Love is a wonderful thing. It makes the world go 'round. When you have it, you feel giddy inside. Some might even say it's like floating on air...
I felt this way last night.
Before you get too excited, this post is not about a person. No, this is a different kind of love affair. The one I have with restaurants.
Last night, I went out for dinner with a friend to one of my favorite places in the city, Club Lucky. For those not familiar, the restaurant sits on a quiet, residential street in the Bucktown neighborhood of Chicago. But if you happen upon it you can't miss it, due to the glow from the neon sign outside the door. And while generally neon signs aren't synonymous with elegance, this one feels familiar, inviting.
Stepping inside, you're transported to another era. Maybe it's the giant jukebox immediately to your left, the checkered floor tiles, or the booths and barstools upholstered in bright red leather. In any case, you'd find yourself in the lounge, anchored by an iconic bar that extends the length of the room.
They serve classic Italian fare in the way I believe it should be done (but which can be harder to find these days what with modern, trendy joints being in favor). Which is to say, a giant bowl of pasta with a simple but beautiful sauce. The bread is pillowy soft inside with the perfect crunch outside, and they make a damn good martini. I should know, I had three!
What?! They were delicious, I was enjoying the company, and they help ease the sting of Chicago winter. Particularly when you're eating outside in a tent.
[You: "But Julie, you can eat inside now!"]
It's true. While pandemic restrictions have really loosened up in Chicago, and the rest of the city seems eager to make up for lost time, I'm personally still not ready to dine indoors. It's tough to wrap my brain around it, after the year we've had. But I will get there, and I can't wait for that day.
So where does this tribute come from, you might ask, if I wasn't really in the restaurant? Well to leave, we had to exit through the inside. While waiting for Ubers, the jukebox caught our eye. I mean, of course it did. You think museums and theme parks just happened upon this tactic? I digress :)
My friend somehow had a real live dollar bill on her, albeit one that had seen better days. The machine wouldn't accept it, even with my "smoothening" technique that I was sure would work. Martini confidence! At some point the crinkly dollar gets stuck in the slot, and just as we were ready to stick a plastic bar pick in to rescue it, a gentleman came to our aid. It just so happened to be the restaurant owner's son, who opened the machine and loaded several credits worth of songs as he retrieved my friend's bill.
You don't let jukebox credits go to waste. You just don't. Even with your best intentions to avoid covid. So we made our selections and danced and laughed and sang, and even though masked - for a moment - it felt like a regular Saturday night. I noticed that various patrons, including a group squeezed into a tiny booth and an older couple, were bopping along and grooving to the music. And this, right here, is the magic of restaurants!
It's not the food or the ambiance. Well it is, but that's not the full picture. It's the community aspect, of each guest or group experiencing a moment individually, but with a common thread tying everyone together. You don't get that separated in a tent, and certainly not with takeout. Restaurants are so much more than places to eat. And perhaps it is a gift that we've learned this the past year. So that when life returns and fear subsides, we'll treat a meal out with family or friends not just as another day or another commitment, but as an experience to be savored.
--> What's your favorite restaurant? And what would your love letter include? I'd love to discuss.
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