Believe me when I say that this title is not an insult. At least not to Chicago. The “gluttonous” reference is not attached to the shining star of the Midwest. Instead, the glutton is me. While in Chicago, I was the one who could not stop myself from eating everything I saw. This post could just as easily have been titled Diane Chicago, but that doesn’t have the same flair or finesse as Gluttonous Chicago, nor does it give you clue about how I spent my 60 or so hours there. I enjoyed my time as if the terms diabetes or hypertension or waistline were imaginary. My GERD symptoms – that’s gastroesophageal reflux disease for you non-sufferers – reminded me otherwise by Day 3; that there are damn real consequences of being a glutton in a foreign land.
It’s not Chicago’s fault. Chi-Town has always been good to me. It gets me from the airport to within blocks of my hotel on public transportation very smoothly, and at an affordable price. It’s given me cheesy, dense pizzas with flaky crusts. There, I’ve walked along the river, shopped in a gargantuan Macy’s, taken dozens of photos flanked by public art. And yes, I’ve risked my dear life standing on Willis Tower’s glass sky ledge. Twice. (Okay, probably not that risky, but I also consistently keep a 4-second cushion between my car and the one in front of me).
But damn the city and its wealth of restaurants. After dropping my kid off at her 2.5 day volleyball camp at DePaul (of COURSE I was in town for volleyball), this gal got her food, drank, and culture on. But mostly food. Which is okay because now I have this beautiful story to tell about my 60 gluttonous hours in Chicago.
Lodging at The Moxy
No details here except to say I quite enjoyed this hotel. So much so, I wrote an entire post about it here.
Breakfast at Longman & Eagle
Nestled in Chicago’s Logan Square neighborhood, Longman & Eagle welcomed me to the city following a restless redeye from LA. I was ready for weekday brunch, so said yes to L&E’s Elotes Benedict, a corn cake topped with a poached egg, sour cream, hollandaise, and avocado (a seasonal offering) – an indulgent combination that I forked up along with my side of potatoes. If I hadn’t been so tired, I’d have joined my meal with a mimosa or something else to buzz my morning. But with visions of evening cocktails dancing in my head, I opted for coffee instead. If given a chance, I’ll return for more L&E morning vittles and to indulge in an adult beverage to go with my plate (and definitely the potatoes again).
A Little Back-To-School at The Field Museum
Venturing out in the rain, I made my way to Chicago’s famed lakeside Museum Campus, spending a good hour-point-five (I could have spent four) at the Field Museum getting my Jurassic Park on. Particularly enchanting to me was their hall of birds, an exhaustive display of feathered friends. I’m obsessed with hawks for some strange reason, and Field got me close up to a few of them (and now I’m a little in awe of vultures). It’s a nifty way to spend an afternoon.
My Return to Little Goat Diner
Since I’d already dined at Stephanie Izard’s Little Goat Diner, I should have taken the time to try one of her other popular Chicago spots. But I loved Little Goat so much before, I was keen on returning to venture more deeply into the fun, eclectic menu. My fish tostadas didn’t disappoint (although I picked off most of the chickpeas, it was my bad for not requesting the dish without them). Tucked underneath a tasty tornado of avocado, onions, vinaigrette, and shallot aioli were tender bits of fish that almost melted when eaten. Thankfully, Izard is soon to open up a Southern Cali locale, so I’ll be able to enjoy more of her takes in the very near future. [Also pictured, the delightfully fresh and satisfying salad called The Fattoush]
Beatrix for Brunch
I got out later than I wanted to my second morning in town, not beating the brunch crowd, which a block away from me at Beatrix was spilling out onto the sidewalk. The beauty of a party of one is that you can usually squeeze in at a bar. Which I did (and found a pair of Midwestern girls on a weekend trip to chat up a bit). At Beatrix, one of my two favorite bites of the trip landed in front of me (and among the best dishes I’ve had in my many years of restaurant hopping). Filled with scrambled eggs, chihuahua and pepperjack cheeses, kale, and poblano peppers, then topped with sauce and a baked until the cheese was in that sweet spot of crispy and gooey, the green chili enchiladas rang superb. After the first bite, I almost cried at the succulent balance of it all. Then almost cried again when it became apparent that I wouldn’t be able to get more than 50% of the brunch into my belly. Sigh. (As much as I loved The Moxy, room fridges and microwaves would make the space even sweeter).
Blockbuster Musical at the CIBC, Anyone?
If you’re one of the eight people who follow this blog, you already know of my Hamilton heart. My love for the show, for all things Angelica and Eliza; for Aaron Burr and Lin-Manuel. So as trite as it may have been for me to dig up a ticket on StubHub for Chicago’s production of Hamilton at the CIBC, I did it. No regrets. Not only did I get a fresh version of the show (my three other times had me seeing the road cast at the Pantages – Chicago’s version, I have to say, proved a tad bit twerkier*). I fell in love with Miguel Cervantes’ Hamilton – you can tell he’s been at it for a while and is a steady continuation of Miranda’s virtually inimitable role. And I enjoyed a more expressive Aaron Burr with Jin Ha. Best, however, was an opportunity to get on the CIBC stage, getting up close and personal with Cervantes and Jonathan Kirkland (Washington), and the remarkable Hamilton set.
