Let us therefore eat and drink

A few months ago I made a very important discovery. I now know what I will eat for my last supper should I ever be executed. There's a gastropub in Chicago's Andersonville neighborhood that serves the most decadent sandwich known to man or woman: cashew butter, fig jam, and fried cheese on sourdough. Words fail. To top it off, they serve it with Stilton mac & cheese and frites (actually, homemade chips, but you can substitute frites, which you should do because their frites are to die for (heh)). Mac & cheese AND fries? On the same goddamn plate? Picture me pushing you hard in the chest and shouting Get OUT because that about sums it up. But wait, there's more. Hopleaf, the genius behind this Plate of Perfection, also has a 16-page beer menu. Do they let you drink beer with your last supper when you're executed? I submit that it's unconstitutionally cruel and unusual if not. So Trent and I have been back multiple times and each time I have ordered this exact same thing. I can't even bring myself to try the chips. Bcecause why mess with perfection? Afterward we walk down the street to George's Ice Cream & Sweets for a waffle cone, because the CB&J with mac and frites and beer wasn't enough for my arteries. Oh, bliss.

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