Once-upon-a-time, I left a job as an editor for a national food magazine, to do marketing for Chicago’s beefy Lawry’s the Prime Rib. Housed in the former 1889 L. Hamilton McCormick mansion at the corner of Ontario and Rush, the restaurant was soaked in history and the smell of slow-roasted meat. Before Lawry’s set up shop there in 1974, I used to go with my family to see the bizarre puppet operas the Kungsholm Scandinavian restaurant used to put on there. When I arrived decades later to do PR, the sloping theatre floors had been covered over to shore up Lawry’s dining rooms, and the managers weren’t quite sure where to put me. Continue Reading…
