We Robbed The Doughnut Vault

After eating these doughnuts I then printed a copy of this picture and ate it.

    This is the deal.  There is a line that starts at 8 am.  A line that starts at a door that may very well be any door in America except for what is inside.  You see, inside that door are the best doughnuts in Chicago, and in all probability, the best in the world.   But are these doughnuts worth sacrificing ones (false?) spy hood in the name of food?  Yes, for real, yes.  But who has the sense, calm under pressure, and food blogging abilities to break into said door?  Your damn right it's us!

The following excerpt of our book The Doughnut Man Cometh is all true, except some parts.

    This could have been any day in the city.  The train was clacking by, squeaking out its soft industrial song whilst delivering the multicultural mass to their meetings and morning work places.  The air smelt of leaves though the trees had been bare for weeks.  It was the smell of fall lingering, and like that roommate that dosen't pay rent, winter never took hold of its life and we questioned whether it ever would.  Breaking that scent was the wistful waft of wonder known to all as frying dough.  Pilot smiled a knowing smile at me. 

    Timing is everything, if you have nothing but time.  As I stood contemplating this truth, I wondered if what I was about to do was wise.  Hell, I thought, wisdom is overrated. It takes nothing to grow older, and even if one lives in a cage, experiences are going to build.  Wisdom is overrated.  Knowledge in the face of that wisdom is the real champion.  Mike Tyson was a champion at 18 yet he was no more wise then as he was when he hit his wife (like a coward) and went to jail, or when he got a face tattoo, or when he bit off Evander Holyfield's ear, or when he appeared in the Hangover Part II (It was the same movie!).  Knowledge made him champion, lack of knowledge gained in his experiences is what made him the train wreck that we all know today.

    Knowledge on this day was about the precision of all the moving parts that make up these doughnut robbing machinations.  I kept this knowledge tight in my chest, I kept this knowledge nervous.  Nerves were the only edge I had against this Doughnut Vault.  Everything else was in its favor.  From it's masterfully crafted brick exterior, to its blue french door, this building stood as my mince.  I took a moment to respect it, like a general staring down the opposing masses the morning of battle.  I then took a moment to be weak, I took a moment to think about the treasures that were sure to me mine if I did this right.

    The door clicked open.

"Good morning"  I knew by the piercing in her nose that this was my inside girl.  I slipped inside like a slithering snake.  Sneaking, and stepping silently, like the spy I am, I went strait to the end of the hall.  Pilot was bring up the rear making sure our intrusion went unnoticed.

"Have you got the goods?"  The suspense was waving through the sweet smelling air, weaving a thick blanket of weariness.  At that moment, trust was at a stand still.  All my hope lie in this girl I had never known before our brief hello.  Lady Luck don't screw me now.....

"Yeah, that will be 17 dollars."

Ok, Ok, so we were the first in line and we paid, but seriously , these people stamp their own doughnut bags!

     To end, I'm gonna have to say that these doughnuts are as big as my (super secret) face.  They were also so badass that I got chills eating the damn thing.  They have different doughnuts on different days so check out their website. ----------------->http://thedoughnutvault.tumblr.com/

I gots to run.  The Chinese Red Machine is all "We know your fat American doughnut spy identity blah, blah, Chinese Characters, blah." 





    

Bad Apple is Not a Terrible Snapple Flavor

One of the many traps that Pilot and I had to avoid, that tomato looking apple mat is really a tarp over a bed of poisoned spikes.  And yes that guy standing on it did make the very poor choice to take a step back.

   

    We here at Eat Anonymous like to eat, anonymously.  That dosen't mean that we won't share secrets.  Like say, that the GLG20 is wicked over rated; much like the SAT (but that Spies Like Us is not).  Or that  the Heinz Family (and John Kerry), have conspired with the government to make us think that we have to accept ketchup as it is so that the terrorists don't win.

    That last bit is where our strange journey began.  Ever seen an episode of 24? Well, we are no Jack Bauer (no spies is, damn it, NO spy is), but that is what being a spy is really like.

Imagine the following with loud Beep Boop sounds after the time is announced 

7:00 pm (Beep Boop) - We get a distress call that some bastards are making their own ketchup and that it is the best in Chicago.  Since we write a food blog (that rules!) Pilot and I get the call to take a look.

