Heaven With Checkered Tablecloths: RIP, Bertucci's Corner

It has come to my attention that Bertucci's Corner, my favorite Chicago restaurant, closed its doors a few months ago. A true old-school Eye-tralian jernt in the finest sense of the term, Bertucci's was located on 24th Street in the back of Chinatown, and had been serving up classic dishes like this plate o' red gravy-drenched fried mostaccioli and meatballs since before WWII.

I could probably recite half their menu to you right now without much prompting. Their shrimp pesto was a thing of intense garlicky beauty, their stuffed braciole melted in your mouth, their fried broccoli appetizer (drenched with fresh-squeezed lemon juice) was always a must-order, and they kept excellent cannoli on their desert menu long after most Chi-town Italian restaurants had abandoned the classic Sicilian pastry in the face of tiramisu's early-90s reign of terror. You could get a pretty decent martini there (at least, when the right waitress/bartender was on duty), and wash your meal down with a carafe of cheap-but-decent dago red. Over the bar hung several dozen decades-old ceramic drinking mugs, all emblazoned with the names of long-dead regulars from the neighborhood. The jukebox was packed with CDs by Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Louis Prima, Tony Bennett, Vic Damone and Al Martino; hell, they even had six or seven CDs of Jimmy Roselli's saloon songs on there. In other words, heaven with checkered tablecloths.

I was introduced to Bertucci's in 1989 by my late friend, teacher and mentor Bernie Markwell (a man who truly knew a thing or two about fine dining), and I dined there at least once a month before moving to Los Angeles in 1993. Not only was no return visit to Chicago complete without a dinner there, but arranging a meal at Bertucci's with friends was always my first priority — once I'd nailed down what night everyone was free to make the Bertucci's scene, I could relax and figure out the rest of my itinerary, secure in the knowledge that I would soon be digging into another plate like the one pictured above.

The vibe was casual and unpretentious; you could pretty much always count on seeing the White Sox (or Hawks, Bulls or Bears) on the TV in the corner above the bar. No Cubs games, though. I once brought my friend Chris there on his first trip to Chicago; I'd been trying to explain the odd Cubs-White Sox fan dynamic to him — that Cubs fans don't really care when the White Sox win (unless of course they're playing the Cubs), but White Sox fans hate the Cubs with a white-hot, all-consuming fury — but it didn't really sink in until we pulled up to the curb outside of Bertucci's, and stepped out of the car onto a chunk of sidewalk which bore the chalk-scrawled words, "CUBS SUCK". Not "White Sox Rule," but "CUBS SUCK". There you have it, I said, pointing at the graffiti. He understood.

Life goes on, things change, but I somehow never imagined that Bertucci's would ever cease to function as I knew it. The last handful of Yelp reviews seem to indicate a rapid decline in food quality and service, which I'm thankful I didn't experience; I'm also thankful that the restaurant didn't suddenly alter its menu/appearance/vibe in an attempt to lure a younger crowd, as in the recent douche-ification of LA's classic and once-reliable Canter's Deli. I will always be able to remember the place in its cozy, aromatic glory, and I am comforted by all the memories of wonderful meals I've had there with my family and friends — there is really nothing better than the combination of people you love and food you love at the same table.

I enjoyed my second-to-last meal at Bertucci's in October 2010, when my dear friends Eric and Rebecca held their pre-wedding rehearsal dinner there; Eric and Rebecca (and John and Jennifer, and Jason and Gwen) were also there for my final Bertucci's repast last summer. Best of all, Miss Howerton, my lovely bride-to-be, was my date for both of those meals; I feel blessed that I was able to share this delicious chunk of my culinary past with her before it vanished.

Salud, Bertucci's Corner. You will be missed.

Comments

[Bob]

"there is really nothing better than the combination of people you love and food you love at the same table."
Amen, brother!

[Jim Hofman]

I spent a lot of time at Bertucci's, I loved the mother-daughter waitress team from "da neighborhood" and how they used to ask me "Do you want saaahh-zidge wit dat?"

Lunches were the best, a great mixture of city workers and neighborhood types and families. Menu on the chalkboard. They were there since 1934, so 79 years is a damn good run I guess. Bertucci's may be gone, but the memories linger.