It would be a mistake to prejudge South Kawa’s food or service based on its lack of traffic, however, as both were more than satisfactory. We started our meal with edamame, hoping to quiet our grumbling stomachs while we waited for three friends whose bus never came. The beans were delicious—firm, fresh and hot, with the perfect amount of flaked salt shaken on top. They came out within five minutes of us ordering, and were gone in as much time. Our waiter laughed when we asked for a second helping: “I told you so!”

With a mound of pods left on the table and our friends on their way by cab, we gave in to hunger and ordered our sushi. The menu features a variety of rolls and pieces ranging from the simple to the elaborate, alongside a limited range of non-sushi appetizers and entrees. I split two of their more extravagant rolls—the Fallen Angel and the Sweet Sixteen—with two companions, along with the less showy salmon and avocado roll. We also ended up with a bowl of yaki udon, and the chicken skewers from a series of yakitori options based on our server’s second suggestion—his first was to get all five types, ideally washed down by three cold beers and a baseball game.

The yakitori skewers were small but well-grilled, and the sweet sauce was good enough to warrant some skewer twirling. The yaki udon came in a generous portion, with firm noodles and a sauce that managed to be salty without crowding out other flavors. The Fallen Angel roll—crab meat, seaweed salad, tempura bits and avocado with scallops and roe on top—was good, but the salad somewhat overpowered the crab. Both the skewers and the roll were listed as spicy, but as somebody who tears up at an extra drop of Tabasco sauce, I imagine that a person looking for heat would be disappointed by both.

The Sweet Sixteen, which topped tuna with salmon, was given a punch up by the inclusion of mango, which lent a pleasing sweetness even if its mushy texture didn’t contribute much. Selected from a back page of rolls like the “Sexy Mama” and the “Anaconda,” both the Sweet Sixteen and the Fallen Angel were beautifully presented—a mosaic of colors and textures accented by the sauces drizzled on top. All were prepared by a lone, headband-crowned sushi chef at a bar set into the wall across from our table. In terms of taste, hearty isn’t a term usually ascribed to sushi, but it fit here: the fish was thick cut, and our hungry group left almost unanimously full.

South Kawa really shines on service. Though tea wasn’t on the menu, my friend was brought some free of charge on request. Save for the yaki udon, all of our food came out within ten minutes of ordering, and the noodles quickly followed. Our servers were always on hand but never hovered, a hard balance when waitstaff outnumber patrons. The restaurant’s decor was as sparse as the crowd, limited to a large stylized koi pond painting and a flat screen twice its size that loomed from across the narrow restaurant. Yet the servers’ friendly banter kept the emptiness of the restaurant from feeling oppressive.

The instrumental background music switched to a lullaby as we left South Kawa. “See you soon!” our waiter called. We wandered onto Halsted, as lazy, full, and well-cared for as the koi glancing from the back wall.

3417 S. Halsted St. Monday-Thursday, 11am-3pm, 4pm-10pm; Friday-Saturday, 11am-3pm, 4pm-11pm. (773)940-1238

The event in question was the launch of the SMALL Showroom, a pop-up exhibition designed to promote awareness of a range of local Bridgeport-area artisans and products. Over a hundred companies and individuals were represented through SMALL (Small Manufacturing Alliance), which, according to their website, promotes Chicagoland “companies and individuals who make locally manufactured products.” Items on display ranged in size from a massive, $500 didgeridoo nicknamed “the Elephant Tusk” and hand-carved from an agave stalk, to one-inch cubes of Asiago cheese selected from Giles Schnierle’s Great American Cheese Collection. Among these offerings were free tastings from 18th Street Brewery, Koval Distillery, Bridgeport Coffee, and Katherine Anne, the “founder and confectionista” of Katherine Anne Confections. Non-culinary products included custom-designed bikes, graphic tees, beaded animals, and tables carved into the shape of various American states (the company offered to do any state in the union other than Hawaii, Florida, and Maryland). The space also served as a bulletin board for myriad advertisements for demonstrations and exhibitions, all of which seemed to be occurring concurrently with the showroom proper.

