Sabrina M.
Yelp
Election night, November 4, 2014. The pulse of Illinois quickened as the state seemed to hold it's breath. At Bruce Rauner's headquarters, a sea of red signs flared in the dim light, their slogans promising change, while across town, a blue banner draped across Pat Quinn's campaign office--a symbol of the old guard, clinging to a narrowing ledge.
The map of Illinois unfolded on screens everywhere like a battlefield. Early in the evening, the deep blue of Chicago burned bright, an impenetrable fortress that Quinn had counted on. He watched with a tense smile as Cook County rolled in, painting the heart of the state a brilliant shade of Democratic blue. It was his stronghold, the place that had saved him before. He hoped it would again.
But then, the suburbs--those unpredictable swathes of manicured lawns and mystery--began to change color. DuPage, Lake, Kane--each one a critical swing that could tip the balance. First they shimmered purple, a blur of undecided votes, before turning an ominous shade of red. Rauner's strategy was working. He was chipping away at the blue, pixel by pixel, county by county.
The difference was staggering in its slimness. Less than 150,000 votes--out of nearly 4 million cast. It was as if the entire state had been sliced in half by the thinnest of razors.
Rauner's win was a margin of 3.8%, a statistical knife's edge, the closest gubernatorial race Illinois had seen in decades. The map told the story: a sea of red, edged in blue around Chicago and the river counties, the only bastions that Quinn could cling to. The color contrast was stark--yet the difference in votes was a whisper, a breath, a heartbeat.
But wait, Sabrina! While this has been really informative and interesting, I thought you were reviewing a quaint new Italian restaurant located in Chicago's trendy Logan Square neighborhood? How is this story related to that restaurant?
I am so glad you asked.
I grew up in Chicago and returned in my adult life during the pandemic. Since returning I have been wholly perplexed by the restaurant scene in Chicago, which tries very hard to embody New York or San Francisco, but lands somewhere around aunt Julie's house on the outskirts of Indianapolis. Why is everything fried to smithereenes? Why do my salads float in a pool of oil reminiscent of an under-sunned over-fed body squeezed into an inner tube floating around the lazy river at Six Flags Great America? Yes - every restaurant on the Eater 38 even the famous one around the corner.
Enter, Mano A Mano and a shred of hope. The interior didn't scream Millennial midlife crisis which was a welcome change for the neighborhood. I also liked that the view into the street is blocked so you can pretend for a moment that you aren't a few doors down from a Target and living in a city where people spend hours of their finite lives watching ball sports and gawking at a metal bean.
For a moment, like Quinn, I felt hopeful. The dim lighting created a private ambiance. We ordered three pastas, and--surprisingly--all were edible, another rarity in this town. For a moment in time, I dared to believe I might be somewhere else, outside the Midwest.
But then, our waiter trotted out with the abomination.
A parmesan cheese shaped parmesan cheese container so offensive it shattered my fragile illusion, instantly reminding me that I am surrounded by a lake and several bordering states where marrying your first cousin is completely legal. I have attached a picture of it for your review.
The restaurant interior is giving cosmopolitan - deco inspired even! The ceramic parmesan cheese shaped parmesan cheese container is giving dusty estate sale table displaying items from the crypt that is someone's midwest grandparent's attic.
The lesson is this. You - like Quinn - might feel safe in Chicago. You might think ok this is a blue city, people here think like I think, oh look at me I am so cosmopolitan and cool and hipster and I am so happy I moved here from Naperville. NEVER forget that there is a jarring, middle of America, first cousin marrying, dusty, estate sale-looking parmesan cheese shaped parmesan cheese container lurking right around the corner.
Keep your guard up at all times, and don't declare victory too early. To speak a language that people here will understand: "when ball close but ball not all the way, point not won! Must continue to stay alert until point won".