Claire Hungerford

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The communal dining room and kitchen at Northwest Mental Health Center has long been a fixture of programming at the clinic. Rosa Torres, who has worked as a clinical therapist at Northwest for 21 years, recalls how busy the kitchen used to be. Many of the clinic’s Psychosocial Rehabilitation and Support (PSR) programs were conducted here, where patients received instruction in meal planning and food preparation. But in recent years the kitchen has been used less and less, since funding for the meals has long since disappeared. Now Torres and her remaining colleagues, who have to wear many hats in their work as therapists and administrators, take turns providing money out-of-pocket for groceries.

Those in Torres’s field use PSR to refer to many of the programs that serve as material and emotional support infrastructure for adults suffering from mental illness–whether chronic or acute. Included in the health center’s PSR offerings are the various group therapy sessions held by clinicians, such as the Spanish-speaking women’s group that Ana Navarro has coordinated for over a decade.

The announcement of Chicago’s 2012 fiscal budget last October sealed the fate of mental health care across Chicago. The city’s outlined plan is to consolidate the clinics—transferring, for example, responsibility for the entire Back of the Yard’s patient population to the Southwest Side’s Greater Lawn Public Health Center. In the context of the prolonged and dramatic decline in mental health resources in Illinois, the measures will prove another painful blow to an already broken system, suffering from a lack of funding and legislative protection, which used to provide some insulation for Illinois’s mentally ill against homelessness and unemployment.

Northwest, which is located in Logan Square, will be merging with the South Side’s Lawndale clinic. Five other clinics will close their doors: Rogers Park, Woodlawn, Auburn Gresham, Beverly-Morgan Park, and Back of the Yards. Chicago will soon be serving upwards of 5,100 patients with a mere six operational clinics—a third as many as were open at the start of Richard M. Daley’s tenure. Since 2009 funding has seen a 36 percent reduction, a cumulative loss of $33.5 million.

The current mental health system has its origin in the Community Mental Health Services Act of 1963 (CMHA), signed into law by President Kennedy. CMHA called for the closure of state hospitals, while providing funding for mental health care at a local level through federal grants. With federal support, community health centers were able to serve as effective primary care providers for the mentally ill. This legislation was part of a national shift—both in public opinion and the field of healthcare—away from health policy that saw inpatient and institutionalized care as the best method of treating mental illness.

Over the past half-century, federal allocations have been starved and legislation distorted into what Mark Heyrman, a professor of law at the University of Chicago who specializes in mental health advocacy, calls “a variety of un-funded, uncoordinated services.” The central deficiency in many respects is a severe lack of human and financial resources, a fact hardly disputable when compared to the Illinois of yesteryear. According to Heyrman, there were 35,000 beds in Illinois available to patients in both outpatient and institutional facilities 60 years ago. Today there are 1,300.

Heyrman believes that successful mental health programs exist—they just haven’t been implemented on a large enough scale in Illinois. One such program is the Assertive Community Treatment, or ACT model. Under this system, patients are provided  “the multidisciplinary, round-the-clock staffing of a psychiatric unit, but within the comfort of their own home and community.” According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, ACT recognizes that “individuals with the most severe mental illnesses are typically not served well by the traditional outpatient model, with various services that the patient must navigate on their own.” Throughout Illinois, ACT is almost nowhere to be found, since it is simply too costly for health providers to offer. Heyrman notes that the number of ACT teams in the state “has declined precipitously as providers have increasingly had to secure funding [outside of their budgets] in order to afford it.”

The consequences of this dearth of resources are perhaps nowhere quite so visible as in city hospitals. Urgent care facilities are increasingly saddled with the severely ill—those who struggle with cyclical but nonetheless debilitating symptoms—and the newly unemployed or homeless. The latter’s need for mental health services would ideally be mitigated by the network of support—as simple as food and cots—that Torres and other long-time clinicians know to be very effective in the treatment and prevention of mental illness.

As the mental health clinics close, these preventative resources—and their benefits—will be in jeopardy. Torres is still shaking her head over the proposal:, “It doesn’t make sense any which way. From a [fiscal] perspective it doesn’t make sense, because of the increased cost of hospitalizations, incarcerations…If people aren’t stable they’re going to lose their jobs, their houses…You’re denying very basic rights.”

