Forget the Krispy Kreme cliches. Cops know food.
I used to spend a lot of time with cops a decade ago, when I was working as an assistant state’s attorney. This was a job that entailed meeting with and interviewing police officers, almost on a daily basis and almost always in restaurants.
I learned quickly that being a cop is a dangerous, stressful, unpredictable, sometimes boring and tedious business. Most officers have no idea how their days will unfold until their days begin to unfold. Often meal breaks are dictated not by the clock but by events, emergencies, traffic troubles and tragedies. Rarely can cops count on having meals at predetermined times.
So when they do sit down to eat, they do so with as much gusto as the most passionate gastronome.
The members of the Chicago Police Department are the people who–more than writers of Zagat guides, TV food show critics or magazine dining directories–introduced me to some of the best, if relatively unknown, restaurants in the city and who continue to inform my culinary choices to this day.
And I, if not my waistline, owe them my gratitude.
My philosophy is the same as that of a police detective who steered me to some of my first cop-food experiences. “It’s simple,” he said. “Good food, clean restrooms and a cop-friendly atmosphere.”
At first, I naively believed that phrase “cop friendly” to mean “no check.” But that wasn’t the case. “Sure, there are some restaurant owners that offer discounts to cops, even free meals,” said my mentor. “But I don’t choose where I’m going to eat based on discounts. I want to have a good meal and get back to work and not have to deal with any idiots who don’t like cops.”
“Good food,” I also came to realize, mostly meant hearty breakfasts and filling lunches–cops, like most of the rest of us, have dinner at home–at almost any hour.
Most of the city’s police officers work in one of three shifts: 11 p.m. to 7 a.m., commonly called “midnights”; 7 a.m. to 3 p.m. (“days”); and 3 to 11 p.m. (“nights”).
Thanks to the CPD and to the occasional irritation of my wife of nine years, I love to have breakfast at 6 p.m. and often find myself stopping off for a submarine sandwich at 8 in the morning. Alas, many of my favorite places in which to do such odd things have been lost over the last 10 years to gentrification and changing neighborhoods, but I can still taste the chicken Vesuvio at Villa Marconi; the burgers at Red’s on Cermak; feel the bite of spices at Bishop’s Chili at 18th and Damen.
I can get almost teary-eyed remembering the family-style breakfasts at the Golden Shell, in the shadow of the Skyway. And I can still see myself sitting for hours in the Busy Bee, under the “L” tracks near the intersection of North, Damen and Milwaukee Avenues.
They may be gone, but the appetite remains and so do any number of places to satisfy it.
During the last couple of months, I have, for reasons that remain inexplicable, found myself on what has amounted to a tour of cop-food joints. Some were old haunts and some were new finds. All of them reminded me that Chicago still merits its “meat and potatoes” image.
So in Chicago or any town, the easiest way to find a good meal is to ask a cop. But don’t ask, “Where’s there a good restaurant around here?” because you’ll likely be directed to a familiar chain restaurant or a tourist-heavy place.
The question to ask a cop is this: “Where do you eat?”
In Chicago, these would be some of the answers.
The Breakfast Club, 1381 W. Hubbard St., in an industrial area that is witnessing rapid development, is a cozy and bright, sun-filled space with a staff so friendly and attentive that you’ll feel like a charter member.
Lika’s, 4304 S. Western Ave., is a simple storefront, its parking lot usually filled with marked and unmarked police cars, and the occasional bike. Inside is an austere assortment of tables and booths, tightly packed. The service is fast and friendly.
Healthy Food, 3236 S. Halsted St., has been a Bridgeport favorite since the neighborhood’s favorite son, Richard J. Daley, was sitting on the fifth floor at City Hall. It’s a Lithuanian restaurant, so take a leap with some of the specialties like kugelis, which is a potato pudding, or cold beet soup. Or just stick to eggs, with dark pumpernickel toast; there’s something exhilarating about having to work that hard to chew toast.
Moon’s Sandwich Shop, 16 S. Western Ave. Don’t get cute at this tiny shop. Stick to the basics: a sandwich, a soda and a bag of chips. Besides cops–Jim Radek, one of the shop’s three owners, is a former member of the CPD–you’ll find a working man’s crowd.
Fontano’s Foods, 1058 W. Polk St., is a small grocery store. But in the back is a deli where great sandwiches are assembled. The “Blockbuster” is a meat-and-cheese mountain.
Lindy’s Chili, 3689 S. Archer Ave. and two other locations, is a place where you might follow your meal with a banana split, for this place is bar, restaurant and Gerties Old Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor all under one roof.
There are so many others: the China Town Cafe, 2604 S. Wentworth Ave., a shabby-looking place but great food; El Presidente, 2558 N. Ashland Ave., especially for dinner; Home Run Inn, 4254 W. 31st St.; Pancho Pistolas, 700 W. 31st St.
I saw old pals at some of the places. We remembered a lot of good meals and some late liquid nights.
Cop bars?
That’s another story. And one you will never hear from me.
