Still Thawing Out

[READER]( [Food & Drink]( January 20 hasn’t felt so good since 2009. Did you treat it like a holiday? I sure did, standing around a fire with friends, eating fried chicken, drinking whiskey, and toasting Joemala Bidis. I also took the opportunity to sacrifice my Trump beard. Students of the F&D newsletter might [remember back in November]( when I came clean about my unruly steel wool facebristles, which I started growing almost a year ago in a helpless reaction to pandemic isolation and anxiety. Later I called off that experiment, instead vowing I wouldn’t shave until the 45th president was wheeled out of office handcuffed to a gurney. No such luck, but imagine how terrible the alternative. I took what I could get. So as Amanda Gorman was reciting on the Capitol steps: That even as we grieved, we grew That even as we hurt, we hoped That even as we tired, we tried . . . . . . my bristles, as wiry as one of Russell Lee’s Mangalitsas, collected in a pile on the floor. I gathered them in a cheesecloth satchel and later that night burned the Loser in Chief in effigy, as the freezing wind stung my naked chops. Speaking of chops, and Russell Lee, and his adorable fuzzy pigs, [when I visited his farm]( in Pleasant Prairie last month I also met his lambs, called Painted Desert Sheep, a mix of wild and domestic breeds that grow very short hair, unlike the white puffs you count off when you’re sleeping. According to Lee, that means his sheep don’t produce lanolin and therefore don’t have that gaminess that causes some people to dislike their meat. I’ll let you know if that’s true when I get around to thawing out the leg of lamb I bought from him. In meantime, I’m thoroughly enjoying my fairly elected, freshly shorn mug, which also happened to have greatly reduced my gaminess. Sincerely, [When the Mangalitsas meet the Red Wattles]( For the first time in the midwest, a Wisconsin farmer brings rare (and delicious) heritage hog breeds to market. By [Mike Sula]( [@MikeSula]( [Giving myself a break: on oyatsu]( How a snacking ritual makes the Chicago winter bearable By [Nina Li Coomes]( [@nlcoomes]( [Build your own Chicago bar cart]( The at-home bar cart starter kit that supports local businesses By [Jenna Rimensnyder]( [@j_rimensnyder]( [The year in pivots]( Chicago restaurants ate shit this year. A lot of shit was still pretty great. By [Mike Sula]( [@MikeSula]( [Issue of Jan 21 - Feb 3, 2021 Vol. 50, No. 9]( [INDOOR DELIGHTS]( [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 © 2021 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](