I’ve never been to Rome, but I’m 97% certain there’s a CBD/Vape shop located near the shadows of the Colosseum. After all, what is collective city architecture, but a de facto curation of persistence and progress? Unplanned urban planning often results in horrid juxtapositions, say placing a McDonald’s near the Dachau death camp (Mengele is gone, but the McRib is back!).
The contrast is almost always tense, but, sometimes it’s barbarically beautiful. One of my favorite old/new spots in Chicago is where the green girders of Wrigley Field bulge against the developed blocks of Addison and Waveland like the Incredible Hulk’s body heaving the remnants of David Banner’s jeans into hot-girl-summer jorts.
Another proximal structural delight is Emmit’s low-slung gold and green pub façade, already at odds with the glinting glass high rise apartment and condo buildings encroaching in River West. As I drove by this weekend on my way downtown to H-Mart (I had a sudden urge to make ramen from scratch), I thought, this view will be sweet in 2222 when Emmit’s Guinness-pint logo is still backdropping chain-smoking cops dressed in Minority Report-like tactical gear spilling out of Richard’s bar behind it.
Then about two hours later I read Emmit’s was closing for good on June 25th. I guess that’s one reason I’m charmed by the survivors. Most, if not all desired or imagined anachronisms will pass. Rarity is what makes the ones that last desirable.
I should also note that Jeff and Jude’s the neo-hipster Jewish deli and Reve burger, the pandemic patty pivot from the Michelin-starred Ever crew also both announced this week that they are closing. Ever, which was established in a building eventually set for demolition, always had a shelf-life. Jeff and Jude’s made incredible pastrami, but they felt like they were closed more than they were open. Emmit’s, though, had already lasted 26 years. What was 200 more?
Whether timeless or short-lived, one thing I never get used to as a food writer is closures, especially of the places I’ve long frequented. I always hated scenes from TV shows where like the whole cast ends up drinking together after work at some local bar. In the case of ER, I always wondered, if George Clooney and Anthony Edwards are both doing Jager-shots in the same tavern, what happens if someone needs emergency surgery at County General?
Still, even the most implausible TV is often a fogged mirror. I worked for a small company located near Emmit’s for seven years, and indeed, most of us did end up after work at a bar. When clients were in town, we went to Emmit’s. Because, ultimately what do out-of-towners want? They want deep dish pizza as big as their heads and endless pints backdropped by a former-firefighter-owned Irish pub where, yep, there he is again, George Clooney, and Matty Damon, meet for the first time in Ocean’s Eleven.
Like Emmit’s I also had a warm spot for Jeff and Jude’s and Reve. I followed J&J owner Ursula Siker feverishly on Insta sharing from afar her joy as she forged a new path in life with the deli. Reve partner Mike Muser invited me on his Amuzed podcast a few times, which just happened to be recorded inside an old metal vault in the same building that housed Reve burger. The Ever team, GM Amy Cordell, sous chef Richie Farina, and others busted their asses to make Reve work during the uncertainty of the pandemic. Reve was triumph in crisis, and while I’m sure it was a pain, it was also a reminder that the Ever team are scrappy survivors.
When the places where we make our lives close, it’s a smack in the face of progress, especially for the dreamers who birthed them into being. For all of us, a shuttering is an obituary for our former lives. If you really wanna get dark, a restaurant closure, especially a beloved one, is also a stark reminder that we’re all gonna die.
But, like you, I try to rage against the dying of the light. One of the ways I do that is collecting functional objects most folks have deemed obsolete. Vinyl records, old tube radios, and vintage advertising are a few of my obsessions. As a food writer, who believes we need to know where we’ve been to understand where we’re going, procuring vintage menus is another.
Generally, old menu acquisition has been a personal and private enterprise, but with meaningful restaurants closing so often now, it feels like a bit of a wake is in order. Which is to say as I expand the offerings of this newsletter, I thought it would be fun to highlight some of my old menus and tell the stories of interesting restaurants that no longer exist. I don’t even remember if the Leo movie was good, but because a newsletter runs on puns, I’m going to unveil these write-ups under the banner “Shutter Island”.
First restaurant up is a long-forgotten Chicago gem. Though it has generally been lost to collective memory, it was the inspiration for and sister restaurant of one of Chicago’s, and America’s, most celebrated restaurants.