Who Wants Seconds?

Let these food pics serve as a case study for doctors everywhere once I finally succumb to the gluttonous/glorious evils that I've consumed. Here are a few of the highlights from the past few months.

The Brittany Turbot with chanterelle mushrooms, sweet corn flan and bacon cider jus at NoMI, 800 N. Michigan. Katy and I ate here for our anniversary dinner and it did not disappoint. We scored one of the primo tables overlooking Michigan Ave and Water Tower Place and from there it was on. We let the our white haired/white gloved waiter (think Jeeves sans accent meets A-Team era George Peppard) do our ordering for us and he didn't steer us wrong. Besides looking great, my fish was cooked perfectly, and Katy's veal tenderloin was the kind of dish that R. Kelly writes ballads about. The foie gras stuffed quail appetizer was perfectly fine as well, although Katy and I came to the joint conclusion that foie gras is horribly overrated. While that proclamation may cause angry foodies to hurl their balled up ascots at me while doing a spit take with their craft beers, I stand by that statement like Elliot Spitzer's wife stands by her man. To me, it merely tastes like chocolate mousse mixed in with gristle, with a dash of mayo. I'd rather have an extra serving of this next dish...

The La Sphere. So Peppard comes out, slaps this dessert down on the table, which at the time resembled Epcot Center, and with a wry grin pours hot strawberry salsa on top of the white chocolate dome, melting it away ("Come back!") to reveal banana creme, peanut ice cream and more strawberries. I begin fanning myself like an old southern belle, Katy immediately smashes her face into the plate and starts licking up the melted chocolate and an overweight, mustachioed man from the 1920's at the table next to us immediately upends his table and cries, "Good Lord, I'll have two of what they're having!"

The Pork Belly Virmicelli soup at XOCO, 449 N. Clark. Pork belly, noodles, woodland mushrooms, zucchini, avocado and salsa. Rick Bayless can do no wrong and I won't hear otherwise. This is our favorite lunch spot in the city, hands down. Besides serving up the best tortas in town, he now seems to have cornered the soup market as well. Yet with his winning smile and finely manicured goatee, no one will ever confuse him with the Soup Nazi. More like the Soup Jesus, turning water into Pork Belly Virmicelli.

The deconstructed S'more at Graham Elliot, 217 W. Huron. An old classic made better with the addition of peanut butter ice cream. I love this spot. Creative, gourmet food made fun and comfortable. Aged cheddar risotto with Cheeze It's, truffled popcorn, and Bloody Mary oysters...there's a lot to love about this fat son of a bitch and his wacky creations.

The pumpkin pancakes at Big Jones, 5347 N. Clark. Topped with granola and creole cream cheese. I literally almost cry looking at this picture. I go to bed clutching a frayed, tear-stained print out of it, and then smooth out the creases the next morning, whispering words of affection and telling it that it will all be okay. Someday soon, we'll be together again. We even have our own song.

The "naan-wich" at Gaztrowagon, 5973 N. Clark or a food truck near you. They were out of the wild boar that everyone raves about, so I opted for the pork belly with pickled onions, which was great (lawd, that bread!), but paled in comparison to the veal picatta that I got on my second trip there a couple of weeks ago. Even Lily gave that one her two-tooth seal of approval.* It was more moist than (edited for family content). If Bayless has the best sandwiches in the city, this place is nipping at his Kenneth Cole Reaction wearing heels.

*This seal is relatively easy to achieve. Just ask her friend, "frozen peas".

The half chicken and frites at The Publican, round two. For the love of Chic-fil-A, just look at it. I should think that I hardly have to sell you on this. While Katy and I are generally of the same mind that chicken is wildly overrated (you're off the hook for now foie gras), this dish is certainly the exception to the rule.

The pizza pot pie at Chicago Pizza & Oven Grinder, 2121 N. Clark Street. We waited nearly 20 minutes to be seated at 4:30pm on a Saturday, and normally the wait can be up to an hour and a half. To tell you truth, I'm not sure that the wait is really warranted. Sure, the interior feels like you're the distinguished dinner guest of Bilbo Baggins, but I found the pot pie to be merely average and I didn't really care for the giant, uncooked mushrooms inside. Not terrible by any means, but with Peaquod's a stone's throw away, you can definitely do better.

Better? You mean like this giant garlic bread frisbee? I gotta give it to em'. Size really does matter. It doesn't necessarily make it taste better, but it does give it a certain awe factor that makes it both appealing and appalling at the same time. I was able to fashion a rugged looking football out of the leftovers which throws a nice, tight spiral, though it does leave your hands smelling a little garlicy.

Cue the Wayne's World Flashback Effects

What's Wayne's World? Is that like Elmo's World?

Since our last post back in October of 82', a lot has happened here at La Hacienda De Handfelt (translated as 'the two and a half bedroom apartment of de Handfelts). Well, not really, but relatively speaking it will surely seem that way since I'm going to cram 2 months worth of modest social activities into one post. Bullet points always seem like a good place to start in scenarios such as these. In other words, I'm in no mood for creative, or even logical segues.

