Mister J's Dawg 'n Burger

We continued southward on State Street after the short rain ended early Sunday afternoon, past where it meets Rush Street, a busy node of restaurants and bars. Soon my children let it be known that it was time to eat. That wasn't news to me, since I've traveled a fair amount with them.

Luckily, Mister J's Dawg 'n Burger was near, and still open after all these years. It's about as Chicago as you can get, a box of a place whose brown tables and red chairs barely leave enough room to squeeze past, that smells of fresh grease, and which has a hiss-and-sputter soundtrack. I used to go there from time to time when I worked at State and Hubbard in the late '80s, but its main clientele were and continue to be Loyola students.

Fries go with everything Mister J's offers -- hamburgers, hot dogs, and gyros, among other things that regularly alarm health nags. Everything is salty greasy good. Except the shakes, which are good in their own sweet way, in fact the best thing you can get from Mister J's. During our Sunday lunch, everyone had one of them, each nearly thick enough to make a meal by itself, but not quite large enough to overwhelm the rest of the meal.

I didn't take any pictures, but someone else thoughtfully did and put them on Flickr. I hope that, on the sad day when Mister J's finally goes out of business, the Chicago History Museum takes the distinctive oval sign with the hamburger-shaped humanoid. And maybe the double-sided marquee, too.