For patients, clinicians, and activists alike, the expected drop in quality of care is an unending source of disappointment and frustration. But the defunding is, distressingly, not simply a matter of money drying up. To make matters worse, some say the loss of state dollars is due to gross financial mismanagement.

In February 2008, Illinois’s Department of Human Services was notified of a transition from a state system to a computerized bill payment system provided by a subcontracted tech company, CERNER Corporation. The system was revealed to be largely nonfunctional, as shown in documents obtained through the Freedom of Information Act according to the Coalition to Save Our Mental Health Centers. In the months after its implementation, an overwhelming 95 percent of bills submitted to the state government by the new software were rejected on grounds of missing data.

Because the claims couldn’t be processed, the state’s Division of Mental Health elected to withhold the funding necessary to cover the operational costs of clinics like the soon-to-be terminated Woodlawn Mental Health Center. A spokesman for the Department of Human Services, Tom Green, stated that the decision to cut funding on the order of $1.2 million was based solely on the city’s inability to provide billing data.

Michael Snedeker, who has worked for the Coalition to Save Our Mental Health Centers since 2008, recounts an incident that could be an omen of what’s to come: when the roof of the Rogers Park Clinic partially collapsed last year, its patients were temporarily directed to the nearest operational mental health center, North River, where they remained under the care of Rogers Park staff. Roughly half of those patients never sought treatment at the stopgap location.

Snedeker regards this figure as a generous estimation of the number of patients who will make it through the transition. For many of the nearly 2,600 current clients whose local clinics will be shuttered, the forced relocation is more than a logistical inconvenience. A longer commute for patients means a hike in the cost of treatment—especially for those who have been unable to secure coverage and who have long relied on the unflagging generosity of therapists like Torres and Navarro.

“We took it as a betrayal,” Torres says of the budget. “They’re annihilating health, period. Not just the clinics. And especially for Ana [Navarro]—she’s been here 27 years, she’s from this community, born and raised, people from her church come here. So it’s also a betrayal of the community, not just of the clients but of their families too.”

Other patients face the possibility of arriving at a new facility where there are no therapists who speak their language. Meanwhile, relationships that have been built over years are likely to end. As Navarro explains, “We’re merging with Lawndale, but that doesn’t necessarily mean Rosa and I will be going to Lawndale.” The city’s transition team hasn’t yet told them when their clinic will close or where they’ll be reassigned, she says.

Torres is most distressed by the uncertain fate of her clients: “We’re staff—we’re used to being tossed around like foster children. But the clients? It’s very humiliating for them…they just want to send ten of them here, move ten over there. And will it be today, or tomorrow, or a week from today?”

Patients’ prospects for dependable treatment will remain bleak as the slated closures take effect, possibly as soon as mid February or March, according to a Greater Lawn clinician. Torres states that just under 40 therapists will be terminated, a figure that does not include the psychiatrists and other clinic staff who will be laid off.

“In terms of the physical size of Chicago alone, six centers is pretty pathetic,” Snedeker says. “And as to the claim that services will be improved, I just don’t see how that’s possible with the reduction in staff that’s taking place.” He foresees a grim landscape of meager mental healthcare resources, which he likens to the food deserts that also plague expanses of the South Side. “Conceivably very soon,” he portends, “in these neighborhoods where resources have been so depleted, a near-absence of care could definitely come about, and I think to a very sobering effect.”

Maggie Sivit

There’s a common question asked to visitors of Englewood and Auburn-Gresham: “Do you know where you are?” If you’re walking in the neighborhoods west of the Dan Ryan and south of 55th, and a worried, well-meaning passerby thinks you might not be from the area, you might get asked yourself.

Look around. You might see a train rumbling on rusted Green Line tracks passing over an empty lot of cracked pavement. Or smoke rising from an oil drum at a neighborhood barbecue. Or what was once the South Side Masonic Temple, a brick colossus with white paint flecking from the columns and windowsills decaying behind a wire fence, a thick crop of weeds breaking through the mortar.

