CheekyChicago

The hostess said twenty minutes. A trip to Barnes & Noble and forty minutes later, we were finally seated.

I constantly went up to the hostess to spy on her waiting list, and see how much longer we really had to wait. My three friends, all of whom had been to Dave’s Italian Kitchen once before, had to assure me I would be happy once I had some Dave’s in my stomach. This Cheeky chick doesn’t like to wait.

But it’s a typical Saturday night in downtown Evanston, and an even more typical night at Dave’s Italian Kitchen.

Evanston’s staple Italian restaurant, founded in 1972, has a lot to overcome: the basically insane wait, the basement location, the overbearing and dated neon sign marking its location… but if I noticed anything about the place, it’s that people keep coming back.

Finally seated at our red-and-white-checkered table, my girlfriends and I began scanning the menu. Dave’s bread (made fresh!) was placed on our table to placate our nagging stomachs. A pinch of pepper, cheese and a whole lot of olive oil later, I had basically made a meal out of the bread alone.

And then the entrees arrived. Slowly but surely, I began to understand the Dave’s obsession, the reason we had waited so long.

My friend ordered Baked Spaghetti and a meatball. One meatball. Needless to say, I was a little perplexed. But weighing in at ¼ pound, this one meatball was as big as a burger… literally. To my right, I was drooling over my friend’s Veal Parmesan (she never did let me try it!).

But I truly think I “out ordered” them all with my Lasagna Con Amore. Lasagna layered with ricotta, mozzarella, spinach, pesto and marinara. A carb-cheese-spinach lover’s dream. And the marinara sauce hit all the right notes. A solid, strong tomato base with just enough sweet to counter the saltiness of the rest of the dish. Marinara as it should be. And when I had basically finished the majority of the lasagna, there were still a few large spoonfuls of marinara sauce left on my plate. If you ask me I will never admit it, but I may or may not have used some of the extra bread to mop up the sauce and savor those last few drops.

I left the restaurant in a mild food coma. And as I walked back home, I knew I had joined the legions of Dave’s Italian Kitchen groupies.

This Cheeky girl learned (once again) not to judge a restaurant by its cheesy neon sign, and that some things are just worth the wait.