Instinct - Wednesday, August 22

Yesterday, Ari mentioned his girlfriend Shima joined us in Chicago.  But he omitted a few key facts.  He didn't tell you how they met, he didn't tell you what she forgot on Wednesday morning, and he certainly didn't tell you what happened right before the White Sox game Wednesday night.  Let's address this Q&A style:

Okay, I'll bite.  How did Ari and Shima meet?

They were introduced.

By whom?

Me.

Fascinating.  Please explain.

I met Shima in 2006, my first year coaching the UC Irvine mock trial team.  Shima was a sophomore.  She played a wonderful witness -- everything from a crying babysitter to a tough police officer to a hair dresser with attitude.  She was also a great attorney:

Shima performing as a fake lawyer at the 2009 National Championship

Where does Ari come in?

In late 2007, Shima was getting ready to leave for a study-abroad trip to Europe.  Ari planned to be in Europe over the same period.  It occurred to me that they were a match -- both good-looking, fun-loving, intelligent youngsters.  Though they had never met, I was confident enough in their eventual romance that I made them an offer: I would pay for the second date.

So they met in Europe?

No.  Despite my matchmaking effort, they never met up across the Atlantic.  

Did you give up?

Obviously not.   While Ari and Shima still hadn't met, I may have told people that they were, in fact, already dating.  It's even possible that I told people they were engaged.  If I did those things -- and I'm not saying I did -- I had the best intentions.

Tell the jury: what happened then?

They both moved to New York City for graduate school and, voila!, now they're happily dating.  I don't want to take all the credit for their relationship.

I'd say you deserve about 95 percent of the credit.

I was thinking the same.

Let's turn to the Chicago trip.  You said Shima forgot something?

Her driver's license.  She arrived Wednesday morning and explained that she left her driver's license in New York.  

If she was able to make her flight without an ID, why was that such a big deal?

Shima enjoys adult beverages.  A lot.  This photo was taken before 9 o'clock in the morning:

Is she clutching a bottle of bourbon like a mother holds a child?

Yes, she is:

I see.  So what happened?

Because Shima couldn't easily order drinks in bars and restaurants, and because Ari and Shima wanted to drink before the White Sox-Yankees game, they began the festivities on their own.

Ari pouring Miller Lite into Shima's slurpee  cup at the 7-11

Ari refilling Shima's slurpee cup aboard the subway

That's pretty bold.  How did you feel about this behavior?

I strongly disapproved.  Laws are laws.  I love them both, but I just can't condone Ari and Shima's conduct.

Got it.  So who took the photos above?

Um.  No comment.

All right, Ari and Shima got refreshments at the 7-11 and doubled up on the metro.  What happened next?

We got to US Cellular Park, home of the Chicago White Sox.  As we approached the stadium, Ari stopped to pour his last Miller Lite into his slurpee cup.  A police officer saw him and intervened.

Ari handled things well.  He apologized.  He showed deference to the officer.  I thought everything would be fine.

But?

The officer saw that Shima had a similar cup.  He asked her, "What's in your cup?"  She was honest.  "It's beer."  The officer turned to Ari and told him to throw his remaining beer in the trash.  But before Ari threw out his beer, Shima did the unthinkable...  

She took another swallow of beer.

While standing in front of the police officer?

Yes.

After she told him it was beer?

Right.

After the officer told Ari to throw his beer in the trash?

Yes.

Maybe the officer didn't see.

Oh, he saw.  "Did you just take another sip?  After I told him to throw his out?  You've disrespected me."  The officer fumed.  Shima admitted that she had.  Then things went from uncomfortable to I-hope-Shima-doesn't-get-arrested.

"Ma'am, let me see your ID."

Uh oh.

Shima started fumbling through her purse.  After about 15 seconds of rummaging through credit cards and cash, spilling all of it, recognition spread across her face.   Her driver's license was still in Manhattan. Recognition turned to panic.  "My ID is in New York," she insisted.  The officer wanted to know how she got to Chicago without her driver's license.  Shima said security allowed it.  

