Living in Chicago, I am spoiled. The food here is ridiculously good, whether you’re visiting your neighborhood hot dog stand or you scored a reservation at Alinea, often lauded as one of the world’s top restaurants, where a course may take the form of an edible, green-apple-flavored helium balloon. The restaurants are so exceptional that I’ve become a snob when traveling because of how good I have it back home. People often compliment Chicago for its 77 community areas, each with its own flavor. When friends and family visit, I goad them to hop the L and travel north about 30 minutes to the Lincoln Square and Ravenswood neighborhoods, where I spend most of my time. A local bar, the Sixth, makes cocktails that rival any in town, complete with dramatic touches such as colorful ice inspired by Trix cereal, tinctures of mint and flaming cinnamon sticks; at Amy’s Candy Bar, Amy Hansen makes blondies I’d choose over the fanciest desserts. (That edible balloon included.) And then there are the restaurants. Come visit, and you’ll see why it’s hard to leave.
ncG1vNJzZmivp6x7uK3SoaCnn6Sku7G70q1lnKedZLmqssSsq7KklWTBs63VnqNooZ5isKm1wpqeqGWWnrultc2gZK2glWK%2FqrPHrWSboaSawG61zWajoqaTpLmvedKqrJqqlWKur7CMq5ivnZ6oxLC7w2hpaWloZH10e5FpZp2cZ2yCcbLEZmlxb5JifnKxl2ZvcGySYrF2fZaecGpqlmZ%2FdqvSraarsV6dwa64