In Brazil, political candidates can put any name they want on the ballot as long as it is not offensive. That explains why Obamas were running for various Brazilian offices. According to an Associated Press article titled “No Luck for Obamas in Brazil Elections” there were eight politicians who listed their names as Obama on the ballot, and all of them lost. Other famous (or infamous) names used for political gain on the ballot: Bin Laden, and French soccer player Zinedine Zidane (the headbutt guy from the 2006 World Cup). No one was listed as “John McCain”. I would have been more likely to vote for John McClain.

(photo from Here in Van Nuys)

On behalf of the city of Chicago I’d like to apologize to Eddie Izzard. Honestly, I don’t know what kind of show the crowd at the Chicago Theatre thought they were at Thursday night, but I don’t think Mr. Izzard intended it to involve quite so much audience participation. From the dork up in the balcony yelling out addendums to jokes told ten minutes earlier to the drunk woman somewhere on the main floor hollering punchlines to old routines now available on DVD, the crowd kept Mr. Izzard on his toes for the hour and forty-five minutes he held the stage.

Seriously, people. Shut the f**k up.

Mr. Izzard played along for most of the performance, but by the end of his main set the frustration was beginning to show. The energy and enthusiasm that powered early routines about giraffes communicating via coughing had visibly waned by the time he whipped out his iPhone to look up a word on Wikipedia. And while he did return for a very brief encore, his desire to get the hell off the stage was palpable.

Now, before you go thinking the show sucked, let me stop you right there. I laughed my ass off. The giraffe bit alone will make you wet your pants. And the iPhone gag was priceless. And pretty much every time God and Jesus had a conversation (you Eddie fans know what I mean) I drew dirty looks from the three old ladies in front of me. (I have a rather loud laugh. I will not apologize for it.)

Mr. Izzard’s social commentary grows more daring with each tour. This time around he basically admitted to being an Atheist (yay!), and much of his act focused on the absurdities of creationism (God spending the first four billion years making nothing but volcanoes) and the properties of evolution (Darwin’s book: “MonkeymonkeymonkeymonkeyYOU!”) If I had a criticism it would be that Mr. Izzard returns to specific subject matter from previous work too frequently. I’ve already heard Mr. Izzard talk about Noah’s ark, Europe’s crappy space program, America’s fascination with guns, and how the Greeks and Romans had stupid gods. He even brought up Noah’s big room for poo, and astronauts climbing ladders (again, Eddie fans know all about this). Perhaps this is why the audience feels comfortable shouting out old jokes: He’s not that far from telling them himself.

In Mr. Izzard’s defense, he did avoid a number of old standards. His James Mason and Sean Connery impressions did not make appearances, and his usual French segment was replaced by Latin, which over the course of the bit degraded to a hilariously unintelligible mishmash of various European languages. His trademark loose, making-it-up-as-he-goes delivery allowed him to weave the various audience interruptions into his act, usually with great success. And he tossed off the one plug of his show The Riches in such a comically ridiculous manner that nobody in their right mind could hold it against him.

No review of an Eddie Izzard show would be complete without answering the most important question: What was he wearing? Mr. Izzard’s penchant for women’s clothing is well-documented, but it only warranted one brief mention during Thursday’s performance. Instead he appeared in jeans, a t-shirt, and what I think was some sort of tuxedo jacket, complete with tails. In other words, he looked his normal groovy self.

In summary: It was a very good show, but not the great show I dreamed it could be. Part of that was the material, part of it was the audience. And in the audience’s defense, it wasn’t like everybody was shouting out stuff non-stop. But the few who did feel the need to be part of the performance definitely made their presence felt.

And maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Mr. Izzard thrives on such interaction. But that was not the vibe I got Thursday night.

And, if I may insert one other teensy-weensy little gripe right in here: If your ticket says Main Floor, Row D, you’d assume you were pretty close to the front, right? I know I did. So did the people sitting near me. So did the little map on Ticketmaster’s website that showed where my seat was. But it lied.

Kenosha, Wisconsin is perfect for a day- or overnight-trip from Chicago. It’s only an hour and a half away, but seems to be far enough away that it doesn’t just feel like you’re driving out to a suburb (sorry, Waukegan). There seems to be about a day-and-a-half worth of stuff to do and it’s an easy drive back.

This is not, by any means, an extensively researched treatise — we did the barest amount of planning and jumped in the car. If I’ve missed some awesome treasure of Kenosha, don’t be offended, just let us all know in the comments.

The highlight of the trip for us was a trip to Frank’s Diner (508-58th Street, Kenosha). I’m not ashamed to admit that I found out about Frank’s from an episode of the Food Network’s Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives and that just maybe it was the impetus for the whole trip. Fortunately, Frank’s lives up to the hype. The Garbage Plate is an incredible amount of food, and Erica contends that it’s more than the sum of its parts. We also had the French Toast made with their homemade bread and it was both hearty and delicious. Frank’s is an original 1926 diner car and current owners seem to be proud of that history without being precious about it — it’s a working diner and the primary concern seems to be feeding people large quantities of good food. Frank’s closes at 2 pm and fills up pretty quick after 10 am or so on the weekends.
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Our dear Wisconsin friends at Leinenkugel’s have a new summer brew showing up in bottles and at bars that have “Leinekugel’s Seasonal” on the menu — the Summer Shandy. Leine’s are making their Shandy as a wheat beer with “lemonade flavor”. Erica and I have been drinking and enoying it, especially on these recent scorchers, but it was reminding me of the Shandies I had as a youth* in Australia.

