It was long after midnight. I had eaten my fill and wanted to go home. The servers wanted to go home. The chefs wanted to go home. The valet, if he hadn’t already split, had probably fallen asleep on West Fulton Market.
Meanwhile, the unbearable throb of action at Duck Duck Goat had subsided to an unbearable near silence, and my party—heavy lidded and all talked out—sat in the empty dining room waiting for a waffle we no longer wanted. You see, the waffle iron, imported straight from China, had gone kablooey. Yet the solicitous manager persevered even after we said, “Don’t worry about it, we’re ready for the check,” at which point we endured 15 more minutes of We’re so sorry you’ve waited so long but it’s totally worth it…
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Chicago (Digital) - 1 Issue, July 2016