The officer wasn't buying it.  "I'm a trained police officer.  TSA would not allow someone to get on a plane without a driver's license.  If you don't want to spend a night in jail, you better show me an ID."  Shima kept telling her story and the officer kept reminding us that he was trained.

The man in the center of this photograph is a trained police officer.

So what happened?

I'll be honest.  When he detained Ari, it was funny.  I knew nothing bad would happen.  When he questioned Shima, it was still pretty funny.  But when she kept drinking right in front of him and he saw her -- when he felt disrespected -- I started to worry.  Fortunately, Shima is very likable.  She smiled her way out of it.  The officer told her to throw out the cup.  "Take another sip and you will be sleeping in jail tonight," he promised.  She obeyed.

I have to ask.  Why did she take keep drinking right in front of the officer?

We had the same question.  "What were you thinking?" I asked.  "How could you take another sip?" Ari asked.  Her answer was vintage Shima: "I had a beer in my hand.  It was instinct."

She's a keeper.

A Vacation from the Vacation - Wednesday, August 22 to Friday, August 24

Chicago was a vacation from the vacation.  In every other city we spent a night or two; in the Windy City we had three full days and nights.  Waking up and going to sleep in the same place, being unable to briefly unpack, not starting each morning with a several hour drive—these small accommodations felt luxurious.  In every other city we drove; in Chicago, we left the car at the hotel and used the L and buses.  In every other city we had a baseball game each day; in Chicago, we had our only “off day” of the trip.  But the biggest difference was that in Chicago we had a visitor.   On Wednesday morning, Justin and I picked up my girlfriend Shima at the O’Hare Airport. 

Shima is the one on the right

Shima at the Bean

Of course, some things remained constant.  Our first stop was food.  Anthony Bourdain says there are 13 American restaurants you need to try before you die.  Most are fancy places in New York and California.  One of them is Oklahoma Joe’s, the barbecue joint we visited in Kansas City.  And one of them is Hot Doug’s, a kitschy-looking place in the Avondale neighborhood.  As the name suggests, they serve hot dogs—everything from the standard Chicago Dog (frankfurter with onions, relish, tomatoes, pickle) to sausages (Polish, Italian, brat) to the exotic (ribeye steak or duck).  We got a variety … and some chili cheese fries for good measure.

We took photos while we waited for our 7 dogs and 2 orders of fries.

Chili Cheese Fries

Left to right: Polish, Italian, Chicago

We rounded out our lunch with the only food group left: gelato.  When Shima and I went to Chicago in January, we sought out Black Dog for its famous goat cheese cashew caramel gelato (Shima loves goat cheese).  When we arrived, they were all out.  So this time, we got there early.  We shared three flavors:  the highly anticipated goat cheese, peppery Mexican hot chocolate, and refreshing strawberry basil. 

Justin's Note: Ari calls these his "prop glasses" because they do not have correct lenses.  They are merely a prop.  Like the Holiday In Express, they don't make him smarter, but they make him feel smarter. [Ari's Note: I think they make me smarter.]

With a few hours to kill before the game, we checked out Navy Pier.  [Justin’s Note: Navy Pier is overrated.  You can pay for boat cruises, ride a Ferris Wheel, and eat at tourist traps like Bubba Gump.  There are churros.  Any place that has churros is competing with top notch amusement parks.  That’s a level of competition Navy Pier just can’t match.]

There is a Dippin' Dots.  Nowhere did it describe itself as the "Ice Cream of the Future."  Does this mean the future is finally here?  Is Dippin' Dots now the Ice Cream of the Present?  We live in exciting times.

