My Oldman would drag me up to this place in Lincoln Square in the 1990's to get his Damn Easter Lamb Cake.
We'd end up stopping at Zum Deutchen Eck or Mirabels on the way home to Oak Park.
One year I had three liters of German Pilsners to my dad's one half liter. My dad wasn't a big beer drinker and he nursed his throughout our lunch.
I had a hard time standing up from the table, but my dad drove up in his new Cadillac so I was perfectly buzzed, stuffed on Sauerbraten and ready for a nap on the ride home.
When we got out to the car my dad murmured, "Hey Moose! Catch!" and his car keys were suddenly flying towards my face. Luckily the keys were traveling in slow motion so I made the catch.
It was Holy Saturday afternoon and I'm driving my drunk father and his fucking Lamb cake home.
"Drive Safely Son... I don't want the cake to slip off the backseat!"
He's worried about his Lamb cake and I'm half sloshed on Bitburger driving his 1994 Fleetwood Brougham across the Westside of Chicago.
When we safely pulled in behind the house I ran inside to drain the liter of beer from my bladder. I walked out of the bathroom and my dad was standing there. He told me that I forgot his Lamb cake on the backseat.
I retrieved Lamb Chop from the car. Set it on the counter and went upstairs to my old bedroom to take a nap.
I woke up around 7:30pm to my dad sitting on the edge of the bed with a hot cup of tea and a shot of Tullamore D.E.W..
"Good morning Little Shep.... I saved you some sloppy joe and mashed potatoes..."
I didn't go back to my apartment that night. I stayed at 220 South Lombard and woke up on Easter Sunday in the safest place in the world.
Dinkel's is closing after 100 years. My Oldman is gone. Another family lives in our Oak Park house and I haven't had a Lamb cake since that Easter in the mid 1990's!
I'd do anything to take a nap in that house and wake up to a cuppa and my dad's blue eyes....
