Listing Through Life

On a Saturday in early October, my wife, daughter and I went to McHenry County’s version of Jerusalem — Royal Oak Farm Orchard west of Hebron. It’s owned by Christians. The gift shop is filled with stuff imprinted with Bible verses. It’s closed on Sundays. And there’s one tree in the center of the orchard from which you’re not allowed to pick any fruit. (I’m just kidding about that last one.) The place was packed. We had to park in a muddy field. The gift shop was impossible to get in and out of, and the line for the bathrooms …

About 30 different varieties of apples grow in the orchard, six or seven of which were ready for picking when we were there. We paid $27 for a half-bushel plastic bag (which seemed pretty steep) and set out.

We were told we could taste test any of the apples before deciding which ones to pick, so I did.

As it turned out, we all preferred the Empires, and that’s what we filled our bag with. (To those of you who live outside of Chicagoland — “with” is a perfectly acceptable word to end a sentence with.)

We filled the bag as full as it could possibly be filled — it was a heaping half-bushel.

The day started out nice enough, but it got cold and raw before we left. The mud, the crowds and the price were enough to make this a pilgrimage we probably won’t be making again soon. Oh, and Empires … we discovered that they don’t last all that long before they go mealy.

I’ve been hanging around lately with a couple of bagel snobs who look down their noses at the faux bagels sold by Einstein Bros. and Panera. Apparently, those establishments steam their bagels instead of boiling them in the proper fashion. To the best of my knowledge, I’ve never had a “real” bagel.

I decided it was time. Before I headed into Chicago recently, I searched on the Internet and discovered the New York City Bagel Deli, located just two blocks from the train station.

It probably won’t surprise you to discover I ordered a ham and cheese bagel sandwich. It was excellent, although next time I’ll probably do without the cucumbers. There was so much stuff on the sandwich, I couldn’t really tell what the bagel was like.

The place was set up rather weird, with the line in the middle and a handful of tables around the edges. I found a lone stool at a counter in the corner where I had a lovely view of the Chicago River to my left and a corner of the Sears Tower in front of me.

I bought a half dozen to go. The cinnamon-raisin ones were bland. The pretzel salt ones were delicious — once I’d scraped off about 80% of the salt. And like bagels are supposed to be, they were chewy on the inside with a thin crunchy crust.

I haven’t attained bagel snobbery yet, but I’m pressing forward on my quest.