By coincidence, my three best friends all ended up in Kansas City. And after the year I’ve had moving and being lonely in a way I didn’t fully know was possible, I needed to see them. God Bless my long suffering wife for enthusiastically telling me to go.

It’s not exactly Eat, Pray, Love, all though I did a lot of eating. Let’s start there.

Land at MCI. Pablo (not his actual name) volunteered to pick me up, saving me the $70 uber into town. Original plan was to bump around the Nelson Atkins, but ended up going on a tour of some of KC’s lesser known vistas. I should mention that A) I had not really eaten yet today and B) that the weather on this particular day was dream like - clear, warm but not hot, just enough humidity to avoid feeling arid and a cool, gentle breeze out of the southwest.

First stop: Bonita Michochan in KCK. A place not improvable by god or man, in the writer’s humble opinion. Literally everything they make here is really, really good Mexican food. The bakery, the produce, the piñatas - you can see how this place is a hub for the community. But you don’t want to know about that; you want tacos. You want tongue, or lamb, or cheek? check, check check. You want carnitas, asada, and the salsas housemade in a self serve bar? You got it, amigo. We had, collectively, I think like 9-10 tacos, washed down with a giant Mexican Coca Cola. Somehow, my white tee stayed clean, miraculously; a good omen.

Next stop, the story of how Pablo got shoved by Macauly Culkin, and the best view you don’t know about in Kansas, the Rosedale Arc. From there to Penn Valley and “The Scout” while discussing the Killing Fields of Cambodia and the John Wick producers’ aversion to leaving glass panes intact. Saw where the bachelor KC Royals and Chiefs players stay - it’s a nice enough building as they go, but it’s far below their means.

Kansas City is not prone to ostentatiousness or overstatement, and I think that’s one thing I’ve always enjoyed about it. If it’s not good enough for you the way it is, you’re free to leave. And in some places around the country, that’s married to an exclusivity - a chill to anyone who feels in any way different than othordoxy. But in Kansas City, it’s got what President Obama called a “big-heartedness” that actually welcomes just about all types. Kansas City isn’t some monolith rising out of the plains, but a loosely banded conglomeration of a bunch of tiny little tribes. It’s both hard to forget how big of a place it actually is and how intimate it can feel.

A lap through Union Station to try see a couple of exhibits that just happened to be shut down and quick ride up on the street car to City Market. More food, this time in the form of beignets washed down with Ginger Beer. Back on the Street Car back to Union Station in time to pick up his car and mosey over to Extra Virgin, the bar attached to the former site of the Michelin starred eponymous Michael Smith. The restaraunt is now an event space, Smith’s high Italian concept moved in up the street to Farina, and snug between the two is Extra Virgin. Their happy hour starts early and select items are half off. We got only two - the oyster mushrooms and the speck, and neither disappointed. The mushrooms in particular play with expectations of flavor and texture in a delightful and oddly carnivorous way. Seriously - everything on the happy hour menu looks like a trip to a very, very happy place. But for traffic and a need to get to Rogue’s home in time to see his family, I could’ve gladly hung out all evening.

Rogue joined us and we drove southwest to his home in Lenexa. Rogue is one of the few friends I have from my fraternity days and catching up with him is less about time elapsed and more about falling back in to the conversation where it, regrettably, had to pause. Rogue and his wife welcomed their second child last year, and I’m very grateful I got to meet her. I’m grateful I got to hang out with their son, who is now an impossibly energetic and verbose 6. It is a cliche for a reason - they really do grow up in a blink. I’m sure next year we’ll be moving him in to a dorm.

I am also grateful for the Sierra Vista Grill - a hidden gem in a converted former Jimmy Johns. This place serves fingerling potatoes sauteed in duck fat because they don’t have a dunk tank. The portions generous, the taste is on point through a number of grill favorites - your ribeyes and pork chops, and a burnt ends mac and cheese that is, in a word, sinful. I have a reasonably trained palate. It should be too much, and yet, it’s not. That mac and cheese achieves something that most food should aspire to - and that’s the sublime joy of not thinking about it while you’re eating it. You’re in a state of flow, albeit a sweaty, cheesy state.

Working together to get their children to sleep reminded me that barely 10 hours in to my trip I was already missing my family. Rogue had to take his family up to Omaha for an extended family function, so I’m glad I made time to see them.

Slim graciously picked me up. Turns out his mother in law lives down the street from Rogue’s family, so he knew exactly how to get there.

