Hello again, beautiful.

Which was more essential: Tapas Barcelona or Dave’s Italian Kitchen? What had happened to Giordano’s? And above all, what was the maximum number of meals I could squeeze into a forty-eight-hour period? It was questions like these that tormented me as I worked and reworked our tight schedule.

As some readers may already know, I spent a handful of formative years in Chicago and have had reason to travel there for work lately. But Jason hadn’t been there for many years and he’d never been there with me, which meant that his consumption of cheese in the Windy City was sorely lacking. He decided to join me there for a weekend, but immediately after the plane ticket was purchased, the nail biting began—how to fit six glorious years worth of high-metabolism memories into a single weekend? Tough decisions had to be made. In the end, though, I think I did a good job of picking places that can’t be matched anywhere else (yes, even NYC). Here are a few highlights for the next time you’re in the neighborhood.

Al’s Deli: Yes, I know that “deli” is in the name, but that description doesn’t quite capture the magic of the place. It made me feel oddly at peace when I saw that the two aging brothers who run this place were still at it. One nervously takes the orders; the other, almost invisible to the customers, diligently makes the impeccable sandwiches. We got a Gruyere and a Jarlsberg and took them to a picnic table at a nearby lighthouse. I was so enchanted I forgot to take picture.

Tapas Barcelona: This Spanish gem in Evanston hadn’t even been on the first draft of the itinerary, but then my parents mentioned that they still remembered my taking them there. And when I stepped in the door, I could see why. It’s so understatedly classy, with its Spanish movie posters and beautiful little plates of baked goat cheese and garlicky potato salad and hazelnut eggplant rolls. And the sangria—it is the yardstick against which all other sangria will be measured for the rest of my life.

The Green Mill: So, okay, you come to this place for the jazz, not the comestibles. But the waitresses magically weaving their way through the crowd without spilling a drop of your delicious and reasonably-priced gimlet—that’s not a bad side act.

Geja’s Café: When I first met my friend Jeff, who grew up in Chicago, he asked me if I’d ever been to this restaurant. It was such a random, unlikely question, but I guess he could see the fire of fondue in my eyes. And indeed, I do love this place. I cleared an entire evening for it in the itinerary. Sure, some people think that fondue is kind of 1970s and corny, but those people have never been to Geja’s. It takes at least two hours to really do it right: a bubbling cheese fondue, a huge spread of veggies to cook in a boiling cauldron and dip in ten dipping sauces, a pot of melted chocolate for dessert and a bottle of wine to wash it all down. Sure, there’s crazy mood lighting. Sure, on some nights, there’s a strolling guitar player. Just stop pre-judging and go already.

Fondue magic in the red light district

Honorable Mention: The flaming cheese at Andies, the lunch special at Joy Yee’s, the deep-dish Lou at Lou Malnati’s, the gooey buns at Le Peep, cocktails at the top of the Hancock Tower…seriously, I could go on for ages.

Does anyone need a culinary tour guide for Chicago? I’m for hire. You can pay me in fondue.