Jeff Phillips: The Oyster Binge Slumber Party

Drinkers with Writing Problems

More turned out for the experimental feast than expected. Fats Hugo was consistently told to shut up about his dreams, he could drone on and on about every detail he could remember, and his memory was agile. While his culinary partner, Chubb Champo, was down in the bayou, scouting new ingredients, Fats decided to host the party he’d been stewing on for years; a supreme celebration of dreams. They were both larger men, the product of their ample tastings and re-tastings and devouring of a dish so good, so artful, that cravings couldn’t be suppressed; but oftentimes it was the size of their egos and competitive compulsions that boxed each other out.

In the expanse of a warehouse-turned-arts-gallery-and-party-space in a rundown industrial corridor on Chicago’s west side, Fats had some breathing room for the weekend. He could relax, with a little less judgment in the air, could fully commit to…

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