In my recollection, the Shandy in Australia was half beer and half English-style lemonade, which is halfway between American lemonade and Sprite. And a quick peek at the Wikipedia entry for Shandy showed that around the world a Shandy can be just about any kind of soft drink mixed in with beer. Perhaps the biggest difference between that style of Shandy and Leine’s premade one is that the mixed ones dilute the alcohol, which means that on a hot summer day, you can drink more of them without getting quite so sloshed**.

So the only thing for it was to pick up a bunch of Shandy fixin’s and have an old-fashioned Shandy taste-off.

More details after the jump…

* By youth I mean 18, and that was legal for bars there. So there.
** That may, of course, be a positive or a negative for you.
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On Sunday morning I found myself with a leftover 3/4 of an order of Hecky’s rib tips. It seemed a bit early for straight meat and I flashed back to a brisket hash I’d had at the Cowgirl in Sante Fe. And what’s a hash but meat and eggs and potatoes? And the rib tips were still resting on the french fries they been served on! So, Fuzzy’s Hecky’s Ribs Hash:

3/4 of a leftover order of rib tips, with french fries.
8 eggs.

Spray some spray oil into a skillet, heat to low heat.
De-bone and -gristle the ribtibs into the skillet*.
Throw the french fries into the skillet.
Mash at the french fries with the edge of a spatula and stir the meat and french fries until warm.
Add eggs and scramble.
Serves 4. Goes great with grapefruit mimosas, which makes no sense, but it’s true.

* This step is messy and tedious and makes brisket hash sound a lot more sensible.

I’ve raved before about the food at Hopleaf (5148 N Clark) and it only took a glimpse of a Hopleaf frite in a french fry sidebar to Tme Out’s burger cover story* to send us out the door and over there for dinner.

The mussels were as good as ever and the frites are definitely among the best in the city. We tried a new(? to us, anyway) dish - the crispy polenta. Accompanied with stuffed mushrooms, wilted spinach, and goat cheese on tomatoes, it was quite the taste treat.

Somehow, in all the times I’ve eaten at Hopleaf I’ve never had dessert. But our waiter enticed us with both of the desserts available and we went for the complete set. The apple fritters were great little hot, crispy, and sweet bundles. But the chocolate-caramel-macadamia nut tart made me say “wow” outloud five times. On the first bite. It was an incredible mix of rich chocolate and flaky macadamia. Damn, it was good.

* Was anyone else disappointed when they figured out that the cover burger wasn’t a real burger, but was a fantasy burger composed of elements from all the different restaurants?

It’s Schubas’ Mini-Indie-Winter-Fest and it all starts tonight. Tomorrow Never Knows, now in it’s third year, features a strong lineup through Sunday with French Kicks, Margot & the Nuclear So So’s, The Ponys, Mucca Pazza, Bound Stems and more.

All of the information and links to the artists are over at the Schubas’ site. You can order your tickets online for an extra two bucks, and that’s not a bad idea since I know a lot of music junkies that will be heading out to at least one of these shows (a five night pass is an option for 50 bucks). In addition to the music stage, there are DJs upstairs.

I’m anxious to see Skybox again. I’ve also been digging Dirty On Purpose and will get my first chance to see them on Sunday. See you there!

Photo from Gridskipper: No article on Chicago is complete without the obligatory hipster photo.

Via Gridskipper, I find that the architecture magazine Dwell has a new feature on our fair city in the form of an interview with local architect (Gridskipper refers to him as a “sensitive soul” but I can’t vouch for that) Brad Lynch.

Lynch’s faves include Club Lago (never thought of it as an architectural destination as much as a mob hangout, but OK), Don Juan’s (a Mexican restaurant I’ve never heard of- have you?), and the Music Box (no argument here).

Check it.

So I was reading this article on Centerstage about one woman’s attempt to picnic and I realized that even though picnics are always in my list of top five reasons I love summer, I usually only get around to having one a year (this year it was my birthday, at the lake, and it was fun but exhausting). Does that mean it should be demoted from the list? My other faves: al fresco dining, late-night still-light walks, farmers markets and the lake.

What would be on your list of top five summer faves? And does anyone out there actually picnic?

Maybe it’s my meager salary or my general squeamishness when it comes to meat (especially squishy inner organ-y parts of the animal) but not once have I tasted foie gras. My time to taste it, in Chicago at least, is running out and this Friday, July 28, Lee Anne Wong, a former contestant on Top Chef, is coming to Chicago for the Chicago Bids Adieu to Foie Gras Party at The Chopping Block.

I must admit I’m curious about the fancy pants cooking lesson (foie gras french toast with vanilla bourbon bacon and a fried quail egg, anyone?) and checking out the foie gras foodies but the real lure, for me, would be the chance to chat with Ms. Wong, my personal favorite on the show.

I know a few restaurants in Chicago are hosting foie gras blow outs before the ban. Anyone planning on attending? Sad to see foie gras go? Think the ban is a silly waste of energy better used elsewhere?