Buca di Bobday

Last night Bob, Courtney, Oliver, Melissa, James, Cathy and Dan and I celebrated Bob’s 31st birthday at Buca di Beppo. My stomach is still celebrating.

We were sat down near a large, framed photo of Frank Sinatra, whom James referred to as “the Godfather” several times throughout the evening. James and Cathy treated the rest of us to dinner as a belated Christmas present, and their generosity was both welcome and infinite.

On the ride over I got to sit in the back seat with my favorite baby buddy (and my favorite buddy, baby), Oliver James John Neville. Mostly we played with his little toy remote control, with all of its noises and flashing lights. Oliver likes to put it up to his ear and babble into it as if it’s a phone. Totally adorable.

First course of the evening was Buca’s signature Caesar salad and a piping hot slab of garlic bread with mozzarella. Delicious.

And then came the dinner courses. We got the classic spaghetti and meatballs, with Buca’s famous softball-sized meatballs. (Oliver enjoyed his little slices of meatball very much.) The ravioli with meat sauce also made an appearance, along with another old favorite, the manicotti. Melissa also got a delicious macaroni rosa with twisty pasta and succulent chicken. (You said it. If it was a chicken, I’d bread it.)

Dan also ordered what turned out to be the superstar of the evening: chicken cannelloni. Look at that! It was amazing. Finely ground chicken sausage, cheeses and sauces. Excellent.

Bob “went to the bathroom” but was actually sneaking off to secretly order the Dolce Platter. It arrived with tiramisu, a sledgehammer-sized slab of cheese cake covered with hazel nuts and raspberry sauce, a mountain of double-layer chocolate cake and some kind of lemon tart thing that I can best describe as “lemon pot pie.”

Our gluttony was the stuff of legend; Bob thinks we finally topped the sheer idiocy of eating that happened on our first trip to Buca all those years (and all that cholesterol) ago. I don’t think. I know. Can’t wait to do it again. (When the cheesecake was gone, I had James give me a scoop of chocolate cake and asked him to rub it around in what was left of the raspberry sauce. It was sexual dinnercourse.)

The Borgelt contingent and I headed back to the Nevilles’ house after James and Bob made a pit stop at The Liquor Barn. I waited in the car with Courtney and Oliver. Oliver, who as always behaved like a champ during dinner, was falling asleep now in his car seat. But even though his little eyes were closed, he stuck his little hand out from under his little green blanket and held my finger while he slept. Talk about melting your heart. A few minutes later — his eyes still closed — he put his little remote control on his shoulder and rested it just below his ear as he slept away for the rest of the ride home.

Bob introduced us to Guitar Hero, which rocked our socks off. I was defeated twice by Cheap Trick’s “Surrender”; despite my best efforts, I was the evening’s Guitar Zero. Bob could rock it like Hendrix with his eyes closed. James also took to it very quickly and rocked us all with a wide variety of selections. Dan, Cathy and Courtney also had much success.

And that was Bob’s one-day-later birthday extravaganza. My deepest thanks to the Borgelts and the Nevilles for dinner and dessert.

True Story

Our waiter at Buca looked like Clark Kent. Very tall, black hair, reporter glasses. Dan and I kept saying “Clark” when he was nearby, and we quietly hummed the Superman theme when he was at the table. If he didn’t acknowledge us, it was only because he was trying to maintain his secret identity.

Kimi’s and Doug, and Kimmet

Last night my favorite fellow field-tripper Melissa and I hopped on over to Kimi’s Asian Bistro on Blankenbaker for food by Kimi’s and music by Kimmet and Doug.

Kimi’s has a warm, intimate atmosphere with lovely Asian decor and, most importantly, reasonable prices. We were initially placed pretty far from the stage, but Melissa asked the kind gentlemen who’d sat us down if we could move closer to where the music would be. He obliged by giving us the best seat in the house, right up front by the chairs that would soon be home to the talented derrieres of Louisville’s “famous duo,” a moniker given to them by the sign on the door that was jokingly referenced many times throughout the evening.

Melissa ordered grilled hibachi chicken ($6); I got grilled hibachi shrimp ($7.50). The food arrived not long at all after we’d finished our delicious salads, and we were both impressed by the portions and the taste. Both dishes came with a heaping mound of fried rice and big pile of grilled veggies. I also ordered a Mississippi roll ($9), which had spicy crab and avocado in the middle with lightly scorched crawfish and spicy sauce on top. Unique and very delicious.