After being underwhelmed by Navy Pier, we took the bus and train to our fifth stadium of the trip.  US Cellular Field—known by locals as Comiskey—is the home of the Chicago White Sox.  The concourse is great.  It’s lined with concession stand after concession stand, all serving up unhealthy Chicago cuisine.  There was a buzz inside the park.  The field itself is pretty but forgettable.  Kansas City has fountains; St. Louis has the Arch in the skyline; Milwaukee has slides and a great scoreboard.  There was nothing wrong with the “Cell,” but there was nothing that stood out either.  Our favorite park perk was the Bullpen Bar just behind the right field wall.  Fans can order snacks and drinks while watching the game inches from the field, essentially looking through the wall.  We had an overhead view of the Bullpen Bar.  It looked like a party was going on down there.

Muscle flexing beside the statute of retired Sox slugger Frank Thomas, nicknamed the "Big Hurt"

Not all mascots are adorable.

We sat in the first row of the bleachers.  Not only did this provide a great vantage, it was also prime souvenir territory.  Outfielders will occasionally toss a ball into the stands when they’re done with pre-inning warm-ups.  Our best bet was Shima.  We encouraged her to smile at White Sox center fielder DeWayne Wise, patrolling right in front of us.  She called out, “Dwaaaayne!”  We told her that his name isn’t Dwayne.  It’s DeWayne.  Two syllables.  She couldn’t get it right.  “Dwaaayne!”  We didn’t get a souvenir. 

Our view from the bleachers

DeWayne.  Duh-wane.  DeWayne.

Justin's Note: I don't understand this advertisement.  When am I supposed to tune in for Tom Skilling's weather report on WGN?  11 AM?  Noon?  1?  "Midday" is not a time.

Our post-game snack was La Pasadita, a Mexican restaurant.  We all shared “chachos,” which are dangerously dense nachos.  Shima and I shared a carne asada burrito and chicken taco.  Justin got mixed fajitas and a steak taco.

Chachos

Burrito

Chicken taco

Justin's fajita plate

Shima and I decided to take advantage of our Off Day and played tourist.  We trained into the city, visited Shima's favorite cheese and sandwich shop, picked up some iced coffees, and strolled the iconic Magnificent Mile.  Our first stop was The Bean, in Millennium Park.  Shaped like what you might imagine, The Bean is a huge metallic sculpture whose surface reflects and distorts much of the city's beautiful skyline.  After taking roughly 45 minutes of pictures we bought a bag of Garrett's Gourmet Popcorn and headed towards the Hancock Building.  Ninety-five floors later, Shima and I overlooked the city center.  The Signature Lounge doubles as a restaurant and bar and is home to some of the most breathtaking views of Chicago.  But it's apparently a little too swanky for our kind.  Shortly after finding a table located against the window a server came over to take our drink order.  "Do you guys have a happy hour?" I inquired.  "Um, excuse me?" she responded, seeming annoyed.  "Do you currently have any drink specials?" I attempted again.  She gave a fake half smile and informed me they in fact did not.  I contemplated blowing her mind and informing her I was Abe Froman, Sausage King of Chicago.  Instead I ordered an overpriced Blue Moon.           

The best goat cheese-filled roasted red pepper either side of the Mississippi

Ab workout of the day

Jumping Jacks workout of the day

At least the view was free...

We met Justin for dinner at Smoque Barbecue.  Justin and I wanted to share a small salad with dressing on the side, but Shima insisted we order half the menu: baby back ribs, spareribs, pulled pork, brisket, sausage link, macaroni and cheese, cornbread, baked beans, brisket chili, coleslaw and French fries.  We unanimously agreed that the brisket was the best entrée and the macaroni and cheese was the best side. [Justin’s Note: I’ll take it a step further.  Though the ribs and most side were disappointing, the brisket was the best I’ve ever had.  I say this as someone whose greatest joys include serving as a judge in an official barbecue competition.  The Smoque brisket was so tender it fell off the fork.]  Our table:

There's a lot going on here.  Let's zoom in on the brisket:

We can get closer:

Nice.  Here's what was left at the end of the meal:

Stuffed, we headed to a dueling piano bar called Howl at the Moon.  I correctly predicted the song that Justin and Shima would each request (Justin, “Walking in Memphis”; Shima, an unknown ditty titled “Call Me Maybe”).  The performers were great—talented, funny, and original.  We played Name That Tune, with one point for identifying the artist and another for identifying the song title.  Ten points won the game.  We “buzzed in” by tapping the table.  Justin won both games we played, which is shocking because he doesn’t know anything about music.