If you’re not careful, the histories of Englewood, West Englewood, and Auburn-Gresham can read like bottomless tragedies. The Great Depression hit Englewood and West Englewood hard, and real estate values dropped as buildings aged and resources dried up. The Black Belt expanded southward and many African American families moved in to take the place of the European immigrants who had migrated farther west. But racist housing and lending practices prevented any substantial investment in the communities and contributed to their decline. The construction of the Dan Ryan Expressway in the early 1960s displaced thousands and drew the east-west color line deeper into the city’s geography. Auburn-Gresham, located farther south, has historically been home to a slightly wealthier community living in single-family homes. Nonetheless, all three neighborhoods have suffered from violence, crime, and a withering population over the last forty years.

And yet, there are signs of renewal. Residents are mobilizing to stop gangs and bring peace to the streets. At St. Sabina’s Church, a pastor and his congregation have campaigned against drug use and founded a number of social service organizations. And in 2007, Kennedy-King College opened, bringing in educational opportunities and spurring some of the first commercial construction in years.

Keep looking. There are townhouses, barbershops, a new college campus, and churches with committed congregations. A man looks under the hood of his car and tinkers with the engine. Neighbors chat on stoops and under streetlights. Learn where you are.

Best Hot Dog
Fat Johnnie’s Famous Red Hots
The procession of car dealerships along Western Avenue is briefly interrupted by a white picket fence emblazoned with large, candy-red capital letters proclaiming, “FAT JOHNNIES.” Next to the fence, an unassuming white shack stands, its roof slumping a little. This roadside hut is a 39-year-old family-run institution, serving up some of the best hot dogs in the city, as some fans boldly argue. The son and nephew of the actual Fat Johnnie now manage the hot dog stand while living in the home next door. When we asked Johnnie’s son what their best dog is, his cousin quickly interjected, “the mighty dog, no doubt.” The mighty dog is an all-beef hot dog stuffed inside a cornmeal and beef tamale, stuffed in a poppy-seed bun and dressed with cheese. For a quarter they will add the Chicago-dog works—a sliced cucumber seasoned with celery salt, fresh tomatoes, diced onions, and Chicago-river-green relish. Instead of fries they serve nachos dripping with cheese and smothered in chili. Wash it all down with a suicide, the fountain drink all-in-one sampler popular with rebellious ten-year-olds. Yet far from inducing suicide, sitting at a Fat Johnnies picnic table scarfing their tamales and dogs will have you affirming life, Johnny, and da Bears. 7232 S. Western Ave. Monday-Saturday, 11am-6:30pm; Sunday, 11am-3:30pm. (773)737-6294 (J. Michael Eugenio)

Best Take-Out Soul Food
BJ’s Market and Bakery
Though it looks like a Boston Market, don’t hold that against BJ’s. With striped awnings and an oval logo, and a case filled with metal trays of American home-style dishes, BJ’s does resemble that other chicken chain. But BJ’s is a local business through and through. John Meyer, the owner and head chef of BJ’s worked at restaurants across the city before starting a business in his own neighborhood in 2001. The restaurant’s name is taken from the first letters of Meyers’ two children’s names. Like any soul food joint worth its salt, BJ’s has thick, flavorful rib tips and fried chicken. The mustard-fried catfish is their signature: its breaded exterior is slightly crispy but the fish stays tender. The dish comes with a special tangy-sweet mustard sauce for dipping and your choice of sides, but good luck choosing! They’ve got baked mac’n’cheese, black-eyed peas, collard greens with smoked turkey, buttery corn, and sweet potatoes that taste like Thanksgiving. There’s ample seating, but few customers use it. Most seem to come in after work and place a big order to go. With its comforting, slow-cooked staples and fast service, BJ’s offers take-out that almost passes for a home-cooked meal. 1156 W. 79th St. Monday-Thursday, 7am-9pm; Friday-Saturday, 7am-10pm; Sunday, 7am-8pm. (773)723-7000. bjsmarket.com (Rachel Wiseman)

