Wherein the gentlemen descend on The Firehouse, in Chicago’s South Loop, for another round of steaks and cigars.

What was her name? Amanda? Our bartender, if a little absent minded, made up for it in other ways. It was quiet and arrival in the dining room inspired a few couples to leave. A calm Thursday night before the storm of July 4th.

The Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria of appetizers descended on a table too small to contain them. Oysters Rockefeller, crabcakes, shrimp cocktail. Rick Ray opted for the bisque.

Steaks ordered, a little liar’s poker was attempted, to the dismay of older couples dining nearby.

Steaks arrived. One overdone, one undercooked, the rest well prepared. They did the right thing with the steak.  The blue cheese crusted fillet was excellent.

It was Jevon’s birthday. Chris walked free.

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