Tag: chicago

September Sixteenth

September Sixteenth

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Viva México!

How are you viviendo México hoy?

My coworker Juan asked me if I was going to celebrate today. I just laughed and said no. I’m tired and old. He just chuckled. I like Juan he’s quiet and seems sweet. He gives me first gen vibes.

Yesterday my neighborhood was wild and awake and full of energy. People were shouting at the top of their lungs and honking their horns in celebration. 

How do I vivir México?

I do that a lot. Speak Spanish in English.

It’s having a Spanish brain colonized by English speaking surroundings. “En esta casa se habla español,” becomes, “háblale a tus padres en español,” becomes “speak what you’re most comfortable in, they understand you anyway. They’ve lived here for a majority of their lives.”

It’s not being a “no sabo” kid. Thankfully, you’re not that bad. You tell them it’s ok, it’s not their fault they don’t know Spanish. But still, you clutch your gold name plate given to you by your Nina, and think, Como puede ser?

You can’t imagine not being able to jajaja con la Cuatro on Saturday nights, or fully understand how Chente was El Rey.

Yet every September you feel like you’re missing out.

I don’t really honk my horn or get dressed up with flags. Even though they’re readily available for weeks on every corner in my neighborhood.

It’s not my way. It’s not my tradition. My parents were not like that. And I guess that’s why I’m not either. We’re not. My sisters and I, the types to wear the red, white, and, green and wave flags on the corner. 

Sure we went to the parade downtown. Early in the morning on a Saturday. Stopping at the two story Mcdonald’s on Randolph and Dearborn for breakfast. But once the parade was over, we went home and packed up the flag for another year. 

What do you need a flag for? When you’ve got that huge nopal on your forehead?

How much does it matter?

Am I not Mexican enough when I say my last name in Español, or say mande when someone calls me in Spanish? Or how about when we get together to make tamales using my grandmother’s recipe?

These are the tiny flags I wave on a daily basis. The shouting I do from my kitchen.

Viva Mexico, every day.

Back of the Yards Coffee Co.

Back of the Yards Coffee Co.

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 1 Comment

When you grow up in a major city particularly one like Chicago that attracts thousands of tourists every single year, you take for granted that you live in a place that is full of unique and interesting restaurants, coffee shops, and bakeries.

As well as taking Chicago for granted, I find myself also staying in the same general area. This city is massive. And every neighborhood feels likes like a tiny city unto itself.

Living in a city with such an amazing food scene my goal has always been to try a local restaurant when I feel like eating out before I ever opt for a chain or fast food restaurant. My husband gets mad at me because he says I don’t let him eat at the same place twice. I’m sorry, but there are too many places to try to get stuck in a food rut.

I keep that same attitude towards coffee. Even if I currently have 415 stars on my Starbucks app. Don’t judge me. We all have our vices, and mine are convenience and consistency. A Starbucks drink will always taste the same. When you try a new place you have more of a chance of trying something that you hate. And there’s nothing that this Taurus hates more than spending money on something to eat or drink and being disappointed.

Today I happened to have an errand to run on the South side. Whenever I am somewhere in the city that I normally don’t frequent I pull up handy dandy Google maps, search “coffee shops near me,” and let the search engine gods steer me to someplace new.

I happened to be 1.9 miles away from Back of the Yards Coffee Co. so off I went.

The main entrance is located off of 47th street on Hoyne Avenue.

Parking was relatively easy to find on a Saturday afternoon which suited me just fine. After spending most of my life schlepping across the city on the CTA, I find it hard to give up driving my car around. That being said, I am grateful that Chicago has a pretty good public transit system. Big ups to the number 73 bus, she raised me.

As someone who has worked in customer service from coffee, to ice cream, to coat check, to logistics, I am always quick to judge a location by the vibe I get when I walk in the door and I’m happy to say that it was warm, friendly, and welcoming from the beginning.

Thankfully there was no one behind me while I studied the menu forever. Am I the only one who gets anxiety when trying to order something new?