7:01 pm - The message self destructs

7: 10 pm - We arrive via aerial drop, which was totally unnecessary since The Bad Apple is located near the Montrose stop of the Brown line but your hard earned tax dollars aren't gonna spend themselves.

 7:12 pm - We watch that dude get the poison spike treatment, and then we get seated.

7:14 pm - The guy from the Allstate commercials calls Pilot, that's when we discover that he was also in Major League as Serrano ("Bartender, Jobu needs a refill").  As spies (maybe?) we are not allowed to explain that he is really the president------>http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0371660/

7:15 pm - "Not The President" explains to us that lasers do kill genies (thus settling a long dispute between Pilot and I) and that we must eat all home made ketchup in site before it falls into the wrong hands.

7:16 - We call in back-up to help with the assigned task

7:18 - We are joined by fellow spies (that I will call by their spy names because I'm super good at covering up stuff and stuff) Lego X and Silly Sox.  We claim to the wait staff that it is Lego X's birthday (see, I told you I was good at that shit).  We then order beers from their beer menu that I am pretty sure is a double increment code with a triple seesaw codex.  And no, I did not just make that up to sound cool (maybe?).

7:25 - The beers arrive, Pilot Pulp's is poisoned with iocain powder but she is totally immune because she is bad to the bone.  Amateurs.

7:30 - After the beers, we order more beers

 7:31 - We order burgers and fries to kill our buzz and to kill all the home made ketchup

7:40 - The food arrives and the operation is in full swing.   Don't let that plate of scrumptious, excellent burger madness fool you.  THESE PEOPLE ARE MAKING THEIR OWN KETCHUP.

7:41 - It was hard, but we ate all the ketchup.  I know what you're thinking, "Dude, thank you for not letting the terrorists win"  And you're welcome.

7:42 (Beep Boop, you forgot to do it didn't you!) - Empty and alone this bottle of sweet, not too salty treat/dangerous-government-overthrowing super sauce is neutralized

7:43 - We ask for the bill and give payment.

8:00 - The paid up bill arrives.We figured the reason it took 17 min. to get our bill was because they rigged a bomb to it and we were right.  After Silly Sox disarmed it with a crochet needle and a gum wrapper from her pocket, we leave.

    I would like to end by saying that we kicked that missions ass.  Also I would like to say, "F -you terrorists we win and you lose".  I just hope that they don't make more ketchup for the 8 pm to 9 pm rush........

http://www.badapplebar.com/  







 

Cozy Noodle Makes Your Noodle Cozy

These egg rolls ARE NOT tiny, but that fork IS huge

    In the quests of super secret spies (maybe?) we find that sometimes we must take super secret bathroom breaks.  "But where do super secret spies take super secret bathroom breaks?" is a question that I know you are asking yourself right now (The blog reader mind reader that the CIA developed is straight sweet technology).  We of course take these breaks in the best restaurant bathroom in Chicago. "But where is the best restaurant bathroom in Chicago?" Man, you are so predictable!

    It is at Cozy Noodle of course!  This bad boy has all the bear necessities of toilet time: 

A 1970's beer can collection, check.

Andy Warhol's Marylin Monroe collectors plates screwed into the wall above the toilet, check

A sign telling all whom enter that the Bulls kick ass, check

A sign making fun of your tiny little weenus, check

   Another great thing about the restroom is that it is surrounded by a really bad ass noodle restaurant.  With offerings of the Thai Food persuasion, one finds that lunch is the best time to take a bathroom break.  They have a $1.99 soup special at lunch that includes a huge bowl of spicy chicken noodle soup, the egg rolls shown above, and one fork the size of a spatula.  They also have noodle specials that cost $5.99 and include such items as Pad Thai, Chicken Fried Rice, Pad Khee Mao, and Pad See Ewe.  It's awesome that a spy can go eat noodles then treat his noodle to some quiescence in the quintessential quality restaurant bathroom.

    Lastly, I want to say that this has been the first month of our one sided conversations and Pilot Pulp and I have had a blast doing it.  That being said, we want to keep doing it so we are gonna.  Feel free to E-mail us questions or places to eat if one comes to mind (Eatingthebest@hotmail.com).  Also check out our face book page and Twitter accounts listed over here-------->

    I'm out to take care of some business because Russia is all, "We have seen this Blog, and we must destroy it's Freedom Representing Americaness, Blah blah blah Russian words, blah." Later.

http://www.cozychicago.com/home/ these people actually have a website.  I guess there is a first time for everything.

