Four years after getting my camera, I filmed and edited my first video. Kelly and I went to Lawndale, a dangerous and poverty stricken neighborhood on the West Side of Chicago. We visited Sweet Beginnings, an urban apiary, also known as a bee farm. They hire folks who have serious obstacles to employment: criminal records. They help get people back on their feet, and also make amazing honey and honey-based skin care products. We serve the honey at Tortas Frontera.

I brought Kelly to Phil’s Last Stand after the shoot. She is from LA and had her first Chicago style char dog. I had a char cheddar dog on the patio. I also drank a black iced cold brewed coffee and got to editing. That night Etta and I went to La Scarola for an old school Italian dinner. She got lasagna and I got that other Chicago classic, chicken Vesuvio.

Here is an approach to make fine dining more approachable by offering a $14 hotdog. I liked it. The sausage made in house was thick and snappy, like a Superdawg but drier. I liked how the condiments for the dog: mustard, relish, tomato, onion, real sport peppers, were totally separated from the balsamic ketchup for the fries. Chicago kosher. I liked how Gene, our silver fox server, split the sunchoke salad, chicken fried softshell crab and hotdog and we didn’t have to ask. Gene spaced the meal in such a way that I was able to recover between courses, creating a lovely Sunday dinner with Etta.

He impressed right off the bat moving us from the crowded front window dining room full of young families and crying children celebrating Mother’s Day to a table in the quieter and more stately interior dining room beside a roasting marble fireplace. I embarressed myself when I inquired why the header on the dessert menu read, “Sweets & Stinkies,” and he kindly informed me that it’s pastry and cheese. They offer a $26 31 year old cave aged pu-erh tea, a $14 hotdog, amazing service from Gene, and for dessert the cheesecake sundae. It’s grapefruit granita and poprocks over graham cracker crumbles, savory cheese, and huckleberries.

I dreamt I was on a trip with Jon Murray, Jonathan Rodriguez, and others, about 5 of us. We were staying at a resort owned by a Scandinavian woman. Jonathan brought weed and gave me a bag. We went on an excursion to swim in a river. I had my phone in the water. The river was muddy and full of leaves. I got on a rock in the sun and gave my phone to Meagan, a cook at Topolobampo. She almost dropped it because it was slipping out of the plastic case. Meagan showed me the photo: I had manboobs. We swam back to the resort. Walking away from the water, Murray commented on the intricate blue tiles by the entrance to the swimming area.

On the way back we saw the police searching the resort, room by room. I had a bag of weed, so I detoured into an animal hospital. An elderly woman had a Portuguese water dog and a smaller dog. “Is that a Portuguese water dog?” I asked. “Yes,” said the small dog, “and my name is Rex.” Then the small dog said, “Hungry, dog food, hungry, dog food.” “That’s wonderful,” I told the motionless old woman. “It’s a talking dog.” The scandinavian woman found me and showed me a room full of wild birds. The owl stared into my eyes. I realized then I had left my grey towel by the river. It was old, from my mom’s house, and I knew they would throw it in the trash. I went back to the swimming area to find it and the Scandinavian woman was there, standing nude on the blue tiles.

Xoco may be the best casual Mexican restaurant in the country. It’s a fast food tortaria featuring organic farm meats, locally sourced vegetables, and handmade chocolate. The torta ahogada, from Guadalajara, is the signature sandwich with deeply flavorful golden pork carnitas slow cooked in their own juices. The carnitas are finished in Xoco’s heart, the wood-burning oven, until the porky edges are crispy. They are spread on artisanal sourdough baguette called bolillo, with black beans and pickled white onions. The sandwich is served dipped in a bowl of bright roasted tomato sauce spiked with spicy chile arbol.

Xoco is one of the only restaurants in the country to make their own chocolate. Acidic cocoa beans are brought in from Tabasco, Mx, and roasted in the restaurant. The aroma fills the neighborhood. Cocoa mass is winnowed from the cocoa pods. Granite wheels grind the mass to paste that is combined with equal parts raw sugar. The chocolate is mixed with water and chile, 2% milk, almond milk and whole milk. The result is a savory, floral and wholly authentic cup of chocolate for drinking.

I was born in Connecticut, but Jim’s Original has been my go-to place for late night hotdogs and Polish for over ten years. I actually prefer the meatier Polish to their hotdogs, with hot peppers and sweet onions. The mountain of sweet onions develop a deep flavor from the long cook time.

I haven’t eaten at Weiner Circle lately because I don’t spend a lot of time in that neighborhood. I haven’t reviewed Weiner Circle because I am a positive reviewer and don’t want to reward the W.C. way of talking to guests. All that being said, if I had to work in that neighborhood that’s how I would want to talk to guests. And the chardogs at W.C. are terrific, as are the cheese fries.

Etta and I drove up the highway for smoked meat on Sunday, from one of Chicago’s most popular restaurants. I dropped off the dry cleaning and navigated the Kennedy while Etta placed the order by phone. When we arrived at Smoque, I parked outside. It was about 5PM and there was a line way out the door. I asked the busser how to deal with the line- he directed me right in to the register. Minutes later we were on the Irving Park road to Portage Park for some BBQ in the grass.

The trees were greened out in buds and baby leaves. The grass was lush and the ground was dry. We got two slabs of St. Louis style ribs with creamy crusty edged mac and cheese, not-sweet cornbread, well seasoned fries and peach cobbler, which we got to later. Actually there was cole slaw too, but haven’t got to that yet either. The ribs were unbelievable, pink smoke ring, so much smoky flavor that my hands still smell like a campfire. They need no sauce. I ate half the slab and was so full I meat-tripped the rest of the afternoon well into the evening.

