went as planned - chicago

My wife and I enjoy watching Bizarre America Foods with Andrew Zimmerman. In planning our vacation route, I had us lined up to eat at The Publican Restaurant on 837 West Fulton Market, just off Interstate 90, in DOWN TOWN Chicago. A place featured on an episode we watched before our trip.

For Your Information:
On one of her trips out to visit Betty Larson in Los Angeles, my wife stopped to eat at Pink's hot dog stand. She also has eaten barbecue at Bludso's in Compton, California. Not I. Still I noticed when she brought these places up in conversation, that she had been KEEPING  TRACK  of all the places she had eaten at, especially the ones on the Food Network, or the Travel Channel, like Bizarre America Foods. We both enjoy seeing how other cultures eat and viewing exotic places on the show. Zimmerman seemed at home with foods and substance I would never dream of trying. How fitting it would be to EAT at A PLACE ZIMMERMAN had on TV. That gave me confidence to plan for this!!!!!

Since I was the driver, an important part of this story was our rush toward an UNCERTAIN destination. We had no idea WHEN exactly we could get to the site, the condition of the roads, the time traffic would take - but I did made us a reservation by phone the day before. A step of faith.

When we pulled into our motel in Schaumburg, a north west suburb of Chicago, we had hoped to be able to take a nap or go for a swim before going to our reservation. The desk clerk advised me: if I left in the next 20 minutes we would beat the rush hour traffic. It was 2:30 pm. Our reservation was 5:45 pm. So ----- we dropped our baggage at the room, jumped back in the car and hit the 290 interstate. A route that did not have roadwork being done on it, not like the Interstate 90 we had come in on. The normal traffic seemed a much faster pace than what we were used to in Missouri. We reached the restaurant by 4:00 pm. With no place to park I headed down Lake Street which followed under the elevated "L" train tracks to sight-see. Apparently I didn't count on that being as nerve-racking as it was. At one point we ended up in a dead end behind some big buildings. Soon we parked two blocks from the restaurant on a side street, so I could stretch my tired legs. At 5:25 the valet parked the car. At 5:30 we were seated inside.

The front door was all glass and hidden, until I found a handle and pulled the door open.

People sat at long tables and were served family style.

The waiter brought us "a menu" to look at, then told us that we were waiting on "the day's menu" that was due to come out shortly. Meals change from day to day. Ours was dated July 8, 2016.

Zimmerman encouraged his viewers to try something new. Saying: "If it looks good, try it." With the novelty of that show, the boldness and calmness that Zimmerman displayed, I decided I would eat something new for myself.

With 34 entrees to choose from, we decided which four sounded interesting, and which we were both willing to try. See sample menu at http://www.thepublicanrestaurant.com/dinner/

Instead of ordering the usual chicken or beef entree, we ordered four dishes, which came one plate at a time, from which we both ate. The dishes were made to order from the adjoining building. The Publican Quality Meats prided themselves preparing their own charcuterie. Simply, the preparation and regional seasoning of dressed meats. The way sausage is made depends on who is making it. Not knowing how little we'd be getting, we ordered a half plate portion between us.

Above dish, charcuterie plate, had salam d'la duja, pork pie, head chees, harissa pate, morteau sausage, pickles and mustard. Jan seemed to know more about what were we eating. You'd have to ask her. I enjoyed all the flavors.

No photo of next dish. Listed as "little gem lettuce" was created by the Werp Farms of Buckley, Michigan. With crispy pig ear, basil, radish and buttermilk vinaigrette.

Above dish, summer squash, created by Henry Brockman, of Congerville, Illinois. With walnut ailade, ubriaco rosso and mint.

Above dish, ling cod, created by Dottie of Santa Cruz, California. With mussels, green chile, potato and salsa verde.

I enjoy mussels now.

My wife told me the tab was more than a night's stay at a motel. We paid for the privilege to eat at THIS PLACE. I'm glad it worked. My cousin Steven Kiecker called this: a culinary experience.

Another part of this story came after we got back to the motel. The stress of riding in that kind of traffic had overwhelmed my wife. She objected  and was ready to go HOME. Just three days in on our ten day loop. Asked for prayers to save our marriage. Holding my breath, the next morning, suggesting we take a day off to do nothing, rest, stay in one place. She said she wanted to get on the road to Michigan. And we did. Thank the Lord for hearing the prayers and giving me grace.

Michigan cherry trees

 Fish Town docks, Michigan

 epilogue:

The next night we were at Muskigon, Michigan and I wanted to try MUSSELS again. At Red Lobster I ordered that and tried SCALLIONS too and that went well!!!

In Omena, Michigan, Dan and Amanda introduced me to a micro brew called "TWO  HEARTED  ALE." I've since asked a local business to ordered it in, and now it's in stock in Carrollton.

At Bluebird Restaurant in Leland, Michigan I tried walleye fillets. There was this dish with PEAS  AND  BOILED  PEANUTS. Filling and tasty, of course local.

Yes, going to the restaurant in Chicago was a highlight in our trip.

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chicago art institute

I can't speak about Valparaiso, Indiana or Leland, Michigan. Two places where my father had been. But I have been to the gallery at the Chicago Art Institute.

