It’s hard not to be here right now and think fondly of Ernest Hamingway.
I know what you’re thinking. Mike, why can’t you spell? You should think that. If you’ve been reading me long enough, you know I probably average at least one missed copy edit each week. Those are the understaffed newsletter-writing breaks.
But, in this case, the spelling is correct. Mr. Hamingway was the taxidermied cannibalistic boar (he was fond of piggy offal we were told by the restaurant’s PR team) that hung in the middle of this very dining room located at 1709 W. Chicago a few years ago.