Good to the last drop.

Daily writing prompt
What’s something you used to believe as a kid that seems ridiculous now?

Hmmm.

This is gonna take a lot of effort for this. Though elements of my kid hood yet remain, actually several now that I think of it, like Elvis, it has left the building.

They – not entirely sure who “they” are, perhaps a potential prompt some day – used to say lots of things to us kids as we were growing up. Allegedly.

A great deal of marketing mumbo jumbo sprinkled in with a lot of the other malarkey that got spread about. Thank goodness phones hung on a wall back then and TV’s had an appendage growing out of the top like My Favorite Martian.

I guess what I really cannot get my head around to this day, is why anyone would unscrew an Oreo to eat it.

There were those that would disassemble the confection to lick the icing off the foundation then consume the bottom followed by the top. Or those that would adhere to disassembly phase one, consume the icing attached to the bottom and then eat the bare top. Or vice versa.

Some might even disassemble, then add an entire Oreo into the center, and then reassemble to consume. I am confident that there were many iterations.

Crumble into a bowl of ice cream, add chocolate syrup and consume. Place into a bowl, pour in milk, allow for some saturation, then consume with spoon. Place into bowl, pour in chocolate milk, then follow same saturation process as discussed. On and on.

My preferred method requires two liquids, never employed together.

First, a shorter wider glass of ice cold milk. Dunk until the cookie is about to split from your fingertips, then quickly transport into your Oreo hole in one fell swoop. By then, you may be able to simply gum it some and swallow. If your timing is off, and the Oreo pulls a Titantic and sinks to the bottom, all is not lost. Simply chug and pat the glass once you have consumed the last one via your hand, and the sunken treasure will slide into your mouth.

Then once coffee took over, I discovered the same approach worked magnificiently.

Your timing had to change to adapt to the faster saturation time. But it was a whole new flavor. Hills Brothers and Oreos. And of course, those that fell away like the ships before her, could be encouraged to find their way into your taste buds with the last swig of Java.

Mmmmmm.

Good to the last drop.

Opa!

Daily writing prompt
What is your favorite restaurant?

In my younger days, it was the McDonalds on Ogden in Westmont.

Before play areas, and tables pretty much for that matter, I just recall a counter facing the street, with spinny seats. Once the cheeseburger, fries and chocolate milkshakes were granted, we could sit, watch the cars, dip the fries and spin. A great break from having mock chicken legs. tuna casserole, vegetable soup or S.O.S.

We soon ventured out Oak Brook/Yorktown way for a try at Beef & Barrel. An early roadhouse effort, with baskets of peanuts in the shell on the tables. And shells everywhere. That was half the fun right there. Couldn’t tell you about the Beef & Barrel Burger, if that is what it was called. But whippin’ peanut shells at my brothers, and lobbing them into their pop made so-so food plenty good for our palates.

Somewhere along the way was a Connie’s Pizza down the block from Mickey D’s, some fried chicken joint in Western Springs that was very good, and the dime store on Ogden and York that had a food counter. The fries there were majestic. We could walk there, down a plate of fries, a Coke and on the way back, stop at Vittori’s Deli for a Hostess dessert fix.

When college and all that it entailed crept up and headlocked me, we discovered White Castles. Nothing like 20 cheeseburgers, large fries and a large coke to cap off and soak up the evening. The staff loved us, and we would joke around with them all of the time. We were like sons. We just sat, ate and laughed for a while until it was time to call in the dogs and put out the fire.

But then somehow, this one became part of the family repertoire.

The Parthenon.

In Greektown in Chicago, on Halsted, not far from the old Chicago Stadium. When this dinner destination was announced, we were in the car before the last syllable left our parent’s mouth. It was a hike. Down the Ike to Halsted on the west side of the city. Sort of by Cook County Hospital.

I recall my dad saying that an owner was in school with him in Champaign, or something like that. After witnessing the adults party there, perhaps that city was misspelled. The front, landscape size window displayed some of the foods you could try and grow to love. Entire gyro roasts were spinning and cooking. Cheeses, desserts, entrees, wines were there for the drooling.

On the sidewalk, you could sense a fever pitch inside.

Like the whole building was vibrating. There was suction pulling against you as you were opening the door. Your eyes and ears were instantly immersed in an overhwhelming symphony of laughter, talking, family warmth, flames and “Opa!” over and over.

Picture a kitchen area in a small, city bungalow home with the old 50’s style chairs and tables – times one hundred. That was the Parthenon. It was like one huge family gathering of nothing but strangers. Like we all knew each other, enjoyed our collective company and just had fun at dinner. All in the same bungalow on Halsted.

Waiters spun all around, carrying huge trays of food and drink, weaving in and out without ever spilling a drop. The Dan Ryan at rush hour was nothing compared to how they kept the food and drink traffic flowing.

Then, intersperse that flow with some fire. Cast iron plates of saganaki, being copiously doused with Ouzo, then a Bic, lit to their forever melody of “Opa!”

The best Horiatiki salads ever tossed without lettuce, served with copious amounts of Feta.

Thin sliced portions of the gyro meat from the window, with pita for mopping.

Moussaka, Dolmades, Pastitsio, Souvlaki, and Spanakopita.

And should there be a small opening left, somewhere deep below, it could be topped off with a smidge of some warm baklava.

The Parthenon is where I first learned to love calamari – squid and/or octopus. A fav to this day. So many other acquired tastes there that I still savor.

A definite food coma on the way back to Franklin Street every time.

It had to be sometime in the late 70’s when I had my last piece of saganaki. . Sadly, the Parthenon closed after 48 years In 2016.

My favorite by far. For the food, atmosphere, and memories of true sustenance.

Thanks Parthenon !

Opa!