During the summer of 1977 I took a train from Galena, Illinois to downtown Chicago. The round trip cost me nineteen dollars back then. It was three hours on the switchity-snickety tracks, as the booth jostled side-to-side on the Amtrak line.

From the Union station it was five or six city blocks to walk to the Chicago Art Institute. The crouched stone lion greeted me on the steps.

     Once inside I remember looking up at the Jean Dubuffet sculpture, its skyscraper plateau high above my head near the ceiling. Its form, like a modern mushroom, outlined with wide black lines, sort of like an empty stained-glass pattern. I felt small yet immensely enjoyed being underneath its canopy.
     I saw the Jackson Pollack canvas. It was wide and outsized the image I saw in my UNL Art History class. The way my imagination snaked its way back between the surface markings and into its oceanic depths. So much to take in. What a delight. And Marc Chagall had a stained-glass work around the corner.

     I mention the School of the Art Institute of Chicago because my father was admitted there in March of 1950. Double click on images to enlarge. The admission slip reached him when he was at Stiles Hall at Valparaiso.

 When I turned over this letter I found two ink sketches that the 28 year old Reinhold had drawn. 

  

Right, his school transcript gave the address where Reinhold rested when he wasn't digging graves for money, and where he painted his assignments for the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.

I have checked the address out on the Internet. Today that location is a paved parking lot. But across the street stands a multi-story apartment building. In 1950 that fellow was 28 years old, single, and on his own.

Left, among my father's effects (which my brother gave to me in a box last Christmas) was something he treasured. It had started with a photo I had taken at a photo booth. Dad fixed it to a yellow section of calendar. He wound the slip into his typewriter, and added a title, a character, a location, and a date. Words of his choosing to remember. "Number One Son, Karl Monroe, GALENA, ILL, 9-27."  Dad had this pinned to the cork-paneled wall of his office in the basement of the Seward house on Columbia Avenue. A epigram of me. Because it meant something to him, it means something to me now!!

      In the summer of 1977, I had completed my third year at the University of Nebraska - Lincoln. I was 22 years old, single, and agreed to work for a printmaker, an artist, a friend of my parents, Arthur Geisert.

     Mornings were spent in the art studio Geisert had built on a steep hillside. With a long staircase that climbed up to the top or down to the walk. Arthur showed me how he wanted things. The inking his Noah Ark plates, running proofs through his heavy metal press, pulling the wheel handle round and round, felt blankets fed through the press rollers.

Photo of the four-proof Geisert Ark etching that hung in our living room in Seward, Nebraska.

The four by six inch etching I did at Geisert's studio. Caption read: "Arthur amuses himself, building steps in the backyard." Geisert did whimsical pieces. His style of drawing was what I imitated.

    In historic downtown Galena, I resided at the Desoto Hotel. (Years before it got renovated and upgraded into the Desoto House Hotel.) An old place with tall ceilings, vintage wallpaper, indoor plumbing, and cheap rates. That was where I began writing about MONROE, the snow fall, the laundromat next door, and my solitary life. It was where I read books from the Dubuque library. It was where I rested up for the work that awaited me each day.

 

I washed dishes at Raleigh's restaurant, and de-boned cold cooked chicken to make chicken salad in the kitchen. (Right, Betty the stove cook)

At Raleigh's the staff parades into the dining room in the evening to sing to the guests.

One night they asked me to play the piano.

That was where I wrote the short story "THE CUSTOMER."
Betty was the stove cook. Raleigh and Chuck were the owners. Sally was a waitress I worked with. And the dishwasher was me. A snow day mystery with surprises. When I prepared it for this post it took my mind right back to my days in Galena.

Instead of returning to college for the fall semseter, I stayed in Galena, working. A couple hired me to belt sand wooden toys for them. One time I remember swinging down from the outdoor eaves of their three story house. After the fear of heights is allayed, there is a joy that comes, reaching from pole to pole, dancing through the air, like a jungle gym for grownups. I remember chaperoning a fellow toy-sander to a KISS concert in Des Moines, Iowa. We went by bus. So many memories.

      That was the summer Dad was all into his Flurry toy. I had a couple boxes of Flurry shipped to Galena and sold them. Check out http://robotskirts.com/2009/12/28/the-flurry/ 

It is great to be on your own when you are 22 years old. Walking on foot, full of life, time to read, relaxed, with times of loneliness, busy with work. I found places to hang out. A local church to attend. Geisert stories and Geisert meals on a wood stove.  A life entirely your own. Until Christmas rolled around and a phone call asked when I planned to come "home" and "finish" college at the university. Then the freedom I thought was my own vanished. I returned to college and my home state of Nebraska.

From the photo on the wall my father thinks of his boy in Illinois. His adult son recalls the smell of linseed-infused etcher's ink and Geisert's delicious tamale pie. And Monroe wonders what his buddy Karl is going to bring home from the Dubuque Library on Tuesday with his library card. (It could be Houdini, a Western, perhaps the work of Richard Brautigan or The Nick Adams Stories by Ernest Hemmingway.)

(Dubuffet sculpture photo courtesy of Toritextil,  http://toritextil.blogspot.com/2011/01/jean-dubuffet.html, Flurry link, http://robotskirts.com/2009/12/28/the-flurry/, Arthur Geisert link, http://www.encyclopedia.com/doc/1G2-3482200032.html, accessed 02.10.2015)