Big Star

Looking for clean design? Exposed bulbs, pale green walls, large, hip wooden booths? Searching for a honky-tonk? Blaring country music, an encyclopedic selection of cheap bourbon and whiskey? In the mood for trendy Mexican food? Sonoran hot dogs, doused in mayo, guacamole, hit with a fiery touch of chile peppers, guacamole studded with julienned radish to cool the burn, or potato and chorizo tostadas smeared with black bean paste? Just go to Big Star. A fun, crowded, loud, easy going bar with a walk up window for those addicting tacos (also available in tender al pastor with pineapple or tinga, a slightly bland chicken thigh sprinkled with mild queso fresco). Should you want to sample a Kentucky Bourbon from a certain distillery, they probably have it at a reasonable price, but cash only, please. And be prepared to wait, especially for a booth (there are only a few). Instead have a seat at the bar, get comfortable elbowing your neighbor, listen to the roots music, and start picking bourbons and tacos. Ah, life's simple pleasures.

Open Letter Concerning the Annual War on Christmas

Dear Fellow Jews and Allied Non-Christians (Atheists, Muslims, staff of MSNBC), I hope this missive finds you well. I know my usual yearly means of communication is Priest's blood on sheep's vellum but you'd be surprised how difficult that was to obtain this year, despite our nefarious organization's reach and power. Yes, you all no doubt know why I write. It's time again to take up arms in our most sacred mission, the War on Christmas. It's well into October so we have approximately two weeks before that radio station plays nothing but Christmas music and department store Santas get their suits out from under the pyramid of empty beer cans. Recall in years past we undertook such missions as ensuring major corporations spit in the eye of Jesus-fearing people everywhere by suggesting that "Happy Holidays" was a bit more inclusive than "Merry Christmas", and who can forget that perennial favorite, suggesting creches and other displays of Christmas be moved from public property or at the very least, a small nod to other holidays be permitted nearby. Alas, often we have been found out and thwarted by such fair-haired America-loving defenders of Christ such as Sean Hannity, Michelle Malkin and the mouth-breathers who inhabit National Review's subterranean lair. No matter how we try to operate in secret, they still feel a need to shine a dastardly light on our efforts, heroically attempting to remind America that it is indeed Chistmastime. As if anyone who doesn't celebrate Christmas could ever forget, ever.

The Social Network, or, Is Mark Evil?

The movie tells a compelling story. Viewers see the spark of genius at work, the creation of an original idea. Who, exactly, creates that idea is up for debate. Through a nebulous two hours, we are given a path by watching Mark Zuckerberg develop the Facebook in his dorm room and later, squirm through two depositions as Mark is being sued. Mark is made to look like a tragic villain, almost Grecian in the way his life played out (he's known to enjoy epic Greek poetry, so maybe this was an allusion to that). But the director, Aaron Sorkin, admitted in interviews that the storytelling aspect was more important than the facts, which vary slightly from the book the movie is based on (the book's factual account is disputed by Facebook as well). So we cannot take either the book or movie as gospel, as it's told primarily by the Winklevoss twins and Eduardo Saverin, three people who we know comparatively little about in the story, except for the fact that they were losers compared to Mark, the eventual CEO of Facebook and billionaire. Consider Mark as someone who nurtured the idea. The idea may not have been entirely his brainstorm, but he built that idea into a multibillion dollar website that's changed the way we interact online. Convinced the idea for the Facebook is his, Mark does what he thinks he needs to do to protect it. Nothing sinister about that.

Westboro Baptist Church

The Supreme Court has recently agreed to hear an appeal concerning whether the Westboro Baptist Church was within its rights to protest the funeral of a marine with signs such as "God Hates Fags". The Church, primarily comprised of the family of the leader, Fred Phelps, believes that war dead are America's punishment for tolerating homosexuality. Therefore, they protest military funerals. The father of the dead soldier sued for damages based on harassment and mental anguish. After winding its way through the legal system, the Appeals Court found for the church based on the First Amendment. This is the correct decision, and the Supreme Court should and likely will uphold the decision. Though reasonable people may find the speech of the Church members horrifying and disgusting, their right to speak must be recognized, protected and indeed cherished.

The Bristol

This was my second visit to the Bristol, and both times I found a wonderfully well-rounded experience. The food, service, and atmosphere came together to create a very satisfying meal. The only quibble is a policy of no reservations. Since the Bristol seems to be waning slightly in popularity, it wasn't an issue at 7:30 on a Saturday night, despite a small dining room and a crowd that tends to linger as a result of leisurely course pacing and a wide variety of small plates served one or two at a time. That small room is cozily lit and dominated by a long communal table which ends in a blackboard wall, upon which is scribbled some of the specials which are also listed on the menu. The menu is made up of several categories; snacks, pastas and main courses, as well as the option of a cheese board. From the approximately ten snacks, duck fat fries were tasty and served with a complex, not-too-sweet ketchup, monkey bread with dill butter was a bit of a chore, too dense once past the tender, salty mounds of the muffin-like bread, and a flatbread with fromage blanc, bacon hunks and melted onions was fantastic, comforting and rich, though in need of some acidity or bitterness. The shining dish of the night came from the pasta section, shrimp ravioli in cream sauce with trumpet mushrooms. The ravioli resembled dumplings, but much more complicated in flavor. They also seemed to be popular, as the waitress mentioned there were only a few portions left. For the last dish, roast chicken atop miniature dumpling dough and a spicy celery-raddish mixture. The chicken was well-roasted, but this dish lacked the dimensions of some of the others. Roast chicken does seem to be all but required on gastro-pub menus, but it could be played with, re-imagined. Service was excellent, plates were cleared and replaced between each course, recommendations were on target, and the host made me feel as if I was a regular. The Bristol is quickly becoming my favorite gastro pub in Chicago, maybe even one of my favorite restaurants.

Cafe Sushi

Cafe Sushi in Old Town is an unassuming little BYOB sushi restaurant. It has an eerie blue glow inside a stuffy, small space and a nice patio fronting Wells St. Beef gyoza were a standout; meaty, not overly greasy and good sized. A sashimi sampler of various fish tasted fresh and also featured larger than average portions. The remainder of the food (edamame, miso soup) was standard. The issue was the service. It started out slow and ended even slower. Though large groups were clearly sitting and drinking, one large maki order seemed more than the two sushi chefs could handle, resulting in an hour wait for two rolls and sashimi. In a city with many BYOB sushi restaurants with few differences, Cafe Sushi's service puts it towards the bottom.