Tragic Sandwich

A week ago, Mr. Sandwich and I headed out for a long weekend in Chicago. As it turned out, getting there felt longer than the weekend. Why? Because there were tremendous thunderstorms in Chicago, leading to a series of ground stops and, for us, an ELEVEN HOUR LAYOVER in Phoenix.

But we finally made it to O’Hare, and, at 3 a.m., to our hotel room. After a late breakfast at the Silver Stallion (sounds like a strip club, but actually home to very nice breakfasts), we spent Saturday evening and much of Sunday with family (the purpose for our trip was a 50th anniversary party, which was a terrific event). And then Sunday evening we drove into Chicago itself to have dinner at the Chicago Chop House. Dark, wood-paneled, lined with photos from the city’s history (we ate under the gaze of Ada and Minna Everleigh, Chicago’s most famous madams)–the Chop House had just the atmosphere we were looking for. It also had just the steaks we were looking for. The evening was a tremendous splurge, but the dry-aged New York Strip was worth it–as were the Four Cheese Potatoes Au Gratin and the Asparagus with Hollandaise Sauce.

One might think that such a meal would be more than enough for one evening, and one would be right (indeed, I was not interested in more food until about 2 p.m. the next day). But thanks to Facebook, I had discovered that one of my grad school friends, now living in Philadelphia, was also in town. So four of us met in downtown Chicago and walked up the Magnificent Mile to spend some time catching up at the Ghiradelli Ice Cream and Chocolate Shop. A tip: the Decadent Drinking Chocolate is aptly named. While we were sitting, I looked through the front window to see that across the street is Hershey’s Chicago. I wonder if sometimes the competition gets too fierce, leading to a chocolate rumble.

The next day, we took the L (El? “El”? So many options) into the city so that we could board the Chicago Architecture Foundation’s excellent river cruise (hint: wear sunscreen–a week later, I’m still burned between the knee and the hem of my shorts). From there, we headed south through the downtown and then west past the soon-to-be-renamed Sears Tower to Lou Mitchell’s Restaurant. This Chicago institution is open for breakfast and lunch, with great skillet egg dishes and donut holes. It’s also the starting point for historic Route 66.

That evening we met another friend and her children (the younger is my goddaughter) at Nancy’s Pizza in the suburb of Niles. The deep-dish Hawaiian pizza was excellent, and if I’d had a way to eat the leftovers, I’d have taken them. But we were scheduled on an early morning flight back to L.A., so we sent them home with our dinner companions instead.

So we met our goals: spending lots of time with family and friends, touring the city, and eating iconic local meals. However, even though it was directly across the street from our hotel, we did not get to eat at Mr. Pup. Maybe next time.

And now, for your viewing pleasure, a few photos in no particular order: