Fitz’s Pub Quick Bites: Nacho Average Irish Pub

The neon green Chicago River dye was beginning to dull, and my boyfriend and I were considering bailing yet again. Gross, wet, snow was falling lazily outside the window, making the warmth of home all the more appealing. However, as Chicagoans, snow, especially the pitiful amount there was, was no excuse. We were finally going to make it to an Irish pub. Fitz’s Pub to be exact. Three times in the last week we had made plans to take part in the annual merriment, but it kept getting pushed to the side as life took its daily toll. 

Normally we take the train ride to River North to witness the river dying, drink Irish Car Bombs, and consume some hearty food. Unfortunately, we missed the party this year as we had a prior volunteering commitment. However, with the workweek behind us, it was finally time to do the thing we had hoped to do on Wednesday. Celebrate one of Chicagoland’s favorite holidays, St. Patrick’s Day.

Irish car bombs were a must and were the first thing we ordered at Fitz’s Pub in Elmhurst. The plastic shot glass, a mix of (whiskey) and Baileys awkwardly splashed into a typical-sized plastic cup filled with Guinness. Although Irish Car Bombs have been one of my go-to drinks for years, I still haven’t quite managed to find the graceful technique of plopping the shot in. 

It was a fun time. Okay, a really fun time. The stiff drink and an empty grumbling stomach had me vibing with the casual yet fun atmosphere. Luckily, our appetizer and food showed up in short order, and starving we began to devour what turned out to be great drunk food.

We both had ordered small cheeseburgers (I chose swiss) that came in white paper baskets, reinforcing the cute old-fashioned vibe. I self-stacked it with the onions, lettuce, and tomato provided.  The first bite took me back to a summer’s day. It tasted like it was fresh off the old charcoal grill that my dad, and occasionally brothers, worked during family gatherings. 

Fitz’s pub’s food not only tasted like home, but the suburban pub felt like home too. 

I grew up in Cary, a distant suburb northwest of Chicago. A younger me regularly played bingo and sang karaoke at one of our local bars. Unfortunately, like many other local haunts, it has long since closed. At one point I went often enough to almost deem myself a regular. Between the burgers and the location, it really took me back!

It had been a while since we had gone to a local suburb bar, and Fitz’s reminded me why they have my heart. 

I wobbled out of Fitz’s and into Elmhurst’s, beautiful downtown, slightly still buzzed, full and nostalgic.