Our friend Kate said she would punch both Katie and me in the face if we didn’t visit the homes of Frank Lloyd Wright and Ernest Hemingway.  Let’s schedule that punch on, say, Christmas day?  Let’s see if you have the cold heart to assualt me on Christmas, Kate.  I remember seeing Hemingway’s house in Key West about 10 years ago.  There were hunting trophies mounted everywhere.  I would have liked to see his birthplace near Chicago, but I don’t think Hemingway wrote any stories about Oak Park, Illinois.  That place couldn’t have been terribly inspiring.  As for Frank Lloyd Wright’s home and studio, I’m sure they are amazing but I can’t afford $12 for admission.

Chicago is demanding!  It didn’t give us time to go about as we pleased.  A word of advice for tourists:  Chicago will open up a few possibilities for you.  You must take advantage of those prospects whether they are on your itinerary or not.  Our weekend in the city went by in a flash — intoxicating in its exhilaration, but over much too quickly. This is a cool building in the Lincoln Park area.

Hunger fuels most of our excursions.  We were starving by the time we got to the heart of the city.  Breakfast was our first priority.  Yes, breakfast.  We actually arrived in Chicago before 5:30 p.m. this time.  “Let’s get some oatmeal.  I bet we’ll find a cafe by Millennium Park,” I said to Katie.  She agreed on oatmeal, but was concerned we wouldn’t be able to find a parking spot in the middle of the city.  “How about Halsted Street?” she suggested.  We drove to N. Halsted Street.  Again.  I can’t seem to get away from that place.  I like the street but I wanted to experience a different part of the city on our final day there.  This exemplifies what I was saying about Chicago, you see:  If you just relax and enjoy what’s around you, you’re bound to have a good time.

A few blocks over we found a tea house with outdoor seating.  Mister was happy to hang out under a shady umbrella while we sneaked him bits of our yogurt and apricot croissant. Katie tried to deal with the miniature jungle on the left.

Afterwards we walked towards what we thought was a doggy boutique to look at new collars for Mister.  Who would have thought that American Dog would turn out to be a frankfurter stand? You can see how sassy Mister got when we took him to the wrong place.

We drove around for a bit, intentionally getting lost.  Katie found a cowboy-themed shop with neat clothes.  She shopped while Mister and I met tons of dogs and people passing by.  Someone breathed word of Wicker Park and my ears fell off.  “Isn’t that the movie that you loooooved with Josh Hartnett,” Katie asked, drilling her finger into my ribs.  In a vulnerable moment years ago, I admitted to Katie that Josh Hartnett was one of my role models for manly sensitivity.  She never stopped laughing.  I had seen the movie Wicker Park and liked the feel of it, even that schmaltzy scene at the end with Coldplay’s “The Scientist” dubbed over the rumble of the crowd.  There was no indication that the film was set in Chicago, but I always suspected it so.  My excitement mounted when I imagined finding Chicago’s best pizza in one of the many restaurants of the Wicker Park area.  Off we went.

The park itself is nice.  Lush gardens, sparkling granite fountain, shirts vs skins basketball games, and this statue of Charles Wicker created by his granddaughter.

The Wicker Park neighborhood was welcoming, too.  Don’t let those sunglasses, kerchiefs and striped shirts deceive you, some of Wicker Park’s image-conscious trendsters are surprisingly friendly.  Maybe it’s the high ratio of dogs to persons.  Most dog owners are happy to socialize.  Mister met dogs of all sizes, smells, and dapple-levels.  And when he was ready to cool off after sniffing an intriguing new friend, there were community dog bowls with ice water in front of nearly every restaurant and store in the area.

Pizza time.  A Chicago native told me the best pizzeria downtown closed, due to an influx of calorie-conscious diners.  I decided to stay in Wicker Park and search out traditional Chicago-style pizza.  We sat down at several places, but to my dismay they only served Lazio style and Sicilian style.  Another place, called Crust, served Chicago style pizza pies — not pizza by the slice, which I need because Katie hates pizza and I would never be able to finish a whole deep dish pie by myself — and they wanted $25.  The clock was ticking to get back to Alex’s house so her husband Chris could take photos of the T@B at dusk.  I settled for a good-enough eatery called Pizza Metro, that unfortunately only served Romana style pizza.  I didn’t get Chicago style pizza in Chicago.  Bummer.  The food at Pizza Metro was okay.  Katie did something she never does: order and eat her own slice of pizza.  Potato rosemary.  We scarfed it down and flew back to Alex’s house.

A good time was had with Alex, Chris, and their son Vincent.  They have a really cool house that’s over 100 years old but is decorated with modern furniture and homemade decor.  Alex made the best roasted vegetables I’ve ever had, and finished us off with baked chocolate pudding.  Chris took his mosquito bites like a man while he shot captivating photos of the T@B for Apartment Therapy.  Vincent shared his favorite jokes with us.  That kid’s got the best delivery of any four-year-old comedian.

As it neared midnight, we braved thick fog and bumpy roads to Wisconsin.  I think I speak for Katie when I say we both want to visit Chicago again in the future.  Maybe for a week. Maybe for a year?  There’s so much that we didn’t get to do.  Fortunately, we loved everything so much that it didn’t matter.  Chicago is going into my list of favorites.

Tags: Chicago, Ernest Hemingway, Frank Lloyd Wright, Illinois, Wicker Park