Ringing in the Weekend Chi-Style

Growing up in Bumblefuck, OK, I came to associate Friday nights with a handful of things: Mom's homemade pizza (complete with a Bisquick crust and Potter's sausage), Dallas and Dukes of Hazzard (ahh, gotta love those 80s classics) and Channel 9 meteorologist supreme Gary England announcing, "It's Friday night in the big town!"

(Yes, he's the deity to which the terrible actress overplaying the tornado-terrified mother in the cellar from the local weather promo that The Daily Show, um, highlighted months and months ago.)

Anywho, so I got to experience a Friday evening in a real "big town" (sorry, Austin doesn't qualify), and...at the very least after this experience, I can now say I've been to a bar. (I have a picture to prove it, but I can't put it up yet since it's on the younger sister's camera, and she didn't bring the cable to hook her camera up to the elder sister's computer. As if, Gentle Reader, you're dying of anticipation to see proof that I was in a bar for the first time ever.)

Now that I think about it, though, Howl at the Moon may not have been my first bar. I recall entering the Aline Bar during the Aline Fair when I was in the sixth grade as the students in show choir sold balloons during the fair to raise money for a new sound system. Of course, the Aline Bar was more of a tavern, I suppose: It probably sold more cheap, crappy short-order food than beer, and I somehow suspect it closed by 9 at night.

Oh, I'll also say this now that I've had this experience: Chicagoans should never attempt to caterwaul about The Oasis. Aye, yes, one of the first dozen songs played (perhaps requested) while we were there was Garth Brooks' immortal (and Boeckman wedding reception standard) "Friends in Low Places." Sorry, Chicagoans (and tourists from even whiter bread states surrounding), but you're too damned Midwestern to do the song justice. And you probably haven't a damn clue what The Oasis is. So, umm, just stick to "Sweet Caroline," 'kay? Thanks!

This experience also proves one thing I never doubted: I'm not a night person, I have no life after the sun goes down, and I make a damn fine wallflower.

Dining on Devon
Before me and mes soeurs made our way to the karaoke-with-a-live-band joint, we'd hit Devon Avenue, the "heart" of the Indo-Pakistani community in Chicago. It was here back in 2006 that I had my first Indian feast--at the Zagat-rated Tiffin, no less. And it was to Tiffin we returned to introduce the younger sister to Indian feasting.

Poor Marie. She inherited Mum's sensitive digestive system, and it was only once we were seated that she shared with us that, well, she can't eat much garlic. And after describing some of the foods she's discovered she can't eat, I suspect she has issues with chiles as well. Bummer doesn't even begin to describe the disappointment and sorrow I felt at such a revelation. But dear Marie was a trooper and gamely tried a few of the dishes. She seemed to like the potatoes inside the samosa and the lamb seekh kabob that came with the appetizer sampler tray. She loved the naan, which doesn't surprise me at all; the girl could probably live on bread (although when she was about 3 or 4, she'd never it the stuff). Although the elder sister had originally planned to get the murgh shahi korma in lieu of her usual chicken tikka masala, which we'd planned to order for Marie, they wound up swapping dishes since the korma with its coconut cream sauce base was far better suited for a woman with a delicate digestive system than a tomato-y tikka masala.

Of course, I shocked both my sisters when my masala dosa appeared in all its 16-inch glory. I wound up ordering the dosa, even though I had wanted to try something different and can always enjoy masala dosa at Madras Pavilion at home, just in case the korma didn't work for Marie: the dosa, I figured, would work for her since she loves French crepes. The elder sister enjoyed the coconut chutney that came with my dosa, as well as the sambar. And of Tiffin's sambar I'll say this: It's practically an exact copy of the sambar I know and love from MP, so it was delightful to enjoy a good, veggie-stocked, spicy bowl of the stuff this far from home.

The korma was very, very good, and I probably could have eaten it easily. The tikka masala was an intriguing dish and a slightly different animal from the tikka masala I've had at Taj Palace and Indian Palace at home. I knew this already after the boys and I had it while vacationing in Chicago last summer, and I was excited to get a chance to revisit it so that I might determine with my newly acquired and still-growing knowledge of Indian flavors how it differs from the "usual" tikka masala.

