A Carnivorous, Cheese-Laden, Beer-Filled Weekend
(Or, my Visit to Illinois)

Last night, just after a feast of deep-dish sausage pizza from Malnatti's, my dad said, ' Tonight I am going to have a second beer.'

We've heard this exclamation after more than one family meal, but usually it remains nothing more than an unfulfilled promise of indulgence. But last night, he followed through. While my brother K. poured himself a bourbon and I mixed unsweetened cranberry juice with vodka, my dad opened a second bottle of beer.

My father has always had one and only one beer with dinner. He is habitual, no religious, about having that beer every night, but unlike his lush of a daughter, he stops with one.

His tastes have changed somewhat over the years. When I was four or five years old, he would let me sip the foam off the top of a newly opened can of Old Milwaukee. I have a vague memory of my mother scolding him for this because I was hopped up on antihistamines for a nasty childhood allergy to mosquitoes... as if one sip would knock me out.

Now, the old 1970-model refrigerator in my parent's basement in Illinois is stocked with Goose Island Mild Winter Ale (Chicago-brewed), Leinenkugel's 1888 Bock (Wisconsin) and Newcastle Brown Ale. He and my two older brothers helped me develop an appreciate for various flavors and brews in my college years that I still have.

For a long time, beer was my beverage of choice, and occasionally I rediscover how complex and interesting a good brew can be. The Goose Island Winter Ale was delicious with pizza. But, my palette is still as unschooled as it ever was. So, although I wasn't able to smell the "raisins and the freshly baked dark bread" in the nose or identify the "rich caramel and spicy rye" flavors on the tongue, I thought 'this is a damn good beer.'

And, like wine and liquor, the style of glass can affect the tasting experience. Friday night friends introduced me to a new glass style developed by Sam Adams while we were drinking pints at a bar/restaurant called 6 Degrees in Bucktown. You may think a pint glass is a pint glass, but apparently, friends, this is not the case.

The Sam Adam's Summer Ale I ordered was served in a uniquely designed glass created by the Boston-based brewery. My companions explained the narrow base helped keep the beer cold because my hands weren't warming it up. The wider, rounder upper part of the glass provided aeration and the lip enhanced the taste and increased the sweetness by directing the beer over the sides of my taste buds instead of across the top. And, finally the laser etchings on the bottom create bubbles that continually travel up through and aerate the amber liquid.

The Sam Adam's Web site explains it a bit differently, focusing more on aroma, temperature maintenance and flavor release, but I preferred the more colloquial explanation from my companions.

The beer I was enjoying in the Chicago bar may have been from the East Coast, but the sandwich I ate with it was all Illinois. I ordered a ponyshoe with pulled pork. The ponyshoe is the younger, smaller sibling of the horseshoe, a sandwich created in 1928 by a chef named Joe Schweska at the Leland Hotel in Springfield, IL.

The 6 Degrees menu explains the first incarnation of the horseshoe was two pieces of toast topped with a piece of ham cut from the bone (giving it the horshoe shape) that was topped with a Welsh rarebit cheese sauce and potatoes. The sandwich has evolved over the years, and at 6 Degrees, diners can choose one of several meats and two vegetables for a full horseshoe or one meat for a ponyshoe. The sandwich is topped with the signature cheese sauce and french fries. Although I was instructed to eat all the fries to get to the meat and cheese, I cheated. The ponyshoe was still too big for me to handle, so I pushed aside the fries to get to that beautiful cheese sauce.

I have to admit, ladies and g's, I am quite enjoying this carnivorous, cheese-laden, beer-filled weekend. The ponyshoe was super tasty (really how can you go wrong with pulled pork, cheese sauce and french fries?) Malnatti's pizza is always a treat. (I'm sorry New York, but Chicago will always top you when it comes to pizza.) And, for lunch today, I sampled some flavorful "local" venison sausage from a hunter my brother knows in southern Illinois.

Ironically, despite the indulgence, I'm feeling better. So, perhaps, LP was right when she told me last weekend to eat yogurt and drink beer. Who knew?

Stay tuned! And crack open a cold brewsky!