Gino's East Pizza | Chicago, IllinoisIt was a strangely weather-filled day--well, to my Los Angeles accustomed eyes, anyway--on the Gold Coast in the city of Chicago, late morning. It was my first time here--taking in this brand-new adventure of a place not unlike how the Terminator surveys the landscape--scanning, always seeking more and more sensory input. Actually, I prefer sensory overload. A flying butress over there...Louis Vuitton over there...Look, the Hancock tower! Its tall...wind, sun, rain all within 15 minutes. As I allow my brain to surrender to the newness around me, I am truly happy. (See below) ;)
My mom and I were on a search for a typically "Chicago" meal. On our way, we had to stop by Tiffany and Co. (yes, had to, poor us) :) to say hello to one of my former sorority sisters during my time at UCLA who has since moved to Chicago and works as an "engagement specialist." She lets me try on diamonds. We love her. However, such taxing things do work up an appetite so we begrudgingly extracted ourselves from the fabulousness that is Tiffany and began heading East towards Neimans.
Scanning, always scanning, I see a sign hanging off the right side of Neiman Marcus. It reads, "Gino's East." I remember hearing about this place from the "general information" channel back at the hotel. Images of graffitied walls, giant pizza and sports-bar like ambiance come to mind and beckon us inside--much like department stores do after you've had 2 glasses of wine--somehow hypnotic and impossible to ignore. We walk in and I immediately point out a huge sign that says, "Guaranteed double your money back if you find a pizza that you like better." Aha! I tell my mom--see? it
must be good. If not, we can keep eating pizzas all over town and make a profit.
I immediately love the place. Nothing like bar noises and football to make me feel that perfect mixture of relaxation and adrenaline that only exists in these dens of human emotional roller coasters--their moods changing rapidly as their favorite teams win or lose.
We decide that 11am is a perfectly legitimate hour to have an ice-cold beer. So we do--and order a famous deep dish, Chicago-style, melted mass of gooey cheese and pepperoni. But before we do, the bartender asks us if we wouldn't mind the 40 + minute wait time that it would take. 40 minutes? Crazy talk, you say? No. Somehow, now it was even better, more exclusive and I absolutely had to have it, dammit!
Due to wedding time constraints, my mom went to run a few errands since we had so much time.
And then the fun began.
First beer down, I started eying my mom's frothy 312 draft only one seat away. Looking around furtively, I oh-so-stealthily switched our two glasses. Then I remembered that my mom had left. Wait a second--is this Gino's master plan? Get everyone hammered on the guise of a 40 minute wait so the pizza taste's better? If so, I didn't care.
I look up over the rows of bottles above the bar, above the TV's--as if anticipating the exact moment the patrons start to wonder if this whole crazy thing was worth it, I see giant wood block letters in a giant arc with a clock in the middle--adding further insult to injury--that reads, "I'TS WORTH THE WAIT" with the old fashioned clock residing between "WORTH" and "WAIT." My slightly impaired brain seemed to say, "Yes, it IS worth the wait, of course," as if I've been hyptnotized. And of course, the clock just frustrates me because I obviously didn't look up when I o
rdered my pie, I only see the current time--which doesn't help in the least.
It's highly amusing--these people are fantastic, i think! And why is my glass empty? I'm thirsty--and I've got some waiting to do!
Now thoroughly happy, I continue to take in my surroundings. Tim, a salesman from Nashville who sells gases (sells gases?), like oxygen, to hospitals. He tells me stories of his wife and kids, including one about why he married his wife--it was all about the Catholic schoolgirl outfit. (When is it not, really?) And she still has it, hee hee.
Taking a break from Tim, I let my eyes travel behind me as I swivel on my stool, continuing to embark upon this great pizza waiting adventure. I once again read the sign on the wall that I noticed when I entered. But...wait....now it is different! I squint, close one eye and re-read. Yes, now it most definitely reads "Guaranteed. Double your money back if you find a pizza that WE like better." Huh?! These tricksters! I'm definitely loving this place now. They're like, in my head, man!
Finally, like a beacon in this storm, the bartender tells me that, "My pizza is up." I feel like it should come with a medal--maybe 2, one for me and one for the pizza. Just as he sets down the 3" high cast iron skillet, my mom arrives and sits down like no time has passed at all. She asks, "What did I miss?" If you only knew, Mom, if you only knew.
The slices are cut right in front of us and heaped onto our plates. I take my first bite and almost choke, the cheese is so thick and delicious. This is a knife and fork pizza, for sure, unless you want to have molten lava-like goo running down your hand, burning you. The crust is almost like corn bread. All in all, a fabulous experience. While enjoying the last few minutes of full-tummied joy, I look around and notice that the place is not only packed, but has a line going out the door and down the block. Note to self: Never go there after 11am.
The food was great--I'll definitely return.
...Trip to be continued