Best Food of the Gods
Reese’s Gourmet Mana
Located at 1022 ½ W. 63rd, this little pudding shop is—as the “half” in its address implies—a hole-in-the wall in the truest sense. The exterior of the shop is basically just a yellow banner hung over a gated door. Inside, the walls are bare, except for a dry erase board with the daily flavors and a poster of the Ten Commandments. The store’s simplicity befits the divine product they peddle: a custard-like pudding garnished with Nilla wafers called mana. The classic “banana mana” is silky and sweet with slices of real banana at the bottom of the cup. The orange turtle gives off only the subtlest citrus notes, so the nutty caramel-chocolate topping really shines. When we asked what kind to buy, the jovial woman behind the counter detailed the virtues of each variety. While she’s normally a chocolate woman, the lemon mana is “one-of-the kind,” while the strawberry mana makes her feel “all tingly,” just like her beau does. These delicious treats are only $3 per cup or two for $5, so there’s no harm in trying more than one kind. In Englewood’s food desert, mana does seem like a godsend for the gourmand. 1022 ½ W. 63rd St. Monday-Saturday, 11am-7pm. (773)418-0790. reesesmanaflavors.com (Rachel Wiseman)

Best Roller Rink
MLK, Jr. Park & Family Entertainment Center
With no grass, trees, streetlamps, playgrounds, or benches, this isn’t your average park. Instead of a sun above, you’ll find disco lights, and the show-stopping moves happen don’t happen on the court, but on roller skates. Entry prices vary, but go as low as 50 cents on Thursday and Friday afternoons. Skate rentals are reasonable, too. And though it is an astounding value, forget about the prices—the experience is golden. You rent skates, get out on the waxed hardwood floor, and wobble-glide in circles for hours like you would at any other roller rink. But here, they don’t play lame jock jams or moldy oldies. The DJ plays hip-hop radio hits, and couples skate hand-in-hand to a Weezy track. Kids wearing adorable birthday tutus try to stay balanced, while the older skaters will make your jaw drop as you watch them pirouette and get low. “I’ve been coming here since I was a shawty,” said one of the most gifted skaters. He pointed at a group of kids struggling to reach the joystick of a claw machine even with the boost from their skates, whom earlier in the night he had taught a couple of moves. “Like them shawties.” 1219 W. 76th St. See website for schedule of skating times and entry fees. (312)747-2602. mlkskating.com (Rachel Wiseman)

Best Garden of Contradictory Power Relations
Renaissance Park
An English garden and a monument to prominent African-American figures seem odd bedfellows, but they come together nicely in Renaissance Park. Once a derelict lot at 79th and Throop, the park was built in 2000 as a symbol and reflection of the revitalization of the neighborhood. The half-block of well-maintained grounds makes for a good picnic spot, while benches offer ideal seating for a good read. Neatly trimmed hedges form geometric patterns, while colorful flowers are a delight to the eyes and nose. At the center of the park, a modern black granite sculpture fountain honors a number of heroes with ties to the South Side. A pyramid of large granite stones are engraved with the names of a number of prominent African-American figures—Martin Luther King, Jr., Muhammad Ali, Mahalia Jackson, and Harold Washington, to name a few. Water trickles down from the pyramid to a granite pillar on the other side of the monument, a statement on the power of role models to inspire future change. Judging by the signs of rebirth around Auburn-Gresham, the legacy of community activism and leadership flows on. 1300 W. 79th St. Open dusk-dawn. (312)747-7661 (Rachel Wiseman)

Forty-one people were shot last week in Chicago in a time span of less than twenty-six hours. The event “1,000 Men of Action” was held in response, with the premise being something of a call-to-arms for responsible men in the community. “This is not just another feel-good meeting,” began community activist Philip Jackson, a short, wiry, African-American man who bears an almost serendipitous resemblance to Gandhi. Jackson is the founder of the Black Star Project, a program that aims to eliminate the racial gap in academic achievement by improving the home lives of minority children. An essential component of this task is reestablishing the nuclear family among blacks in America, whose domestic values, Jackson contended, were the envy of every race in the country only twenty or thirty years ago. He was there to convince a thousand men to volunteer to be mentors for local youth.