The sprawl of the showroom led to certain limitations on space as well as time for those organizing the show. My conversation with Ed Marszewski, co-director of the Co-Prosperity Sphere, was held in a cramped space between the falafel table and the main display window, leading some passersby to wonder whether or not we were part of some sort of SMALL-sponsored performance piece. Despite, or perhaps due to, the hustle and large number of guests, Marszewski was still very excited. “It’s great that I can bring together all these people—many of them friends who live within a block of this space—and be able to promote them like this.” He also noted, however, that the preparation has been hectic. “I’ve been meeting with hundreds of people every day. I’ve barely been able to learn everyone’s name.”

Herein lies the essential dilemma for the SMALL Showroom: if it is to represent an intimate community of businesses and artists in Bridgeport, how will it adapt as Bridgeport grows into its own as “the community of the future”—as one local publication optimistically christened the neighborhood—where more and more artists and manufacturers are moving everyday? How long, one wonders, will SMALL be able to remain small?

The audience ranged from zany to utterly nondescript. A woman wearing a short leather jacket and stockings patterned with silhouetted houses sat in front of me, while another wearing a beige trench coat and an unassuming dress sat next to me. The room’s thick white walls were blank with the exception of a single panel, where “Fresh Flesh” was spray-painted in a galactic mix of purples, greens, and copper-speckled white. Ed Marszewski, one of the directors of the Co-Prosperity sphere, donned his thick-framed glasses before launching into the plans for the night.

“This is going to be an informal gathering” he explained. “We are going to come up with actionable plans, we’re going to have constructive and generative thought about the cultural plan of Chicago. So, to do that,  you’ll come up and speak for 5  minutes…”

This year, the City of Chicago’s Department of Cultural Affairs and Special Events (DCASE) is working on the “2012 Chicago Cultural Plan,” which proposes to first figure out Chicago’s cultural identity and then shape it moving forward. This plan aims to provoke conversation between local artists, community members and anybody aspiring to add to the discussion of Chicago’s cultural identity. In these conversations, participants are invited to put forward ideas and proposals to further the impact of the Chicago arts community. Its aim is to establish an encompassing plan to ameliorate the problems artists face in Chicago through the collaborative partnerships formed in the private and public sectors.

The night began with Marszewski pointing at people to start the conversation. His finger first fell on a stylish advertising agent dressed in red lipstick and high-piled  hair. She stepped forward and spoke about consulting services for artists wanting to spread their image. Marsewski continued to direct the relaxed procession around the room until he abruptly left unexplained—possibly for a bathroom break? However, the floor had already been cleared for passionate debate about reforming the cultural identity of Chicago, and the intensity of the conversation compelled volunteers to step up.

Some of the brainstorming included a proposal for cultural ambassadors, who would be the link between the neighborhoods and the city. These ambassadors would be artists deeply embedded in their neighborhood who could identify problems artists faced and understand the interests and needs of the neighborhood; people who could represent them forcefully, accurately, and passionately about the decline of art production. Many speakers mentioned different systems and programs in other states and in other countries that worked efficiently and effectively to spur artistic creation by providing struggling artists with resources like living and showcase spaces, and materials for creation.

One of the most striking suggestions of the evening, perhaps because it was the only Powerpoint presentation, was the establishment of a space to be called the New Museum. This venue would address the problem that independent artists face today of securing legal spaces to showcase their artwork. Currently, they hold “illegal” private apartment parties out of necessity, always faced with the pressure from the police to shut them down. The New Museum would centralize independent artists in a legal space and integrate artists scattered across the city to increase visibility for emerging artists.

Marszewski, halfway through the presentation, came to a poignant realization: “You know, I’ve been thinking. Let’s face it—the city isn’t going to meet all of our demands. What we need to do is [take this] into our own hands. We need to connect with artists and change Chicago together.”

These community meetings aren’t just a way to communicate to the City of Chicago artists’ needs; they enable networks to form that enrich conversation between artists and about art in Chicago. Theirs is a diverse union, held together by the passion to create, to explore and to challenge; and for future Chicago cultural growth, it is vital to use that common artistic spirit as a means of reinforcing the weakening bonds of art within the city.

Angela Qian

If you follow a delivery truck with a logo for 100% pure beef emblazoned on its side through the streets of Bridgeport, there are only a few places it may lead. If you’re lucky and hungry enough, you’ll find yourself at a tiny little building on Halsted and 36th Street, home of Zebra’s Gourmet Hot Dogs. On a recent cold windy day, a few friends and I were just so lucky.

