Ashburn (via Auburn Gresham)

This was an interesting one.

As we looked into Ashburn, we realized there wasn’t an easy way to get there using public transportation. There was a way to do it, of course, but not a very palatable way: we’d have to get off the red line at 79th and take the bus west. We weren’t up for waiting for a bus in an unknown neighborhood on the South Side for God knows how long — so we decided to drive instead. Good call.

We weren’t sure about Ashburn. Reports on the state of the neighborhood were somewhat conflicting. But we did some research on the next neighborhood — Auburn Gresham — and realized it was definitely a skipper, so we figured we couldn’t skip two in a row. And besides, Ashburn seemed okay by most accounts.

What we didn’t realize, however, is that in order to get to Ashburn, we’d have to drive through Auburn Gresham. We only discovered this as we were stuck at a red light in the middle of it, staring out the windows at the boarded-up, abandoned stores, the rickety cars with flat tires rolling violently down the street, the seemingly aimless people standing on corners. The only establishments that seemed to thrive there (“thrive” being a relative term) were fast food chicken and fish places. One of them had a guy in a chicken costume standing out front and waving — which seemed to me an embarrassing alternative to unemployment, but an alternative nonetheless. Needless to say, we tried to lay low as we made our way west on 79th through the neighborhood — feeling more hopeless about society with each block. We did not take our cameras out.

The depressing scenery slowly made way for something nicer — though I wouldn’t say it was a “nice” neighborhood. Nice wasn’t the word. It was comfortable. It was simple. Boxy houses adorned with Christmas lawn ornaments, open shops (as opposed to their Auburn Gresham counterparts), signs for the Ford City Mall. Perhaps it was just the relief I felt to get out of the ghetto, but something about Ashburn felt safe and warm.

This welcoming atmosphere was amplified when we finally reached Vito & Nick’s — a family restaurant we’d read had good thin crust pizza. A fridge full of cans of RC Cola, Orange and Grape Crush and Diet Rite stood by the window to the kitchen, where gray-haired Italians put pizzas into the blazing ovens. We rounded the corner into the dining room with its full bar, simple round tables and turquoise booths, instantly feeling as though we’d stumbled upon a Chicago secret. There was a community vibe: a group of elderly people gathered at one table while teenagers cackled at a booth in the corner and an exhausted mother attempted to keep her kids in their chairs as they ate.

Starving by this point, Zack and I ordered zucchini sticks to start, followed by a half homemade Italian sausage, half fresh spinach pizza. The food was great. Really good pizza. I ate a bit too much. As I ate, I admired the paintings of Italy, the Old Style signs and the big “CASH ONLY” posters. Humble décor.

Afterwards we drove around for a bit, looking for Jersey Joe’s, a bar we’d found on Google Maps. No luck. The Jersey in me was disappointed. We did, however, see plenty of competing pizza places, nice houses and a huge cemetery before we ended up at Angie’s bar.

The place was empty except for three old men sitting at the bar chatting with the young female bartender. All seemed very familiar with each other. It was a bit awkward at first, but as we sipped our Miller Light and Old Style a few tables of teenagers came in and ordered pizza. The place wasn’t much to write about – brick walls, sports posters and neon signs, Miller High Life glass lamps… pretty much everything was stamped with a beer brand. Not feeling any need to stay too long, we left after one drink and bid adieu to Ashburn and Auburn Gresham.

We took an alternate route home.