Loss of “Fine Dining” Restaurants?

Last year’s sale by local restaurateur legend Steve Dorizas of his Mediterranean themed restaurant, Amphora, to the Leona’s group that ultimately opened Hop Haus, marked the end of an era in Rogers Park.

I do not nostalgically reflect on the loss of just Amphora, located at Howard and Clark in the Gateway Shopping Center, but that we lost Amphora and its two predecessor restaurants: Gateway Bar and Grill, and the strangely named “My Place for?,” both owned by Dorizas.

Also contributing to the end of the era six years earlier, the closing of The Angus (wasn’t it at one point known as “The Black Angus?”), on Western just south of Howard. (The site now occupied by the Community First Bank.)

An era has passed in Rogers Park, and in many other communities around Chicago and nation wide. Gone are those certain types of restaurant – the type offering a cuisine that I nostalgically refer to as “Fine Dining.”

Let’s be sure: I am not bemoaning the loss of quality restaurants in this neighborhood. We have a wonderful array of eclectic restaurants within our borders. But what Rogers Park, and many neighborhoods and suburbs have lost are a special breed of restaurant – the type where families or groups used to go for a nice well rounded meals; restaurants sporting the moniker “Good Food.” I refer to restaurants where people like my German Jewish grandparents flocked before Temple on Friday nights, or where local Irish families would go after mass on Sunday. Everyone would go there on Mother’s Day. These are places where Rotary and Lyons Clubs would meet on Tuesday afternoons for lunch, where Toastmasters would meet on Wednesday evenings, where regulars would fill the smoke filled bar after work, nibbling on the cheese tray that the owner would display in the corner.

Those of us who are over 40 and who spent any part of our childhood living here or in other comparable parts of Chicago know what I’m talking about. Usually Greek owned, these restaurants often had well worn and slightly tacky, soiled carpeting on their floor; shortly after occupying a table, a bus boy would promptly place on the center of the table (next to the rolls and bread sticks) a metal Lazy Susan displaying four dishes as a complementary pre dinner sampling: one container offering the waxy green and yellow bean concoction; another with cottage cheese; a third with a mix of carrot and celery; a fourth with … radishes?  Or, were they lima beans? I don’t remember.

A constant presence at these old school “Fine Dining” restaurant were hard working immigrant owners with vivacious personalities and thick accents: welcoming you and your family when you walked in the door; maintaining a hawk’s view on everything (often nervously chain smoking at the bar) while you were there; and meticulously processing your money when you left.

The waitresses who have been serving your family for many years would call you “honey.” Perhaps your parents requested a favorite waitress when you walked in. “We’ll take a table with Dottie, please.”

The bathrooms in these restaurants often had the shoe polish machine, one roller black, the other red (why red rollers for brown shoes?) – put your foot under a roller, press a button and suddenly your shoes got polished – a wonderful activity for bored kids during a “bathroom break.”

The food was good and relatively consistent, though it was always possible that the cook would over or under-cook something. The menu usually offered a decent steak and fish was a favorite on Friday’s menu.  Our fathers always selected the prime rib when offered as a special; Moms ordered baked chicken because oversized specialty salads did not become in vogue until later. For dessert, kids ate red Jell-O squares and looked on in awe as we watched our depression era grandparents actually enjoy rice pudding.

I grew up patronizing these types of Fine Dining establishments, first in Galewood, and, later, in Oak Park. They are long gone: The Red Fox, owned by the father of my friend, Tom Pappas; Mr. Anthony’s, owned, I’m sure, by some hard working Greek named “Anthony;” or, on Harlem Avenue, the infamous Horwath’s, where my Uncle Morris took us each year for dinner before the Yom Kippur evening service. My brother and I would each grab a handful of white mints with green or red filler on our way out – perfect snacks to sneak when everyone else was fasting.

Today many of us prefer a different type of restaurant: corporate owned, with expensive build outs, usually located in a shopping malls with large movie outlets. Most sport a specific theme – some pride themselves on offering a “fusion” of two seemingly unrelated cuisines; many have humorous bartenders, attractive young hostesses sporting big smiles who seat us and enthusiastic tip appreciating wait staffs who know which wines to push.  Numerous flat screen televisions are strategically placed around their bars. Some restaurants double as microbreweries.

What we gain with the new type of restaurant are the efficiencies and glitzy appeal of being corporate owned, franchised and heavily marketed.

Like you, I’m sure, I long for pride of ownership and the personal touch.

I miss seeing caring owners like Steve Dorizas greeting me at the door.

Most of all, I miss Susan.

Lazy Susan, and whatever it was that was on that fourth dish.

(Learn about the fabulous restaurants that do exist on the western end of Rogers Park by attending the Rogers Park Business Alliance sponsored Dinner Crawl on Sunday March 28, 2010. 12 restaurants; $25 in advance, $35 on the day of the event.)

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