Chicago – Meat Kind of Town

I just returned from a 6-day business trip to Chicago. I love Chicago. It's a great city, and so friendly! Everywhere I went, I saw signs and banners reading, "Mayor Daley welcomes you!" Mayor Daley welcomed me to the baggage claim. He welcomed me to Michigan Avenue. He even welcomed me to American Girl Place. I expected to see a note of welcome printed on the disposable toilet seat liners: "Mayor Daley welcomes you - and your ass - to Chicago!"

In spite of my many trips to Chicago in the past, I never realized, until now, that it is a city obsessed with meat. Everywhere you turn, there are steak houses and chop houses. My meat-loving colleagues elected to go on a meat-seeking trek every night, and I (not a meat-lover but a somewhat flexible non-vegetarian) went along. What is this fascination with meat? I know that Chicago was once the proud hub of slaughter, but the last of the meat-packing plants closed decades ago, so can't they just get over it and move on?

I very rarely eat meat, but in Chicago, I had no choice. After my third plate o'meat in a row, my skin started to break out, my clothes no longer fit, and my heart was encased in lard. I bought a portable defibrillator and began carting it around with me, just in case.

One night, we wandered around looking for a restaurant and ended up at yet another steak house. Having already exceeded my yearly quota of meat through 2012, I decided to branch out and order the least beef-like thing on the menu, the Crackling Pork Shank with Firecracker Applesauce. Not being a meat expert, I did not know what a shank was, but I quickly found out, and would be happy if I never ate another shank for the rest of my life.

As far as the crackling, I pictured a flaming dish of pork being set on the table. And firecracker applesauce? I assumed that the applesauce would be "exploding like fireworks" with apple goodness. Well, the use of the term "crackling" must have referred to the fact that a fatty piece of pork was submerged in a vat of boiling lard, making a crackling sound that only the chef got to hear. And the firecracker-like quality of the applesauce was likely due to the lonely jalapeño pepper thrown on top. Who thought to put a jalapeño pepper in applesauce? They may as well have thrown some cat poop in there, for all the sense that food combination made.

The best part of all was the price. This hunk of fatty, inedible, deep-fried lard cost $35. And the waiter was thrilled to inform us that all was a la carte, so we got to pay $10 for about 3 tablespoons of a vegetable.

I think the Chicago tourism board needs to change their branding. Instead of  "Mayor Daley Welcomes You!" they should let us know what we're in for: "Welcome to Chicago! Enjoy our meat!" I have been teetering on the brink of vegetarianism for a while now, and I think this trip did the trick.