The Hangover Cure

It was 2015. My good friend, Solomon, had just moved to Chicago. Cole, another good friend and Solomon’s childhood neighbor, jumped in the car with my wife and me. Katie was about eight months pregnant, but I was the first one to ask to stop at a rest stop. I still get a hard time for that one.

Getting back on the interstate, the Illinois landscape was picturesque; the cornstalks were well above our waists that July. The cloudless blue sky and summer heat were putting the air conditioner to the test as we drove.

Cole had The Wallflowers streaming from his phone, bringing us back to high school where we were fortunate to spend quite a bit of time together. Cole and Solomon really knew how to get along with people, both in high school and in college. I tended to struggle more and focus on what was a fairly new relationship with Katie at the time. College separated our friend group to different states, but we still had remained close. We discussed classic stories from high school like cars hitting big numbers on the odometer, while we tried to take it off a jump, and the time they tried to swim in as many hotel pools in one night as possible.

Ever afraid to break the rules, I missed some of these good times with my friends. Although I didn’t have to pick up smashed pumpkins off Main Street either. This trip was largely by the rules as we sped on the interstate. We made good time to Chicago. Driving through the shaded neighborhoods, we felt more and more comfortable the closer we got to Solomon's apartment.

Solomon’s new apartment was great and allowed his big dog too. His girlfriend, Stace, let us in. Shortly after, we set off for our destination. Wrigley Field was majestic but hot. Sitting in the sun down the third baseline, we really worked up a thirst. The $9 beers went down quickly, but luckily we were in the shade. The game was a blast as the empty cups stacked up. After the game, we continued our vacation in a few bars. Katie, obviously unable to drink was a good sport, not to mention a great sober teammate in life-sized Jenga. Before we knew it, it was a struggle to get home.

The next morning was again clear and beautiful. Other than pregnant Katie, our heads were foggy and our stomachs unsure. Eventually, we walked to a restaurant specializing in greasy breakfast food, which was exactly what we needed. Staring at the menu and drinking water, I found something and decided to try it. Every time since then, I have dreamed of that sandwich with each summer beer I have.

The sandwich came out on an oval plate. Two large pieces of Texas toast had been buttered and lightly fried with cheese and fried bacon between them. Each bite was a perfect combination of bread, cheese, and bacon. The grease seemed to soak up the prior night’s indulgence. That sandwich, that day, was a hangover cure. That trip was a great trip before entering the world of parenthood. Even better, that group of people is still in my life.

So was that sandwich that good? Is that restaurant even still open? Different foods certainly have different tastes and qualities. However, it is sometimes the two hour meals over burgers and fries or leftovers that surprise us. Our memory latches on to the smell of the food mixed with the great company we keep. Was that sandwich really that good? I'm not sure, but I don't think I will ever try it again. It was the perfect sandwich that weekend. May that memory live on.