I'm in a unique predicament. Well, actually probably not that unique. But, I live alone and work retail, which means that my days off are usually spent alone. From time to time, this a great necessity. You're able to take care of your household chores and have a nice evening watching t.v. or what ever it is that you plan on doing. Other times it sucks.
For the majority of people with 9-to-5 jobs, Saturday is the day where you get your things done. You go shopping, you might clean or do laundry. You go out that night with other friends who also work 9-to-5 jobs. Or at least, that's how I imagine it. I'm usually working Saturday or Sunday, or both.
Sunday morning, is of course, reserved for brunch (or church and then brunch). You probably have a hangover, and as such the bloody mary is the perfect remedy. You have fried potatoes, an egg or two, and wham. You're set for the day. You've recovered from last night's indiscretions, ready to loll around the house or go antiquing. Clearly, I've got a pretty great imagination when it comes to 9-to-5 jobs.
Working retail, you generally have two days off during the week. They might be together, but likely they're not. This can easily result in mid-week binge drinking and wasted days. Over time, I've learned that its important to plan your days as though they were Saturdays and Sundays. Day off #1 is reserved for cleaning, and random other things. Day off #2 is meant to be a day off. Lolling around the house or going antiquing. (NB: I don't go antiquing)
My Saturday this week (Tuesday), I went and did those things that you're supposed to do on your days off. The things that you always say you'll do and never do. I went to the Art Institute to check out the new modern wing. I feel that its important to have on a cute outfit when you go to the Art Institute, in case you run into a cute person with whom you can strike up a conversation and later marry. This day, I did look very cute. Due to my strep-related psoriasis, I had my hair in a side pony-tail, as to not flake scalp all over my black sweater. And trust me, I rock the side pony.
I looked through the random modern art, regretting my decision to go into the video room with the clown on the toilet immediately. I saw Picasso, Dali, Pollack, Warhol. And a lot of other stuff I couldn't care less about. I enjoy modern art immensely, especially when it's got an explanation or its just beautiful or fun to look at. Some of it though, are neither of those things. I'm not a fan of blank canvases or squiggles on canvas with no discernible meaning. I love installations which take up entire rooms. There were some good ones of those that day.
After the modern wing, I swung by the impressionist galleries. For some reason, these paintings seem like old friends. Monet, Van Gogh, Seurat. Blue rooms, haystacks, blurry cityscapes, days at the park. Isn't that what we hope life to be like from time to time?
I went down to the Caravaggio exhibit and was utterly disappointed. One painting by Caravaggio, of whom I'm a HUGE fan. While in Rome and elsewhere in Europe, I fell in love with his style and the chiaroscuro. No one has mastered it quite like he did. What can I say, the Villa Borghese has ruined me for life.
After the Art Institute, I went down to Christkindlemarket in Daley Plaza. I had hot spiced wine and a pretzel. Before I left, I got some candied nuts. Wandering around the little booths with their trinkets was quaint. Drinking outside is always amazing.
I'll tell you what isn't amazing: the "french market" in Ogilvie Sation. I had been totally pumped about it. I imagined great breads, cheeses, wines. What it actually was was a bunch of local vendors selling their Wisconsin cheeses (which I love, but prefer to get in Wisconsin), a lot of fruits and veggies (not organic, French, or locally grown... so why?), and a bread stand. Feeling hopeful about the bread stand, I bought a baguette. Heading home, I was quite satisfied with myself.
Going out and "doing things" made me feel like I was a useful person, even though it was a day of leisure. It also made me feel like a snob. Being able to look at a great work of art and thinking to yourself, "Meh, I've seen better," is an incredible experience. Feeling that you know the artist's better works, and having seen them on a similar sort of day several years ago when you lived in Rome makes you feel strange... parallel lives, if you will. Turning up your nose at cheeses and wines has the same effect. But really, why call it a "French Market" if its no different than a regular grocery store? Walking into an outdoor market which brings back memories of the Easter Sunday you spent in Prague at their spring festival is incredible. It's not just the European cities that have these experiences... it's right in your back yard.
