Sleighbells and Schnitzel with Noodles
Yet in his younger days he explored, crawled through Chicago and found its gems. He declares, humorously, that the two favorite things in his life are “jazz and steaks.” Chicago, he admits, is rewarding in both regards.
The red and white awnings draw the visitor in, but the soul-warming glühwein – the gustatory parallel of the poinsettia – keeps him rooted in the childish nostalgia of Christmas. Aisles of hand-crafted cuckoo clocks shipped from across the Atlantic wait patiently for the curious customer to stop for a second or third glance. Fighting fits of shivers in the brisk winter wind, the merchants stand proud, geduldig, and confident in their handiwork.
In a fantastic twist of fate (and, likely, bribery), the Chicago Christkindlmarket secured in 1997 the finest of holiday real estate—Daley Plaza, situated in the heart of the Theatre District and teeming with the business of suited dealmakers by day and white-tennis-shoed tourists by night. Its hours of operation see an even share of aimless wanderers and goal-driven foodies. Some choose to adopt a methodical shuffle, focusing not on being somewhere in particular but on wheeling through it all. Others, some seasoned veterans, have grown familiar with the markets’ charms and plot their attacks with habituated precision—one bratwurst on brötchen and then it’s back to the board room. The market lends itself nicely to both these approaches.
Above all, the Christkindlmarket is an authentic effort. Inspired and designed to mimic the grandiose Christkindlmarket of Nuremberg, the market feels like a one-block cutout of the traditional German holiday. The transition is seamless yet jarring as one weaves through the throngs of frantic shoppers on State Street and lands on the square to find a three story Christmas tree fighting a two-story steel baboon for supremacy. The Chicago Theater’s raucously blinking lights guide the way, and the timely red and green spires of Sears offer a constant bearing for the journey. The castles and cathedrals of Germany have been replaced here with monuments to capitalism and commercialism, but the market still holds its own despite feeling somewhat displaced.
Of course, the market’s authenticity stems directly from the vendors themselves. The vast majority travel from Germany to spend their Advent season freezing in Daley Plaza, and a few are more than willing to share their story. The man selling kitschy beer steins has flown with his wife to Chicago from southwestern Germany for the past fourteen years; this means that he has spent over a year in that plaza pushing embroidered mugs onto passersby. He can hardly be considered a tourist, or even a visitor. When I ask what he does for fun here, he responds as any average fifty-something with a job and responsibilities would: “Not much,” he says; “not enough time.” He finds himself at the market fourteen hours a day and is exhausted by the end. Yet in his younger days he explored, crawled through Chicago and found its gems. He declares, humorously, that the two favorite things in his life are “jazz and steaks,” and he admits that he has found Chicago to be rewarding in both regards. He and his wife wisely stay in Chicago for a week after the market closes in order to fill their annual hunger for sax solos and filet mignon. Both vendor and peruser benefit in this exchange.
The Christkindlmarket meanwhile delivers its most lasting memory in a little green boot, painted idyllically with a market scene at the foot of the sky-scraping towers of Chicago. The boot pours a serving of glühwein, a German spiced wine traditionally drunk in the winter, into the shivering guest and warms him on arrival, spreading its glow throughout the body and radiating into the night. To share a mug of this is ideal—it means you are standing in the heart of the Second City, among handmade clocks and glass ornaments, breathing the crisp night air and sipping hot spiced wine with one foot in the old country and one in the new. Even if the patron isn’t German, the symbolism is clear: It’s as American a Christmas as the city can conjure.
While you’d be a cuckoo to miss the market, today’s your last chance to visit it. So, before dinner, take yourself down to Daley Plaza, raise a glass of glühwein to the holiday, and say “prost” with the thickest American accent you can muster.