Inside, Zebra’s has a homey feel, with checkered napkins and plastic chairs ringed around white tables. The front of the house is cozy, not a large-scale dining establishment by any means; the counter at which I ordered was also the partition between the eating area and the kitchen. Standing at the counter, the married owners greeted us warmly and—seeing our indecision over the menu—told us that everything on it was only a suggestion and that we could customize our toppings as we liked.

In the end, we stuck with the menu, and ordered four different hot dogs with fries: the Philly, the Chicago Classic, the El Paso, and the Bronx Reuben. Each person’s order came to exactly five dollars. We sat down and waited for our food to come while we sipped the water brought to our tables.

Our hot dogs arrived in diner-esque little black baskets, wrapped in black and white paper and filled with huge sides of fries. There was also a small box with corn fritters covered with powdered sugar, cheerily given “on the house” to the only person in our group who hadn’t ordered fries. Crisp on the outside and not too sweet, the corn fritters were delicious. The same, unfortunately, could not be said for the fries, which were soggy and loaded with far too much salt.

The hot dogs themselves, made from Nathan’s 100% beef, were all filling and juicy. Topped with salsa, jalapenos, and onions, the El Paso was colorfully loaded up on a nicely toasted bun. The jalapenos and onions added a nice kick to it, but the salsa was too sour and too plentiful, nearly overwhelming the rest of the dog.

Upon receiving her Chicago Classic hot dog, my friend smothered it in ketchup before we could warn her about the overwhelming hatred of true born and bred Chicagoans for that red condiment. Ketchup aside, she did say that it was a good hot dog—not exactly news to most Chicagoans.

My friend who had ordered the Philly was understandably distracted by his corn fritters. After savoring one or two of them, he finally unwrapped his hot dog and tried it, saying only—not eloquently—that it was “good,” the meat filling and the flavors interesting. He did not accessorize his food with condiments, content with the swiss cheese, grilled peppers, and onions that made for a colorful and apparently tasty combination of toppings.

Meanwhile, the Bronx Reuben, unwrapped, was completely heaped with a brownish substance that was probably the sweet kraut detailed on the menu. In defiance of my friend with the ketchup, this friend smothered his hot dog in mustard and demolished it, adding only that he also liked the bun. But he must have been sincere, as he also ordered a second hot dog to-go for his late-night snack later on.

As we got ready to leave, one of the owners came over and asked if there was anything she could wrap up for us. She presented the two to-go hot dogs, which had been kept warm in a brown paper bag reminiscent of a motherly packed lunch from elementary school days. My friend licked the last remnants of powdered sugar off of his fingers before the little baskets and wrappers were taken away.

We were satisfied, not elevated to another state of being. But, that’s hot dogs, reliable and true. Luckily, Zebra adds just enough flair to make it something special.

3551 S. Halsted St. Monday-Friday, 11am-8pm; Saturday, noon-6pm. (773)940-1526.

The resplendent fundraiser was hosted by The Orphanage, a newly reopened Bridgeport music venue. Upon entry, patrons were asked to fill out a form indicating their gender, sexual orientation, and name. A table boasting a smorgasbord of condoms sat adjacent to a display of HIV testing documents, evidence of the greater cause that underlay the party’s general sense of harmony: the gathering was held for the benefit of El Rescate (“the rescue”), a charity that provides housing for homeless LGBTQ youth. El Rescate is a benevolent outgrowth of the Vida/SIDA health clinic, which offers HIV prevention and testing services geared toward the Latino community.

Entertainment at the party ranged from a raucous drag show, featuring flamboyant and militant gay rights crusader Malcolm Sex, to a more subdued raffle for a drum kit, and attendees documented the evening’s debauchery in a leopard-print photo booth decorated with fuchsia streamers.

The bigotry-free atmosphere was evident in the guests’ garb, or lack thereof. Drag queens mingled with the shirtless as topless women hula-hooped with a man whose earlobes were stretched to the size of quarters. The sonic backdrop to all the vivacity was half hardcore punk and half late ’90s club music.

