As the saying goes: “It’s a small Jewish world.” I say, “Use it.” I was on the phone with a friend the other day, recapping a funny Saturday night we’d had at a party. The hosts were from Deerfield and she and I are from Highland Park.  We knew the hosts and a few of their friends. After playing some serious, Jewish geography that evening, it wasn’t long until about 50 of us discovered we were mishpuchah.

In the winter I dream of tank tops and exposed toes.  I crave short dresses and new bikinis.  I long for the warmth of the sun’s rays on my back in my skimpy summer attire, turning my shoulders a delicious shade of golden brown.  I anxiously await the day that my pale pink nail polish goes into summer hibernation, to be replaced by a brighter, eye-catching shade of magenta, coral, or bright purple, and I live for the excitement of purchasing the latest summer fashions in vibrant, stimulating hues.

After living with stark white walls, slumlords slow to fix problems but quick to raise the rent, and hauling my groceries up 3 flights of stairs and down a long hallway, only for the bag to break right before I can get my door open, I’m ready for my own place.  (Ideally one where doing the laundry doesn’t rely on me having enough quarters.)

It’s finally summertime at Oy! and it seems like many of us have fitness and nutrition on the brains.  Well, I can’t resist adding my two cents…

As a bartender and a mixologist, I’m often asked by my patrons and even my colleagues some great questions about making drinks. So, I thought I would dedicate this blog post to answering some of those questions about the use – and abuse – of spirits. Then I’ll wrap things up with this issue’s Cheers Chicago Cocktail!

Gluttony hides in a Corner Bakery Salad with 61 grams of fat (yes, a salad), or a Panera chicken sandwich with 1,000 calories. You could eat almost two nasty Big Macs instead of one Panera sandwich. Now if you think your fancy meal at a steak house is better, you’re wrong. Most restaurants don’t even list calories, fat, sodium, fiber...because if you knew how much fat was in your steak and potatoes, you might never dine out.

The dreaded moment that every girl fears came to me about a week ago.  I was standing in my room, looking for a pair of jeans, and suddenly it hit me that I only had one clean pair—the “skinny” jeans—and that’s not referring to the cut.  Like most girls, I have a section in my closet dedicated to days I feel skinny and a section dedicated to PMS and brownies.  (Let’s face it, we Jews like to eat.)  So, I grabbed them off the hanger and wiped off the dust.  I put one leg in, then the other.  I pulled them up, sucked in hard, shut my eyes, and low and behold…they fit!  All hail the Bar Method!  And just in time for summer!