Today, when I woke up, I wanted brunch. It was "Sunday" after all. I have specific brunch favorites: eggs benedict and bloody marys. These two items are perfect compliments to each other, salty, tart, both go down like a charm. Also, they are perfect remedies for hangovers.
My last "Sunday," I had gone out for brunch. The restaurant I go to only served the eggs benedict on the weekends. Waking up, I wanted them. I didn't just want eggs benedict, I wanted a bloody mary. I decided I would have to make this myself. I thought about the foods I didn't have, like eggs, and vodka. Then I realized I would have to go to the grocery store.
I don't have a car, which is a nice and a bad thing. Nice, because I don't have to pay for things, like a car, or parking, or gas, or insurance. Bad, because its cold and I hate lugging groceries home.
I packed my purse with a couple of bags and my cocktail book, and headed off to the Aldi.
Let's talk about Aldi for a second. I love Aldi. Its so cheap and its normal food. My mom converted me, and for several years of paying a TON of money for groceries (seriously, Aldi cuts your grocery bill by 2/3s) I was thrilled when an Aldi opened up close to me. Closer than the actual grocery store. I had heard that the Aldi was originally supposed to be a Trader Joe's, but after the corporate people came and surveyed the area, they decided that this was "more of an Aldi neighborhood." I converted a friend, who now has a hard time going to the Jewel or Dominick's, because she knows she can get it for so much cheaper at Aldi.
I decided that I would just get the things I needed for brunch, and maybe go back later if I decided I should do my grocery shopping. Then I walked outside. Yeah, that would be the only time I went outside. I took the train one stop, got off, and was finally inside the Aldi. My grocery list was checked off with three exceptions: celery salt, canadian bacon and vodka (which I knew I couldn't get at Aldi). I checked out and after using a gift certificate, my bill was $8.00. For a cart full of groceries.
Mid-way through the grocery shopping, I realized I needed to go to the bathroom. Badly. Here's the other thing about living in the city, you can't just use restrooms in stores. For the most part, they don't exist (its to prevent the homeless from loitering). I was resolute that I would be fine. I'd make it home. No problem.
I stood at the bus stop for a few moments and then looked down the street. Lame. It was like three blocks away to where I'd get off any way. I decided to walk. I took four steps, and I heard my over-stuffed bag rip. So help me God, this bag would not break. I walked the four blocks, cursing my decision to wear galoshes. This was the coldest day we've had all winter. My toes weren't just cold, they hurt.
I bought my vodka and decided to take a shortcut through the alley. The lock to my patio was frozen and there was construction blocking the other end of the alley. This was my only choice. Because I was frozen and very seriously needed to go to the bathroom. Finally, I got in, trudged up the stairs, fingers frozen and barely able to move, I unlocked my door. Relief! Toes, thawing; bag, unbroken; bathroom, !!.
Bloody Mary's are fairly easy to make: 2 parts tomato juice, one part vodka, Worcestershire sauce, horseradish, Tabsaco, lemon juice, fresh ground black pepper and celery salt. Which I didn't have. But... oh man. So good.
I do not have a double boiler. Which I discovered that hollandaise sauce requires. I looked it up on the internets and rigged one up with two saucepans and a couple of hair ties. Crafty. Three egg yolks, and a stick of butter later, I had my sauce. I used the ham I had bought in lieu of Canadian bacon and cut it into heart shapes, because I didn't have a round cookie cutter. Poached eggs, no prob, just plop them in the water.
AMAZING. Okay. I'll admit it, making the hollandaise sauce was the hardest part, and it was super easy. It may have been the best brunch ever created in my apartment.
I spooned some of the sauce over the english muffins, put on my heart ham, carefully placed an egg on each muffin and spooned extra sauce on them. With my Bloody Mary in one hand and my Eggs Benedict in the other, I went to my table. And had to take a picture. Because they were that pretty.
And delicious. I may never go out for brunch again.
Well, that's a lie. I will. I may never make Bloody Marys in my apartment again. Because I really like them. A lot. And I have things to do!
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