Accoutrements of the indie variety littered the corners of the venue. An old vinyl collection mingled with a sea of vintage board games. The walls of The Orphanage were decked with paintings, a number of which were caricatures in the absinthe-themed style of Lautrec. Cathedral windows, a reminder of the venue’s location inside a Lutheran church, interrupted the overwhelming wall decorations. The most impressive featured a stained glass woman with ghostly hair overlooking center stage, gazing upon the event—where Chicago’s LGBTQ community were given an opportunity to fête their freedom for a righteous cause—like an identity-affirming vixen.

(N Masani Muhammad)

Friday night outside the Zhou B. Art Center, the low thumping of house music and huddled groups of gallery habitués on smoke breaks penetrated the otherwise deserted street. Inside, the buzz of voices transported gallery-goers to a livelier place, where moss sprouted from the walls and live plants hung from the ceiling as part of the opening of the Earth Day–inspired show, “Chicago’s Twelve.” Although the crowd was more white-haired than the typical gallery scene, a range of well-dressed art enthusiasts came out for Third Fridays, the monthly gallery walk in Bridgeport.

The show’s name comes from the film “Ocean’s Eleven,” which for curator Sergio Gomez evokes the idea of a group working toward a shared goal. Settling on the number twelve to reflect the calendar year and the natural lunar cycle, Gomez had four parameters in mind when selecting the twelve artists: they had to be Chicago-based, have made “sustainability a passionate working ethic,” have the “highest quality” art, and “respond to the gallery space [he] assigned them.” The debonair George Clooney charm was not, it seems, a criterion.

The space sets the stage for many of the tensions worked out in the collections. Stark white cement pillars, exposed wiring, and naked brick walls allude to the warehouse’s industrial past. Many of the installed pieces hang among the cement pillars, creating a jungle of art, nature, and industry. Children dart through Mary Ellen Croteau’s swinging “Endless Columns” of plastic jars and lids and Yva Neal’s hanging plants. “I wanted people to experience the art by walking under it, around it, through it, at close proximity, and at a distance,” said Gomez.

Recycled objects are among the most common materials in the show; dumpsters, alleys, and flea markets have replaced the art supply store. Connie Noyes’s work subverts the function of these material to explore their beauty and seduction. “I like the idea of taking this ordinary material, pushing it to see what it is capable of doing in reaction to other materials and techniques,” Noyes says. She spreads packing peanuts, roofing paper, and studio debris onto canvases, shellacking them silver and a shiny black. In a complete reversal of the utilitarian purposes of her materials, the effect is sensuous and begs to be touched. A viewer once told Noyes, “I want to lick it.”

One artist emphasizes the “Chicago” part of the exhibition title. N. Masani Muhammad, who grew up in South Chicago, was inspired by remnants of Chicago’s industrial past—the railroad tracks, the old steel mills, and the ship canals. “I learned how to balance what man tries to make of nature with what power and awesomeness nature really has in my pieces to show who has the upper hand,” said Muhammad. Using materials like nails, wood, and a handwritten mantra that declares, “I will obey, I will obey…I will,” her collages speak about industry, slavery, and power. Her work is highly personal; the handwritten notes and photos of her childhood haunts depict an evolving personal struggle with these issues.

Artist Sharon Gilmore has an intimate connection to the transformative process of time and life. When not in her studio, she works as a nurse—first working in postpartum and now in hospice care—and her process alludes to both bookends of the life cycle. Her innovative sculptures, which can take up to a year and a half to make, combine the manmade with the natural. “I don’t sketch,” Gilmore says, describing her “continually evolving” process, which often involves chopping off part of one piece and attaching it to another. She gets her materials from flea markets, woods, alleys, and dumpsters, combining branches and driftwood with bicycle wheels and other found objects.

Viewer engagement is part of what makes “Chicago’s Twelve” a success. The artists, their names emblazoned on name cards, mingled with the crowd the night of the reception to discuss and explain their art. Cell phone audio tours and detailed placards accompany each collection. This interaction between artist and viewer creates a symbiotic ecosystem. And it’s paying off: “There were a number of leads that we are following right now and closing the deals,” Gomez said of selling the artwork on display. “I am sure more will come soon. It was a strong, well-received exhibition.”

Zhou B. Art Center, 1029 W. 35th St. Through June 9. Monday-Friday, 10am-5pm; Saturday, noon-5pm. Free. (773)523-0200. zbcenter.org

However, Armour Square is a tough place to run a restaurant year-round, they admit—most commercial eateries in the vicinity have a schedule that remarkably resembles the White Sox season. But with Pat’s they want to prove to locals that it’s possible to sustain a restaurant that’s both delicious and open full-time.

