It’s time I got around to telling you about the second half of my visit to Chicago, culminating in a meal at that temple of pork and beer, the Publican, on West Fulton Market. I say “temple” without reservation (though they do take them) or irony (though I brought mine), for what do my people’s religious observances offer that this restaurant does not? Seriousness? Check. Graciousness? Check. Uplift, even transcendence? Check. Cheek-by-jowl seating? Check. Unlimited bread? Double-check.
But first to the matters preceding.

City Farm, Chicago



