To Chicago, that is. Well, we had an easy day Friday. I worked out at the fitness center, got a massage and did one show. And one of my friends I worked with this summer is now living in Chicago. So I decided to go meet up with her after the show and get a bite to eat (there's not a whole lot to eat in walking distance in Rosemont). She told me to meet her at Julius Meinl on Southport and Addison. Luckily, one of our cast members was driving in, so I had a very warm and relaxing ride there! This place is everything Starbucks wants to be. It's a cafe, but the food is actually good! Excellent, even. We had pear and brie toasted sandwiches that were so fresh it made we want to cry. And as we ate, we also had the pleasure of a live violinist and pianist a few seats away entertaining us with holiday songs. We sipped mate tea and chatted about the past few months since we left New Hampshire. She seemed to be thriving here in Chicago, and I can see why. The city celebrates culture and youth just like New York, but without the rough edge that keeps outsiders afraid of it. Around 11pm, we called it a night, and I set out on what I feared might be a dreadful trip back. Not the case. I took a cab for under $10 to the train station. I freaked out because I only had my credit card and the machines appeared to just take cash, but the station attendant waved me through with a smile. I waited about fifteen minutes for the train - under the heat lamp, this time - and was surprised to see some drunk houligans on the train (just like New York!). The shuttle from my hotel picked me up and whisked me back home. I was hungry at the end of this journey and went to buy an apple at the front desk, but the man smiled at me and said "Don't worry about it!" (or was it, "Fuggedaboutit"?).
Yesterday was our marathon day. We did three shows between 10:30 and 7. My cousins who live in Skokie came to the last one. I pepped everyone up for that last show, but I think everyone's energy had already gone into delirium mode. Which was good. All three shows were actually quite good, I thought. Our audiences were all over a thousand people, and the kids were having a blast. My cousins sat in the third row center, so I had a good view of them the entire time. The little girl, Mia, had a rainbow painted on her cheek, the newborn (4.5 months) was well-behaved in her baby seat and even five-year-old Sammy wasn't too old to have a good time. We visited after the show for a bit and then took off to brave the rain (which I'm told is actually good weather for them right now). Despite eating after every single show putting me at a total meal count of four, I was starved. I again employed the same logic, better to eat in Chicago then scrounge something up in Rosemont. And again, one of our cast members was nice enough to drive us into the city.
Joel, my fine food buddy and I took off down the street while the rest of our crowd got pizza. Literally the next restaurant we came to was a Lebanese place called Kan Zaman and we looked inside and knew. It was perfect. They have these booths where you take off your shoes and then lounge on blankets and pillows set up against the wall. Everyone around us was young and having a great time, drinking wine, making noise, it seemed we had made an excellent discovery. Except - it was BYOB. Our old-fashioned waitress suggested that I wait in the warmth of the restaurant while Joel run to the liquor store and procure some libations. I tipped her very well. He returned shortly with a wonderful bottle of white and we polished it off quickly along with our delicious food. I had a Mediterranean Spinach dish - which was spinach in a spicy tomato-based sauce, with rice, onions, peppers, tomatoes and feta cheese. With every bite, I felt my body repair itself from the demands I put on it that day. Knowing I didn't want to take any home and unable to let any of it go, I devoured the entire thing. And yet. The waitress asked if we wanted any dessert. We asked what she had. The first two sounded ordinary, but then there was the third. Canafe (pronounced ca-na-fay). She described it as a warm cheese covered with baked honey. When we looked at other and hesitated, she urged us, "It's good for you." What could we say? And yes, it was very, very good for us. It was like eating something the gods themselves cooked and ate for special occasions. Feeling too full to move, we paid our bill (reasonable), put on our shoes and could barely feel the cold, satisfied with food and drink as we were.
And then, an expert by now, I took the train back to Rosemont, summoned the hotel shuttle and returned home. Rode the elevator with the tour manager of Bruno Mars (apparently a band) and got into pajamas, assessed one last time that I really do like Chicago, and went to bed.
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