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.
* * * * *
When the Major League Baseball playoffs began on October 4, 2018, I was introduced to a commercial that played dozens of times over the next few weeks. I can't even tell you what product it was attempting to sell, but the music hit me deep in my soul.
When a moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie
That's amore
That's amore
When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine
That's amore
Now, I am not particularly fond of that old Dean Martin ditty. It kind of annoys me, to be honest.
But every single time I heard those lyrics, I was transported back to the Italian Village restaurant in Chicago.
* * * * *
Way back in the day, when I lived the young professional life in Chicago, I often took swanky lunches. Sometimes we'd go as a client service team, either paying our own way or hoping our high-paid partner would pick up the bill. But more often than not, these were recruit lunches. During the late fall and on through winter, a steady stream of college applicants would flow through our offices, getting a first-hand look at the wonderful world of public accounting. One of the highlights of the day for the recruit was to relax at lunch with a couple of us who were just a few years into our careers, and ask us all the questions that they were not comfortable asking of the higher ups.
Just a half block up Monroe Street from our offices, west of Dearborn, Italian Village was one of my favorite swanky lunch destinations. The service was fast, the food was good. But the decor. The decor was just plain magic and I spent many a meal at this restaurant staring in wonderment around the room.
As the name not so subtly suggests, the dining room was fashioned as an Italian village. But here's the twist; the main part of the floor was set up as though it was the courtyard of an Italian village. Around the perimeter of the room were a series of smaller rooms, with just a table or two inside, that were decorated to look like buildings and balconies around the courtyard. Twinkle lights and street lamps lit up the dark room and its deep blue ceiling; artificial greenery hung here and there, and the effect was purely enchanting.
* * * * *
As I listened to that commercial play over and over again, night after night of the baseball playoffs, I thought about that fantastical restaurant. I hadn't been there for over thirty years. And I wondered, over and over again, when will I ever get a chance to go back to Italian Village?
Little did I know how soon my dream would come true.
On October 25, the third night of the 2018 World Series, I ate dinner at Italian Village
^ On many a cold winter morning as I hiked from the train station to my office, this sign brought me great joy as an indication that I had almost finished my trek and was about to finally get warm again. And on many a hot summer morning, I was just as excited to get to the air conditioning.
[source]
^ The interior was exactly, perfectly, precisely the same. I was overjoyed.
^I went with the eggplant parmigiana which was always one of my favorites and as far as I can remember, it tasted exactly the same. My daughter's mushroom risotto was also delicious, though we could barely eat even half of these massive portions.
^ This is me with all my Italian Village dreams come true. Everything was perfect.
Just as I'd remembered.
Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling
And you'll sing "Vita bella"
And you'll sing "Vita bella"
Hearts will play tippy-tippy-tay, tippy-tippy-tay
Like a gay tarantella
* * * * *
Read more stories about my long overdue reunion with the city with big shoulders:
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