Getting Bored +Gene and Jude's

I'm not one to eat often at high-end chef-centric places, and in my mind I belittle their attempts to re-create, revise and otherwise constantly re-interpret dishes. Conceptually, I believe if some one came up with a great recipe for pot au feau or whatever dish, why mess with it. Other diners somewhat disagree. For instance, the other day, a poster on an Internet site bemoaned his meal at a fancy place in Florida because the menu had not changed in a year. Now, I find it hard to imagine anything wrong with having the same exact great meal once a year, but I do actually find sympathy with the notion of getting bored with food. I get bored.

Four years or so into being away from Argyle Street, that heady source of pho, take-away Thai, Chinese BBQ meats and such (and missing it dearly), I find it hard to believe there was a time that I grew tired of such fare. Yet, the Condiment Queen is always willing to remind me that yes, come Saturday mornings, I became no longer willing to have our usual noodles and iced coffee yet again. As good as something can be, I do grow bored. For a long time this school year, the VI family was making a Wednesday routine. The chowhounditas did yoga at the local library. Ms. VI luxuriated at said library with 60 minutes of peace, and when they were threw, they'd pick me up for the short trek to the World's Greatest Hot Dog Stand, Gene and Judes. Then, wham, I had my fill of Gene and Judes.

Yes, I no longer wanted to eat my favorite food at my favorite place for such food. It is certainly not that hard to see why someone could tire of Gene and Judes. There is probably no place else in Chicago more focused, more singular in its being. I marvel the place's supply chain management. Their entire inventory is probably 15 items--and I love how you can see them all neatly stacked behind the counter. It is a simple place. They give you two tastes, two tastes alone. First, there is primordial sausage. Unlike more classic Chicago hot dogs, you focus nearly exclusively at Gene and Judes on the hot dog, on its intense, beefy, snappy meat. Second, there are the french fries, fresher than fresh, seconds out of the fryer, occasionally improperly made leaving them too raw, but always tasting foremost of the spud. One must take a strong shot of pop, maybe even a fruit drink from those fast fading swirling plastic contraptions, to relieve the mouth of these gustatory prods. As ideal a Chicago meal as it is, it can get to be too much.

Not too much for the rest of the family. They cried each week as I suggested some other option come Wednesday. Yesterday, I relented. A month away from Gene and Judes was enough. We luckily entered Gene and Judes right before a rush. I have postulated that Gene and Judes hot dogs are so good because of the rapid turnover. I have come to learn, that with the french fries, their best product comes when the place is emptiest. Too crowded, they sometimes rush the fries out, leaving them excessively limp, and as noted above, sometimes raw-ish. Yet, when they time it right, this is a great french fry. The fries are as preternaturally tan as George Hamilton, as all the sugars within the potato become carmelized. They are never "Wiv crisp", more like hardened sticks of mashed potato than super-stiff sticks some prefer. Once again, come Thursday morning, my tongue remains zinging from those tag-team jolts.