I’ll be honest – it was quite a fight.
My guts felt like they were about to burst, as I took blow after blow from my opponent.
No matter how I tried to attack; no matter how expertly I wielded my weapons; both hands stabbing and cutting…I knew I was losing this battle.
It was a futile exercise; one that I knew I would not win on this brisk night on the Gold Coast in Chicago.
All of my detective skills, my fighting techniques, and my keen sense of balance were no good to me here.
I leaned back, and stared at my slick opponent. Yes, he was a greasy one.
And then burped loudly. Everyone in the restaurant turned, shocked at my rudeness.
“Salute to the Chef?” I shrugged.
Dropping my knife and fork into the pizza pan in defeat, I paid my bill and exited Due, the sister deep-dish pizza restaurant of the world famous Pizzeria Uno, one of Chicago’s oldest traditions. My stomach slightly proceeded me into the chilly night air, the Lake Michigan wind biting at my face from a few blocks to the east.
I smiled and said to no one, “Ah, Chicago. My kind of – ”, and then I burped again.