Chicago-What it is and What it is Not

Towers of Power on the Chicago River

Chicago is not called the Windy City because it is windy. It is only the 12^th windiest city in the US. It called the Windy City because of the abundance of bragging political and business windbags in the 1800s.

Chicago is not called the Second City because it is second to New York. It is the third largest city after New York and Los Angeles. It is called Second City because after the great fire of 1871 the residents were able to start over and build a new and nicer Chicago, a Second City.

    When you get to Chicago, as soon as possible, take the

 90 Minute Architectural River Tour with Chicago Line Cruises ($42 adult). On this 90-minute tour you will be schooled in the basics of this fabulous city, as you cruise down the river in a canyon of towering architectural wonders, from Neo Classical to Postmodern styles. Just learning what this oxymoronic term “Postmodern” means was a boon to me. We learned everything we needed to know and the journey was devoid of hideous tour guide jokes.

  Contingent of Italian Runners in the Lobby at The James

     We stayed at The James, a sweet boutique hotel in the epicenter of the Magnificent Mile action (double rooms started at $324 in October).  The lobby was filled with hip and cool Postmodern touches

Sit Here at The James

and, much to our surprise, brightly dressed runners from Italy. We had landed on the eve of the Chicago Marathon. That’s a small detail we had overlooked during our minimal planning for this trip. What good energy to have everyone in the hotel and on the street make small talk Saturday by asking if we were here for the race.  Some karmic reminder to get in shape.

     My husband the frequent traveler has a hard and fast rule never to eat at the restaurant in your hotel. Well okay, unless it’s David Burke’s Primehouse, voted number one steakhouse by Chicago Magazine. The Cow, with the exception of Mrs. O’ Leary’s, is King in Chicago. Our steak had been aged for 40 days in the “Himalayan salt-tiled aging room” downstairs. We ordered a Caesar salad which was constructed tableside with white anchovies, crusty crab croutons; we had Black Pepper Fries with romano and aioli. And then a steaming hot popover roll served its its own little cup appeared on the table.

     

Mile One of the Chicago Marathon
  

  Having a “front-row-stand” at Mile One of the Bank of America Chicago Marathon was a wonderment. The race starts with the wheelchair contingent with the men and women propelling themselves entirely on upper body strength. Followed by runners with prosthetic limbs. Followed by runners who had guides with them holding onto a tether. As if this isn’t moving enough, then the 45,000 runners start to stream, led by the Kenyans, the super humans, followed by the other super humans who would run 26 miles at a clip of three miles a minute. Oh the density of health, vigor, and happiness assaults you. Bravo. Really.

     We made our poor concierge find us a dinner reservation on the night before the marathon when every ribbon of pasta was being sacrificed for the carbo-loaders.  She got us into Cantina Laredo. We both grew up on Sonoran Mexican food in Tucson and have been on a hopeless quest to find food like that anywhere beyond the one square mile incorporated city limits of South Tucson. And everywhere we fail. In many cases the food is just wrong, but in most places it is just not right. Take this joint in Chicago for example. A beautiful gas fireplace should not be part of the décor. Tacos should not be served on a rectangular plate with a square bowl of toppings. There should not be an avocado and a lime in a bowl on the table. The guacamole should not be made at your table. It’s just not that interesting. Mexican food should be served on the cheapest thick china and carried out by an ancienne with a pot holder who warns you that the dish is very hot and calls you “mija.” Price was right though, dinner for two pre-tip was $36.00.

    And finally, go to Second City. Why wouldn’t you? All you have to do is get a ticket online ($31- $41), stay up late (shows start at 10 p.m.) and then sit, drink and laugh your ass off for two hours, in a theater that serves as a shrine to every comedian you have ever liked. There they are in black and white photos on the wall—Martin Short, Michael Meyers, Carvey, Carrell, Colbert, Elaine, Gilda and Jane and, well everyone. They started there. You should stop there.

     So thanks Chicago for being there. I am fully reminded of your greatness. I fly over you more than I should. But no more. Keep those big shoulders* ready and I will be back.

Reflections of Chicago

*The nickname “City of Big Shoulders” was at no time refuted on this trip.