A few years ago I dragged Pigmon and a daughter along on a day of sampling hamburgers of my youth. It was not a day of good eating, as nothing came close to memories. One place missing that day, surely one of my favorites from my teen years on, was the motherlode from Claim Company. One cannot re-visit what is no longer present. Until now. You can go home again it seems. All day I brimmed with anticipation, and all day my wife warned me that I would be disappointed. No! I said. It would be just fine. Better, I said. The salad saloon would be sourced exclusively from Farmer Vicki's Genesis Growers. How would it really compare? To make it an even happier trip out to Northbrook, my wife allowed me to listen to Dough and OB. This was a very good day.
This is the wrong bread. Look the wrong bread. Could my daughter understand the significance of the bread. Back in the day, I nearly always got my motherlode on the black bread. This first round of nostalgia had to be black bread. And when the sandwich came, the bread was black but damn wrong. The old motherlode, the original motherlode, the right and proper motherlode came on oblong shapped slices of black bread that did not quite fit the burger. Part of the charm, my wife noted, was that illfitting bread. Does not oblong taste different. Besides, this bread was a bit less black, almost a gray bread, and lacked also a heftier share of molasses moisture that makes pumpernickel enjoyable in the first place. The bread was all wrong.
As mentioned above, the decor was just wrong too. Where once they invested millions in creating intimate rooms out of large spaces, rode a fashion wave for neon and otherwise gave it to you ambiance, this Claim Company was slap-dash bare. It reminded me of a deli or a Omega style coffee shop. It really wants to answer the question, do people come for the food or the view.
Maybe it will be for the food. Because after all my harping, I found, bread aside, it pretty much matched my expectations. The salad saloon is turned into a 'U' and an adjunct across from it, so it appears less ample, but it pretty much had all the doo-dads and ephemera that made salads a 1K calorie treat then. From that chilled pewter plate (remember also the prevailing fashion for pewter) on the bottom to those fried onions on top, the salad made it hardly likely we'd have room for the burgers.
I went through a bout 2/3rds of my burger. I should have saved an even half for another lunch, but something kept on making me nibble away. The meat tasted just the way I remembered, primely rich and flavored from a flame grill. Yet, there was something mushy in my bites. Did I, in my elder sophistication's, get the burger too rare. I just could not fathom what was happening. It did not ruin my experience. Still. After I finally put the burger aside I found out what was causing this. My burger contained avocado. Did the original even have avocado has a choice? I like avocado in a few instances, especially my own guacamole recipe. I would never order on a burger. Now more than ever.
The mix-up of toppings; that was supposed to be my daughter's avocado (my daughter who loved the wealth of old and new school topping choices) was just one example of the lousy service we got. They are surely feeling there way around. The service, however, did not matter much to me. The wrong bread and less than snazzy decor mattered, but not enough to me. The motherlode was back. The Bears won like 1985 too.
Think Yiddish, Dress British - Advice of Evil Ronnie to me.