It's possible to have a wonderful experience at a purportedly lousy restaurant and a dismal meal at a much beloved restaurant. This principle I take for granted and, lately, have had demonstrated for me at the Grand Central Oyster Bar.
Oak Park is somewhat smaller than Brooklyn (which, if it were a city unto itself, would be like the second largest city in the U.S.) and Lyon (the second largest city in France), so maybe economies of scale don't apply. Still, how cool would it be for the Village to set up a rack of bicycles for residents and tourists to use as needed, secured with a credit card, of course, and perhaps funded by a local bank (looking at you Chase).
Ruby Streaks Baby Mustard greens require no cooking: I just rinsed and put into a salad. In a salad, the texture of the tiny shoots are prickly, kind of like frisee, a good contrast to mesclun, romaine or other larger leaves.
I spotted a bunch of chocolate bars from Cuba. I mentioned to a British man that for Americans, such chocolate would be forbidden fruit, as we are not allowed to buy Cuban chocolate, rum, cigars or anything else. He initially didn't know what I meant, and I find Europeans are regularly surprised to be reminded of this prohibition…perhaps because it seems so odd for Americans to make policy like this which seems so petty and pointless.
Geppetto's spaghetti pie is not technically pie: it's more like lasagna made with thin spaghetti. There's cheese mixed in, and a hint of herbs, and it's served in a wedge, though there's no actual pie crust.
Harissa and mayo were applied directly to a warmed flour tortilla; on top of that went with what looked like a Kraft single, torn in half, followed by lettuce and tomato halves, then kofte and a fistful of French fries. Folded into an oblong envelope, this was admittedly more burrito than a taco. The whole shebang was griddled on a Panini press, which the young man reoriented once to give the surface a grid pattern.