on a “Whoopskiroll” — basically an onion roll for sausages — with well-grilled onions, a dill pickle spear and “special sauce.” It comes in a larger Superdawg box with the customary crinkle-cut fries and pickled green tomato. It is bigger than a standard hot dog, but I don’t think it’s so big as to require cutting in half, which Superdawg does for you in the box.

I wouldn’t have expected barbecue sauce on a sausage, but that’s basically what the special sauce is. And it works well with the flavors of the Whoopskidawg, roll and onions. The pickle spear is the odd man out here, and I set it aside to eat as a chaser — an old-school waitress once told me pickles aid in digestion. Overall, it’s a great sandwich: I’d eat this before I went with one of those bacon western burgers the fast food chains come out with every so often.

ActiveTrans.org has set up what seems like a great resource for Chicago bicyclists should you need it.

The Crash Support Hotline is a tool for bicyclists and pedestrians that have been in a crash. We provide resources and help determine the next steps after a crash; such as finding a lawyer, submitting property claims and even directing people to financial aid for victims of hit and run crashes.

People can call the Crash Support Hotline 24/7 and any missed calls will be returned within 24 hours. The hotline is currently being answered by staff, but we will soon be training several volunteers to field calls. If you are interested in volunteering, please contact Rebecca@activetrans.org.

Stumbling around the tighter turns of procrastination yesterday I came across an interview with my favorite local artist, Tony Fitzpatrick.

I see Tony as one of a very few and dwindling set of representatives of the Old Chicago. The Chicago that I believe in, but, really, never knew. Tony comes from a time when you could walk down most streets and, if a story wasn’t there in the flesh, the walls still had sharp enough memories to speak clearly about the shadows that cast past them not so long ago.

Now, most the building’s memories have been wiped clean or torn down. This city’s soul has become so cold it’s balls have shriveled right up tight against it’s belly, like two rotten prunes all shifty eyed and fearful of the heat they need to drop back down. Sure, you can still see Old Chicago’s nuts if you hunt around in pockets long enough, but this city just don’t dangle like it used to.

Tony’s art celebrates this city in a meter that rings true, from a time that was forever Chicago. Less polished, less preoccupied with futures, Tony is preserving our city like a stead, surly, architect, building a memory of Chicago from the same violent, vulnerable and pissed off primacies that forged it in the first place. And he’s one of the few still able to do this.

Stay plugged in to Tony’s work and hillarious stories that accompany them on his blog and be sure to check out his show “This Train” playing for the next two weeks at the Steppenwolf.

Last weekend was remarkable, one for the record books. Friday I got up at 6 in the morning and dawn patrolled with Trevor. We came home around 9:30am and toured through several New Glarus brews in honor of his *cough* 43rd birthday. We hit the Enigma, the Old English Porter, the Two Women Lager and the Golden Ale. We wrapped up our impromptu celebration with Dark Horse’s Perkulator, their dopplebock with coffee which seemed the proper elixir to get my head back in the working game for a while. Alas, the Perkulator’s power to inspire work is not as powerful as the brews wicked ass label would have you believe.

Like any good morning of drinks, this one inspired us to eat steaks for dinner. Trevor went home to wrangle his daughter for the afternoon and I hopped on my motorcycle for a visit to the Paulina Meat Market to pick up 4 prime new york strip steaks. Nobody gets cuts in Chicago like Paulina and nobody is as eager to charge you as Paulina either. Honestly though, if I’m going to get jacked for my meat (heh heh) I’d prefer to get jacked at Paulina. Their staff are consummate professionals, butchers with a great understanding of their product that are always willing to share that wisdom with their customers. And they’ve got the mustaches to prove it.

It’s hard for a fat alcoholic to stay focused in Paulina, the place is wall to wall of the finest cuts of meat you’re bound to find anywhere. Packaged in all kinds delicious manner. Someone needs to create a religion where Paulina is the reward for a life well lived. Of course, that “life well lived” would require plenty of time spent at Paulina in proper preparation for that sweet, sweet after life as well. So to help bide my time waiting for my number to be called I developed my shopping list into a respectable effort. In addition to the 4 new york strips, I would pick up 6 of their Jumbo Grilling Wieners, some bisquits to go with our dinner and, at Matt’s recommendation, a package of 6 veal cheeks.

