After 10 days in and around Washington, D.C. visiting my wife's very large (Catholic) and wonderful family, our nuclear unit is now in Chicago, with my parents. I lived in Chicago from 1966 to 1994, minus a few years "Back East" in college and a short stint working on Capitol Hill. So it's always Old Home Day when I'm back here.

A few notes and observations since we landed at O'Hare yesterday afternoon.

My son and I went out to Promontory Point, on Lake Michigan, off 57th Street, where he was enchanted by the layers of ice-covered blocky rocks leading down to the water. We don't really get ice in Seattle, see. At about 25 degrees, it was positively balmy.

There used to be a Cold War era radar site there, next to the park district building where me and my buddies used the great downstairs floor hockey court. I still remember the time one of our older "role models," a great teen athlete and unforgettably charismatic leader of young men named Wally Rose, who sadly ended up working as a delivery guy in a local liquor store, ran into a crusty fellow in the little spiral staircase going downstairs to the floor hockey court, and for some reason called him a "dirty old pecker."

Knowing the upstanding Wally as I did, there was doubtless a good cause. But unfortunately, the geezer got bothered, flashed a piece, and we all sorta freaked for a hot minute or two there. Then Wally smoothed things out, and we played hours of floor hockey downstairs, as per usual, with the real knobby leather hockey gloves, knee pads, hip checks and knockdown-dragout fistfights, just like our hockey heroes on TV. There weren't that many to choose from, BTW, because the NHL then had just SIX teams.....THOSE were the days.

This time around, I also discovered, to my dismay, that where (in the 60s) a store called "Radical Rags" used to peddle obscene candles, incense and especially crummy underground newspapers - in a walk-down storefront on the east side of Hyde Park Blvd., just south of 55th St. - there's now a far more mundane emporium. Shoe repair or dry cleaning, I forget. I guess I was at least hoping for an organic grocery store, where I could buy flax seeds, dried cherries and gluten-free blackberry muffins. Ah well.

And sadly, Morry's Deli, at 55th and Cornell Ave., doesn't do bagels and lox anymore. Nor pickled herring. It's just another fast food joint, unworthy of the name "Deli." Cue the world's smallest violin, I know. At least we later got up to New York Bagels and Bialys on W. Touhy (7200 N.) just east of Cicero Ave. (4800 W.) in Lincolnwood (a near-NW 'burb of Chicago), in a strip mall on the north side of the street. (You can take I-90/94 into 94, a.k.a. Edens Expwy., fr. downtown Chi., to the Touhy exit E.).

The tough-skinned beauties are the real deal - not like the ubiquitous round-shaped, centrally-punctured, flaccid doughy frauds elsewhere (especially my dear Seattle) masquerading as "bagels." At NYB&B, these choice specimens come in all the usual myriad flavors, and the 13th one is free. The difference is they're chewy, tasty, fresh and great.

The Hyde Park neighborhood (on Chicago's SE side, bordering Lake Michigan) where we're staying now, isn't where I lived later on in Chicago, while working as a newspaper reporter/columnist and then a community organizer. That would be Rogers Park, Edgewater and Lakeview.

But Hyde Park is where I grew up. And despite giving the world the very regrettable Carol Mosely Braun, Hyde Park has some redeeming features beyond the Museum of Science and Industry, the University of Chicago, and the Oriental Institute.

For example, Powell's Bookstore, now a world-famous emporium based in Portland, OR, actually began in Hyde Park, circa 1961!

And Lake Shore Drive, Hyde Park's connection to downtown Chicago and points north, is still one great cruise.

This afternoon, we set out in an entirely different direction from Hyde Park, to an Arab neighborhood on the city's southwest side. Our destination was one of the literally dozens of vibrant ethnic enclaves that make Chicago what it is - more so, in my view, than the stunning downtown skyline, pro sports teams, deadly hot and cold weather, blatant political corruption, great museums and live music clubs.

So if you ever have a chance, get on over to The Nile Restaurant, at 3259 W. 63rd.

It's a Palestinian-owned place with first-rate shawirma, kebabs and hand-formed, charcoal-grilled ground-meat and vegetable sausages called kifta. Our feast also included some of the best hummus I've ever had; plus kibbeh; felafel; yogurt and cucumbers; a cucumber-tomato-mint concoction in a tahini-yogurt dressing (Jerusalem Salad); an array of Middle Eastern pickled vegetables; fresh carrot juice; and lots of fresh pita.

The Arabic music videos on the TV were a nice touch as well.

The southwest side Arab "strip" used to run a good two miles on 63rd, from Western Ave. (2400 W. on the Chicago grid system) all the way to Pulaski (4000 W.) It has become foreshortened to about half that length now, as the Western to Kedzie (3200 W.) stretch of this commercial artery is now mainly given over to Black and Hispanic businesses. Perhaps more Chicago SW Side Arabs are moving to the suburbs. There's certainly a template for that kind of urban ethnic out-migration, already. And bully for them, if so. After all, it's the, ah, American Dream. And the public schools are at least somewhat better in some 'burbs, due to imperatives of class......not race.

(You got a problem with that? I sure don't).

Anyhew.....we spent the late afternoon mucking about on and around historic Astor Street in the city's Gold Coast area, where we know some folks. We especially enjoyed the playground at Goudy Square. Perfect after high tea at the Drake Hotel, if you've got little ones in tow.

Dinner at Coco Pazzo Cafe on St. Clair Street was fairly sumptuous. High points included the fried calamari served with lemon and a marina sauce on the side; grilled bass with olives, tomatoes and capers over a bed of spinach; a pea and prosciutto risotto, and the Tuscan fries.

There's only one big gripe about Chicago I have as a visitor - and this was part of why I was happy to leave....for Seattle.....10 years ago. While Chicagoans are more genuinely warm, and far more passionate than Northwesterners, they're also a great deal more unhinged. To drive, or cross the street is to put your life at risk.

That said, I still find myself needing a much bigger dose of Chicago's neighborhoods and city walks than I'll get on this trip.

Posted by Matt Rosenberg at December 28, 2004 06:04 PM

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