A Chicago deep dish pizza is not for the faint hearted. Nor is it, one suspects, too good for the weak-hearted. An utterly incomprehensible amalgamation of processed meat, molten cheese, and chewy dough topped with tomato sauce the temperature of a bench seat in a Falcon 500 on the hottest day in summer, the deep dish is to cardiovascular health what the NRA is to peacekeeping. In a word, it's magnificent, and like all local delicacies it tastes best when you're stuffing evil, dripping fistfuls of the stuff into your gob in the town of it's creation and ever-lasting fame.
Chicago holds on to its history and relishes the chance either to eat it, or to show it off. Almost every tourist will take a boat ride along the dark and rippling waters of its eponymous river on the 'architectural cruise', for instance, and stare for hours at the ornate renaissance facade of the Wrigley Building, and wonder - as always - what Donald Trump was thinking when he built his ostentatiously towering pile next door. They'll walk the Magnificent Mile along N. Michigan Avenue, across the Du Sable Bridge and past the Tribune Tower, and they'll stop (they should, anyway) at Jake Melnick's Corner Tap for the best wings in town.
Chicago is rightly attached to Wrigley Field, in all it's crumbling glory (perfectly suited to the Cubs in all their crumbling glory) and it has Soldier Field, where the Bears keep bearing down and the faint whispers of the fallen circulate the great south entrance, the imprints of leaves in the thick concrete walls the most subtle of tributes in a stadium where subtlety is very rarely on display. They once crammed 130,000 fans in for a high school football game, and almost as many for Notre Dame v USC back in 1927.
They eventually dug up the old field and tore town the bleachers, built a brand new stadium inside the colonnades, modernised the thing. But it's still Soldier Field, the home of the Bears.
I walked through with tour guide Tom who liked to bark things like "There are two teams that play here, the Bears and the guys who lost" and who liked to apply increasing levels of perspective to the deeds of old 'Sweetness' himself, the late Walter Payton. "He rushed for more than 16,000 yards in 13 seasons," Tom told us. He may have been shedding a tear but his mirrored aviators prevented us from seeing.
"To put that in perspective, that's nine miles he rushed. To put that in even greater perspective that's nine miles he rushed while eleven professional football players were trying to stop him rushing for nine miles." There would have been more perspective, I'm sure, but the emotion of it all seemed to have stolen from dear, staunch Tom the ability to offer any further analysis on the matter.
We wandered through the visitor's locker room, where this century's NFL greats have sat and watched the clock count down to zero, and where the All Blacks will sit tomorrow. We walked down the Bears's tunnel but a "shoot to kill" order from the head groundsman prevented us from walking on the playing surface. Tom may have been kidding about that, but retired Chicago Police Officers don't seem the type to joke about that kind of stuff.
Later, I sat in the lobby of the New Zealand team hotel watching the people go by: the smiling All Blacks Tours fans, the endless procession of convention guests and business travellers, the pods of player agents and coaches talking about serious things in a serious fashion. I thought again of the history of the city: of skyscrapers and visionaries; of gangsters and Gibson's Steaks; of the poor old Cubs and big bad Bears.
I thought of Soldier Field, and I thought of Tom. Standing at Gate 14 on Game Day, wanting to cheer for the All Blacks as more history is written on the field where history is made, in the stadium where it is honoured.
I asked an American rugby man called Snacks if he knew how many American rugby people were coming to the game. He said he knew of only five who weren't. I figure those five are truly missing out. Jim Cornelison's pre-game anthem alone would be worth coming for.
Then again, I can see the bright side: the queue for deep dish at Giordano's will be five people shorter for starters.
Scotty Stevenson travelled to Chicago thanks to allblackstours.com