After much thought and being told that their signature Xocolatte was sold out I got wild and ordered an iced horchata latte with oat milk. Dear reader, here is where I disclose to you the fact that my go to coffee drink is hot coffee, with a dash of creamer and some sort of sugar free sweetener. I am unfortunately a creature of habit, so this latte was me letting my hair down. This was my first time trying oat milk and I was pleasantly pleased. The horchata flavor was delicate and not not overly sweet. A nice balance with the espresso.

My manicure is criminal but this latte is definitely an upstanding citizen.

I was feeling peckish so I also ordered their egg, bacon and jalapeño kolache for the road. I was tempted to try one of their lonches, which are a type of mexican sandwich, but I wasn’t looking for anything too substantial and the kolaches are a smaller savory option on their menu.

Also their lonche menu just gave me another reason, besides not being able to try the Xocolatte, to make a trip back.

“Resilient and robust.” Same, BOTYCC, same.

Back of the Yards Coffee Co was definitely worth the trip out and I ended up taking a bag of ground coffee for the house.

Back of the Yards Coffee Co.

2059 W. 47th Street

Chicago, IL. 60609

Vibe: Solid.

Variety of coffee drinks: Substantial

Variety of pastries: did not notice besides the small case on the counter

Variety of savory options: Substantial

Likelihood of me returning: Definite

Stay caffeinated!

Reverie

Reverie

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

There’s something electric about the unbridled reverie and passion Mexican people have when they’re celebrating that’s absolutely contagious. As I watched people cruise around my predominantly latino neighborhood in their decked out cars, I couldn’t help but get caught up in the excitement. So much so I made my extremely patient boyfriend pull over at a corner where they were selling flags.

They had huge flags for $10. I was tempted. For a moment I wanted to be one of those girls hanging out the window of my boyfriend’s pickup truck waving my giant flag and yelling at the top of my lungs, “¡Viva Mexico!” But I demurred. I’d never been that girl. I’d never been one for flag waving and rabble rousing. My Mexican pride is something I celebrate on a daily basis in small ways, just by being myself. I asked if they had a nice, small, reasonably-sized flag. You know something for dainty pride. And also, because I was thinking of the logistics of storing my flag, where does everyone keep their giant flags when they’re not cruising around on the days leading up to the 16th?

But they were all out.

Of course they were. It was 9 PM on the 15th of September, peak cruising and celebrating time. She did however have a bandana, and at $1, it was a damn bargain. I wrapped it around my head like a Mexican Tupac and went on my way.

Maybe next year, I’ll be one of those girls, wild with excitement screaming and waving my giant flag as I hang out the passenger side, of my best friend’s ride… but until with my bandana on, and my Selena blasting, I’ll leave you with one last, “Viva Mexico, cabrones!”

NPM 7

NPM 7

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 4 Comments

There used to be a Pizza Hut on North and Western.

“Is it those millenniums at it again?”

“I think you mean millenials.”

“I heard they don’t like chains.”

First they came for Applebees, now they’ve come for pizza.

“No one is killing pizza.”

The area is changing.

They call it gentrification.

There’s no room there for a Pizza Hut from the 80s when you could build overpriced condos.

“Hey, do you remember when I gave you a ride there on the back of my bike?”

“Oh yeah, to the Pizza Hut on Western and North.”

Sunday School

Sunday School

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 6 Comments

In its former life, my church was an auto body shop.

It’s a huge warehouse of a building right in the heart of Humboldt Park. We’re right in front of the eastern metal Puerto Rican flag that spans across Division street.

There’s a large freight elevator inside the building that used to take cars from the first floor to the second but for the past 40 or so years has carried the congregants that we’re either too old or too young to go up and down the stairs easily.

Every service someone is stationed at the elevator to ferry to people up into the sanctuary.

For a large part of my teenage years and early 20s an older man named, Juan, manned the elevator. He was a kind man who always had a smile and a candy for you.

Usually they were Werther’s hard candies, or sometimes the ones with a chewy center.

At some point he started to forget. Where he was. Where he lived. Who people were.

He stopped coming to church. It was just him and his wife, and it was too hard for her to care for him.

My sister handed me a werther’s on Sunday and I immediately thought of him. And I remembered his small act of kindness that he offered everyone he came across; words of encouragement, a smile, and a small candy.

And I hope he at least remembered he was loved.