The weekend is wet and sticky.
This week, Perks is getting you a gratis extra day for your next exotic car rental. (Sadly, you’ll still have to give the car back.) You’ll also get half off your next Jeremy Argyle shirt, cut with just enough tail to be tucked, but not so much that you can’t wear the shirt untucked. It’s like the Golden Mean of shirting.
You love alligator po’boys. You just don’t know it yet. So the folks at Jerry’s morphed their little West Loop spot into a N’awlins po’boy shop with fresh shucked oysters, gumbo and muffulettas. You can thank them profusely in person.
Mary Ann or Ginger: yes, a tired barroom debate. But throw a Mrs. Howell into the mix and suddenly things get interesting again (especially when one of you is loaded with bubbly and liqueur). You’ll find a whole list of Gilligan’s Island-inspired libations at Custom House—but no coconut-shell cups.
The Gin Blossoms and 10,000 Maniacs provide the soundtrack as you power through burgers from the Bad Apple, Goose Island and other local burger-meisters at the new street fest. Finally, your love of hamburger is married to your love of ’90s music. Your move, blues and barbecue.
When a singer’s official bio lists “raconteur” and “moonshiner,” you know you’re in for an entertaining evening. Pull up a seat to celebrate the release of Hamper McBee’s new album of mountain ditties with a screening of a ’70s documentary about his rum-running ways. No revenuers allowed.
Now that you’ve mastered both the Dutch and the Spanish national anthem on vuvuzela, join other well-informed soccer enthusiasts like Chicago Fire’s Patrick Nyarko as they gather at English for beer specials and British pub food. You were rooting for them, anyhow.
