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Food For Thought

October 28, 2013 | By | No Comments">No Comments


by ALAN LAKE

alan2012b

After a lifetime of excessive eating and living within gluttony’s dark recesses, the wall has been hit.  Known as the go-to guy for all things edible, the sense of shame I feel for eating enough for a small village pains me.  I volunteer at a youth center and ate enough to feed them all.

Many are close to starving and I’ve been a pig from hell.

In my home growing up we had a just try policy.  I had to try whatever my food focused parents put in front of me.  If I didn’t like it, I didn’t have to eat it, but I had to try.  Unlike my older brother, I liked most everything and my tastebuds developed at an early age as a result.

Lobster stir fried with fermented black beans, ginger and scallions?  Big yes.  By age five I could break that bad boy down joint by joint, extracting meat the lobster didn’t even know it had.  Russian peasant beef tartare made with raw hamburger, capers, onions and dijon mustard served with rough torn black bread?  Bring it on!  Pickled herring, dim sum, what we called “Jewsghetti’- a particularly garlicy, meaty meat meatsauce at our favorite restaurant, Fanny’s.

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“What Was Is Not Irrelevant”: Public Art in Humboldt Park

October 5, 2013 | By | No Comments">No Comments


by KATIE PROUT

This past February I went on an unsatisfactory date with a gentleman who used to sleep in my bedroom. I thought he was a liar, but after listening to him describe the door to the fire escape located to the left of my bed, I decided that he was a creep who was maybe going to kill me.

“No!” he shouted when I asked him if this was the case. My date then proceeded to describe the mural across the street from my house, down to the burning cop car. This made me believe him, although I had never noticed the car he spoke of. I had only noticed the flames.

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NONAME GYPSY

September 26, 2013 | By | No Comments">No Comments


by JOHN TAYLOR
Photography by ELLIE PRITTS

Noname Gypsy

“I wish I was wearing something so much better now that I have to describe my outfit!” exclaims Chicago spoken-word poet-turned-rapper Noname Gypsy, giggling in between bites of her last fish taco.

We’re having lunch at the wildly popular Wicker Park restaurant Big Star, where, crouched beneath the shade of a patio table umbrella, Noname (born Fatimah Warner) is taking a much-needed pause from music-making.

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