Pat’s is indiscriminate: it appeals to college students picking up coffee, working people looking for a quick lunch, and neighborhood kids who just got their allowance. As I ate, a gaggle of 8-year-old boys came in counting their change and clamoring for sodas and a couple of slices of cheese pizza. When I saw how Pat’s treated the young diners, it became obvious why they can claim some of their best customers as kids.

Pat, the man for whom the restaurant is named, engaged the boys in conversation about basketball and talked trades and stats as they waited for their slices to cook. When one kid had difficulty balancing his pizza and his soda, an employee helped to wrap the food tighter before waving the boys out: “Be careful! It’s hot!”

At Pat’s, the pizza is downright cheap. You can get a large slice of cheese for $2, made exclusively with fresh ingredients. Pepperoni and sausage pieces cost $2.25—an entire pie, just $10.50. Even their meatball sandwiches and hotdog/fries combos are priced low, since Lulu and Lana understand that, in this economy, a neighborhood restaurant must respect the financial limitations of the everyman.

Yet, like any proud craftsman, Pat is committed to his work. The Italian beef, sausage, and meatballs are made from scratch in the restaurant by Pat himself using a family recipe, complete with a heralded secret ingredient. Pat’s buys vegetables fresh daily.

This attention to detail is clear in the taste—the first bite of a hot cheese pizza slice is warm, welcoming, and satisfying. Sinking into the slice yields a mouthful of hot, delicious cheese. The crust has just the right amount of crunch, and the sauce is full and rich with tomato flavor. If the pizza has one fault, it’s that it’s wrapped up—even when hot—in paper and foil, so when you unwrap your fresh-out-of-the-oven slice, the cheese tends to clump to the wax paper. If you choose to piece the cheese clumps back onto the pizza it may be a little uneven, but once you take your first bite, you’re not likely to care.

The stenciled menu serves as the visual centerpiece of the tiny dining area—a space probably not meant to accommodate crowds. Nearby hangs a small map of Italy. The sounds of the small kitchen fall in sync with the tune of a radio belting out Green Day and Linkin Park. The restaurant has only just passed its two-month anniversary, but the owners have big plans for expansion in the summer with a sidewalk café and wider variety of menu options, including Italian ice.

Even as a vegetarian, and someone with a shaky grasp of Americana, I can recognize that this is it. Pizza. Community. Music. Come blue skies and warmer weather, Pat’s will be a haven for sweaty young children and their older counterparts, lingering over coffee and the simple hearty fare, perhaps finding a willing ear in Lulu or Lana, or discussing sports with Pat.

Pat’s Italian BBQ, 308 W. 33rd St. Monday-Friday, 11am-9pm; Saturday, noon-9pm. (312)528-0204.

Jane Fentress

On a small canvas, saplings emerge from the ground and leaves dot the turquoise sky. A red building stands out in the background. The piece resembles a postcard sending a cheerful spring greeting, and is just one piece evoking the season in the “Springen” exhibit at 33 Contemporary in Bridgeport.

“The art is really not stylistically similar, but thematically,” said Sergio Gomez, the gallery’s owner and director. The word springen is German for “jumping into”  or “coming into,” and these past few months, Chicago has been coming into spring. “It is a broad theme, which is the opposite of what I have tried to go for in the past, but a visitor could find all kinds of different pieces,” Gomez said.

The black-and-white pieces stand out from the rest of the exhibit, as they lack the pinks and greens that signify the season. Yet, the simplicity of technique and subject matter invites the reader to take a second look and ponder the type of spring they do contain. For instance, Cesar Conde’s “Early Morning Shanghai” is a simple portrait of an older man gazing out into the distance. The man’s age is evident in the lines and wrinkles on his face; his longing gaze implies he is well past his personal spring, stuck in darker, autumnal times. This tragic and unsettling take on the theme is rather unusual in the context of the rest of the exhibit: moving through the grey concrete space, the pieces grow more colorful and lively, offering a direct portrayal of the season. You’d almost expect something more subtle. However, in spite of the shared colors and vibrancy, the remaining works do focus on different sides of spring.

