It was our last meal.
Our last official outing as a couple with no kids and I was determined to make the most of it. S and I headed into Chicago for breakfast at the much lauded Fox and Obel, we split orders of their challah orange french toast and the scrambled eggs with bacon and each had a caramel latte. Utter decadence--my nine month pregnant belly didn't have much room in it to store the food. Reading in the big windows overlooking Illinois Street was fun, we luxuriated in just taking our time knowing we had no agenda except to enjoy ourselves.
S was so good to me, letting me do all my favorite things: shopping along Michigan Avenue, reading books and skulking through the gossip weeklies at Borders, and finally, an early dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, Chicago Pizza and Oven Grinders.
Its tiny write-up on Metromix nowhere NEAR does it justice. I have a friend in Delaware known to make the trip out here just for this meal. They have something called "Med Bread," their pizza dough covered in olive oil, herbs, spices and Parmesan cheese and baked so that it hangs two inches off the plate they serve it on. Then there's the small mountain of salad with their two homemade dressings served in small silver pitchers--creamy garlic and sweet poppy seed. I personally enjoy dipping the bread in the dressings, weird but delicious.
And the pizza. OH the pizza. It's like nothing you've ever experienced, more like pizza pot pie then anything else. You choose the crust (white or wheat, go with white), the sauce (veggie or meat, go with veggie...it's much better), and whether you'd like big button mushrooms baked in it. (Go with your gut on that one.) 30 minutes later, the waiter comes out with a 1 lb. bowl topped with a layer of crust, flips it over on his oven mitt onto your plate and splits in two. Voila, pizza-pot-pie oozing all over with utter deliciousness.
Only I would take a picture of it, documenting it for posterity.
Bring cash, they don't take anything else, and go early. Really, really early.