What a rush (street)

Looking back on it, it seems clear that one of the brothers was coming on to me.

But I was in my 20s, better tuned to calls on the police radio than to vibes from restaurateurs. And when I walked into the Corona Cafe, on lower Rush Street just out the newspaper truck bays, I was looking for late-night food.

Mostly it was at the backroom counter. When I felt flush, it was in the front room. And Harry Moroni (or was it Aldo?) came up one night and talked me out of my usual bistecca Romana, with a glass of red, and persuaded me to order ravioli al forno.

I made it the other night -- heavy on garlic, of course: cook the ravioli, drain, slip into a porcelain dish with an oil-butter-garlic sauce, dust with cheese and broil. And when I lifted a forkful to my mouth, I jumped back 35 years.