Jennifer Cronin’s “A Stitch in Time Saves Nine” depicts a young woman fighting overflowing soapsuds as she does laundry. The idiom in the title evokes a simpler time in which household chores revolved around the seasons, but without understanding this subtle reference, viewers may be lost as to why an ordinary task of this nature is reflective of spring. Conversely, Eddwin Meyers’s “Big” embodies the traditionally springtime idea of renewal through its contemporary motifs. “Big” depicts a glamorous woman reminiscent of modern pop stars like Lady Gaga, who, exuding confidence, wears oversized sunglasses and is surrounded by dollar signs. The bright lights and the imagery of money imply the woman is in the pursuit of fame and fortune—perhaps the means toward a personal rebirth.

Steve Sherrell’s “Morning at the Skittle Tree” depicts a tree with branches of bright, colorful dots dancing in the wind, swirling toward the sky. Made from mixed media, the piece reflects the recent explosion of Chicago’s flowers and trees. Sherrell’s piece is one of several within the exhibition’s collection of nature pieces on display in the back of the gallery. The nature panel presents a drastic change from the black-and-white panel, and with both black and white and such vivid pieces in the same space, the exhibit exudes chaos and crowdedness—much like city parks on the season’s first day.

Finding the connection between such disparate pieces can be difficult. Though the exhibit operates on the premise that the artists were working with one theme, the interpretations of spring vary significantly, undermining the unity of the exhibit. Gomez, however, offered a defense: “This year’s exhibit is more cohesive… within this exhibit, there is a thread that connects the pieces, even though that thread may be thin.” he said. “This exhibit has one of our broadest themes yet, but it allows the artists to participate in what they’re interested in.”

33 Contemporary Gallery, 1029 W. 35th St. Monday-Thursday, 10am-5pm; Friday, 10am-7pm; also by appointment. Free. (708)837-4534. 33collective.com

Jon Brozdowski

For the mix of friends and strangers chatting in the charming garden of the Benton House, the only concern is the lack of coffee. Set against the background of early-blooming tulips, Maureen Sullivan pokes fun at the group’s unofficial cross-town rivals, the Cubs, who were recently “beaten by the Nationals in a really joyous way.” The Bridgeport Alliance organized this potluck brunch with a small town atmosphere for the area’s community groups.

Anyone who’s been paying attention knows Bridgeport is changing. In the second half of last year, three new organizations emerged to help improve the neighborhood: the Friends of South Halsted formed to fundraise the restoration of the still-shuttered Ramova Theatre and encourage business on Halsted Street; the Bridgeport Citizens Group formed to improve the safety of the neighborhood through peaceful and non-confrontational means; and the grassroots Bridgeport Alliance also began operations.

Today, the groups that helped close the Fisk and Crawford coal plant sit at wooden tables with oatmeal, rice and beans, and scones. Kristina Tendilla, vice president of the organization, hopes this Brunch will create greater interest in the Bridgeport Alliance. Tendilla sees the coalition of smaller neighborhood organizations one day capturing, “the voice of Bridgeport, not just of the people in power, but representative.”

The diversity of the crowd matches that of the neighborhood, with youth and adults, professionals who work in policy, working class citizens, Bridgeport natives and recent transplants, Irish and African-American residents as well as Mexican and Chinese-Americans. The goal does not seem overly ambitious, especially against the tall brick walls of the familiar century-old recreation center. She continues, “We want to tap into what people want to see in their community.”

The bulletin board behind us is covered in pink note cards where attendees were urged to write their hopes for their area: “A 31st street bus,” “Organize empty lot cleanups,” “Spend money at local businesses to encourage them to stay open.” Joe Hopkins, secretary, wants to work with the Friends of Halsted Street to support  the businesses on Morgan and Halsted, which he sees as overwhelmed by bureaucratic obstacles. He points out his pastor, Tom Gaulke, who leads the initiative, and is seated a few chairs away, sipping a Styrofoam cup.

As the event winds down, some people plan to march to Grant Park for the Chicago Spring event. On this warm spring morning, optimism comes easy.

(Maria Nelson)

“This isn’t retro, this is vintage,” says Bill Gertos, stern but smiling. Busy frying up eggs over-easy, burgers, and hashbrowns seven days a week at the 82-year old Ramova Grill, Gertos has lately taken on another role behind the counter—historian and storyteller.