To demonstrate his point, Jackson screened for the attendants a short, low-budget documentary film entitled “Men II Boyz.” Basically a montage of interviews with community members, the film’s compassion made up for what it lacked in polish and substance. Boy after boy conceded some heavily shielded grief regarding his absent father, and man after man imparted words of fatherly wisdom. After the film, putting mentors and mentees together was more urgent than ever.
The effect was powerful. A chaotic shuffle of prospective volunteers rose throughout the church, and so did the crowd’s optimism and enthusiasm. The cathedral, which has a capacity of about twelve hundred, was packed. If there’s strength in numbers, strength in passion, strength in ideas—or, for that matter, in square-footage—it seems that St. Sabina’s will be remembered as the bigger contender.

(Mehveş Konuk)

The housing crisis is responsible for much of the movement in Woodlawn, according to Mattie Butler, executive director of Woodlawn East Community and Neighbors (WECAN). “People are moving because they lost one place, so they move in with relatives or friends and in about a month they have to move out because their friends start to have a problem [paying their rent or mortgage]. They keep on moving within Woodlawn till they exhaust their options.” WECAN provides affordable housing and supportive services to Woodlawn residents, like those displaced by the 557 foreclosures that occurred in the neighborhood this past January. With many cases still pending, Butler predicts that the worst of the foreclosures is yet to come.

Woodlawn is also one of many neighborhoods in Chicago undergoing gentrification—or, at least, it was before the housing market collapsed. “We have more affluent people who have moved to Woodlawn, but now they’re not moving that often because the housing market has got a great big hole in the bottom of it,” Butler says. But this hasn’t prevented the displacement of low-income residents. “We were having a problem with poor people being pushed out because rental housing was used for condo conversion, but it didn’t stop fast enough to keep people from being moved,” explains Butler. Developers were hit by the foreclosures too, and now, at the same time as many struggle to afford housing, “there’s a lot of new construction sitting on the ground, vacant and boarded-up.”

The foreclosure crisis is also driving an increase in movement throughout the South Side. According to Carlos Nelson, executive director of the Greater Auburn-Gresham Development Corporation, people in his neighborhood “are typically moving around just for additional housing.” They tend to stay within about a five-mile radius that includes Englewood and Grand Crossing. Jacques Conway, a member of the community organization Teamwork Englewood, adds, “People move frequently based on how many times they run out of money to stay in a particular apartment. Often, when they know they have to move or they will be evicted, instead of paying their landlord back – which they know they can’t do – they use it as a security deposit to rent at another place. They usually stay in the community, but either move when they get behind on rent, or when the building is in such disrepair that they don’t want to rent there anymore.”

This process can quickly become a self-perpetuating cycle, as each move leads to greater instability. In a November 2009 report, researchers at D.C.-based think tank the Urban Institute dubbed this process “residential churning.” “Churning movers,” or people who move frequently without improving their situations, made up nearly half of all moving families in ten U.S. cities surveyed in the study (Chicago was not among them). These families tend to be young and low-income, and dissatisfied and disconnected from their neighborhoods, though they rarely move far outside them.

One woman who fits the profile of a churning mover is Cheryl*, a 38-year-old mother of three. She has moved around a lot in her lifetime, twice due to evictions. “I had to start over once, then I got divorced and I had to start over after that. Now I’m at a place in my life where I’m starting over again.”

One eviction followed her divorce. With her husband gone and without a job, “I didn’t have the means to care for the apartment or pay the rent,” she says. The second happened because, she says, “I was living a life at that time where I was reckless—I wasn’t too smart. Today I’m a different person. I think more about the consequences of my actions.”

Cheryl currently lives in Englewood with her children and partner, and she wants to move. “There’s a lot of open [criminal] activity here,” she explains. She would like to live in a more culturally and economically diverse neighborhood such as Oak Lawn, where she lived several years ago, or Hyde Park. In the latter, she says, “everything’s convenient. It’s a thriving area. There are lots of different places that my children can become a part of—a wealth of things going on in the area.”

Cheryl’s evictions pose an obstacle—she has “horrible credit,” she says, and her partner has none. But as she tries to start over this time, she’s in a much better position. “I have a different team of people with me. I have a companion now who helps me with everything, which makes it a lot easier. I have resources now.” She’s also working with an organization in Hyde Park to try to find an affordable apartment there.

