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.

Things We Like: Lily's Favorite Foods Edition

Goulash coma.

Having now been an active member of society and the Handfelt Democracy for over nine months and ten days, our cheeky daughter, Lily Bryn, has already cultivated a particular set of likes (many) and dislikes (few), with her preferences often times stated with a series of excited yelps, arm circles, giggling and table slapping. As such, she takes after her father in that regard.

Let's take a look at the tale of the tape for our little cheeky monkey:

Food: The kid is a human garbage disposal. Ever since she made her initial foray into solids with that slimy, green avocado, she hasn't looked back. She tried her hand at the baby food game for a few weeks, but quickly became bored with it, demanding something more substantive. So far, she has liked nearly everything that we've ladled onto her tray.

Some early favorites include: green beans, fried plantains, refried beans, smoked turkey breast, mango, kiwi, pita and hummus, cheese, peas, toast with apple butter, Cheerios, pancakes, spicy Thai noodles, fried rice and Greek yogurt. As you can see, she's got very worldly tastes. Really there's not much that she doesn't like, so long as it's not too hot (Hot face!) and she can gum it into submission, as teeth haven't yet entered the picture.

As parents, we've given her about everything that's allowable under parental law - no peanuts, honey or cow's milk - even letting her enjoy a couple bites of ice cream a few weeks ago. (You could almost literally see a light bulb go off in her head when she took that first bite.) Her palette has remained relatively free of fast food and sugar, but that's mostly because of whole no teeth thing and that we don't really eat fast food ourselves...I'm sure the McDonalds and Grilled Cheese phase will come soon enough. For now I'm just enjoying the fatherly pride of watching my daughter gleefully scoop up handfuls of Thai food and finish all of her vegetables, even if only about half of it actually makes it into her mouth.

More Lily pics, even if they aren't food related:

I'm taking my talents to Montrose Beach.

Easter Bunny or the Flying Nun? Yawn.

Bath time for Toonces.

Hawk Time!

Having not been to an Iowa football game at Kinnick since my brother's bachelor-party-gone-awry back in 2002 ("borrowing" a feather-covered grill, male spooning, Red Bull, angry strippers), I decided that we were well overdue to experience a little HAWK TIME* up close and personal, amidst a sea of black and gold. Living outside of Iowa, tickets were harder to come by (at a reasonable price at least) than a kidney donor, but thanks to former Iowa Hawkeye Gray Team walk-on Eric Peters, I was able to secure a few pairs of tickets to the Iowa/Ball State game for myself, the woman I married, the brother whose bachelor party served as a After School Special about the dangers of strip clubs, and the object of his affections (no, not a stripper), his wife Gretchen.

I demanded in a rather loud and booming voice that we go tailgating before the game, so arrangements were made to meet up with Justin and Jamie Miller before the cock crowed three times, or around 7:30am, whichever came first. Once there, I began the arduous process of making four Bloody Marys, which took upwards of six hours. This may sound extreme, but each of the four recipients of the Bloody Marys agreed with nods and guttural grunts that yes, they were indeed worth it.

While there was no argument that the Bloody Marys and Coors Lights (or as Justin referred to them, "Rocky Mountain Piss") were cooperating with our souls, the same cooperation could not be coaxed out of Mother Nature. She was a wily temptress, often times chilling our bones with her wind gusts or raining down on us like a woman scorned. At first it merely ranged from 'hardly noticeable' to 'mild nuisance', but by game time the rain had really started to fall. Despite this, the rain did nothing to dampen our spirits, nor the will to win of our beloved Hawkeyes.

The Hawkeyes took out their aggressions on the clearly inferior Ball State Cardinal team, who appeared both overmatched and woefully Caucasian. After the third quarter, the score sat at 35-0 and the rain began to fall even harder as if to mock Ball State and all they stand for, both athletically and academically. It was around this time that we decided to part ways with Kinnick Stadium and head for the shelter of our four-wheeled vehicle, sitting atop a grassy knoll.

We bid adieu to the stadium, the team, the empty Bloody Mary cups and the tailgating lifestyle and headed back to Cedar Rapids, where Lily was enjoying some solid COUSIN TIME with Griffin and Sienna, under the careful watch of my parents, Ron and Susan. A few plates of goulash ("classic Iowa!") and cans of Rocky Mountain Piss later, it was time to put to bed our children, along with our dreams of becoming Iowa Hawkeye season ticket holders. While that notion was bittersweet, the Stripper Union of Iowa surely breathed a collective sigh of relief.

*HAWK TIME of course, refers to the excitement surrounding an impending Iowa game, and must be texted or written in all caps, or if spoken, yelled obnoxiously. HAWK TIME has also come to signify and an all important events, football related or otherwise. (See: the birth of Lily - "HAWK TIME!"; finding out that Katy is making taco pizza - "HAWK TIME!"; finding out that Potbelly's now carries Sunchips - "HAWK TIME!", etc.)

Me and the missus, pre-poncho weather (notice the poncho in Katy's hand though...a troubling bit of foreshadowing!)

Sarah, Gretchen and Katy. Someone in the background already has their poncho on. Oh snap, look out ladies!

Jamie, Gretchen and Katy. The poncho seal has been broken!

Cory (w/poncho) receives either a nipple flick or a gang sign from Justin Miller. Knowing Justin's background, it was probably both.

COUSIN TIME with Sienna and Lily, as they admire each other's beads.

Dinner with the Chungs: The Publican

Date night with the Chungs at The Publican, 837 W. Fulton Market. Family style meats and imported, $26 beers (that one was Jami's, so John made sure to order some cheapies - relatively and loosely speaking- to lower the median price a bit). It was all very tasty, although my favorites had to be the pork belly, country style ribs (not the BBQ kind) and farm chicken with frites. The beer was all good too...so good that you have to remind yourself to look at the price before ordering. They sit you at either a giant communal style table (Where is my goblet?) or like we are here...in a trough-like pen. Sort of a Medieval Times for the foodie set if you will. Oh yes, I will.

