America's Top Drinking Neighborhood

A giant chiuaua-sized rat scurries up the gutter sniffing for scraps, northbound on Damon Avenue as I pass by in the sub-freezing cold early Chicago morning, headed back t0 home on Evergreen St - Hotel Ryan in Wicker Park. Sunday night at the Map Room, a travel-oriented Belgium-style pub with many authentic Belgium-style beers on tap is host to tonight's Sunday night neighborhood locals, a wicked cross section of folk from the neighborhood and life at large, I suppose. There's the jar head-looking crew cut marines across the way, the hipsters in back playing pool and the beer drinkers scattered across the bar, as are we.
Two friendly and slightly buzzed gals saddle up next to us as Thin Lizzy continuously plays in the background. They judiciously study the beer menu and then order up some fancy Belgium beer from a bottle with a cork. "Don't mind us, we've been drinking for six hours straight," the tall mischievous one says. I grab the camera and start snapping away as the curly haired shorter one talks of her past year off with another year to go when I ask her about having to be at work tomorrow, Monday. "I used to own a Mediterranean sea food joint in the neighborhood but I sold it, time to move on." Shortly there after she picks up her garb, dons her winter wear and heads for home in the howling hard Chicago wind-swept night.

"That's Stephanie," says the new guy, a friend of Sarah. "You know, from America's Top Chef? I have a picture of her in my phone."

Both Sarah and I shrug, neither of us owns a TV.


Later, much later, I finally head out into the dark cold street myself, alone and distracted, making it down to the end of the block and around the corner before I realize I've left my all-important gloves and wool cap back at the bar. Trudging back to the Map Room I round up my stuff and head out once again into the biting cold, crisp, cool and clear Chicago night. Passing by the Blue Line station headed south, the digital clock-thermometer above reads 29 degrees. I shove my gloved hands deeper into my coat pockets and continue on. Home is closer than I think.