There are some meals you never forget. Maybe it’s an anniversary or birthday. Maybe you’re visiting a bucket list restaurant after trying to score a reservation for years. Perhaps a friend shamed you into trying a dish or ingredient that you thought you’d hate but now love.
For me, one of those memorable bites happened on October 22, 2005. This was no white tablecloth affair, but I did wait decades for a reservation. That warm October day marked Game 1 of the World Series with the hometown Chicago White Sox battling the pre-trash-can-equipped Houston Astros. This was Chicago’s first World Series game in 46 years.
While sitting in Sox Park’s notoriously steep upper deck, I remember sinking my teeth into a Maxwell Street Polish Sausage. For all the hype about Chicago Dogs, the Polish is criminally underrated. Imagine an Americanized kielbasa topped with a bed of caramelized onions, yellow mustard, and a few pickled sport peppers. The bun was perfectly steamed, providing ecstasy in each bite while watching the Sox break through for Chicago’s first World Series since 1917. A truly religious moment for fans of the South Side brigade.
I imagine loyal New York Knicks fans are on the cusp of something similar as the Knickerbockers are knocking on the door of the franchise’s first NBA title in 53 years. Oh, I’ve heard about the Knicks-themed food specials. But with security tightened around Madison Square Garden after President Donald Trump’s much-publicized Game 3 appearance, at least I know of one humble would-be Chicago luminary who attended a championship game without making the contest about himself.
Da Pope.