If you've been living under a rock and haven't heard of Au Cheval, really? And don't give me that, "I don't like foufy food" crap because it's a diner. It's like the hardest diner in Chicago to get a table. And they don't care who you are. They don't care how long you stand there. They don't take reservations. Well, maybe if you're Andrew Knowlton from Bon Appétit you get a table, but other than that, you squeeze past everyone, grasp the host stand and desperately ask how many hours the wait is. On several occasions, I'd swing by Au Cheval to see how long the line was…an hour, an hour and a half, with people plastered against the walls waiting. And one thing I don't do—is wait. After months and months of so many hopeful stops into Au Cheval then walking out with my tail between my legs, last night…I finally got in. But only because I showed up at 5.30 p.m. like a regular old blue-haired. My Stanford and I were headed to a party but decided to sneak a cheeseburger on the way. Nothing like a best friend to share a cheeseburger and french fries before a big soirée. There I was in sequined pants inhaling the best cheeseburger and glass of whiskey which is when I decided that Stanford and I needed to meet every so often to try everything on the menu and write about it. It's our own Au Cheval Digest and Stanford is up for the challange…at least last night after a cocktail he was. By 6.30, Au Cheval was packed and we were out the door giggling at all the fools waiting in line. That place smells so good. And another thing, if it looks good, smells good and there's a line out the door…it's all good by me.