By this time Kimmet and Doug had taken the stage, beginning their first set with a gorgeous take on James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain.” If you haven’t seen these guys before, I suggest you do so as soon as possible. (And thanks to Melissa for turning me on to them; she’s been one of their biggest fans and supporters from the beginning.) Doug is bald, bold and hilariously irreverent with an acoustic guitar talent that’s nothing less than incendiary; his fingers are like fireworks going off all over the strings and he’s equally adept at folk, pop, rock and blues. And rap. (More on that later.) The guy is fiercely talented.

So, too, is Kimmet Cantwell. I find it really cool that her last name is “Cantwell”; “cantar” is Spanish for “to sing,” so her name is basically “Kimmet Sing-Well.” And boy, does she. I’ve rarely heard a voice so versatile; from song to song (and sometimes within a song) she does so many different things with her voice. It’s mesmerizing. She’s not afraid to take the vocal to an unexpected place, and the pay-off is always worth the risk. And it doesn’t hurt that she’s impossibly gorgeous. Stick Kimmet in a room with Kay Hanley and Nina Gordon and she’d rock just as hard and look just as good doing it as the chick singers I’ve been rocking out to for as long as I’ve been loving good music.

The covers ranged from Joni Mitchell and James Taylor to Prince and Pearl Jam, with a healthy dose of their own originals sprinkled in for good measure. Their vocal harmonies are perfect and effortless. They play a lot around town; do catch them if you can.

Later in the evening I ordered the dastardly delicious banana tempura, which was basically a banana lightly fried in a crunchy tempura shell with two scoops of ice cream and a little chocolate drizzle on top. Kimmet asked what it was and I offered her a bite, but she declined. Which was fine, because that left more for me and Melissa, even though I couldn’t coax Melissa to have more than a bite. Which left more for me. Which was just fine.

Kimmet and Doug have a wonderful rapport with each other and the audience. At one point she said something about my fork skills, since I was apparently tapping my fork on the top of my hand during one of the earlier songs. During a breakdown in “Cecilia” she pointed at me and said, “Fork solo!” I gladly obliged.

Another fun bit of the evening was Doug’s fascination with that Rap Cat commercial. Between (and sometimes during) songs, he could be heard doing the “Meow meow meow-meow meow meow meow-meow” and making utterly convincing record-scratching sounds on his guitar. When Kimmet scolded him for saying “fuck” too much, he gestured toward the Japanese owners and said, “They don’t understand me anyway.”

A big time was had by all. Mucho thanks to Kimi’s for the excellent food, Kimmet and Doug for the impeccable music, and Melissa for being the best field trip buddy a guy could ever ask for.

Emergency Monday Morning Update

My co-worker Amanda was pulling charts near my desk this morning and started humming something that sounded familiar. I said, “Is that Rap Cat?” It was. And she was mortified.

Chicago!

And now I will tell you about my weekend trip to Chicago.

First of all, a massive thanks to Greg for being a fearless and excellent host. The excellent is inherent. We’ll get to the fearless in a minute.

Greg had me call him when I got on his street, so that he could wait outside and hop in my car and drive around with me until we found a decent parking space. I missed him the first time and had to loop around again, causing Greg to walk about a block. (Sorry, buddy.) We found a sweet space not even half a block from his building.

Since it was too late to really do anything, Greg dialed up the good folks at Giordano’s and ordered one of their finest deep-dish pizzas. We hopped in Greg’s truck and were off to pick up our sausage and pepperoni pie. I was impressed by the considerable heft of its weight in the box. When we got back to Greg’s place we had a 2006 Magician Movie Double Feature of The Prestige and The Illusionist and then watched a bit of The Godfather before I got too sleepy to continue.

The pizza was amazing. Thick, tasty crust buried under a heaping mound of sausage and pepperoni, buried under a heaping pile of melted cheese, buried under a hearty sauce. We ate on it for the next two days.

On Saturday we took the train to a play called Fat Pig, by a writer I like named Neil LaBute. At his worst he’s pretty terrible, but at his best he’s mean-spirited in the “teach your characters a lesson” kind of way that Flannery O’Connor is. Anyway, the play is about an image-obsessed businessman who works with lots of other image-obsessed people but starts dating a woman who’s overweight, and has trouble coming to terms with how he’s afraid his co-workers will react. The acting was amazing, even though the play itself ended a little too ambiguously. Some of you might be familiar with LaBute’s film In the Company of Men, which is difficult to watch but recommended. (It stars Aaron Eckhart, who’s been discussed a lot on this very site because of his recent casting as Two Face in the next Batman movie.)

