By Juan C. Ayllon Recently, I was thumbing through the Instagram feed on my iPhone when I spotted a posting by Chicago’s hip Mediterranean eatery, Reza’s Restaurant, showcasing some of their specialties, including their herb flatbread, hummus, shishliek (charbroiled filet mignon shish kabob), beef koubideh (ground sirloin kabob), boneless chicken kabob and dill rice (basmati rice with dill and lima beans). Looking at that photo takes me back 28 years to when I waited tables at their Ontario Avenue store several nights a week and on weekends. “Yala, yala!” an olive skinned waiter in a white pressed shirt and black slacks charges hard down the hallway behind me, his waiter’s apron flapping about. It’s Saturday night and the growing throng in the foyer views two giant, decommisioned copper beer brewing vats behind glass, a long bar, with an eclectic clientele ranging from suit and tie to hijabs and T-shirts and jeans seated along the counter and at white table cloth covered tables on the cobblestone main floor with exposed beams and floorboards 20 feet above. An elderly gentleman plays jazz standards and American songbook ballads with great flourish on a baby grand piano across the room scarcely discernible over loud chatter and laughter. “Come with me,” Massout, the slender six foot tall manager on duty with slicked back hair, mirror black shoes, black suit, tie and a pocket square, beckons a couple dressed for the opera in his distinct Persian accent. Wolfing down beef koubideh and rice during dinner break, balancing and carrying out big orders on large platters, chatting up customers in hopes of big tips, people watching, mocking “seven-oh-eighters” (708 was the phone area code for Chicago suburbs) with my fellow waiters, and nursing aching muscles as I awaited the shift’s end were standard fare. During the week, I taught accounting, computer applications, and intro to business as a student teacher at Chicago’s prestigious school, Whitney Young Magnet High School, and lived just five minutes away with two roommates in a row house on Polk Street. At 33 years old, I was a late bloomer. Having graduated with a BS in Business Administration, I tried various careers, including stock broker, oil company sales, banking, and mortgage broker but, ironically, I discovered my calling while studying art at Cal State San Bernardino and substitute teaching for a year. Several nights a week, I jog down to Lake Michigan from our rental, crossing the 290 Highway on Ogden Avenue, passing stately brownstones on Racine Avenue, crossing the busy 94 Interstate, the ginormous Willis Tower, a myriad of shops, office buildings, bars, cars and restaurants en route to the waterfront and back again. The trek is roughly seven miles, but with all the people, cars and gorgeous architecture, I find running in the Windy City much easier than the quiet suburbs with their TV blue lit living rooms. Such a regimen kept me around a lean 185 lbs. Living in the city, I relished catching live jazz at venues such as the Green Mill with friends and looked forward to upgrading my humble stereo from an inexpensive Panasonic receiver, Sony Walkman and Bose 301 speakers after I landed my first real teaching job (I purchased a pair of Paradigm Esprit bipolar speakers and a Naim CD1 CD player in March 1995). That was 1994. Now that it is February 2022, I no longer run. I walk. Needless to say, I am no longer 185 – far from it. In 2003, I began covering the boxing scene in Chicago and northwestern Indiana for the Cyber Boxing Zone for over 10 years. And, it turns out, one of the waiters who worked with me at Reza’s, Eric French, had boxed professionally and compiled a record of 10 wins, 35 losses and three draws. I ran into him when he faced and lost by unanimous decision to Chicago heavyweight contender Mike Mollo in June 2004. Despite his loss, he greeted me with a big smile and hug. Later that year, he was asking me to plead his case with the boxing authorities to allow him to continue fighting (his abysmal record became a huge hindrance to getting him into sanctioned bouts). Belle, whom I married in 2011, has been to Reza’s Restaurant on Ontario Avenue with me several times en route to boxing events in the city (she served as my photographer for a handful of shows!) before it closed. Their original store in the Andersonville neighborhood is still open. I stopped covering boxing after a virus irreparably damaged the CBZ and began writing online about audio. I now have a sound system that includes Pass Labs components, a Schiit OG Yggdrasil DAC, premium Straight Wire cabling, and Usher tower loudspeakers. Last year, I retired from teaching in Illinois public schools, live with Belle in the suburbs, and currently teach just across the Wisconsin-Illinois border. In a few years that teaching gig will come to an end. And, as long as I can, I plan on writing. Through the years, I somehow managed to keep my Reza’s Restaurant server book. It sits proudly in an armoire at the rear of our listening/AV family room along with other treaured mementos, including autographed boxing gloves, photos, a Saugatuck Brewing Company bottle from our honeymoon, and a limited edition print of the Green Mill Cocktail Lounge renowned for its sublime live jazz. Together, they serve as highlight markers along my life’s journey. It’s truly amazing how poignant an otherwise insignificant Instagram posting can be. That's truly remarkable to me.
Cheers.
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Juan C. AyllonA writer, artist, educator and owner of Prairie Audio Man Cave, he lives with his wife, Isabel (AKA Belle), and their Goldendoodle, Liam, enjoys listening to high fidelity music and all things hi-fi at their home in the greater Chicagoland area.. Archives
March 2024
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