Slim - and his wife, whom we’ll call Jane - are experts at making the best out of anything. They are unaccustomed to simply enjoying nice things. Which is another way to say that where material possessions are concerned, that they practice a level of gratitude bordering on Buddhist sainthood. They also put me up for my stay, and their home was exactly the kind of cozy den I anticipated. I slept like the dead at their flat, sleep I didn’t know I need.

Part 2

I did not, however, sleep for very long that night. Too many new sounds, new lights, and even on the Cadillac of airmattresses I struggled to find and maintain the spot between comfort and support.

I also really, really had to go. And the comode in my friend’s apartment was through their bedroom. While we’re all familiar with each other and intruding (eyes always directed, tunnelling straight to the toilet) would become common over the next few days, it was a threshold I was simply unwilling to cross on my first night on their generosity.

Fortunately for me, they live about a block away from Monarch, an outstanding coffee shop that I felt entirely too uncool to be at. On the barista’s recommendation, I sat and watch the morning sky go from dark to omnious to hailing while enjoying their Malted Milk Latte. A finer delight for a quiet morning I have never known.

Slim eventually joined me. Lacking a drip maker - or even a french press or keurig - Kettle coffee was all they had. It’s a good cup of Joe or tea, but I can’t really blame him for moseying down to Monarch instead. We also ran into an old friend of mine from college, who has since made good as a tax attorney in town. You can’t take me anywhere, it turns out.

Slim took an uber to work. Jane works as an environmental scientist, and my visit coincided with two buzzsaws and another trip she had to take. That morning she was supposed to head out for a site visit, which she did but got soaked as the storm failed to relent to her corporate minder’s schedule. On the plus side, I got to have a few good conversations with Jane as a result of things like this - later her flight would get cancelled. Jane’s wonderful - smart and hardworking, a sense of adventure and a longshoremans’ ability to curse. Unfortunately for her this trip, she had to spend far too much of it working and I left more worried about her working too hard than excited for what was next. Jane is definitely - by her own admission - working through a lot personally, and I’d imagine that much like my turns to workaholism, some of hers is a processing mechanism. Out out damn spot and all.

The day did not unfold as I had planned - a recurring theme on this trip. I had planned on the Nelson Atkins, on the Negro Leagues Baseball museum, on catching a game at the K; I did none of those and don’t really regret it. Just suprised, really, that on a trip for me, I still don’t end up doing what I want to do, and maybe I need to examine that when it’s me and my family traveling too.

When the whether cleared, grabbed some lunch at Waldo Pizza - the first KC establishment I ever ate at - and bounced around with Pablo on the plaza. We knocked out an errand or two, as well.

The day eventually took me to Q39, a hip BBQ spot down the street from the hospital. It’s KC; you don’t order the fish or the pasta here. You get the dead animals, sacrificed for your enjoyment, glorious in their preparation. There’s too many damned good BBQ places in Kansas City. If you can’t find one that’s the best you’ve had in memory - you’re hopeless.

We finished the night off at Hi Dive, a too-neat-to-really-be-a-dive-bar dive bar. As a former conisseaur of the dive bar, my expectations were confounded a bit, but it is a nice place to hang out for a while. Met up with Charlie, probably my friend most anchored to Kansas City. His friend Sonny joined us, for the kind of wide ranging discussion on music, politics, and life that I just don’t get much in my day to day. At an hour all too reasonable, we said our adieus and retired for the night.

This night, I slept long, well, and uninterupted.

Part 3

Saturday started well enough - a quick trip to the gym, conveniently across the street and surprisingly well appointed - but soon turned sour in the afternoon, when the first signs of traveler’s bug began to bite.

Until now, I’ve had basically an iron gut. But as I’ve gotten older, the tolerances have gotten finer, and I don’t know what hit me this trip, but it hit hard - so hard that Im still not entirely sure I’m over it.

But before it really got bad on Sunday and into the next week, I decided I’d pay my friends back for putting me up. In the afternoon, Slim and I ran around downtown and eventually picked up the ingredients for dinner.

I spent about 20 minutes getting everything prepped, then left it until it was 20 minutes to service. A quick sear, a toss and deglaze later, and I’d plated up Flank Steak with Haricot Vert and Cherry Tomatoes in a Balsamic Reduction for Slim, Jane, and Pablo. To that, Slim and Jane added a baguette and cheese course, and we finished with a simple dessert of blueberries, cream and angel food.

