Except in passing on my way somewhere else, I haven’t been to Logan Square in almost 50 years, at which time I was coaching a church league basketball team of high school freshman in a game at the local boys club (which I believe has since been torn down and replaced by an apartment building), my primary responsibilities being to drive the players to the game in the church van (without getting into an accident), buy them something to eat at Jack in the Box after the game (win or lose), and hold onto my star player’s switchblade during the game (to avoid any accidents).

So it was not just the lure of eight different food vendors, representing as many different cultures, that lured me to the neighborhood, but also the appeal of walking around without a deadly weapon in my pocket. If anything was going to kill me, it would be deep fried dumplings.

As it turned out, I didn’t need to worry about that either. By the time I got to the fest, a little over an hour after it opened, they were already sold out of food tickets, which was just as well, as each booth had a very long line of people waiting to gorge themselves, and, as we know, I don’t do lines.

But the trip wasn’t a total loss. A couple blocks away I happened across the Chicago Citywide Classic Car Club (or so their t-shirts read) hanging out by dozens of unique, shiny vehicles, which they probably wouldn’t have wanted me to approach with a leaky dumpling in hand.