Chicago

I love the fact that my husband is from a different part of the country than I am. Before I met and married him, my experience of America was limited to either coast. Now, every year, I get to visit Chicago, my second favorite city, to visit my in-laws. It's behind Boston (where I went to college) and in front of Los Angeles (where I currently live). Since I've been a Left-Coaster for almost two decades I wouldn't/couldn't live in either Chi-town or Beantown because the City of Angels has turned my blood into water and I need to see the sun every day or I burst into tears. I sure do love to visit though. Since he lived/worked in the Windy City before his move out West, he lets me pick and choose where we're going to go even though– as we discovered on our lengthy walk up Michigan Avenue – that the city of his youth is long, long gone.

I have no idea how anybody found anything before the Internet. I probably spend at least 5 times longer researching where we are going to spend our hard-earned dining dollars than we eventually spend in the chosen establishment, but I don't care. I LOVE the search. The trouble with this past trip was our one nice dinner had to occur on a Sunday, apparently a day of rest for many of Chicago's fine dining choices. My desire to visit any of Rick Bayless' restaurants was thwarted once again. All three were closed on the Lord's Day. I was told emphatically by my boss that I HAD to go to Crofton on Wells. Well, I would have liked to, but no dice. Tru, nope. Charlie Trotter's, sorry. Alinea was open, but we're not into food THAT much.