Oh, Father!If your hot air balloon, taken off its course by a maverick wind, makes an uncheduled stop in Lombard, Illinois, an unprepossessing western suburb of Chicago, do not yield to despair! The dark cloud (albeit dispersed by the maverick wind) has this silver lining: the Greek Islands Restaurant ot 300 East 22nd Street.

This afternoon I thought of the lovely blonde wood, and blue and white nautical interior when I lit a Yankee Candle (“Willow Breeze”) with a match from the last of the Greek Islands matchbooks garnered at that fine dining establishment. Many is the spanakopita that has fallen to my knife within those cozy confines. Many the lamb whose gamboling was abruptly cut short to appease my raging appetite. Not much could make living west of Chicago beautiful, but Greek Islands contributed to making it bearable.

Often, while still trapped in the Chicago area, we promised our beseeching child we would one day show her the wonders, however limited, of Chicago’s “Greek Town,” where could be found the original Greek Islands Restaurant. But the promise went unmet. Why drive so far when the same thing (but brighter and more spacious) was availabe no more than four miles away — and with FREE PARKING? Ethnic flavor? Urban color? What are these put against proximity and easy (free) parking?

We’ll shed some tears when the last Greek Islands matchbook is all used up and must be discarded — yes, it will be tossed aside since we are not the sort of mildly scary creatures who collect matchbooks. We will save the last match to ignite some cheese.


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