Deann and I made a bet- she said the leaves would be in full bloom next week and I said this week.

I’m thinking back to my dinner last Sunday at Bavette’s Bar and Boeuf, listening to “Thugz Mansion” by Nas. Bavette’s was many things, all very good. The restaurant is warm and inviting, from the anachronistic music to the placement of tables, the leather, open kitchen, lighting. At first I was on edge because the hostess was on the telephone and ushered in through the door saying we would be taken care of- she was right. The female manager greeted and seated us. The server was not intrusive and positive, with good ambient feedback. We started with cocktail shrimps- there’s some good details in the simplicity of the taste and presentation that made these right there with the best shrimp I have ever had. They are perfectly cleaned, presented on a plat du mer covered with perfectly ground ice granules and seaweed, with citrus and sauces. I was impressed. Etta’s negroni was flawless, the ice in my Diet Coke was kold draft cubes. The caesar salad had lots of smoky fish and salty potato chips; I was like Wang Chi in Big Trouble in Little China: “I got a very positive attitude about this.”

The bussers were true warriors, raised in the hood. The blond beachwood table was completely cleared between courses. They employed an individual wiping cloth for both Etta and me. We split a steak for the mains. The ribeye was the definition of a pre-Nixon steak. I don’t have a lot of experience with top quality steaks, but this steak was unbelievable. Cooked to perfection, juicy, thick, richly seasoned. The kind of steak that makes me want to call my vegan sister to apologize. We got the loaded potato. I stopped the waiter, paused, looking at the potato the size of a football. I asked, “Is that thing organic?” and the waiter replied that it was an organic potato. We loaded the beast with the same grizzly bacon that comes on the burger at Au Cheval, sour cream, and cheese. By this point Bavette’s had already won the title of my best meal in 2013. The rich and savory chocolate cream pie topped with the hugest quenelle I have ever seen was nevertheless light enough to somehow disappear in the night, and we followed. Bavette, if I could only have one more dance with you mama.

I read about Waterfall Glen Forest Preserve- folks said the natural beauty reminded them of Door County. Etta and I drove out on a Sunday the weekend the tiny buds and flowers pushed up. We did a couple miles on an interior loop. There had been a lot of rain and the woods were flooded- the path was actually closed but unmarked on the end we entered. The trees are old and beautiful. I followed animal tracks into the brush and emerged on the edge of a huge meadow. White tail deer grazed on the other side.

Next time we should bring the bikes for the scenic long paved loop. This time we drove to the opposite end of the preserve to see the waterfall. We parked and had to enter the woods over a swollen creek. Stones and a log were the steps over the water. Etta hopped over the stream. I got both feet on the log, lost my balance, and the log rolled. I put aside my natural inclination to struggle and went limp, flopping helplessly into the muddy water. It was the best thing I have done for my girlfriend in months. We continued through the ridge of old pines to the trail to the waterfall.

I had a not-so-good experience at Publican Quality Meats, something like a 2 star experience. I’m not going to post the review on yelp because it would interrupt my string of something like four hundred 5 star reviews- I’m going to write about it here. PQM is the chef driven sandwich arm of the Publican. Etta and I went on a Sunday afternoon. The hostess was spaced out and did not give us an estimate of real time- the manager had to step in and take over the seating. Our server admitted to being flustered by the afternoon rush- it was 2pm. I said we wanted to order some of the food for here, and take some to go. She said the kitchen was backed up so she would fire all the food at once. Etta ordered a mimosa and I asked for one of the coffee drinks called go juice.

When I returned from the washroom, the server came back and said they were out of one of the items we ordered. I switched it up. The food arrived, plate by plate, followed by the to-go food, a few minutes later. The drinks were nowhere to be seen and we had run out of water. The server greeted the couple just seated next to us at the communal table, filled their waters with a full pitcher but did not say anything to us about the food, the missing drinks, or fill our waters. I asked for the drinks. Etta asked for water. She said something lame about the drinks being backed up and poured us water. I heard the manager talking to an older couple behind us. “Are you out of anything?” one asked, and the manager replied no, to his knowledge they were not. They pointed to one spread in particular that was their favorite on the charcuterie plate. “Oh should I try that?” the manager inquired, “I’ve only been here a few months and I haven’t tried everything yet.”

Illinois Beach State Park is the only state park in Illinois on the lake shore. We hiked South from the resort along the beach. The sand is soft and the stones by waters edge are round.

We were looking for critters. Etta found a rusty crayfish with blue claws, a rabbit skull, a gull’s wing, and some good rocks. I wore her poncho with native american pattens over my cowboy shirt- I forgot to bring a jacket.

About a mile down the beach the sun started to set and we dipped into the dunes. Families of deer turned up their white tails and ran. We walked down a path towards a water hole towards more deer. To our surprise a baby deer approached us, coming as far as the water hole. The frogs were loud.

The citizens of Illinois made a mistake in the seventies by installing the nuclear power station just North of the state park. Thankfully the plant was retired in 1998 and its operating license expires this year, November 14, 2013. Decontamination and dismantlement are to begin after this date.

The state park is going to be back to its more natural self by December 31, 2026- by then the nuclear power plant will be history. It’s a lesson powerful enough to make the ciizens of Massachusetts seem righteously foresighted regarding their refusal to allow windmills built into the ocean off Cape Cod.