Cheryl may have been a churning mover in the past, but she’s in a good position to become what the Urban Institute calls an “up-and-out mover” if she relocates to a higher-income community with more opportunities. The very fact that she knows about neighborhoods like Oak Lawn and Hyde Park puts her at a significant advantage.

Chicagoans tend to be familiar with neighborhoods in which their own racial group predominates, according to the 2008 study “Racial Blind Spots: Black-White-Latino Differences in Community Knowledge.” The study, led by University of Illinois-Chicago professor Maria Krysan, found that people decide where to move based primarily on information from social networks and realtors, two sources that usually resemble them racially, thus reinforcing the already extreme segregation of Chicago’s neighborhoods.

But as Krysan and her colleagues found—and Cheryl attests—people want to live in more diverse neighborhoods than they actually do. The fact that African-Americans, for example, tend to congregate in particular neighborhoods has more to do with the fear of discrimination elsewhere, plus the aforementioned “blind spots,” than with an innate preference to be around people of the same race.

A new nonprofit called MoveSmart is trying to remedy these racial blind spots by providing movers with easy access to housing-related information. Their “Neighborhood Finder” allows users to plug in their priorities—low density or high, good schools, banks, farmers markets, libraries—and see which areas fit them best.

According to Executive Director Justin Massa, the idea for MoveSmart was born over coffee with two other fair housing advocates in Chicago. “We started realizing that lots of housing counselors don’t have access to all the rich information that’s out there.” After a lot of brainstorming, he says, “We finally got around to the concept of taking lots of data that’s complex and honing it down into a system where average people can address their own needs.”

(courtesy of Zol87/Flickr)

Now, an agency called Housing Choice Partners (HCP) has a contract with the CHA to counsel former public housing residents with Section 8 vouchers (federal rental subsidies). “We work with them pretty intensively,” says Executive Director Christine Klepper. “We lead tours so they can see what we call ‘opportunity areas,’ which are areas with a lower poverty rate and a lower [minority] population. We talk about considering the quality of schools, researching the crime rate, what kind of amenities are nearby.”

“So often, low-income people, don’t necessarily think about those things, because they’ve never had a choice,” Klepper explains. “They just kind of look around them and make decisions based on what’s nearby.” HCP’s counseling has measurable success: the average participant moves from a census tract with 60 percent poverty to one with 30 percent. But, Klepper says, “A neighborhood that has 30 percent of its residents in poverty is still a pretty distressed neighborhood. [The first move] is just a stopping point.”

Although most people don’t want to move far from the communities they know, Klepper says that “families that move to opportunity areas are always more satisfied. They like their neighborhoods better, their landlords better, their units better.”

Sometimes, we need a big move in order to get a fresh start. In economic hard times, and across the intensely divided geography of Chicago, the services that organizations like MoveSmart and HCP provide to residents can mean, at the very least, a move in the right direction.

Dressed in a three-piece suit with French cuffs and a tie to match, West stormed about his stage area like a furious animal and bellowed in the tones of a Baptist preacher. “One of the reasons I published this text,” he announced, referring to his new memoir “Brother West: Living & Loving Out Loud,” “was because I want it to be acceptable in the age of Obama that there be room for angry black men.” By “anger,” he quickly clarified, West meant “holy anger—righteous indignation against injustice.” In his hour-long speech-cum-drama, West explored with the audience how this indignation has impacted his perspective on daily life in America.
West, a lifelong Christian, began by describing the influence of Christian love on his need to fight poverty and degradation in the black community. “Justice,” West explained, “is what love looks like in public.” While he emphasized that his communal love began “at home,” in the black community, he also said that he found “spillover love” for people of all races and declaimed, “I will never allow black suffering to blind me to the suffering of other people.”
When he moved from his biography to current affairs, West declared his support for President Obama (to deafening applause from the audience) but also expressed a desire to “correct” the president “when he leans toward the strong.” Obama’s oft-noted preternatural calmness makes him, West claimed, “highly acceptable to the white mainstream,” but there remains the need for a vibrant opposition chorus to force the elite toward ending America’s injustices. West closed by voicing his hope that such a union of positive forces can be achieved, as happened in his own life when he was straightened from an early inclination to crime. “In the end,” he said, “[my] book is not about me at all. It’s about me connected to a whole lot of other folks.”

