I drove to Chicago with my then-boyfriend Bill and his brother Joe to see a baseball game and to see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds at the Chicago Theater. We rode the elevated train to the baseball game from Evanston. We asked the employee at the train station what station to get off at and he laughed at us in our Cubs hats and told us that we would know just where to get off. And sure enough, as we rode into the city the train filled with Cubs fans and at the Wrigley stop the train emptied. We followed the crowd into Wrigleyville, the neighborhood around the stadium and visited a few bars.

“I think it’s stupid that the managers wear baseball pants. I mean, they’re old men who boss millionaires and they look silly in baseball pants.”

Bill was horrified. We had our first fight. About baseball pants.

We made it into the stadium without breaking up. We followed the wave of fans into the stadium and the first thing I noticed was the odor of bratwurst, onions, and sauerkraut. Bratwurst was new to me. Bill grew up on them and loved them. Joe, Bill, and I went straight to the bratwurst stand and to this day that bratwurst remains the best I have ever had in my life – a chewy bun, a crispy bratwurst that burst into soft juiciness, topped with mustard, grilled onions, and sauerkraut.