Pork belly, meet my belly. My belly is much bigger and will look even larger after it eats you.

Taqueria Throwdown: El Norte

We're back with another edition of the Taqueria Throwdown. A feature so popular that you probably don't even remember it existed! So strap on your gluttony sacks, grease up your mullet and get ready to get taco punched in the babymaker!*

*I have no idea what any of that sentence means.

Round 2: El Norte, 5600 N. Ridge Ave, Chicago

Background: El Norte, located about 3 blocks from our place and a block from Lily's daycare, is our latest 'go to' takeout restaurant on the weekdays, replacing Thai stalwart Ben's (no relation) as our most frequented dive. With it's tattered awning, 24 hour service and aura of El stop seediness surrounding it, you'd think this place would be public enemy #1 of health inspectors everywhere, but oh muchacho, you would be oh so wrong (and racist!). El Norte is a damn gem of a place. A place that serves up steak tortas that will make you curse your boring Caucasian ethnicity and a chicken taco salad that would challenge the Amercanized (and bastardized) version to a old fashioned cock fight (Chickens people! Chickens!). Viva El Norte!

Tacos: Though the torta is our fallback, for the purposes of this column, we sampled three of their tacos. Steak, chicken and al pastor (pork).

Steak: You can NOT go wrong with a steak taco from this place. Not quite on the level of their steak torta, but GED. Good enough dude. And then some. Served with pico de gallo, lettuce and invisible high fives. 4 orders of fries.

Chicken: This too was very good, although with chicken, you pretty much know what you're gonna get. This was that good, pulled chicken...nice and tender like my affections. A solid choice for the safe crowd. 3.5 orders of fries.

Al Pastor: This was one was served with cilantro, a HHH arch rival. Despite it's soapy presence, I enjoyed this taco and found it's taste to be different and charming. Katy, on the other hand, was in no mood for this sort of ethnic explosion and immediately expressed her distaste. While I disagreed, I appreciated her candor and honesty. She's a woman of principle and while I may not agree with her here, dammit if I don't respect that. 4 orders of fries (Ben). 1 order of fries (Katy).

The taco trio, from the top: Steak, the divisive al pastor and chicken (bawk bawk).

For the uninitiated, ladies and gentlemen, I give to you the steak......TORTAAAAAAA!

A Cheese-y Vacation Up North

To close out the summer (seriously, where did it go? No really, I demand an explanation and I can't seem to get one), we packed our portmanteaus and diaper bags and headed a few hours north towards Lake Geneva, settling upon the quaint little village of Delavan. We rented a 3 bedroom hacienda that was positioned mere feet from the lake, although the unspoken laws of private property didn't allow us to go actually go down to said lake as often as one would hope. None-the-less, the fridge was stocked with cold beer, traffic was but a distant memory and Blackberry service was sketchy at best.

Goodbye Chicago. Hello Wisconsin.

We were joined on this little getaway by my parents, Ron and Susan, along with Katy's parents, Harry and Cindy. Their motivations were as clear as the lake water...to spend as much time with Lily Beans as humanly possible. Given her pleasant demeanor, poofy cheeks and Vivian Ward-esque laugh, this was deemed to be perfectly acceptable.

The whole week proved to be the perfect remedy to our Big City Blues, as we recharged our batteries on beautiful weather, Wisconsin ales, Katy's taco pizza, Pandora's Jimmy Buffet station, morning jogs and evening bonfires.

Of note, we rented a pontoon boat about midway through the week and took it out on Lake Geneva. This proved to be a huge hit with Lily, who was previously unfamiliar with the physics of boats, but came away with a deep appreciation and unabiding love for sailing vessels and really just life at sea in general. The boat, along with the Delavan petting zoo*, both qualified as "game changers" for our fuzzy haired little tike.

Katy and I were also able to sneak away for a "date night" in Lake Geneva, where we were able to indulge our inner foodies at the sublime (and well researched) Medusa's. The restaurant was small, dark and cozy, the service impeccable. I opted for the lamb chops, which proved to be a much better decision than that time right after college when I tried to substitute baked beans for ground beef in a lasagna recipe. Katy had the veal medallions. Both were served with mashed potatoes, corn and healthy dose of "OMG!"

After dinner and a few glasses of vino, we went to Baker House bar, which was a pretty nifty little bar located in an old Victorian house, where the wait staff were dressed as flappers and dapper Dan's and the martinis had more kick than a coked up mule. They even had fedoras and other flamboyant headwear for customers to borrow, along with a tap dancing waitress. While this all sounds like it could have veered into 'unbearably cheesy' at the drop of a cloche hat, it was actually pretty neat. I refrained from doing any taps myself, but had to fight a strong urge to talk like a 1920's newsie.

The rest of the trip was more of the same. Sleeping, biking, walking, shopping, eating, drinking, golfing and many a Piggly Wiggly run, all built around copious fawning over Toonces.

It was the cat's pajamas I tell ya old boy! (Twirls mustache, bites into oversized turkey leg, goes to sleep without bath)

*It was here that I found out that goat's really freak me out. Much moreso than they do even my 8 month old daughter.

Cancel the DNA tests. She's definitely her father's daughter.

Ron: "Let's move this along. I'm going through Piggly Wiggly withdrawl."

The lamb chops at Medusa's. My keyboard is wet with tears as I type this, knowing that these have long been digested.

A lesson in happiness.

Katy, Lily and a scary goat. Those things have agendas, trust me.