Let me say without qualification that this meal, just being with them for a peaceful, joyous minute, was the highlight of the trip. Food and chosen family are why I went, and this sublime moment is something that I’ll never forget.

The night officially ended with a viewing of the Brendan Fraser classic School Ties, which Slim had never seen, but I was still riding high from dinner.

Everything after that was downhill.

My body craved rest, so I scrapped plans to do and my stomach revolted, violently, multiple times. That well and good killed my appetite. I spent as much of Sunday prone and motionless as I could, which, it turned out, was not all that much.

The concert - the ostensible reason I got on a plane - was that night. If said concert had been in my residential area, I would not have gone. Adding to my misery was the shuffling between Slim’s flat, Charlie’s parents house, and going to meet/collect Charlie’s friends closer to the venue. We haven’t even got to the venue and I’ve been conscripted as the designated driver.

I don’t mind the job at all; but I was just feeling that miserable that it felt like torture.

Meeting the rest of Pablo and Charlie’s friend group before the concert was a delight, and they were a super fun group to go see a concert with. Everyone was there to have a good time and sang and danced along, and while I probably revealed too much of my fandom by knowing literally all of the words to literally all of the songs, I am sure I wasn’t judged too harshly for it.

More importantly, I’ve always worried about Pablo. Pablo’s roots to anywhere have, on the one hand been stronger than mine. Every connection he’s made, he’s come by it honestly and maintained it with his care. Whereas, with my set of roots - well, I’ve kind of grown to reject them. But at least I had them to start. And now, with a family of my own, I’m never really the rootless, wandering traveler my friend can be. He’s expressed a longing for the kind of things I have, and sure enough I long for some of the freedom he has.

But the truth is that there’s a happy medium, a “you don’t know how good you have it.” That’s this group of friends. To a person they were sharp and funny, didn’t take themselves too seriously, and had a mix of experiences and life stories that make for a dynamic, resillient group. They are a good little tribe, and I felt that my friend was in good hands, even if they aren’t my own.

The concert it self?

Pretty good. Ra Ra Riot opened up - first time seeing them in concert was awesome. They sounded good and had good audience reaction from the early crowd. Jimmy Eat World was next, and they were outstanding.

There are a few reasons they were so good. This was their best performance and I’ve seen them 2-3 times before. First - they nailed the venue’s acoustics. They sounded studio quality, or at least near enough that you almost wondered if it might be a lipsync job (it wasn’t). Second, they left a quart of their own blood on the stage. High Energy from first song to last, you could tell that even after 25 years of performing, they loved to be out there. Third, they knew what we all wanted to hear, from a set list perspective. Their last studio album was 3 years ago and they played 2 songs off it - bracketed by like, 5 hits on either side of each. Last - the people I went with were IN to it. I wasn’t the only person singing a long like an idiot.

For about an hour, I felt better.

After they left the stage, however, I bolted for the bathroom and barely made it in to a stall in time. Outside, the sun was setting, and my body couldn’t stay warm enough - despite it being 85 degrees.

3EB came out, played 4 songs off an album no one has heard yet, had the bass turned up too high on the monitor (so much I thought they might cause me to soil myself) and Stephen’s voice sounded awful. I don’t know if he was sick or drunk or he’s simply done, but i’m telling you, your average choir singer could’ve done a better job.

They butchered what is probably my favorite song of theirs, Motorcycle Drive By, and I had had enough. I’ve seen them enough times (this was #5 for me) and all they could do now is ruin what’s been a good musical relationship.

Epilogue

I told Pablo during the concert that these bands - Jimmy Eat World and 3EB - had been with me through every crush and heartbreak since I was 12 years old. Their music means something to me. But what I didn’t expect was that even now, it’s different and less urgent than it was before. There’s some kind of change going on, slowly and impercetibly day by day, that I couldn’t understand how much change until the concert.

I’m different now, in ways that are difficult to articulate. And its scary too, because, somethings I don’t want to change on me. I certainly don’t want Rogue, or Slim, or Pablo to stop being my friend because I’ve changed.

Maybe I’m making too much of this. Maybe I’m not as different as I think I might be. Maybe, the things about me they love and the things about them I love don’t change. Maybe it doesn’t matter at all, maybe there’s a way to keep the ending yours.

I’m glad I went. I’m glad I’m back to my wife and son. I left a piece of me in Kansas City, for my other family to keep.