On Thursday nights, Lagniappe hosts a late-night jam session until 10pm and invites its (often very talented) guests to come up and sing or play a number with the band. The first floor of the restaurant seats around twenty guests, and the closeness of the musicians enhanced a down-to-earth, intimate atmosphere. The music also helped to soothe the hunger pangs of an almost twenty-minute wait for most dishes, as smells wafted temptingly from each swing of the kitchen door. The long wait can be explained by the fact that Lagniappe cooks each dish as it’s ordered. The chefs aren’t just reheating your gumbo, they’re actually preparing it fresh, starting with the spicy roux base—a combination of flour and butter that gives the stew its savory thickness.

Lagniappe serves beer but also happily accepts BYOB-ing customers. One of their more interesting non-alcoholic beverages is their sweet tea, which may not be everyone’s cup of, as it initially hits the tongue like a honeyed cough syrup with a dash of Lipton. However, next to the Cajun-Creole spices, such sweetness was very refreshing. We began with a starter of “Wangs n’ Waffles.” “Wangs” are much like your standard chicken wings, except—as far as we could tell—larger, greasier, and served on a waffle with maple syrup. Subtly spiced, the wangs came out of the kitchen piping hot. The sticky, sweet maple syrup provided a unique foil to the Cajun flavors. Wangs are capable of becoming a meal on their own. One of the seemingly healthier options on the menu is a Cobb Salad with honey mustard dressing, topped with three to four of these sinful, fried monsters. As a testament to their epic status, in 2006, Lagniappe won a “Cage Match” competition devised by the staff of the Chicago Tribune at the annual Taste of Chicago. Their Wangs n’ Waffles combination gained almost twice as many votes as the wings from Harold’s Chicken.

In an attempt to conquer the entire bayou, we ordered gumbo, jambalaya, and étouffée, as well as a serving of blackened catfish, despite being forewarned of the oversized portions. Everything but the cup of gumbo came with a corn muffin and two sides. The fish was served somewhat simply, alone on a plate, but seasoned and cooked to perfection, with the slightest hint of lemon complementing the heat of the cayenne. The gumbo came with a choice of chicken or seafood. Upon tasting the latter, we found the thick, dark soup to be surprisingly meaty. Traditional gumbo frequently features a combination of meats, rather than just one. This attribute of Cajun-Creole cooking may make navigating the menu difficult for some vegetarians: the seemingly vegetable-only rice and beans are flecked with andouille sausage, and many dishes are prepared and flavored with meat products. However, a note on the menu reassures that vegetarian options are available: you just need to ask for them.

The jambalaya is massive and can easily serve two people. The shrimp jambalaya was a delicious, spicy mess of rice and stew. Thickened with a roux similar to the gumbo, the jambalaya packed more heat, a prominent tomato base, and was liberally spiced with bay leaves, black pepper, and cayenne. Many dishes in this cuisine, including the jambalaya, rely on a trio of onions, green pepper, and celery to form the basic flavor profile of a stew before other spices are added.

In French, “étouffée” literally means “suffocated,” and that is precisely how the small island of rice appears under the savory swamp of chicken and vegetables in this dish. Suspended in this thick chicken soup were four large pieces of chicken, as well as the same trio of vegetables that formed the basis for the jambalaya. While the chicken étouffée promised to cure any common cold, the shrimp and crawfish options were just as tempting, as was the “Melange à trois”—a combination of all three.

The sides were equally impressive and very likely what prevented us from having room for dessert; a difficult decision since the menu boasted several varieties of pie, pudding, and cobbler, as well as a mysterious “Cake in a Jar.” A stellar macaroni and cheese was more like the love child between the latter and a baked ziti; using penne instead of macaroni, its cheddary, buttery sauce formed a light crust from its time in the oven. Who needs dessert anyway, when you can get candied sweets with your meal? Sweet potatoes that have been cooked down with sugar until they’re almost translucent are a jellied, sticky treat that will have you licking your spoon long after you’ve declared yourself full.

Lagniappe, 1525 W. 79th St. Tuesday-Wednesday, 11am-8pm; Thursday-Saturday, 11am-10pm. (773)944-6375. cajunjoynt.com