By the time we got out of the theater, the blizzard had begun. Sharp, painful little shards of ice were mixed in with the biggest snowflakes I’d seen since Denver all those years ago, when my airplane was the last one allowed to leave the Denver airport before it was shut down for days. Greg and I had to walk several blocks in this dastardly downpour, giving me my first true taste of harsh Chicago winter. Greg, an old pro by now, didn’t even notice. (Except when the falling ice felt like it was cutting into our faces, of course.) Note to self: never go to Chicago without a warm hat.

More walking happened on the way back from the train, and by the time we got back to Greg’s apartment the streets were lost under a dangerous layer of ice and slush and rapidly drifting snow. And yet, we battled on. Hopping into Greg’s truck, we drove to Cafe Bolero, an amazing little Cuban restaurant in Greg’s neighborhood. I got the chicken milanesa, which is kind of like a Cuban chicken parmesan. It was the largest piece of breaded chicken I’d ever seen, with two giant slices of ham on top of that, with cheese melted on top of the ham. Top it off with a tomato-based sauce on top, throw two big mounds of white rice and some roasted plantains on the side, and you’ve got one of the best and biggest meals your belly will ever need. Truly excellent.

By the time we’d finished dinner and headed back to Greg’s apartment, the blizzard was getting ever worse. (In fact, I didn’t know if I’d even be able to leave by weekend’s end.) We wanted to check out the Cupid Players at Improv Olympic, but the show was at 10:30. Greg called several cab companies to no avail, so we ended up walking in more blizzard to get to a spot where we could hopefully grab a cab. (By this time I’d added another layer of clothing which included a hooded sweatshirt. Take that, blizzard!) We waited for about 15 minutes. Our pants were soaking wet and it was freezing. We watched cars slip and slide, especially a van that almost creamed some parked cars. I was honestly ready to give up. Greg said we’d head back if a cab didn’t arrive within another couple of minutes, and lo and behold, here came a cab. We got to Improv Olympic just in time, which was especially impressive considering that the cabbie dropped us off a couple of blocks (and on the wrong side of the street) too early. Despite agility that would make ninjas jealous, Greg’s foot and leg got more than a little ice puddled as we made our way.

It was a musical show, packed with hilarious songs and superbly silly performances by the cast. I was way impressed. After the show we caught another cab back to Greg’s neighborhood. I didn’t have enough cash to help Greg make change, so the cabbie left us in the car while he went into a gas station to get some cigarettes and bring Greg his change. That’s probably not legal, but nobody tried to steal us, so, that’s good.

When we got back to Greg’s place we watched more Godfather while snacking on tiny microwave tacos. (Greg’s formula was eight on a plate for a minute forty-five. Works every time.) And we still didn’t make it all the way through the movie because yet again I was too sleepy. (I’m getting old. I know. I know.)

On Sunday we went to the Museum of Science and Industry, and after figuring out which line we needed to be in for tickets (which we found out by spending a long time in the wrong line) we were off to discover the world of science … and industry. Greg’s description of his friend Ghost Rider’s train set was more impressive than the museum’s train set built around a replica of Chicago, but we both enjoyed our tour of the U-505, a German submarine captured by the Allies in World War II.

After the museum we had dinner at The Smoke Daddy, one of the best BBQ places I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating at. (I got a combo of ribs, chicken and brisket, with baked mac and cheese and tasty fries.) It was still snowing on and off, and I’d already decided to leave earlier than I’d planned to beat the weather. I missed the Indiana Toll Road exit the first time because of confusing construction, and missed it again because I wrongly chose which side of the interstate I needed to be on to get to the exit. I left Chicago at about 7 and got home about half past midnight. It was slow going on the way home because of rainy conditions north of Indianapolis. And because I stopped for gas and Steak ‘n Shake. (As for the toll road, Bob, you’ll be glad to know that I beat the bottleneck every time. First one out of the gate! I kept a coffee mug filled with quarters and another filled with nickels in my cup holders to maintain the elements of surprise, exact change and efficiency.)

Thanks again to Greg for being a generous, enthusiastic host and for introducing me to some of his favorite Chicago places and eats. He’s doing well. Particularly in the dating arena, which is excellent because I saw lots of beautiful women up there in the windiest of cities. And he’s getting ready to go to Japan!

There’s lots of good stuff I’d like to go to in Chicago this year, so hopefully I’ll see him again soon.

More to come.