Friday was our last day in Chicago.  We got to Wrigley Field two hours before the game, grabbed some beers near the park, and negotiated prices with peanut vendors a block from the gate.  One vendor told me that his $3 bag was 69 percent off the $5 price we’d pay inside the stadium.  I debated his math.  [Justin’s Note: He really did.  Ari asked multiple questions about how he arrived at the figure of 69 percent.  Shima and I crossed the street, and Ari was still arguing the point.  This heated discussion is even stranger because Ari had already bought two bags of peanuts.]

Breakfast before the Cubs game 

Pre-game toast celebrating Justin's new job

Wrigley Field was like a time machine.  We must have been in the 1920s.  No jumbotron.  A manual scoreboard.  Few corporate logos.  Almost no entertainment between innings.  It was great.  The stadium is for baseball fans who are there to watch baseball. 

Fun fact: Notice the analog clock on the scoreboard.  The stadium is so old that it was built before time could be expressed digitally.

Old school: the Cubs don't even list their opponent's name on the small scoreboards in the stands.  They just say, "Visitors."

The Cubs fans also impressed us.  On a weekday at 1 o’clock, the park nearly filled to catch a meaningless game between two teams whose postseason hopes ended in spring training.  That’s devotion. 

Great turnout

The game itself turned out to be fairly exciting.  The Cubbies trailed all afternoon before rallying for three runs in the eighth.  The crowd went nuts.  It was like 1908 all over again.

"Hey batter, batter, swing, batter!"

We followed Cubs fans down the street to an assortment of local bars.  We chose one with an outdoor patio and got drinks before saying goodbye to Shima, who flew home to New York.   

For dinner we met two of Justin’s mock trial friends—Mike Walsh and Melissa Pavely—at Lou Malnati’s Pizza.  They serve deep dish, Chicago-style pizza.  It was surprisingly light and unsurprisingly delicious. 

Veggie

Sausage

Justin encouraged Mike to take home the two leftover slices for his children.  My thoughts: 

Beers, Brats, and Baseball – Tuesday, August 21

After watching the Brew Crew on Monday, we were the Brew Crew on Tuesday.  We started at the Blue’s Egg, a spiffy brunch place in downtown Milwaukee.  They had $2 cans of Dave’s Farm Boy, a beer brewed down the road.  “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” I said.  “But it’s 11 o’clock right here,” Justin said.  Nonetheless, we each ordered a beer.  When I was down to my last few sips, the server asked if I wanted another.  I said yes.  The server got the wrong the message and brought each of us a second round.  I didn’t want three beers before noon but I had no choice.  If Justin had a second beer, he would be useless until dinner time.  I took one—and then another—for the team: 

Beers (left to right): mine, mine.

The food was fantastic.  I had the mushroom omelet with a side of fresh fruit.  Justin devoured Eggs Benedict with a side of hash browns and chicken chorizo. 

Justin drove us to Packer Time, a veritable warehouse for (2011) World Champion Green Bay Packers merchandise.  They have Packer shirts, hoodies, and caps.  They have Packer loveseats.  They have Packer hunting gear.  They also have every form of cheesehead conceivable.  Cheeseheads to hang from your rear view mirror.  Cheeseheads you can wear on your head.  Cheeseheads your cheesehead can wear on its (cheese)head.  We purchased more Packer gear than we needed. 

Packer Time would be our last non-alcoholic stop of the day.  We went to Lakefront Brewery for a 2:30 tour.  Lakefront gives each tour participant four tokens, each of which could be redeemed for a six ounce pour.  Let’s do the math.  If Justin and I each received four tokens, and each token was worth one pour, how many pours did we get?  If you answered “eight,” you don’t know us very well.  The credited response is “twelve.”  My strategy was simple.  Every time you ask for a pour, you are supposed to drop a token in the basket.  I interpreted the basket as akin to “take a penny, leave a penny.”  I generally chose to take a penny.

