Bar Scene

Tonight, Kieran is at the Chicago Fire game with his work friends. I went to the gym and then to Walgreens to pick up his special kind of hair gel (wife points for me)...next to this Walgreens is a Treasure Island. Treasure Island is one of those grocery stores that carries everything that a regular grocery store does not (i.e. Club Orange soda, something I had in Ireland and can't get here except at T.I., all kinds of stinky cheeses, etc.)..... I needed some potatoes (I'm making a pot roast tomorrow, more wife points for me), this place was next door, and let me say this: the olive bar at this T.I. was to die for.

My love for olives goes back to my toddler days when, according to my parents, I ate almost an entire can of black olives only to puke them up later on in my bed while I was sleeping. I LOVE OLIVES. Growing up, my olive palate consisted of black from the can and green w/pimentos from the jar. Since I moved here, it has expanded to include pretty much every kind of olive imaginable. I drink martinis mostly for the blue cheese stuffed olives, although, I have been known to love vodka (oh, how I miss you, vodka). My love for olives seems to have only intensified since I have been preggo. I think the spawn loves olives too, bless his/her heart. But I digress...

So tonight, as I admired the olive bar at T.I., I realized that dinner was on my own since K was at the game. And then and there, I decided olives were going to be my dinner. I scooped a half pound of Cerignola olives (big, meaty green suckers with the pits) into the salad bar container and made my way to the car. Did I wait until I got home to eat my olives? Hell no. I was like a crackhead getting a fix. I ate every single one of those olives on the drive home. The drive was from Old Town to River West, approximately 3 miles. Seriously, my dinner was $5 for 1/2 lb. of olives. No cheese. No chaser. No martini. Bliss. I just hope I don't puke them up later.