"No Parking tickets." she told me at the airport as she was leaving, "And don't take it too far. No going to Montreal."

I inferred from this that a trip to Indianapolis was clearly acceptable.

My friend had invited me over, ostensibly to go see Al Green at Indy Jazz Fest, but I went knowing it would give me a chance to eat at my favorite deli, and quite possibly my favorite dining establishment altogether.

People have been noshing at Shapiro's for about 100 years in what I think is the same location just south of downtown Indy. This is more than one of those places where Midwesterners can just add bulk to themselves egregiously, the food is actually quite tasty and well prepared.

Sadly, when I am REALLY looking forward to going out to eat somewhere, I will deliberately not eat for about twelve hours prior. No snacks at work on Saturday morning, no food in the car (not even the brownies I made!) nothing. So that plasticky clunk sound of cafeteria tray hitting the railing signaled to me that I was about to be FED.

I am kind of bad about never ordering the 'right' thing when I go somewhere. I guess they are famous for their corned beef, but as we slid our trays along i was distracted by the mountainous pieces of pie and by that time was pretty much committed to dinner.

The beef short ribs would have been an option, but only two things could have occurred: they would have been better than mine, which means cooking them myself is no longer an option, and this is perhaps my one "impress someone" cooking option. OR, the ribs would NOT have been as tasty as mine, which would have just disappointed me.

So, I played it safe, and opted for the roasted chicken. I had a potato pancake and some green beans, just because it seemed right to do so.

My friend, for the record, had meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans.

The chicken was fantastic. It didn't even taste like it had been sitting around for that long. I have no idea how they seasoned it (paprika?) but it worked. The pancakes, "hand made" according to their menu, were tasty and, uhh, mostly circular. They were a dough-ey pancake, as in one made with egg and flour and tasted more like a piece of potatoey cornbread, which was fine with me, just of a different "tradition" than perhaps IAG and myself.

And look at this pie. Even if you removed the MOUNTAIN of meringue, it is still quite a large chunk. The crust crumbled in just the right way... supporting the mass of coconut cream but yielding to the tongue quickly. QUITE good.

See, just like a cafeteria. But without the cliques and the bullying.

Okay. Fast forward to the next morning. Let's just say that I had a BAD headache. If I happened to have called you Saturday night, or serenaded you with Tom Waits' 'Swordfish Trombones,' Or both, I am really sorry.

Brunch occurred in Broadripple, only a couple blocks away from the scene of the previous night's crimes. Honestly, I was just expecting omelets with asparagus and some ham chuncks, but when I saw the word brasserie, my eyes just LIT up and I knew I would be okay.

Yeah, there were sandwiches and yeah, the ice cubes were small and crunchy. But there were frites.

Lots and lots of frites! (they were 3/4ths of the way gone here before I could stop shoving them into my yap long enough to take a picture.  Then I had to, you know, wipe the aioli off my fingers. It wasn't my camera.)

By the way, sorry it's been a while!

Posted by Jeff at 3:30 AM:: Permalink :: (Comments Closed)

Comments:

Some Mystery Person Wrote:
Finally!
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hmm Wrote:
well fancy that
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Jeff Wrote:
Mystery Person #1 - Thanks for your patience. I've been kind of busy, but things are in the works MP2, uhh... Yeah. I see.
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Your Mom Wrote:
Dude, whoever took you to these places must rock! Those fries look like the bomb!! That's right I said it, the bomb.
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