Now, I find myself in a vibrant city, surrounded by some of the best blues music I’ve ever heard, and the food . . . It’s simply the best. There is nothing like sipping a nice brandy while listening to a masterful sax player.
But all the good, is sometimes met with the—well not so good—and that is the abstract restaurant called Voltage.
The name alone should’ve warned me, however, I like to keep an open mind, and at times I regret this.
I had high hopes for this restaurant, which should come with a warning label—no one over 25!
I’m torn whether to give you the good or bad first, which outweighs the former. I wish I could say I was greeted when I walked in—I wasn’t. I was told to sit, on a very narrow bench, while music thumped loudly around me. In this time, I checked the website to make sure I was at a restaurant and not a night club, and then I checked with my assistant to make sure she booked me a reservation.
She had, but it seemed a reservation to Voltage meant someone was coming for a table and doesn’t specify a time. Normally, I would leave and that would be the end of it for me. However, I was interested in the limited menu and was eager to try “Aunt V’s Buttermilk Fried Chicken.” Which, according to the website had been dubbed, “Chicago’s Best Homestyle Fave with a Twist.”
Now comes the time where I must grade Voltage, and I think you can see where this going.
Ambience – F
Staff – F
Food – D
The fried chicken came with a tomato paste, which I found odd, and a side of banana. And the drink I ordered, never came.
Needless to say, Voltage fails to meet August Cahill’s list of must eat places.
Signing off for now,
AC
4
Adam
The weather is a wild eighty-five, which is perfect in my book. The Navy Pier is packed with people. Couples hold hands, share sweet treats, and laugh. Families walk together, children squealing in delight and running in front of their parents, and beach goers are scattered along the edge of Lake Michigan, wading in and out of the water, while the docks are busy with boats coming in and out. It’s times like this when I wish I had purchased a boat. I’ve always loved being out on the water and find it very soothing. Of course, living in New York City, I’m pretty much subjected to the Hudson because my ex-wife happily took our house in the Hamptons and I would rather not run into her and her new husband. And, if I’m being honest with myself, I like what Chicago has to offer, in the name of Madeline Metcalf.
Since I saw Maddy this morning, I haven’t been able to get her off my mind. In fact, I haven’t done any of my work—at least nothing that matters. I’ve ignored the calls, emails and texts from my boss, and I’ve told my assistant that I’m going to be off the grid until the weekend. I’ll do what my boss wants, but I want to spend as much time with Maddy as I can before I have to return to New York.
Thing is, I don’t have to return to my apartment in midtown. I can stay here, woo Maddy, and see what Chicago has to offer. I rest my elbows on the railing and lean over slightly. The lake swooshes back and forth, the waves coming from the boats cruising by. Not far from where I stand, there’s a couple on a Jet Ski coming into the pier and I imagine it’s Maddy and me, enjoying the summer sun and relatively cool weather.
I know I’m getting ahead of myself. Madeline is busy and probably doesn’t have time to get into a relationship. I stand tall and shake my head.
Where did relationship come from?
It’s foolish of me to even think she would want to see me socially. I’ve pretty much forced myself on her for breakfast and now dinner. For all I know, she’s appeasing me. Giving me what I want so I’ll leave her alone. We ended when I graduated because I didn’t keep in touch. I never called and gave her my number or wrote her to give her my email address. I blew her off because it was easier to do than to be the man who never responded. Thankfully, I’ve grown up a bit. Not much, but enough to know how to treat a woman. I’m still busy and have a full schedule, but Maddy is someone I want to make time for. That’s not even something I would do for my wife. What kind of man does that make me?
A man that is way ahead of himself. I’m putting the cart before the horse when it comes to Maddy. I push away from the railing and head toward the food court. I must walk around three or four times, looking for the place I loved when I went to college here. I can’t find it or even remember the name, but I thought I’d see it and a memory or two would spark and I’d be able to reminisce. I’ll just have to save the memories for later when I’m with Maddy. I settle on the Mexican cantina and order a couple street tacos and a cerveza and take my food to a small table near the door. The air conditioner is nearby, and the cool air feels good.
After I’m done, I go back to people watching. I don’t get to really do this in New York because the streets are so busy, but here, the tourists and locals linger, and it seems to be a slower way of life, even though I know Chicago is just as hectic.
I find myself wondering what Maddy is doing. Is her restaurant busy? Is she thinking about me? I’m going