The Jumbo Grilling Wieners were transcendental. The wiener is about the size of a baby’s arm, which is to say slightly smaller that John Holmes’ private collection. I shit you not, these wieners were at least 10″ long with about 3.5″ of girth. The flavor was of the finest beef I’ve had in a dog and the snap was audible. I don’t know who the wizard was that developed these Jumbo Grilling Wieners, but when I start my religion with Paulina as the after life that guy is probably going to have to be the first pope or at least get some kind of sainthood or a holy day or something.

I dropped off the steaks at Trevor’s and we each had a Jumbo Grilling Wiener (I just enjoy hearing that combination of words). Did I mention the snap on these things? Later that evening we enjoyed all the beauty that is a new york strip with our lovely brides under the fantastic summer night with a sultry soundtrack of Tejano music oompa-paing from Trevor’s neighbors.

Saturday I was up again with the sun to spend a lovely day of relaxation in the blistering summer heat smoking a pork shoulder. Something we’ve learned with these pork shoulders is that you definitely want to get boneless pork shoulders. The bone-in pork shoulder has too many layers of fat and other junk that makes it more challenging to pull. There’s enough fat in a boneless shoulder to keep your meat plenty juicy.

Sunday was a banner 4th of July as a bunch of us headed out to Winnemac Park for the best 4th of July celebration in the city. Amateur pyrotechnicians flooded the baseball diamonds to assault the skies with professional fireworks. There was nothing planned about this assault on the neighborhood and nothing regulated about it either. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate freedom than to stroll through a city park while literally hundreds of people indulge in illicit fireworks displays without any bother from police.

Monday I awoke from my long night of yelling at explosions to drop into the Wilson pool for the first time. 1 year of work and daydreaming finally paid off. I did eat some shit a couple times, but I managed to stay up at least as much as I fell. After we finished Dawn Patrolling Trevor dropped me off at the Fireside Lounge in Ravenswood to enjoy some delicious Arrogant Bastard Ale and a sandwich with our crew of delinquents. We spent a few hours putting sobriety in it’s place before hitting the Foster Street Beach. After a couple hours drinking delicious Daisy Cutter from cans and playing catch in the water we packed up our goodies and headed back to the Fireside for some more cocktails. After a few more beers we made a bee-line for Chicago’s best pizza, Pequod’s, and indulged our sun-satiated selves on a couple large pan pizzas (garlic, basil, onion and pepperoni on one and sausage, mushroom, giardinara on the other… definitely with a side of ranch, sucka).

Still not quite finished, we retired to Matt’s for some 12 Year Macallan with an ice cream chaser.

It was a banner weekend, my friends, the kind that reminds you just why you built that nervous system in the first place.

Wow, holy shit, all this was just a preamble to talk about the amazing meal we had last night. Remember those veal cheeks I picked up at Paulina on Friday? Me neither. Well, I finally got around to cooking those buggers Thursday night. And what an amazing treat it was. You could literally eat these these without teeth, you certainly didn’t need a knife.

Strange thing these veal cheeks. They’re about the size of a pancake when you get them, or, more specifically, the size of a 6 month old calf’s cheek. When you cook them they puff up into something more the size and shape of a small hamburger patty. At first they tend to get very hard, but over the 3 hours that you cook them they eventually turn into the most tender piece of meat your liable to come by.

Here’s the recipe I basically used courtesy of Ron Eade and the Ottowa Citizen. I skipped the juniper berries and replaced the veal stock with reduced chicken broth for no other reason than I didn’t have those ingredients. Essentially, it’s a beef bourgingon that’s a bit easier to make and much more tender. Imagine a pot roast that literally dissolves across your tongue and you’ve got a fairly close approximation of what this majestic little monster tastes like.

– Six veal cheeks, each about the size of a closed fist

– 1/3 cup (75 mL) olive oil

– Salt and pepper, to taste

– 3 1/2 cups (875 mL) of robust low-salt veal stock

– One small piece dark chocolate, about 7 grams

For the marinade:

– 1/2 large carrot chopped

– 1 medium onion, chopped

– 1 teaspoon (5 mL) dry thyme

– 1 large clove of good garlic, chopped

– 1 bay leaf

– 10 sprigs of Italian parsley, chopped

– One 750-mL bottle dry chardonnay

– 6 juniper berries

1. Place all marinade ingredients in a stainless steel saucepan; bring to boil and simmer 5 to 7 minutes to evaporate the alcohol. Cool to room tremperature, then immerse veal cheeks in marinate. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

2. At noon the next day, preheat oven to 300 degrees F (150 degrees C). Remove meat from marinade and strain to separate liquid and solids; reserve both. In a saucepan, bring liquid to boil and simmer until reduced to 1 cup (250 mL). Set aside.