-October saw hordes of out-of-town Handfelts descending upon the Windy City, taking the City of Broad shoulders and getting it into a virtual headlock, noogies included. First up was the San Diego clan, Leo and Mary, who were in town to visit Cousin (well, their daughter) Katie, who, by all accounts, is the "original Katie Handfelt". Never mind that their names are spelled differently, it's a semantics issue. We met up at Chicago Pizza & Oven Grinder, which appears to have been dropped into Lincoln Park from The Shire. Oddly shaped pizza pot pies were consumed before we headed over to get some late season ice cream at Annette's. Upon seeing so many young, virile* college students who reminded me of my rapid ascent towards old age and mortality, I consumed my Styrofoam bowl of chocolate frozen yogurt as fast as I could, in a vain attempt to achieve a Mach 5 level ice cream headache that would "make it all go away."

*I may have used the word 'virile' in a wrong, potentially awkward way right there.

Leo, Katy, Lily ("hello? Down here!"), some creepo, Katie's roommate Ally, Katie and Mary. A crew best not trifled with, to be sure.

Uncle Leo and Aunt Mary make their HHH debut with everyone's favorite photo accessory.

-Later that month (Halloween weekend for those of you playing "HHH Bingo" at home), Bernie and Chris came for a visit. Lily was fawned and feted upon, as that's actually Grandparent Law. Every time a grandparent ignores this law, a CSI gets cancelled. It's not only law, it's science. We were also able to fit in another trip to The Publican, and once again it was met with thunderous applause and flashing, the latter being done by me. Bernie and Chris were understandably nervous about letting me order for the table, but soon came to embrace the chicken, country ribs and pork belly like long lost relatives back from the war.*

*Calm down there Sally, food pics will be forthcoming in a later post. You know this man!

At The Publican with Bernie and Chris, where we ate like kings and queens. In fact, I banged my fist on the table numerous times, speaking in rich, deep tones and drinking out of goblet while wiping my ale stained beard on my sleeve and laughing at misfortune of others. (Because that's what I imagine kings did at large, gluttonous feasts.)

Wait, what? My head appears to be on a different body? Classic! I can really get behind this type of innocent tomfoolery.

-Fast forward the Handfelt VHS tape to November for a visit from Katy's friend Jen and her husband Chadwick (though for some reason he prefers "Chad", his given name), who came into town for the Iowa/Northwestern game. Also known as, "the start of Iowa's downward shame spiral". None-the-less, we had no idea the fate that would befall our black and gold heroes, so it was a blast all the same. We ended up tailgating in Evanston on a side street by ourselves (probably a good thing since I had unbearable B.O. that day) and had to huddle together inside a giant bison carcass to keep warm, but were thankfully saved by Katy's slow cooker BBQ pork sandwiches on French bread* and Chad's well worn gloves. You read can Jen's far more eloquent recap on their blog, found here. Same wit and charm without the drunken, esoteric rambling.

Jen and Katy, tailgating. Alone and cold. Not pictured: me desperately trying to not pee my pants while Chad offers stern words of encouragement.

Jen and Chad's rental car.* Respect the ginger stache! (But did it blog a 'Mustache Diaries'?)

*LOL WUT? J/K.

What else?

• Katy got bangs.
• Lily turns 11 months in 2 days. She'll likely be walking before the next update.
• Go see 127 Hours and Black Swan - out December 3rd. Not just because I'm working on them (though c'mon, do me a solid), but that they're two of the best movies of the year. Black Swan will blow your mind. In the next weeks I'm seeing True Grit, The Fighter, The Company Men and Blue Valentine. I'll have wholly original Top 10 list posted by the end of the year. Mark your calendars! (In pencil. And write it really light.)
• Lots of good stuff coming up this week: the return of the HHH Hotcake Showdown; a new feature where we cook the whole Rick Bayless cookbook, a la Julie & Julia, but in super slow motion; FOOD PICS, a tale of two Thanksgivings, and of course, a big ole' Lily update. I have some other relatively decent ideas (and jokes) that I'm tossing around, but either way there should be a lot more content up on a regular basis. Try not to pee your pants like I almost did at the Iowa game.
• Remember to bookmark the old/new site. http://thehandfelthappyhour.blogspot.com. Lily and Carm are working diligently to procure our old website address, but until then, just bask in the nostalgia of the .blogspot era.

Drop the Drugs, Pick up the Blogspot

So last Friday, I was alerted by Katy's father that HHH as we know it, more specifically, www.handfelthappyhour.com, had ceased to exist. Confused and somewhat aroused, I checked the site only to find the dreaded 'Server not found' page flipping me the proverbial Internet bird. Given the millions of people that check the site on a daily basis, it's rather shocking that no one had brought this to my attention earlier. Regardless, it looks as if the site is now registered to some lady in Australia.* I can only imagine that the site name expired and some savvy, win-at-all-costs entrepreneur (like Patrick Duffy) snatched it up right away, knowing that it would clearly be worth millions in the near future.

What they didn't count on was being a huge cheap ass and refusing to buy it back. I instead bought www.thehandfelthappyhour.com, but alas, I can't figure out how to work that with Blogger. So for now, due to my incompetence and shoddy record keeping, we've reverted back to the original http://thehandfelthappyhour.blogspot.com. A bit verbose to say the least, but I'm a verbose man, so it's only befitting. Besides, that's what the "Bookmark" button is for right?

*You would think I would have a record of when/where I registered the site name with right? If you said yes, you don't read this blog enough, as you clearly don't know me.

Lily and her team of crack baby detectives are on the case.