Family Dinner

In honor of Father’s Day, I’d like to share one of my Dad’s favorite "Chicago Stories." The things that happen in the big city…

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. All our love.

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This takes place some years ago, when my Dad and I were still sharing an apartment in downtown Chicago. His wish for Father’s Day that year was to be taken for a meal at Gene & Georgetti’s, a rather esteemed old-time chop house in Chicago. Because he’s a practical sort, Dad was happy to settle for lunch rather than dinner to spare my pocketbook.

The day of, we got dressed and grabbed a cab to the restaurant. Neither of us had ever been there before, but we’d heard many good things about the place. If you’re not familiar with it, a "chop house" is a restaurant that specializes in serving good steaks, chops, other meat cuts, etc., with sides. Think of heavy wood paneling and waiters dressed in ties and floor-length aprons. That kind of place.

Arrived and were seated right away. Saturday lunch is not their busiest time and the place was fairly empty. There were a few customers toward the back of the restaurant and a table of about 10 men near the door. We were seated, reviewed the menu, ordered drinks, apps and lunch. As you do.

The restaurant itself has a great atmosphere. Heavy wood paneling; dark, thick carpet; and in the ground floor room, where we were, a nice long bar. The place has been there since 1941. If those walls could talk, they wouldn’t—subpoenas, ya know. I don’t mean mobsters; I mean politicians and celebrities.

The customers that day intrigued us, too. There was an old guy in the back who definitely could have been a boxer years before. He had that flat boxer nose. And there was that table with the 10 guys…Ten guys in an empty restaurant is hard to miss. They weren’t particularly loud, but they were a presence. Dressed for a weekend in polo shirts and business casual wear. All in their 50s or older. Some even looked alike. And they called the maitre d’ by his first name—often—so we figured they were regulars.

Really, it was a lovely but uneventful meal. I have a thing for old restaurants, so I was loving that aspect. But mostly I was just proud to be out with my dad and to take him to someplace so nice. Then my dad drops his voice kinda low.

"Did you hear that?" He says.

"What?"

"That table just got their check, and the one guy stands up and says, ‘OK, the bill’s $140. How do we wanna split this?’"

For reference: The bill for my dad and I—just the two of us—was slightly more than $90. Their bill worked out to $14/person. We were intrigued. Slightly bemused, even.  We often joke about "knowing a guy," as in, the right guy who can smooth things over for you, fix your parking tickets, etc.  Maybe they really did know a guy.

Then they all got up to leave…and everyone kissed each other on both cheeks.

As in, "Godfather"-style. Which could mean absolutely nothing. Not a thing. Just one of a couple curious factors that all happened to randomly figure into the same lunch.

Except.

Several months later, my dad’s boss (John) was in town. John loves a good meal—and he was paying—so Dad suggested Gene & Georgetti’s. An excellent dinner ensued. Afterwards, they caught a cab, with some effort.

Pulling away, the cab driver explained, "I don't usually pick up there. Most people who go there have drivers."

What do you mean?, My dad asked.

"I heard that place was all mobbed up," the driver replied.

As my dad would want me to say, I don’t know nothing about that...