3. Pat cheeks dry with paper towels, season lightly with salt, pepper, then lightly dust with all-purpose flour. Heat about 1/3 cup (75 mL) canola oil in a heavy cast-iron Dutch oven and brown cheeks well on both sides, working in batches if necessary to not overcrowd the pot. When browned, transfer cheeks to a plate and, in the same Dutch oven, saute reserved vegetables from the marinate for about 4 minutes.

4. In a large saucepan, warm veal stock to almost-boiling and toss in chocolate to melt; stir to combine. Return cheeks to the Dutch oven and nestle over the bottom, trying to not overlap. Add reduced marinade and veal stock just to cover and bake, covered, until meat is very tender when pierced with the tip of a paring knife, about 3 hours.

5. When done, carefully transfer intact cheeks to an ovenproof casserole with a lid, and set aside. Strain liquid into a clean saucepan (discard solids) and simmer to reduce to gravy consistency, stirring as necessary to avoid scorching.

6. About 40 minutes before serving, pour thickened sauce over cheeks to cover, and return to oven to reheat. Serve with side dishes that will take best advantage of rich sauce.

I suppose fear of running into Guy Fiorre is a solid reason.

We will overcome.

Chicago’s favorite beer brewing, god fearing, patriots Half Acre are at it once again, brewing a beer tribute to the everybody’s favorite tiger riding, mollusk licking, heathens WEEN! They’re pairing up with Shorts Brewing and Piece to make Freedom of ’78 a guava IPA in honor of Gene and Dean. And what’s more, to celebrate this and the unholy high holiday of Ween stopping back through Chicago they are offering a 15% discount to anybody with a ticket to the show.

So go bring your ticket to Half Acre, get loaded on the best beer in Chicago and dance your ugly self silly to the musical stylings of two of the finest degenerates still working in the music industry.

Amen.

This looks suspiciously hippie-like to me, but, regardless, I may roll down and check out New Belgium’s Tour de Fat at Palmer Square on Saturday. That is if I’m not too beat up from the Ween show the night before.

Shit, I still need to post the review of the Beer Hoptacular.

Holy crap, apparently it’s bike to work in here in Chicago. I suppose that means I should drag my ass out of bed and bike to work. Shit! Shit! Shit! Well, I’ll be happier once I do.

I may also go try and check out David Byrne talking at Daley plaza on the 18th.

Happy riding!

Well, I’m back from Belgium. The few remaining hairs on my head are properly blown back, my heart is stoking along a steady 100* from all the kindness of the many wonderful Belgians we met, and my liver is seriously pissed off at me, trying to show me who the boss is of this round, tubby, shithouse. I’ve got many stories to tell, and I will in the coming weeks, but in the meantime, hey, we’re back in the good old U.S. of A and there is no shortage of beer business to be had here in the land of poorly dressed thick necks.

At the top of the agenda is this weekend’s Beer Hoptacular. You might remember Matty’s mention of this from last month and the very lovely photo that accompanied it. Well the Hoptacular is now upon us and promises to be an event any serious beer lover would be foolish to miss.

Do the math: craft beer is blowing up, Chicago – with the likes of Half Acre, Metropolitan (holy crap have you tried the I-Beam yet? It’s their Alt beer and it’s awesome and, you lucky guy you, it’s on tap at Small Bar Logan right now) and all the fine things happening in the Logan Square area – is finally beginning its ascent to become the great beer city it always promised it could be. And now, in addition to all those gold standards, we’ve got this here Beer Hoptacular threatening a potential annual beer bacchanalia wherein fat, bearded, beer-loving beer-geeks can indulge all of their D&D-esque predilections into a stinking, ritualistic orgy celebrating that finest of cereal based intoxicants and plant bittered brews.

Come on! Seriously, what are you waiting for? Where else are you going to be able to drink your favorite beer while learning about home brewing and badgering your favorite local brewers with stupid questions all the while having your ears peppered with panelists discussing this fine titan of a beverage?

It’s a great time to be an alcoholic in Chicago, my friends. Why not come out an raise a glass to celebrate it?