Dinner at San Fermo

The Pump Room

Italian Village

Cafe Provencal

Elliot's Pine Log

The Bergoff

Philanderer's 

And every last one of the crazy, inventive Lettuce Entertain You restaurants around at the time.

A study in understated chic. 

Back in 1980, when I first landed in the Chicago restaurant scene, fine dining was all the rage.

Yes, there were countless diners and crab shacks and burger joints, most famously The Billy Goat Tavern where you could get cheezborger cheezborger cheezborger and maybe a Pepsi but certainly no Coke. 

But in my boughie world of professional accounting, we ran in the circles of fine dining.

Rooms with a view, decorated to a T.

Hushed waitstaff trained in crisp efficiency and discretion.

Lush linen tablecloths and heavy silver place settings.

And the food. Elegant, inventive, flavorful, fresh. 

I was fortunate to enjoy many an extravagant lunch or dinner on the company's pocketbook and I came to enjoy these pleasing meals as if they were second nature.

Crusty baguette, creamy butter, ginger carrot soup. Yum, yum, and yum.

Then, in a flash, my life changed.

I traded in my power lunches for a couple blueberry muffins to share with my toddlers or maybe a pizza lunch buffet. And then there were the Happy Meal years when my growing gang of girls figured McDonald's to be the end all and be all of fine cuisine.

But, you know, times change. Eventually I became a regular at hippie pita shops, semi-authentic Mexican restaurants, and that one Thai place down on the Ave that still blows my mind. As I eventually got opportunities to travel the world, I gained new respect for the food stalls, the street shops, the everyday dives that bring out the locals. Those, for my money, are usually where the best food is to be found and nowadays, those are the places I seek out for my meals away from home.

Genuine, authentic food for sure. 

But not what you'd necessarily call fine dining. 

We ordered several salads and passed them around. 

Then the entrees arrived and we stopped taking photos. 

The other weekend, I got an opportunity to eat at San Fermo, the Ballard restaurant where my brand-spanking-new nephew-in-law is working as a chef. And to my delight, I realized - as we slid past a row of two tops and squeezed past the standing crowd at the bar to work our way to a large table on the back patio - I was about to enjoy some post-modern fine dining.

The restaurant lives in a former residence, and the rooms are mostly intact, yielding a cozy, domestic vibe. The kitchen is in full view, and diners watch their meals come together just as they do at home dinner parties. Spotlights highlight formal portraits hanging on shiplap walls, looking like anybody's upscale farmhouse kitchen. Calm and cool, down to earth, the waitstaff is professional yet friendly in the egalitarian way that the postmodern world prefers. Our food is served up on a variety of mismatched vintage-esque plates; the place settings are pleasingly posh.

The food is good. Elegant, inventive, flavorful, fresh.

And while I delight in the heady experience of tasting, sharing, and chattering with my family as we enjoy our food, another part of me simply sits back and smiles to see how my dining experiences have come full circle. 

I'm enjoying a rare moment of fine dining. And I am pleased. 

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Photo credits to my first-born.

I was too busy eating. 

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How lucky am I to have two chefs in the family?! 

Read about my two brilliant nephews who love to cook.

Dinner At Peridot

Dinner At San Fermo