Once upon a time, I had a dream of conquering the world, one Hard Rock Cafe at a time.
When I was young and foolish and still believed that New York City was the mecca of all things bright and hopeful, my Dad took me to the Hard Rock Cafe in Times Square. We were on vacation with our whole family but the two of us couldn't sleep (I have a suspicion that I just feigned sleep on account of being in "the city that never sleeps"). We shared a slice of chocolate cake, listened to a song about Stockholm Syndrome, and discussed the wild notion of visiting every Hard Rock Cafe there was.
I managed to make it to a few more: Boston, Phoenix,Washington D.C., San Francisco, London and Chicago.
Eventually I realized that as a self-proclaimed foodie, wasting my time in a Hard Rock Cafe on each trip was a stab in the back to my developing palate.
The reason that I'm bringing this up now is because my Dad came into town today and took me out to lunch at a restaurant that has the best burger in America, according to Food and Wine magazine. As we left, I spotted the Chicago Hard Rock Cafe right down the road. Obviously, we have moved on to much greater challenges and adventures.
I would take apartment hunting and grocery shopping in the city that I love over a slice of dry chocolate cake and piped-in classic rock any day.
That is my small victory and I wouldn't want it any other way.
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