What started out as a week's visit to my second-born in Columbus, Ohio,
somehow turned into a road trip to Chicago.
Not only did we squeeze an amazing amount of sightseeing into forty-eight hours,
but we stayed a mere block away from my former office and retraced
the streets and sights of my life in Chicago
all those many years ago.
* * * * *
Located on Adams between Dearborn and State. Just look for the neon lights.
On the second night of our stay, I paid a long overdue visit to another favorite swanky restaurant from my ancient history in Chicago: The Berghoff.
Now, to be fair, 'swanky' might be a relative term. The Berghoff is not particularly luxurious or expensive by restaurant standards, but as a young professional trying to make ends meet on my own in the big city, this rollicking German hofbrauhaus was a stretch for my pay grade.
Compared to the burger joints and simple bistros that I frequented for most workday lunches, the Berghoff was something special. From the moment I stepped through the front doors to the stained glass windows, I felt transported from my urban daily grind to an altogether different place and time.
German food and drink were always the order of the day at the Berghoff. Stroganoff and schnitzel, sausages and strudel, the fare was authentically no-nonsense.
Also no-nonsense to the point of rude was the wait staff. Using an antiquated system where the waiters purchased the customers' food from the kitchen and then sold it to the patrons on their own behalf, the service culture was abrupt and cold.
But the wood-paneled dining room and delicious fare more than made up for the abrasive servers, and I spent many a happy lunch hour chatting with a girlfriend over steak and cantaloupe salads, or squeezed into a long row of tables with our audit team, keeping the colleagues entertained with a stream of never-ending patter. Perhaps my most cherished Berghoff memory of all was the dinner plates, which were decorated with the restaurant's name.
So while I was excited, all these years later, to revisit the Berghoff, I held my breath to learn just how much the restaurant had changed.
Usually I visited the Berghoff for lunch when natural light shone in through huge windows and lit up the room with a different kind of glow.
Much to my delight, the dining room looked exactly the same. Gleaming wood reflected chandeliers' light, sturdy wooden tables filled the room with just the right balance of space and communal togetherness.
Even better, the waiters were nice! I chatted with mine, told him of the old days when I was a little bit afraid of the servers' brusque behavior, and he smiled to hear my story. "Not much has changed around here in the last thirty years," he explained, "but the wait staff is definitely different."
He was right. Every waiter in the room was absolutely charming and our dinner was served with prompt and courteous attention.
And best of all, the plates were exactly the same.
Sauerbraten
* * * * *
Read more stories about my long overdue reunion with the city with big shoulders:
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please comment...I'd love to hear from you!