Hit Up Your Local Abuela Instead 🍴

[READER]( [Food & Drink]( If you were wondering why you weren’t subjected to the usual bug-eyed newsletter nattering last week, it’s because I was on furlough—a necessary idling of output that each Reader employee is dabbling with this holiday season. It gave me plenty of time to contemplate the Mackenzie Limited Holiday 2020 catalog. I’d never heard of these Maryland-based “Importers and Purveyors of the World’s Finest Foods,” but last month I received two copies, probably because a few of the glossy, aspirational food magazines I subscribe to sold out their readers for the season. This mail-order outfit seems to have gotten its start in the late 80s importing Scottish smoked salmon but now will ship you 18 frozen, mini lobster grilled cheese sandwiches for $39.95; or for the same price, a 32-ounce serving of steakhouse-style creamed spinach; or for $20 more, a two-pound buche de noel (plus shipping and handling). It’s not on the same order of appalling extravagance as the [Williams-Sonoma Catalog]( but it’s sad to think that somewhere within Mackenzie’s market research analysis they’ve identified targets willing to pay $46.95 for 18 “handmade” tamales, when on hundreds of corners in our urban paradise there’s an abuela who’ll let you empty her steaming Igloo for that much. We are blessed, aren’t we? Makes me feel almost fortunate that I can’t afford ten oven-ready bacon-cheddar twice-baked potatoes this Christmas. Who’s willing to tempt porch pirates with $44.95 worth of “Eastern Shore Creamed Corn?” It’s fascinating to imagine how Mackenzie managed to price most of these things within the $40-$60 range, even though an average home cook could make many of them from scratch for a few bucks (Looking at you $36.95 “Mexican Street Corn.) But if you’re willing to forgo the “Mediterranean Vegetable Blend” and instead [donate]( that $40-something to the Reader, or buy some [merch]( (like [my book]( or join the [Reader Book Club]( I will personally Google an approximate recipe on your behalf and coach you through it via Zoom, or your platform of choice. Or pick any recipe in the catalog. I can make a masterful meatloaf for under $8—you save $47. Better yet, buy our community cookbook [Reader Recipes](. You’ll get 80 Chicago chef- and bartender-vetted recipes for less than the price of 20 Mackenzie bacon-wrapped scallops ($54.95). Sincerely, [Tony B’s Steak Chips, you were a mistake]( By [Mike Sula]( [@MikeSula]( [Quarantinis delivered]( Here’s where you can get to-go cocktails around Chicago. By [Jenna Rimensnyder]( [@j_rimensnyder]( [‘If I could run away, I would’]( Restaurant owners of color struggle to stay afloat during the pandemic. By [Maura Turcotte]( [@mcturcotte]( [The power of the Snack Collective pivot]( Three Vietnamese American chefs do it their way and offer a boost to their friends. By [Mike Sula]( [@MikeSula]( [Issue of Nov 26 - Dec 9, 2020 Vol. 50, No. 5]( [Download Issue]( (PDF) [View this e-mail as a web page]( [DONATE]( Like most people prone to feelings of powerlessness when confronted with world events, I started growing out all of my hair at the beginning of the pandemic. It was one small measure I could take to make it through the days with some fractional illusion of control. The look got enough encouragement from my pod that I started imagining myself—maybe not so much like a silver fox—but more like a gracefully aging Afghan hound. I made a personal commitment to keep it going until it was reasonably less risky to swap spit with strangers again. But then, just as the Proud Boys ruined the perfectly good collection of vintage Hawaiian shirts on my rack, a conspiracy of bearded mouthbreathers got arrested for plotting to kidnap the governor of Michigan. I wasn’t comfortable with the look anymore. I resolved that the day the Cheeto-in-Chief got wheeled out of the White House in a Hannibal Lecter bite mask I’d reward myself with a shave and a haircut. On Saturday morning, when the city’s car horns started to blow, I could almost feel the cold, bracing slap of [Aqua Velva]( on my naked chops. But now the Loser looks like he’s trying to mount a coup, and here I am again centering the world’s problems on my mug. But I know it’s not all about me. Despite the hurricane of diarrhea the Trump cult is lathering in, COVID-19 is feasting on us like never before. Restaurants, clubs, theaters, concerts, festivals, jobs—our lives—aren’t coming back until we get it under control. And there are things we insignificant individuals can do. Better than growing a beard, we can wear masks, of course (and get out of the way if you won’t). Wash your hands. Keep your distance. And as Crust Fund Pizza jefe John Carruthers told me [last month]( “Help however you can help.” This month the entire staff of the Reader took pay cuts and furloughs to help the paper stay alive—and to help each other keep our jobs. Since March we’ve lost more than 90 percent of our ad revenue, but through a myriad of methods we’ve managed to stay alive and not lose anyone. We’re doing what we can to help. You can help too: We’re almost a full nonprofit now. [Become a member. Or make a donation](. Anything you give between now and December 31st has the chance to be matched by NewsMatch. Or buy some [merch](. Not to bring it all back around to me again, but buy [my book]( If we sell a few more copies I might feel good enough to scrape off this scraggly old flavor saver after all. Sincerely, [DONATE]( [@chicago_reader]( [/chicagoreader]( [@chicago_reader]( [Chicago Reader on LinkedIn]( [/chicagoreader]( [chicagoreader.com]( [Forward this e-mail to a friend](. Want to change how you receive these e-mails? You can [update your preferences]( or [unsubscribe from this list](. Copyright © 2020 Chicago Reader Store, All rights reserved. You were subscribed to the newsletter from Chicago Reader Store Our mailing address is: Chicago Reader Store 2930 S. Michigan Ave.Chicago, IL 60616 [Add us to your address book](