A friend who moved to London was back in town on business; she graciously shared her Sunday afternoon with us. Apparently the British Isles are seriously lacking in Mexican cuisine, so we ambled up the street to Picante for tacos and burritos. A sliver of a storefront, you can dine on site only when the weather cooperates. Which today it did. Fresh, fast, and very tasty. Nowhere else have I seen “white boy tacos” on the menu (hard shell, we’re told).
After that we were hot and thirsty. And desirous of people-watching. So we ambled a little farther up the road to hipster ground zero. That’s right: the Pontiac. Love it, hate it, but be honest and admit it: their lemonade-based cocktails are dangerously refreshing and sitting outside whilst drinking is what we Chicagoans love to do during our brief summers. With so many opportunities for snarkiness walking by, we couldn’t help but enjoy ourselves. After several rounds which included a few unexplained free beers for the Husband, we also ordered fries, which come sprinkled with herbes de provence (including lavender). And then home. To bed.
