Mitsuwa: the Only Reason to Drive to Suburbs

Living in the city, I don't have much need for the suburbs. Any visit to them requires an arduous drive with two toll gates and about fifteen solid miles of traffic. But there is one thing the suburbs have that Chicago does not: Mitsuwa. I love Mitsuwa. Hell, Anthony Bourdain loves Mitsuwa. If you've ever been, no doubt you, too, love Mitsuwa. There is simply nothing not to love about the place.

For those not in the know: Mitsuwa is a Japanese grocery store, replete with freshly made desserts, ten billion kinds of noodles, some intriguing and unidentifiable snacks, tons of salady seaweed varieties, a food court, and a Japanese book shop.

Mr. Crafty and I brave the suburbs and the requisite car crawl about once a year to go to this wonderland, stocking up on Asian dried goods and eating cute pastries.

Pastries such as this (readers note: Mr. Crafty is responsible for Mr. Panda's smushed face, not me.):

And this:

Of course, the fifteen miles back to the city took an hour, but we had my little plastic donkey, rescued from a car park in rural Arizona some years ago, to keep us company: