Chicago Restaurant Week already? And me without a gift.
Actually, I’m always leaving gifts at restaurants, in the form of generous tips, plus those little fees tacked on the end of the bill, for employee health care, supposedly. They’re voluntary, in theory. But I’m not hard-hearted enough to strike them off the tab. Though I wish they’d just fold them into the cost — Kimberly-Clark doesn’t tag an optional nickel on the price of a box of Kleenex so its employees can have sick days.
Restaurants seem to be getting better at it. It’s been a few years since I was puzzling over the bill at Big Jones, trying to figure out what the 20% ”service fee” might be — that’s the tip, right? Then the waitress, who’d obviously been through this charade before, hurried over to explain that no, it wasn’t the gratuity, but an extra wallop designed to help keep the lights on during COVID-19. Two percent is one thing; 20% is something else. Still, I ponied up, reluctantly — my guests were watching — and walked out brooding that I’d just left 42% extra for an OK brunch. I never went back.
Restaurants are an odd business. You can eat at home, and usually do. They’re really social/aesthetic experiences disguised as strapping on the feedbag. Of the three legs of any dinner out — food, service, atmosphere — two-thirds don’t involve ingesting anything.
We need restaurants. How else are we supposed to celebrate occasions? My wife and I tried Rich Melman’s latest, Miru, for my birthday in June. Everyone is raving about the scenery from the 11th floor of Jeanne Gang’s St. Regis Hotel — “Miru” is Japanese for “view” — but honestly it could look out onto a cinderblock wall and I’d be eager to go back, just for desserts like Black Sesame Mochi, described as “Charcoal-Vanilla Ice Cream, Black Sesame Praline, Mochi Sponge.” I don’t know if that sounds as fantastic as it truly was. Let’s put this way: It costs $18, and I can’t wait for the chance to order it again.
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Bravo! A slice of hope with my morning coffee! Thank you for a very thoughtful article.
ReplyDeleteLove Libanais. Wonderful Shakshouka (sp?) and falafel. Living in that area was divine. I remember standing in line at the p.o. amongst men in hasidic garb, women in full hijab and me in shorts, tee shirt and flipflops. Nobody cares..let people do what is comfortable. It's a wonderful experience to live there. Thank goodness for all the cool customs and diversity.
ReplyDeleteUnfortunately, the reference to Lebanon brought back the memory of Thomas Friedman's From Beirut to Jerusalem describing the fatalism of many Lebanese during the factional warfare at the time, taking the bus to work knowing that today might be the day that this bus gets blown up, maybe by one of their enemies, maybe by one of their friends.
ReplyDeletejohn
Libanais is a Lebanese restaurant, and being there makes me so happy that I look around at this room full of similarly happy people from all backgrounds — and I think: '"This, THIS is what people want. Not all that killing. This is what, left to our own devices, we’d all spend our time doing.'" Bravo, Mr. S. Once again, you've knocked it out of the park.
ReplyDeleteUnfortunately, now that the general election is shaping up to be a nine-month slog down a road that too many Americans don't really want to travel down, the killing overseas is receding into the background, like some awful Muzak that shoppers try vainly to ignore.
A couple hundred bodies a day in Gaza, and who knows how many more in Ukraine? Some are combatants...soldiers..., but mostly they're civilians. Wrap them up and dump them into common graves...with no end in sight, on either front.
And Americans seem to be caring less and less. Human beings can adapt to almost anything, given enough time. The outrage in fortunate America seems to be fading...replaced by shrugs of resignation: It is what it is...so whatchoo gonna do?
Devon Avenue is unlike any other street in Chicago. An international bazaar. All those cultures and ethnicities co-existing peacefully, unlike elsewhere in the world. Many other American cities don't have such a vibrant place.
Decades ago, I drove down Devon with a cousin from Detroit. He looked around and saw all the Indian women and the many Indian shops, and began belting out "Who's Sorry Now?" Which, of course, was meant to be "Whose Sari, Now?" I almost ran off the road. I've always been easily amused.
And thanks for your words!
DeleteWe've been to Libanais a number of times and it's one of our favorite Middle Eastern restaurants.
ReplyDeleteI like to get the cauliflower stew, among other fine choices. While the sweets on display are impressive, indeed, I haven't spent as much time ogling them as you evidently have, NS. ; )
A handy feature is that it's located across the street from the North Shore Channel bike trail.