After a delayed flight, a quarter mile cab line at Midway Airport, walking everywhere from Wrigleyville to down the Magnificent Mile, surviving an event that needed on-the-spot adjustments, and a 305 mile drive home from Chicago, I decided my weekend still had some room to squeeze some fun into. Just a mere 20 minutes after hauling my luggage and shopping bags back into my house, I found myself tapping my finger on my nose and eyeing the keys I just put down, wondering "do I get back in the car and drive?" After returning the numerous voicemails and text messages from my friends who went back to Columbia, MO to celebrate Mizzou's Homecoming, one friend informed me there was still a straggler or two left in town and they were all going to dine at our favorite late night eatery, El Rancho. Just hearing the name makes me start craving some of my favorite dishes (of course this happens with any Mexican restaurant), so I jokingly threw out that I should join them. All too quickly the joke became a reality, and I was cruising down the highway in fog and rain to try and make it to dinner. At a dive restaurant. In a town two hours away from my house. It seemed ridiculous when talking about it in St. Louis, was an even more ridiculous notion driving in undesirable weather, completely ridiculous when actually in Columbia, and still seems ridiculous looking back on it now. Yet it was one of my most favorite Sunday night dinners to date and worth every penny of the recently spiked gas costs and delicious greasy "authentic" Mexican food. Sometimes you just have to look at the real facts of the matter: you can either sit and wait for time to pass until the next day, or you can go and enjoy every moment leading into the next day with the people who taught you how to enjoy yourself in the first place.
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