We loved the people who work at Lakefront.  First we encountered Mike, stationed behind the bar.  Mike was sloshed.  This didn’t stop him from pouring a beer for himself as he poured one for us.  He tried to tell us what makes Lakefront special: “Lakefront is the only brewery in North America that makes its own brewery.  I mean, we’re the only beer that makes its own yeast.  Wait, the beer doesn’t make the yeast.  We do.  Let me try again.  We’re the only yeast that brews beer.  Shit.  Um…”  Justin tried to help him out: “You’re the only North American brewery that makes its own yeast?”  He nodded and smiled with relief.  “That’s not your first drink of the day, is it?” I asked, going out on a limb.  Justin asked the logical next question, “So where do other breweries get their yeast?”  Mike stumbled, mumbled, stammered, and stuttered.  Another Lakefront guy, Josh, came out of the bullpen to save Mike.  Josh gave a coherent, in-depth explanation of yeast that included chemistry, history, and politics.  Mike kept grinning.  Justin and I looked back and forth between Mike and Josh. “I feel like they chose to work here for different reasons,” Justin said.

Justin toasting with Mike

Evan enjoying Josh's performance

The tour was outstanding. Our tour guides were funny and they made sure we always had a beer in hand.  Evan, making his tour debut, led the group, while Josh issued corrections for anything Evan omitted or misstated.  I was randomly selected as Evan’s drinking buddy.  Anytime Evan made a mistake, Josh made a buzzer noise, which meant Evan and I both needed to take a drink.  Evan made a lot of mistakes. 

  

Lakefront gave everyone a coupon for a free beer at select bars, one of which was the “Brat House,” which we were also told was home to the best bratwurst in the city.  I made Justin’s day by suggesting we get bratwurst before the game.  At the Brat House, two cute female bartenders worked the counter while a chalkboard behind them said, “Bartenders on duty: Michelle and Mike.”  I asked which one of them was Mike.  They didn't think it was as funny as Justin did, although at this point in time Justin thought everything was funny.  It turns out our coupon for two free beers was somehow a coupon for four free beers.  We ordered a sausage platter, which came with three different links, peppers, onions, sauerkraut, mushrooms, and a pretzel roll.  I liked the original bratwurst best; Justin preferred the Italian.

Free beer.  We liked Milwaukee

Bratwurst platter.  We liked Milwaukee

Our final pre-game stop was Kelly’s Bleachers, a bar near the stadium.  Justin and I split a pitcher while playing some pool.  [Justin’s Note: We didn’t exactly “split” the pitcher.  My tolerance is similar to that of a typical 12-year-old gymnast, and by five o’clock on this day I’d already consumed my weekly allowance of beer.  So whenever Ari faced the pool table and had his back to the pitcher, I would pour half of my beer back into the pitcher.  I had no more than 20 percent of the pitcher.  I am not sure how he failed to notice that the beer level was frequently rising.]  I smoked Justin in both games of pool, avenging my silver medal performance from the Bar Olympics.

When we walked up to the counter at Kelly's, the bartender asked what we wanted to drink.  Justin pointed to this guy and said, "I'll have what he's having."

At 6:30, Johnathan Woodward and his girlfriend Amber Noltemeyer picked us up for the game.  Amber works at a local radio station.  She once donned the Polish costume and competed in the Brewer sausage race!  Johnathan is a lawyer but moonlights at the radio station—that’s where they met.  Justin knows Johnathan from mock trial, where I’m guessing people make awkward “Woodward and Bernstein” jokes.  [Justin’s Note: They’re not awkward.  They’re clever.]

  

The Brewers won the game and Hot Dog won the race.  “He's been having a great year,” Johnathan said.  We got the race on video.  Our favorite part is the announcer's line at the end.  

  

The final tally for Milwaukee: 2 games, 10 sausages, 21 beers, and 1 trip to Sobelman’s.