Why I Love Chicago

Barhopping down Sheffield Avenue after a Cubs game, wearing a buzz and a hunger that would soon be sated by some deep dish fare, a thought crossed the transom of my pleasantly stimulated mind: I love Chicago.

Landing in Chicago isn’t unlike landing in any city: the stomach grumbles and the legs yearn to get out and walk among unfamiliar streets. Staying for a couple of nights in Lincoln Park’s The Willow Hotel afforded a quaint room steps from a few late-night watering holes.

To be more specific, Avenue Tavern was the oasis that happened to be open late on a Wednesday night, providing ample Goose Island Matildas to slake my thirst.

Now just to be clear, walking from a nearby pizza parlor towards Avenue Tavern—slice of sausage pie in hand—really is the only proper way to kick off a vacation.

As good omens go, finding a slice of pizza and a decent bar late on a school night really screamed that this would be a fine gastrointestinal adventure.

That thought was solidified the next day…

Kuma’s Corner

I’ve eaten burritos the size of small animals, enjoyed pasta bowls that seemed to never end, but even I couldn’t help but leave Kuma’s Corner without a healthy bout of labored breathing and meat sweats.

This, my friends, was a good hurt.

For those who like their descriptions delivered in bite-sized morsels, Kuma’s is a heavy-metal gastropub. Digging just a wee bit further we find that it’s far more nuanced than all that.

Sure, there are rock songs playing in the background, but not all that loudly. And there is beer, whiskey and burgers, but this is hardly a dive. No, the fare is just too damn, well, nuanced.

There are numerous choices for those who like their whiskey and beer, and all quite good. Just as plentiful are the various oversized meat patties lovingly stuffed between pretzel buns.

The burgers, as you may have heard, are named after famous heavy metal bands, but I opted for the Kuma Burger, which features a living-room sofa sized patty, fried egg, cheddar and a heaping side of warm fuzzy feelings upon eating.

Sitting with a full view of the kitchen while waiting or my order was a special kind of torture. However, it allowed me to see the wonder that is a burger finished in a broiler. 

You see, your burger isn’t flame kissed, it’s flame ravished.  But don’t think for a second that this audacious dish served amid heavy metal anthems is overdone in any aspect, because the meat is juicy, the egg is creamy and the entire ensemble is (pause for snack break) perfect.

Maybe it’s my propensity to eat my feelings, but Kuma’s Corner is well worth a plane ticket.

Wrigley Wonder

Now no self-respecting baseball fan would head to Chicago in the summer and not catch a Cubs game, which really has enough pomp to sate even the most cynical adventurer.

There really is nothing like stepping off the purple line only to hear the gentle roar of peanuts and water being sold. Once amongst the crowd, you are immediately swept up in the excitement both literally and figuratively.

For a team that seems destined to lose, the Cubs are blessed with fans who have a hard time keeping their enthusiasm a secret. The bars are filled and jubilant, leading to an intoxicating fervor you just can’t help but enjoy.

Photo by Jason Howell courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Kids were playing catch outside the stadium and the smell of hot grills permeated the air. Stepping into Wrigley Field definitely had a certain mystic quality to it, as if you were engaging in something special. Indeed, this is no ordinary sports venue—as evidenced by the ivy that seemed just a wee bit greener than the lying television had let on all these years.

Despite a century of futility, Cubs fans are still so darn happy before a game and so eager to forget futility after it.

What I eventually realized is the pre-party wasn’t prior to the first pitch. No, the game was just the starting course, because every last pub along Sheffield Avenue is buzzing well after the final out.

If you enjoy pub crawling, there is hardly a better or more efficient way to eat, drink and be merry like the locals.

Save Ferris

If all else fails, take a page from one of the best films about a young narcissist playing hooky from school.

I wouldn’t normally recommend wasting time walking around a museum for most of the day, spending time pretending to appreciate masterpieces with the “Ohhs” and “Ahhs” of someone who is too ignorant to use words to describe their thoughts on American Gothic.

I am one of those art ignoramuses. However, the Art Institute of Chicago remains a must-see destination if only to hold hands with your travel companion and tour the place like Ferris Bueller and his pals.

While eating and drinking like a rock god around the city, there is something to be said about reflecting in unfamiliar surroundings. And when you consider the place houses works by Georgia O'Keeffe, Pablo Picasso, Georges Seurat and Claude Monet, you can do a hell of a lot worse in the surroundings category.

Getting the Skydeck Combo, I was assured of not only fulfilling an artistic bucket list endeavor but also testing just how afraid of heights I truly was, because the ticket also garners entry into the skydeck of the famed Willis Tower, looking down on Chicago from 103 floors above the city.

Because of my trepidation, I didn’t mind being corralled like a herd of smartphone-wearing cattle up an elevator to the skydeck that only looks like a transparent death box. I needed the time to build some courage after all.

In the end, walking out into the glass observation deck for a few moments while grimacing was enough sightseeing “fun” for the day. My wife was far more enthusiastic about the vantage point; being devoid of irrational fears will do that, I guess.  

In the end, I earned my reward: a second round of deep-dish delicacies.

The Flavor Runs Deep

You travel with your stomach more than anything, so it goes without saying that I took a deep-dish plunge in just a few days of travel.

This time around my journey took me to Lou Malnati’s and Giordano’s. (Gino’s East, I’m coming for you next time.)

As for a verdict, I have to give Giordano’s the nod in my highly unscientific poll of just two restaurants. I am sure this will start a minor stir with you fans of Lou Malnati’s buttercrust, but I just couldn’t help but fall in love with Giordano’s version, featuring a pie that really satisfied my deep-dish craving.

The crust is thick, the toppings are well balanced and…here come those meat sweats again.

Don’t Call it the Blues

Before leaving, I just had to sample some of what Chicago had to offer musically. Blue Chicago, you didn’t let me down.

It would be easy to balk at the idea of trying to enjoy live music stuffed into a tiny venue no bigger than some apartments. However, with the beats thumping and the beer flowing, the entire spot began to feel more like a familiar living room at a friend’s house, barely containing the very frivolity you were searching for when you plunked down a credit card to buy a plane ticket.

Closing shop at three in the morning on Saturdays, you are leaving with far less energy than when you came in, which is a good thing. And really, that’s exactly how I would describe Chicago on a whole.

If you’ve been following along you won’t be the least bit shocked to find I left the city elated, exhausted and, yes, a little hung over.