My last Taste of Chicago was definitely the best. Protest though I did last year about Chicagoans’ proclivity to attend the Taste year after year although everyone rants how much it stinks, this being my sunset summer in Chicago, I decided to take one final opportunity to eat lunch over a garbage can.
There’s no sweeter music to my ears than the woosh of 100 collapsing vendor tents, coming down today in Grant Park after the conclusion of another year’s Taste of Chicago, the Second City’s annual lakeside food extravaganza. Last week, I asked my native-Chicago friend, Rozella, if she wanted to go to the Taste. Her response was telling: ‘Oh sure, I just live to dine over a dumpster and pee in a porta-potty.’