Choo-Choo No. 1
It’s like a dimmer switch being turned up. In this case, up means spring heat. Broke the 60s today. Tomorrow, warmer still. This can mean only one thing. Time to get the coolant replaced in the older Toyota. Ah, true spring.
Today in the course of my work, writing articles that is, I went with Ann to Des Plaines, a major blob of a suburb east and a little north of where I live. I was planning one thing, but I saw another, and changed plans — for lunch that is. Haven’t been out much for food since unemployment began, but I figure if I eat every meal at home, it won’t be worth the aggravation.
What I saw was the Choo-Choo Restaurant, on a side street not far from Des Plaines' “downtown.” I’d heard of it before, another thing learned tangentially. I looked at a web site once, and liked its design, so I clicked on the designer’s logo. Another client of his was the Choo-Choo Restaurant, a name intriguing enough that I looked at its web site too (www.thechoochoo.com), which features the menu. But I seldom go to Des Plaines, so I never made it to see the actual place.
The Choo-Choo doesn’t look like much from the outside: a small rectangle with large glass windows on three sides and brick in back, Inside, it’s as plain as a diner should be, with a counter seating about 10 and a half dozen booths. Originally opened in the early 1950s, it closed later and then re-opened, though I haven’t been able to pin down the timing, since the woman in charge looked too busy for a leisurely talk about the rebirth of the Choo-Choo. Anyway, the place makes use of a model train that I’ve never seen anywhere else. Ann and I enjoyed the sight. More on that tomorrow.
Labels: food and beverage, suburban Chicago
posted by Dees Stribling @ 10:50 PM
1 comments
1 Comments:
"Choo-Choo" reminds me of the football player Bolenciecwcz in James Thurber's story "University Days," who though "he was not dumber than an ox ... was not any smarter." He was valuable to the Ohio State football team, however, and everyone was anxious that he should, as Thurber said, "keep up with his studies":
One day when we were on the subject of transportation and distribution, it came to Bolenciecwcz’s turn to answer a question. “Name one means of transportation,” the professor said to him. No light came into the big tackle’s eyes. “Just any means of transportation,” said the professor. Bolenciecwcz sat staring at him. “That is,” pursued the professor, “any medium, agency, or method of going from one place to another.” Bolenciecwcz had the look of a man who is being led into a trap. “You may choose among steam, horsedrawn, or electrically propelled vehicles,” said the instructor. “I might suggest the one which we commonly take in making long journeys across land.” There was a profound silence in which everybody stirred uneasily, including Bolenciecwcz and Mr. Bassum. Mr. Bassum abruptly broke this silence in an amazing manner. “Choo-choo-choo,” he said, in a low voice, and turned instantly scarlet. He glanced appealingly around the room. All of us, of course, shared Mr. Bassum’s desire that Bolenciecwcz should stay abreast of the class in economics, for the Illinois game, one of the hardest and most important of the season, was only a week off. “Toot, toot, too-tooooooot!” some student with a deep voice moaned, and we all looked encouragingly at Bolenciecwcz. Somebody else gave a fine imitation of a locomotive letting off steam. Mr. Bassum himself rounded off the little show. “Ding, dong, ding, dong,” he said, hopefully. Bolenciecwcz was staring at the floor now, trying to think, his great brow furrowed, his huge hands rubbing together, his face red.
“How did you come to college this year, Mr. Bolenciecwcz?” asked the professor. “Chuffa chuffa, chuffa chuffa.”
“M’father sent me,” said the football player.
“What on?” asked Bassum.
“I git an 'lowance,” said the tackle, in a low, husky voice, obviously embarrassed.
“No, no,” said Bassum. “Name a means of transportation. What did you ride here on?”
“Train,” said Bolenciecwcz.
“Quite right,” said the professor, “Now Mr. Nugent, Will you tell us---”
Aleksei
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