NYC–>Chicago–>Decatur, IL–>Steak ‘n Shake–>Decatur, IL–>Chicago–>NYC.

There were a church, a Holiday Inn banquet hall, and a Hampton Inn motel room somewhere in there too, but they were mostly a blur. The only thing I’m 100% certain about is the Steak ‘n Shake.

It was a godsend. The Fab Four were all tired out (and kind of hammered) after my cousin’s wedding reception (Holiday Inn! Decatur!) and doing that gossiping/general bitching thing you do after family functions. We had a “liquied-up Mawmee” (LUM) on our hands, and Bill couldn’t remember where the hotel was. A Taco Bell loomed in the distance. We suddenly needed it like nothing else. He sped up.

WTF? It just closed. Apparently “Open Late!” doesn’t apply south of Joliet.

Then we saw it. Its outlandish lighting beamed out onto the main road. We couldn’t believe we’d missed it. It was red. It was white. It held burgers for us. It was Steak ‘n Shake. Bill pulled a sharp 200-degree turn as we all did a double take. We parked, with some difficulty.

Out of nowhere, things became a bit philosophical. We literally sat there discussing what we had done to stumble upon such good fortune. There was never a question of WOULD we go in. It was more whether we should, or whether we deserved to. I think we got over that in about one second - mostly because Bill was already inside the restaurant.

As usual, I also took full advantage of…

You know you’re in a safe and happy place when “Hot Fudge” and “Milk Shake” are all capitalized, signifying their well-deserved status as more important than the rest of the lowly word pool.

I’ll spare you the rest of this predictable account. Suffice it to say Bill and Dee perform the late-night eats ritual with more vigor and lasting power than Meghan and I had ever dreamed. We are so proud to be their offspring. We worship them and their insatiable alcohol-inspired appetites. We pledge to (continue to) follow their glowing example.