The Chicago Diner: part 1
Chicago: the city that made me fall in love with pickles. I once thought pickles were deplorable, but post Chicago? Well, there’s a pickle jar sitting in my fridge…
Damian and I recently returned from a trip to the Windy City, and as the Florida weather wavers between hot and muggy, I miss it very much. The cold snow crunching beneath our non-waterproof shoes. Those absolutely bizarre but ingenious train station heaters. The Violet Hour’s Dark & Stormy, aka my favorite drink (I broke the rules and photographed it). The Art Institute and, especially on lazy weekend mornings, The Chicago Diner.
The Chicago Diner was our very first stop after arriving in Logan Square from the airport, our last, and you can believe it was our first stop of every other day we were in the city. We were locals for five days and we were (are) absolutely hooked.
I had Steak & Eggs: country friend seitan with two eggs, potato hash, and gravy. Damian ordered the Monte Cristo, and if we had traveled to Chicago only to eat that sandwich, it would’ve been worth it. It remains the best breakfast sandwich I’ve had, and a strong contender for my favorite brunch food: a French toast sourdough sandwich with melted cheese, veggie ham and creole mustard.
There will certainly be a part deux to this Chicago Diner appreciation post and perhaps a part trois (?), but in the meantime, I’ll be missing you Chicago.