As I'd noticed on last year's trip, the sauce is more orange than red, which suggests to me more cream or yogurt and not such a heavy reliance on tomato. And sure enough, with just one bite I think I determined the reason why: Tiffin's tikka masala has a definite but not strong taste of coconut to it, so I suspect in addition to the yogurt or heavy cream used in the sauce, some coconut milk is added. Now that I've formed this theory, I'm anxious to go home and whip up some in my own kitchen, throw in some of the light coconut milk I bought at Whole Foods several weeks back and see how things come out. Yup, it's another culinary misadventure in the making!

Eat Dessert First
Of course, Tiffin wasn't our first stop upon arrive on Devon. The elder sister took us to a sweets and chaat shop, King Sweets, because a friend had taken her there a time or two and she'd fallen in love with.... Well, I can't recall now how the elder sister described them, but she was quite fond of them. And she's quite fond of the ones stuffed with cream cheese.

Heh, turns out the elder sister is a lover of gulab jamons! Oh, how very delightful! Of course, in a sweets shop they're not presented in their bath of rosewater syrup as I'm used to seeing them presented at the restaurants back home. But they are still enfused with the syrup even as they sit on their trays in the cases. And sure enough, King Sweets has a variation stuffed with cream cheese. The elder sister bought a few of these, but I passed on trying them. For starters, I know how evil cream cheese is, plus, well, I know and love gulabs and preferred to save the calories for other things.

And boy oh boy were there other things galore for me to try! I bought two versions of the cake-like carrot halwa: one was just a basic while the other had a thin layer of frosting made of what I think we determined was cream cheese (yeah, I know). Both were quite tasty, and the elder sister deemed them quite delectable upon her first bite. I also scored a square of coconut burfi, although Kings' is more dense than the stuff we get at Gandhi Bazaar and had a pink layer to it.

After supper, we went back to the shop so I could score some more sweets to take home for the boys. Bought more carrot halwa (the plain), a square of chocolate burfi, a pistachio burfi squre for the husband, a serving of jabshi halwa (which I see on Google is also called habshi halwa) and a serving of ajmeri kalakand, or milk cake. I can't wait to get them home for us all to try--and for me to badly screw up while trying out recipes for them.

Wow, two new culinary misadventures in the making. Score!

Bargain Shopping
After spending time at the gym again yesterday, the three of us headed to State Street for some shopping. We started at Macy's, that abomination that has taken up residence in the grand old Marshall Fields flagship store. It's just not the same to go there now that it flies the Macy's flag; the romance is gone. But, hey, that didn't stop us from poking around for some bargains.

And I wound up with one that I have to admit I may wind up taking back before I head back to Midway on Sunday. It's a Calphalon five-quart enameled cast iron Dutch oven in the lovely chive color that I scored for $54, down from $129. I'm having buyer's remorse in part because, well, I'm not sure what I'd use it for, plus lugging it home is going to be a hassle (as if lugging it around Chicago yesterday afternoon was a picnic). And now that I've had a chance to see some reviews, I'm concerned it might chip, and nothing sucks more than a cheap bargain.

The elder sister took up to The Chopping Block in Merchandise Mart (where I probably could have spent hours exploring), and it was have a sale. Woohoo! I scored another Batali magic spoon (a buck cheaper than the ones at home, plus 20% off), a blade protector for my new chef's knife and a small giftie for the husband. The elder sister got a bamboo cutting board (shaped much like a surfboard that she plans to use as a cheese platter) and a trivet for a great price. The store carried Chicago Metallic bakeware but no deep-dish pizza pan, the one thing I'm looking to bring home (because wouldn't it be appropriate to get a deep-dish pizza pan from the alleged birthplace of deep-dish pizza).

We might have the opportunity to look more for the pan today. But for now, Gentle Reader, I must be going. The three Boeckman sisters are headed to a kickboxing class. It'll be my first in...three years, I think--so long as you don't count the twice- and thrice-weekly Combat sessions chez moi. The elder sister says the focus is on punches and upper body work, which is a bummer. My specific question to her was, "Is it like Tae Bo," which is a pathetic thing in my eyes. She responded in the affirmative. But I'm going nevertheless because, well, a third day on the treadmill just doesn't sound like fun.