Covering the food and restaurant business beat for you has been a delight. Moving forward though, I’m stepping back on the volume of my work because I’ll be splitting my time between Oak Park and Fayetteville, Arkansas.
In thinking about how I should commemorate my three years of diligent interviewing and eating, I struck on something that has daunted me – chitterlings. I grew up in Arkansas and was aware of the dish but have never eaten it.
In general, I try to follow in my father’s footsteps when it comes to food. His philosophy has been (and he’s made it to 85 years by following it): if he can see that someone has eaten a dish and lived, he will try it. It’s a hard standard to live up to and I don’t always measure up, but I’m proud enough of my record. I drank kumis (fermented horse milk) when I had the chance to travel to Kyrgyzstan with a documentary film of mine. I’ve eaten cricket tacos. I tried fried cicadas thanks to Dave Odd and the folks at Carnivore.
I’m not saying that chitterlings are as exotic as those, but still I had my trepidations. They are made from pig intestines after all.
I often drive by Chef Daddy’s at 5944 W. Lake St. in Chicago. The painted lettering on its window says: “Home of Chitterlings, Errrday!” For many, especially African Americans, this dish is a reminder of home and caring grandmas, whose means may have been stretched, but whose love and ability to cook were not. For me the window sign was a challenge. The gauntlet had been thrown down.
I invited a friend who often joins me on food adventures and we ventured forth.
True to form, chitterlings were ready to go. I should mention that they are not cheap. The process to turn them from offal to nostalgic dish is intense. A small cup is $28. A large one is $50. We ordered a small. It arrived with vinegary hot sauce. Sometimes chitterlings are fried. These were boiled, lightly seasoned and served with a bit of broth. The texture was tender but chewy, kind of like an oyster. I didn’t do a strenuous job of chewing, but I did finish my portion. They didn’t have a strong flavor, though they are organ meat with its attendant earthiness.
Food articles for the papers are not reviews. We focus on getting news of openings, closings, events and community uplift out to the readers. When asked whether I do reviews, I always say, “They don’t pay me enough for anyone to hate me over what I write.” Do I have opinions? Sure. If I don’t like something, I don’t write about it. But there is so much to cover, you shouldn’t infer that just because it hasn’t been written about it’s not worthy.
I’m hitting the road (you could take Route 66 almost the whole way) for a professor position at the University of Arkansas, teaching media law in its School of Journalism and Strategic Media. It’s a dream job that will allow me to combine my love of journalism and my documentary filmmaking.
I’m glad I checked another food adventure off my list this summer. Truly, I’ve savored every bite in Austin, Brookfield, Forest Park, Oak Park, River Forest and Riverside.
Thank you to the papers, the restaurants and you, the readers, for allowing me the privilege of covering this beat. I challenge you too to get out there and try something new. It might not become a favorite, but it will likely be a good story to tell.