![]() My handmade cochinita pibil ($12), complete with slow-roasted, antibiotic-free Berkshire pork on a crisp Labriola bolillo, served as a good approximation of Bayless’s beloved sandwiches at Xoco. In an airport, you’re grateful for any restaurant that tries, and Tortas Frontera tries mightily. “We took a train from another terminal to eat here,” one gushed. While polite, both gentlemen were obviously more enthusiastic about lunch. In a bathroom near Gate L6, I heard a German hilariously attempting to pronounce cochinita pibil to his friend.Īs I awaited my order, I spotted two celebrated journalists from national magazines in the long line and went to say hello. All around O’Hare, you catch snippets of people discussing Tortas Frontera’s three locations (“The one in Terminal 1 has the shortest line,” “My brother ordered six Cubanas and fed his whole row on the plane,” etc.). Soul clean but belly empty, I sought out Tortas Frontera, Rick Bayless’s Mexican sandwich place, near Gate K4. ![]() A prayer even popped into my head: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to not eat that popcorn in my backpack right now because it smells so damn good. Neither the 737 taking off nor the harried passengers rolling suitcases over each other’s feet beyond the windows could stop the Lord from washing away our iniquities. Although I am not Catholic, I found the proceedings lovely and strangely touching. ![]() In a glassed-in room outfitted with a makeshift Lady of Loreto tapestry and a giant crucifix, I watched two kindly white-haired priests named Donohue and O’Brien conduct a service. Instead, Garrett Popcorn’s buttery aroma lured me, though I approached the empty counter with great suspicion because no one has ever gotten to the front of the line at Garrett before, and there I bought a mix of sticky caramel and orange-cheese corn ($5.05). My first stop was to be the interfaith chapel on Terminal 2’s mezzanine level, where I could fortify my spirit for the task ahead by attending Mass. But I had a different agenda: Could 24 hours reverse my long-held belief that O’Hare is not, in fact, an airport but rather Beelzebub’s waiting room, a 7,200-acre living colonoscopy full of unhappy souls and Dean Koontz paperbacks? The interfaith chapel Photos: Courtesy Chicago Department of Aviation The goal, presumably, was to try out the amenities available to travelers. When my editor offered me $200 in pocket money to spend the night at the world’s busiest airport, I said yes, reasoning that it was $200 more than I’ve ever gotten before to spend the night at an airport. Anyone under the age of 40 wearing a neck pillow is a loser, anyone over 10 with a stuffed animal is a budding sociopath, and if it were possible to deep-fry existential despair, it would look like a $2.29 seafood rangoon from the Manchu Wok near Gate H5. ![]() Whoever organizes the racks at Hudson News considers Strawberry Shortcake: A Berry Bitty Ballet to be “Inspirational Reading.” The Admirals Club is for smug bastards who would rather block out the sun than give the rest of us a moment of warmth. JetBlue and American Eagle tie for the hottest flight attendants. Those waiting for a flight to Milwaukee should just go rent a car already. Hover over or tap highlighted passages for more information.įor example: The biggest grumps are flying to Phoenix. I arrived on a Tuesday morning, armed with a ticket to Denver that I would not be using, on an airline that may or may not exist, and made my way through security. ![]()
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