Since the announcement in mid-March that his family’s Bridgeport establishment will close its doors this April, the greasy spoon has been flooded with regulars and newcomers, asking questions and enjoying one last bowl of their famous Cincinnati-style chili—chili, with or without beans, heaped over steaming pasta.

That this joint is genuine, there’s no doubt. Gertos says that while they no longer make their own soap (as they did back in the day), they still grind their own beef and cut their own fries and hashbrowns. “We literally have half a cow in the back,” he boasts.

Whereas some operations may be ashamed of such modest means, Gertos haughtily points out the phone booth with a pay phone that doubles as their business line. A calendar with handwritten employee schedule assignments hangs on the wall; a waitress carries 15 brown mugs to the front fresh from the dishwasher, slightly chipped and coffee-stained.

More importantly, the chili is the same as it has always been. “It isn’t a healthy chili, that’s why it tastes so good. It hasn’t changed a bit,” he says as he serves up bowls to eager customers.

Overall, Gertos describes the place as “just a regular diner… a place where everybody knows each other, not a place where you come and eat alone.” The counter is consistently lined with patrons who claim to have been eating at the Grill for over 30 years. “I live in here, come here probably three to four times a day,” says regular Raleigh March.

The staff shares stories about their customers, as if they were family. Otis MaHan usually stops in for breakfast, but sometimes for lunch. “Otis used to be a sock guy, he’d walk around with a big bag of socks,” describes waitress Angelica Melchor. “There are a lot of characters in here,” sums up Gertos.

The Ramova Grill, located adjacent to the Ramova Theatre and the Chicago Boxing Club on South Halsted, is set to close on April 14, though Gertos thinks it could be later, depending on specifics of the building’s sale, which haven’t been finalized. After over 50 years of work, owners Bob Gertos—Bill’s father—and Tony Dinos are simply ready to retire.

Although Gertos says this is the primary reason for the building’s sale, the restaurant’s closing is dampened by a plight familiar to the proprietors of many mom-and-pop establishments—financial difficulty caused by rising property taxes and a shift in the neighborhood’s composition. The place has been packed at meal times ever since the announcement a month ago, but Gertos says they were barely hanging on by a thread before. He rambles off neighborhood places that have recently closed—a cleaner’s on 31st Street, for example—and speaks nostalgically about a time in Bridgeport’s history when there was an average of four taverns per block.

Maureen Sullivan, a member of the community group Friends of South Halsted, also expressed sadness at what she calls an “extreme loss to the neighborhood.” For her, the closure of both the Ramova Grill and Healthy Foods Lithuanian on 32nd and Halsted in 2009, marks the “end of an era”—the end of the Bridgeport she grew up in. At the same time, she says this won’t stop her group’s  redevelopment efforts to create a small-town feel and a walkable neighborhood. Regarding reaching out to the new owners of the Ramova Grill building, Sullivan says, “We’re sure going to try—they’re investing in the community.”

Gertos, too, is enthusiastic about change. While he jokes that younger customers don’t care for their home-style specials such as chop suey with rice, he enjoys getting to know the students and “art crowd” who first started discovering the place about ten years ago. Instead of a generational disconnect throughout the neighborhood, the camaraderie goes both ways: one local artist painted Gertos’s portrait for an exhibition at the nearby Co-Prosperity Sphere. “The 11th ward used to be Daley’s enclave, and in some sense it still is. But it’s a good thing, I like change,” he says.

He, like his father, is looking forward to some time off—perhaps to spend re-living his youth partying or traveling around Europe. This is his answer to the most frequently asked question around the Grill nowadays: “What are you going to do when this place closes?”

Everyone to whom the Ramova Grill has meant something over the years has an answer. Some employees have jobs lined up at other restaurants around Chicago, and some regulars will probably frequent the Bridgeport Diner, located half a block north.

Others are less optimistic. Melchor hasn’t yet accepted jobs at other Bridgeport restaurants—she’s skeptical that the atmosphere could be as friendly. “I don’t want to see the same people but not be able to talk to them,” she says. March, who has a burger named after him (the “Raleigh Burger,” topped with mustard, pickle, and two slices of raw onion), pauses for a moment and says, “There aren’t any other neighborhood places, where you’re not sitting by yourself.”