After a breakfast of sticky toffee pudding and pistachio ice cream, we got Chinese massages at Fit Foot. The three of us sat side-by-side in reclining chairs. First they soaked our feet and then they gave it to us good: I have never had a massage so rough. Marcia loved it. We stopped at Yesterday, a crumbling structure in Wrigleyville, and I bought a couple magazines from the seventies. That night we took Marcia to Bavette’s for bouef: because everybody who visits Chicago should have a pre-Nixon steak (except vegans and other conscientious objectors). She had a whiskey with house-spiced pickle back.
Before the bone-in ribeye, we got a starter of shrimp dejonghe. Shrimp DeJonghe was is sauteed shrimp blanketed in soft, garlicky butter sauce: it came with Texas toast for absorbing extra calories. The dish has one of the oldest pedigrees in Chicagoan cuisine, dating back to the years surrounding World War I at DeJonghe’s Hotel and Restaurant on Monroe St.
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You love your feet touched. They have you pegged.