Mott St.on a Saturday Night
Its name doesn’t hint of its menu based on Asian flavors and ingredients. Mott St., however, delivers well on a well-rounded dining experience. Here, I tasted my other favorite dish of the trip in the Candied Shrimp & Kohlrabi Salad. I’m willing to bet a month’s pay that I’ve never had kohlrabi before. And I still am not even sure what it is, but this salad lingers in my mind as hauntingly blissful – each bite crunchy and pleasantly pungent, every now and then a bit of salty-sweet shrimp getting in to shake things up. I wanted to slurp up the soupy remains of dressing left after I’d picked up the larger pieces of the salad with chopsticks. My whimsical main dish, the Mentaiko Udon made itself unforgettable, dancing and whistling when served. A robust noodle dish, it tilted towards Italy in its execution. I may have forced it all down had I not had plans for dessert. If I were a local, it’s the kind of leftover that I might have as a savory breakfast the next morning, a new dish after surviving a night in a to-go box, but still yummy. Mott St. seems well suited for date night, for dinner with friends, for time away with your girls. And for a Saturday night dinner for one.
Mindy’s Hot Chocolate for Dessert
On my walk from Mott’s to Mindy’s, I discovered Chicago’s Wicker Park and Bucktown neighborhoods, although too late to really explore the area. I’ll surely spend more time this direction with my next visit, and will definitely make it back to Mindy’s for a something sweet (though hopefully I’ll have some company to share my order – the fact that I finished my dessert here accompanied by a cup of chocolate confirmed my fat ass tendencies). This trip, I sucked down the Framboise cake topped with cream and raspberries, served with ice cream, in mere seconds (didn’t want the ice cream to melt – that’s my story). It was probably too much to also take on Mindy’s deeply rich hot chocolate, but I simply couldn’t leave without it.
Ice Cream for Breakfast? Sure, if it’s Jeni’s
During my walk through Wicker Park on Saturday night, a long line of folks snaking out of a storefront peeked my interest. They were waiting for ice cream. Jeni’s ice cream, which I may have thought to wait for as well had I not already been en route for something sweet. On my way to DePaul Sunday morning to pick up my daughter from her camp, I once again found myself on a friendly street of shops (Armitage, just off the Brown Line, and noticed a sign for Jeni’s Splended Ice Creams, a location that had no line at the time (as it was just after 11:00 am – folks were still gettin’ their church on). Still recovering from my Mott/Mindy’s adventure the night before, I hadn’t eaten yet eaten anything (had only sipped on a latte from Dollop Coffee Co.while doing a little writing), saving space in my tummy for lunch. But it’s not wise to skip breakfast. So I stopped for a sampling of Jeni’s on my way to my lunch destination, making my scoop of salted peanut butter ice cream with chocolate flecks in a waffle cone, the official breakfast of fat ass Sunday in Chicago. Splendid indeed. [Happy to know there are a few Southern California locations, and plenty of Jeni’s in the freezer sections at nearby grocers.]
Lunch at Homeslice
It could have been brunch at Homeslice (what most of my fellow diners enjoyed), but by this point in my trip: a) I didn’t want to leave the city without a slice a pizza, even if not a classic Chicago version, and b) I didn’t want to do another un-brunchy brunch; in other words, without alcohol. Reason? (TMI warning) I made more than a couple of trips to Homeslice’s restroom to ease my aching belly, mad at me for all of my indulgences. So I stuck to pizza and water, and chose their Strike-A-Posner pizza, a veggie pie topped with pesto, provolone, parmesan, romas, and sun-dried tomatoes. Three slices in and I tapped out. Honestly, I can’t speak on the merits of this pizza, with me not feeling so well at the time I ate it, and my choice of likely a not-so-inspired option. Still, I have a hankering to spend another Sunday afternoon one day back at Homeslice for a truly authentic brunch experience.
Finally! Shopping at Alice & Wonder
In a sad slump because I couldn’t quite get it together for lunch, I was lucky enough to stumble upon Alice & Wonder for a bit of shopping before my trip’s end (I’d tried on the Magnificent Mile, only coming away with the dress I wore to Hamilton). The delightful DePaul student who helped me predicted that if I tried on a particular dress I pulled from the rack, I’d fall in love with it. I did (with hopes of it fitting more flatteringly for my next trip, just a few weeks away), along with two other sweet pieces that I had to find a way to stuff into my carry-on. While it meant leaving Chicago with yet one more swipe of my credit card, I was well pleased to happen upon this gem of a boutique.
Once I got my child in tow, we relaxed for a few hours back at Moxy before heading back to the airport. My bag had to be gate checked, as it had widened past the dimensions for a carry-on item (at least in the opinion of the exacting attendant). Thankfully, they don’t have such limits on travelers, as I left Chicago more than a few pounds heavier than I arrived. Time for ascetic living. At least until my next fat ass trip just 18 days away.
In the end, being a glutton ended up being quite nice. Given another chance, I’d hop at the chance to eat my way through the city again. Until next time, Chicago.
*Twerkier = relatively more twerking occurred during the performance