Juicy Steak, Red Wine, and Cat Vomit

weber grill restaurant chicagoWe went to The Weber Grill last night with Liz and Kyle. It wasn’t my first choice, considering it’s a chain in cahoots with a device that aids in outdoor cooking and somewhat expensive, but both Charlie and Kyle were positively drooling over the idea. We’d had plans to try it on a trip to Schaumburg, Illinois, to visit IKEA last year. But, of course, those plans fell through, with our opposite schedules and the fact that it costs about the same to board the dogs as it does for us to get a hotel for a couple of nights. It’s kind of difficult to reconcile the added cost (hotel for us, or hotel for the dogs? Pick one). At that time, Cavan was taking 19 credit hours and working a lot, so he couldn’t be expected to skip classes or call in to work to accommodate our desire for food and housewares.

We were expecting them to be a bit late so Charlie and I got a drink in the bar beforehand. The restaurant did have a dress code: according to their Web site, men’s shirts must have sleeves. I told Charlie and Kyle they’d have to leave their Hulkamania tank tops at home, then. They didn’t dress up much, but I was wearing dark jeans, heels that made it impossible to stomp all over downtown, and a cute white, brown, and green top. Not to mention the fabulous earrings, bracelet, and matching handbag. As we were standing in the bar, a young woman who was dressed in an eerily similar outfit, was checking me out. Not in a hot girl-on-girl sort of way, but in either an I-don’t-like-that-you’re-so-obviously-low-class-and-we-have-on-the-same-thing way, or perhaps she just thought “Oh, no, she does not need to be wearing that.” I admit I’m not 110 pounds anymore, but I do tend to fill out jeans and a top rather nicely. I don’t know what the bitch’s problem was, but I gave her a catty look back and refused to let it dampen my spirits. Mostly because it’s a bar in a chain restaurant in Indianapolis, honey, you’re not exactly Being Seen at The Ivy or anything.

I’d seen an orange-mango cosmo on their menu online, so I decided what the hell, I don’t have to be anywhere until 10 on Tuesday, and I ordered one. It was a bit of a mistake. At first I had a pretty good buzz because it was mostly pure alcohol and my stomach was empty and I have liquor, on average, once every three months anymore. But then I had all those spices that made my catfish “blackened” (and I’m not a big fish eater, but the options other than barbecue and red meat were extremely limited) so I was regretting it when we got home last night. Nothing horrible happened; I just didn’t feel “good.”

Besides seeing our friends and treating them to a post-wedding dinner, having a good fru-fru drink, and trying someplace different, there was one other really good thing that happened last night. Charlie was, literally, in heaven. In some aspects – and I mean this in the most positive way – Charlie can be a very simple man. He’s happiest when provided with a juicy steak and a glass of red wine. It was nice to see him so content, for that moment, just eating.

And just because I care about you and don’t want you, if you happen to be a fan of juicy steaks and red wine, to feel too hungry this early in the morning, I should let you know that someone let forth a stomachful of Eagle Pack Indoor Cat Food and hairballs yesterday. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue. With all hardwood floors, it’s relatively easy to clean up those inevitable – and frequent – accidents. Yesterday, however, when I was greeted with this mess, I had been at work all morning, and could not tell how long the barf had been on the couch. Yes, it was on the sofa. Sunken in to our great, expensive, green couch cushions. Right now, I’m reminded of that because, despite my best efforts to thoroughly clean the cushion, I keep getting whiffs of stale, vomity fabric.

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5 thoughts on “Juicy Steak, Red Wine, and Cat Vomit

  1. Being that I live at the House of Barf, where no less than 50% of the canine and feline population are puking at a given time, I can relate 🙂 Is it just me or is anyone else irritated by the whole dress code thing in Indianapolis especially at the Weber Grill restaurant of all places? I mean New York City I get but here a dress code is as effective as paper grocery bag in a rain storm. The problem as I see it is we have the majority of the population of this city loaded into 2 categories: The $30,000 dollar millionaires who are overdressed all the time, and the crazy midwesterners wearing shorts, tank tops, fanny packs and all manner of casualness. And then there are those of us who fall in between who just try and dress for the occasion. I am sure you guys looked great though and glad Charlie enjoyed his steak.

  2. I saw people at the restaurant last night who were wearing khaki shorts and t-shirts with flip-flops (or, which you’ll hate to hear, the seemingly standard Indiana Housewife bright pink Crocs clogs. Ugh!), as well as guys in suits. I’m sure there’s a happy medium in there somewhere. 🙂

  3. Hot Pink Crocs, huh? Yikes.

    Standard issue here is ::gag:: UT orange.

    It did sound like a good time. When did Indy get so hoity-toity? That sort of stuff surely didn’t happen whilst I was there….

    Sorry about the cat puke. I’m not sure what cleaners you prefer, but I have found that Resolve for Pets makes for the best clean up.

  4. I went to the Schaumberg Weber restaurant once (not my choice, either), and ended up having a delicious chicken sandwich, which I insisted they serve on a pretzel bun. If I ever end up going to another Weber, I’ll have to have something on the pretzel bun again. It made all other buns seem lackluster.

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