Thank you, chef! (Chicago)

In the fictional US series The Bear, five-star chef Carmen Berzatto returns to his hometown of Chicago to save his deceased brother's sandwich shop from bankruptcy. The series is a love letter to all chefs and kitchen staff who work tirelessly in restaurant backrooms, often to the point of self-sacrifice, for the sake of good food. Whether it's a sandwich in the hands of a construction worker around the corner or Kobe steak on plates in a high-end Michelin-star restaurant. Carm and his colleagues contend with double and triple shifts, exhaustion, and a tightly packed work routine that hardly allows breaks for their own meals. Carm uses his oven to run a side business selling brand-name jeans on the black market for extra cash. After his shift, he snacks on fast food, only to be jolted awake by his alarm five hours later.

The series is also a homage to Carm's hometown. The Bear is Chicago, and Chicago is The Bear. The episodes have rhythm. The fast-cut scenes in the cramped kitchen corridors are accompanied by fast jazz beats. Loud and sharp, the chefs throw kitchen slang at each other in a Chicago accent: 'Corner!', 'Behind!', 'Hands!', 'Heard!', 'Chef! Yes, Chef!'. Jazz, food, and a rough warmth. That's Chicago, at least for me. Thanks to The Bear.

So it's no question that I spend a few days at the terminus of the Southwest Chief. At Mr. Beef, the sandwich shop, I grab one of the dripping sandwiches. The fast-food restaurant in the single-story brick building was not only the inspiration for The Original Beef, the fictional shop from Carmen Berzatto. It also served as a filming location in the pilot episode of The Bear before a studio was built. From the seating area, I overhear political discussions at the counter: 'I'm not into politics but if you ask me... Both sides are robbing everyone...' 'No man, the Republicans...' The atmosphere is similar in the kitchen as it is in L.A. and Albuquerque, but I feel much safer in Chicago, even though the third-largest city in the US is considered one of the most dangerous.

At 'Cole's Bar', there's a free comedy show tonight, an Open Mic – anyone who fancies themselves a comedian can take the stage in the large back room of the pub and try to make the audience laugh. In Berlin, it varies. In the motherland of comedy, I expect more. I sit at the bar, waiting for the show to start. Next to me, two guys are chatting about movies. 'One battle after another.. I'm still processing that movie.' When I hear the film's title, I glance over. 'Did you see that one?' one asks me. 'Yes, but I watched it about two months ago in Hong Kong.' Suddenly, I'm part of the conversation.

Dusty is immediately interested when I explain that I'm from Germany. He has been to Berlin often. Techno is his thing. He's still worn out from his flight from New Orleans. His travel bag is behind him.

Chicagoan Will is a chef and, along with friends, has founded a fine dining restaurant. The embodiment of Carm from The Bear, I think. And the more he shares, the more parallels there are to the main character of the series. He says the most realistic scene is when the chef eats food scraps that ended up on the floor after a fight. There were times when Will ate the same thing every day in a row because it was easier. Three meals a day wouldn't be manageable with the grueling 14-hour shifts, he explains.

However, what's unrealistic about the series is how many chefs and kitchen staff are employed in the kitchen. At least for a simple sandwich shop. A restaurant owner wants to save as much as possible, and that usually starts with the workforce.

As for food – Dusty and Will haven't had dinner yet, and I'm getting hungry from all the restaurant talk too. We head over to the Thai Place that Will recommended. I've since abandoned the plan to see the comedy show. The three of us are funny enough to make each other laugh.

My papaya salad is fantastic. The last one I had was in Vietnam. The great thing about Chicago, Will enthuses, is that due to the diversity of neighborhoods and their migrant population, the dishes are truly authentic. The restaurants cater to their clientele. Chinese-American restaurants are also frequented by Chinese-Americans. Thai-American venues have Thai-American customers, and so on. There are fewer tourists and Americans who prefer it less spicy, to whom they have to adapt.

Will studied before his culinary career and understands some German. He's a Kafka fan and is interested in philosophy, including Nietzsche and Heidegger. 'In and of itself.' He and Dusty know a few expressions and phrases in German. Dusty has been not only to Berlin but also to Hamburg and Munich. I learn that the two have only just met, but they seem like old friends, you know, Americans. Dusty works in IT, but as I understand it, he's currently looking for a second job. Will helps him get an interview with a restaurant chef friend. That's the US in a nutshell.

Do I want to come along to a second bar?, they ask me. They promise to ensure I get home safely. Will tells me a story about how he was once robbed on the subway. 'But that only happened because I was drunk and fell asleep. I made myself an easy target.', his attempts to calm me have the opposite effect, but I maintain my faith.

At the second bar, we meet Raven. Dusty and he apparently already know each other, but again, I could be mistaken. Raven is British, or as he respectfully puts it, English: 'Out of respect for the Scottish, the Irish, and the Welsh.' He is an attentive listener and is interested in my journey, especially the emotional sides of it. He has lived in the States for twenty years. I clearly see that he feels comfortable here in Chicago, but also that he misses Europe.

On the way to the third bar, we say goodbye to Dusty, who really should head home after his long journey from New Orleans and before his job interview. They point to a bridge and explain that this is part of a former highway now converted into a dedicated bike path leading to downtown. Just don’t use it at night. The Chicago Police patrol the area. This is especially dumb for folks like Will, who work in the service industry at all hours of the day and night and use the bike.

We stay until the closing hour of the third bar, and around 4 AM, I order an Uber. The taxi app isn't working, and Raven helps me find and install another app. He patiently stands by me in the freezing cold, waiting for the taxi to arrive. Will earlier gifted me his scarf when he saw me shivering. No arguments. As promised, the Chicagoans insist that I arrive warm and safe at my hostel.

After the short night, I check out and head to the pier. Will had raved at the Thai restaurant about the architecture boat tour in Chicago. As a local, or perhaps especially as a local, it would be a great opportunity to get to know the city. He has done the tour fifteen times already and offered to go with me the next day to ride on the boat over the so-called Loop. Said and done. As promised, we meet at the dock. Unfortunately, his taxi is five minutes late, and we miss the departure. No problem. Will has Vietnamese Banh Mi sandwiches and coffee with him, which more than makes up for missing the crazy boat ride. We talk about everything and anything, including Will’s piano teacher, who was from East Germany. She was a strict old lady, 'a war bride,' who came to Chicago with a GI after the war. When he thinks of Leipzig, he immediately thinks of Bach, Will says.

As he heads to his therapy session, I accompany him across Chicago and over bridges reminiscent of Hamburg. He explains the street system, what the numbers and names on the signs mean, and that the bridges open twice a year to let boats from and into Lake Michigan. Instead of an architectural boat tour, I get a Chicago walking tour.

I wait for my taxi to the train station, wearing my new scarf and a wool hat that Will just gave me, knitted by his wife – this hospitable gesture I can't refuse. 'She can make me a new one.'

'How are you, bro?', my driver Marco greets me kindly as I get in. He is originally from Chicago, 'born and raised,' and has never left the city for longer than a month. When I share stories from my eventful bar-hopping night in Palmer Square, he explains, 'That's Chicago for you. They don't want you to leave their town without having a great time.'