Big and Little's Killed Biggie Smalls

Wittiness Protection (for those who kill rappers) includes bad ass eye wear.

    

"My stomach is still full". - Pilot Pulp four hours after we ate at Big and Little's

"No, I saw it on the T.V's.  It's closed Pilot, it has to be." - Mr. Proper five minutes before we found Big and Little's

    To begin. These people fry pork belly, and insert it into a hoagie with pickles and maple infused mayo.  A Pork Belly Poorboy.  That's right, I said it and I meant it and I know you want it.  I also don't think that I need to write any more than what I have said above, but I'm gonna.

    Big and Little's is in a really crappy part of the Near North Side here in the Chi. Not East enough to be Olde Town, not South enough to be in the Gold Coast, this eatery lies in a truly horrible part of this town.  Amongst all the torn down buildings one finds, a car wash (for the 5,000 taxi's parked around Pakeeza's Restaurant), someplace called Pakeeza's Restaurant , St. Mathew United Methodist Church ,  the 5,000 cabs parked a Pakeeza's Restaurant (Pakistani Mafia anyone?), and the best poorboy in Chicago.

   DISCLAIMER:  Guy Fieri (you know, that guy that is a bigger tool box than a Snap-on Tools Truck) has been to this place and he named it the best Diner in Chicago.

    That being said, this place is bad to the bone.  First off, it's cash only.  Second, they have a line out the door with only 4 people working.  Third, the cashier will take an order, wait three to five minutes, then take another order so that the kitchen dosen't get all outta wack. Fifth, they offer only the most obscure hot sauces ever (a green habanero? Check).  Sixth, there are more hipsters in this place than at a Death Cab for Cutie concert (Joke:  Why did the Hipster burn his mouth on The Pork Belly Poorboy?  Answer: He ate it before it was cool [rim shot]). Seventh, they only play music that would be very familiar to anyone that went to prom from 1983 to 1989.  Eighth, I'm out of stuff to say.

    To end, I have to say that this place will make people fat.  I don't mean fat, I mean phat.  In fact, as spies (maybe?) Pilot Pulp and I are privy to certain information from certain sources that points to pork belly poor boy's as the real killer of Biggie Smalls.  The bullets where just plugged into him to protect the sanctity of St. Mathews United Methodist Church, or rather, of Big and Little's mad sweet eats. This is the truth as supplied by the CIA (maybe?).  

 

   

   

     

Super Dawg, Dawg

These are not Plaster Hotdog people, they are Mr. Proper and Pilot Pulp

    This is how it begins.  Late one night we had a craving for something mad awesome to throw on top of the beers that were already marinating in our stomachs. I had heard of this sweet hotdog place, that when Pilot Pulp was all, "I've heard of that place also and it sounds bad to the bone."  I might be paraphrasing there, but whatever, from there we jumped into the car and drove.  After some self doubt, self hate, and some serious, "we have to be going the wrong way we saw it.

    Looming large on the horizon were those lovely links pictured above.  We had done it, mostly by accident, but we still had done it. We ate the best hotdogs in Chicago.  They were as sweet as the Hercules Hotdawgs humungous hunky biceps being depicted on all the swag that Super Dawg hocks.  Fatty hotdog, all the Chicago stuff (onions, neon green relish, hot peppers, diced tomatoes, and a whole pickle), surrounded by french fries that are so sweet I hate to associate them with the French at all. 

   
     Weeks later we decided that we need to find the best of certain types of food in the city, then three times a  month, eat at these places that provided this food, then tell every person that would venture onto our website about it.  A few rules do apply.  One, these have to be places that don't take reservations, that way we know that they will let us in. Two, these are cheap eats because being spies (or being not spies) dosen't pay jack diddly.  Third, we are open to suggestions about what items are the best so tell us what to eat.  Fourth, we are not spies, maybe.  And that's it.

     I shall end by saying, get ready, because this is going to be so badass that we may all go blind from witnessing it, then again maybe we won't.  We just don't know.