Fabulous Food and Even Better Friends

How To Dine Like A Local Chicago - April 2009


Whenever I go to Chicago to visit one of the only people on this planet who "gets" me (thanks, Jen!), there's only one thing on our brains besides shopping - FOOD! Good food. Real food. I'm talkin' family-business, started-it-in-our-kitchen-in-the-'hood food. After too many bad meals at REALLY expensive restaurants, it's time to get back to the roots, the simplistic yet oh so fulfilling. You know what I mean. As Melissa put it, "It was as if abuelita was hugging you while you ate." Ah, NOW you know what I mean - made with love.

The above description applies to 3 family eateries we visited in a 24-hour period. Our first venture was 90 Miles Cuban Cafe, www.90milescubancafe.com, literally around the corner from Jen's place. What once stood as a greasy hot dog stand has morphed into a 500 square foot box filled with hungry patrons willing to stand shoulder to shoulder at the chance to savor the flavors of Cuba. Chef-owners Alberto and Christina Gonzalez have created not just another restaurant but an experience. The exterior boasts hand-painted murals of Cuban life while the inside walls are covered in pre-Castro newspaper articles. There are only about 12 seats in the whole joint, so you better grab your stool and spot at the counter before the next famished customer arrives. You're immediately greeted by Alberto and Christina, welcoming you to their cafe with warm smiles and a feeling of being home. Ask Alberto what you should order and he'll tell you, "One of everything." He will offer up samples of the dirty rice and maybe a maduro (fried sweet plantain) if you smile back and don’t act like an ass. Jen dined on the ropa vieja (shredded beef) while I took Alberto's suggestion and had the bistec (steak). Was it good? Wow. Wow! The flavors, the ingredients, though very simple, were properly blended and rich with Cuban authenticity. Oh! And don't forget the empanadas! I recommend the beef. 90 Miles is a BYOB establishment, so don't forget your bottle of wine or a couple of beers. I still don't understand the BYOB restaurant thing, but who am I to question the idea of bringing your own liquor? Silly me. So go to 90 Miles Café and go often. Tell them Sandy from California, the Adventure Trio writer, sent you their way.

Our next sensory adventure was during our trip down Pilsen 18, a section of Chicago that boasts the largest Mexican neighborhood in the Midwest. And they're not lying (whoever "they" are). When the taxi dropped Jen, Melissa and I off in front of the carnitas stand, I found myself in Mexico. My first hint? The calls from the Mexican males as they drove by. The second? The smell of homemade tortillas wafting through the air. Time to follow our noses. But wait! There are places to stop along the way! Another BYOB calls for a trip to the liquor store for some beer. Hey! There's a great store on our right, too. Oh, the local market. Gotta stop in there to check for those Nestle chocolate balls with the toys inside. They don't sell them in the states, but you gotta try. No chocolate balls (snicker), but I did score Jack a large pack of individually wrapped packs of gum, i.e. the gum all the little kids try to sell you when you visit Mexico. Ohhhh, that gum? Yes. Jen and Melissa each bought a package of freshly made tortillas. They were still warm…and they only cost 30 cents. Don’t EVEN get me started about the Mexican bakery…I gained 3 pounds just walking in the door.

Okay, kids, we've GOT to get to the restaurant, as Mama Bear is about to lose it. To Nuevo Leon we go. While we waited to be seated, I wondered how long we'd have to stand and be teased by the smells from the kitchen as we patiently waited our turn. YES! A party is leaving! And YES! We don’t mind be seated as their clearing the table. Immediately after we removed our jackets, scarves, gloves, etc.,(it was cold!), we were each presented with a small plate of beans covered with a warm, fresh tortilla. Why, thank you! Following this was a basket of hot, crunchy chips, 2 fresh salsas and a cup of hot carrot slices and whole jalapenos. Nice. None of us were shy about digging in – every woman for herself, dammit. I had my mind (stomach) set on carne asada till Melissa said she was ordering the tamales. Tamales. Fresh, hand-rolled, abuelita tamales. My stomach changed its mind immediately. Up to the table strode Juan. So cute! He spoke Spanish to Jen and Melissa while I did the stupid nod-and-smile thing that all us gringos do when we want to pretend we understand what is being said. Nice one, white chick! He gladly opened our beers and brought us slices of lime. LOVE Juan! Within about 5 minutes our food arrived, carried by a woman who was as tall standing up as I was sitting down. Awesome. The conversation hit a lull as we savored the love that was put into each tamale and taco. As I said, like abuelita was giving you a great, big hug.

Bellies full, we weeble-wobbled over to the National Museum of Mexican Art, nationalmuseumofmexicanart.org. If you’re ever in the neighborhood, I highly recommend this stop on the tour. And after all we ate at lunch, who would’ve thought we were up for one more culinary experience…

Our third foodie experience was in the Greek Town section of Chicago. We were picked up by Jen’s dad, Don, and her brother, Mike, also Melissa’s husband, outside of Melissa’s building. They were on their way to eat following the Bulls game. Would we like to invite ourselves to join them for a lovely Greek meal? Of course! I had to see Greek Town before I left Chicago. And boy, did I…

Remember “My Big, Fat Greek Wedding”? Yes you do! The buildings ARE painted in white and blue, the colors of the Greek flag. And yes, there are pillars and statues everywhere. Even the Walgreens sign was in Greek and English. Into The Parthenon we went, one of THEE Greek restaurants in the neighborhood. Dude, seriously, there was a whole lamb turning on a spit in the window! "You don't eat meat?!? That's okay, I'll make lamb." We were fortunate to get a table before the mad Greek rush happened. Fortunately, Mike and Melissa frequent this place, so Mike knew immediately what to order once we sat. First on our list, a flaming cheese called saganaki. Not joking. It’s lightly breaded and pan fried; then our waiter pours brandy over the top, lights the plate on fire and yells, “Opa!” Again, priceless. Another authentic culinary experience. Plates kept coming, wine kept pouring, and the conversation, as always, never lulled. Okay, it lulled once, but Mike was on it to start a new topic. How much do I LOVE getting together with this family? Once you’re “in”, you are part of the family…and it’s a wonderful feeling. More food, something pronounced “moosaka” ("moose ca-ca" in the movie) and another table of satisfied customers. And Don, thanks for picking up the tab.

I hated having to leave Don, Mike and Melissa, but our day was coming to an end and Jen and I were done. We had Mexican pastries to eat and vodka to drink. There were websites to be browsed and conversations to be continued. Speaking of continued, I’m going to have to continue my Chicago marathon-weekend tomorrow. I want to spend time as I can with my friend before I have to leave. She’s one of the only people in my life who lifts me up and makes me feel good about myself. And doesn’t that suck that for all of us, that there are maybe only 2-3 people you can count on to be there and REAL for you? Can we try and change that? Can we? Yes. But first, I figure to figure out why this fucking post isn't uploading...sorry, Don...