From the mid-19th century and especially after the 1871 fire that destroyed much of the city, Chicago began to experience astounding growth. Opportunities for advancement were rampant. Farmers’ sons could become millionaires presiding over a department store empire. A man with a vision as to how to design railroad sleeping cars not only amassed a fortune, but, for better or for worse, established an entire town bearing his name. And amazingly, for some 25 years or so, a great majority of Chicago’s wealthiest citizens decided to assemble their palatial new homes on a six-block stretch of one street: Prairie Avenue.

A postcard of Prairie Avenue, circa early 1900s.

Romanesque fortresses and French chateaux began rising on what would soon be dubbed “The sunny street that held the sifted few.” Some of the world’s premier residential architects such as H.H. Richardson and Richard Morris Hunt arrived from the East to witness their extravagant designs take life. Trips to Europe enabled newly rich homeowners to acquire prized antiques, and to buy paintings from then-unconventional artists such as Degas and Monet. The Herter brothers, considered to be the finest creators of furniture of the time, populated many interiors with their exquisite cabinetry.  Rare, delicate orchids thrived while sleet pounded the glass walls of elaborate conservatories attached to the mansions.  All that was left to do was to show the trophy houses to their best advantage. Given all that had been spent on these showcase homes, it was incumbent that entertaining be executed comme il faut.

Some of Chicago’s social elite migrated from the East and South, where they had been raised in affluence. Bertha Palmer, daughter of a wealthy Kentucky family, had been schooled to excel in fine arts and deportment. The brilliant, confident Mrs. Palmer had all the attributes of a social leader and philanthropist. Other women, married to self-made men, were bewildered as to how to navigate the shallow, subtly shifting channels of conduct they had perhaps observed only from afar. How did one assimilate into a new, yet intimidating culture?  How, exactly, did one become social?

Matching the extraordinary passion that powered Chicago’s founding businessmen, their spouses were driven to show that they could play the game, as well. Whether that drive was borne from the need to provide visiting dignitaries with suitably impressive entertainment, or compulsion to keep up with the Fields and Pullmans, the ladies of Prairie Avenue were relentless in establishing a formidable social order.

According to the 1953 book, Fabulous Chicago, “The chief characteristic of Chicago society was its newness.” The author, Emmett Dedmon, went on to describe how Prairie Avenue was Chicago’s virtual birthplace of luncheons for ladies, perhaps the precursors of the “ladies who lunch.” Calling hours were established, as was the leaving of calling cards on silver salvers. Dinner parties started consisting of food considerably more elaborate than meat and potatoes.

One of the most influential figures in elevating the the domestic culture of the newly wealthy was Herbert M. Kinsley. An East Coast hotelier and restaurateur, Kinsley experienced many ups and downs in his career before settling in Chicago. After opening and closing several restaurants, and experimenting with the first Pullman dining cars, Kinsley finally found success in the 1880s with his palatial establishment on Adams Street. Kinsley’s was not only the dining place of choice for Chicago’s wealthy, but it provided unparalleled catering services. With his Eastern connections and knowledge of fine food, Herbert Kinsley became the premier consultant for at-home entertaining on Prairie Avenue.

Herbert M. Kinsley showed Prairie Avenue how to entertain in style.

Kinsley’s Restaurant, circa 1906.

Kinsley eventually became an arbiter of good taste (no pun intended) for Chicago society.  He published books on etiquette, how to conduct proper afternoon receptions, and instruction regarding appropriate attire and jewelry by occasion. He even maintained a glossary of French phrases and witticisms that one could artfully slip into conversations. Existing artifacts from Kinsley’s restaurant, such as the 1885 Gorham soup tureen below, show an insistence on elegance and quality.

A soup tureen from Kinsley’s Restaurant.

Note the Kinsley 1885 hallmark.

Detail from one of Kinsley’s cookbooks.

Prairie Avenue also became home to an increasing array of sophisticated help: Matrons began to recruit the most sought-after butlers, footmen, cooks and governesses they could find.  According to the delightful Prairie Avenue Cookbook, “Few households were as large as the Marshall Field’s, and Mrs. Field was reputed to have on staff ‘a representative from nearly every civilized nation of the globe.'” Families would “borrow” the best of their neighbors’ staff for major parties, no doubt astonishing guests as to the quantity and sophistication of help amassed by these Midwestern hostesses.

The presence and gentle influence of  English butlers and French cooks could help confer instant patina upon families whose previous help consisted of a penniless chore girl or two.  A butler might be counted upon to pack the Sevres china for a picnic in Jackson Park, as illustrated in Arthur Meeker’s novel, Prairie Avenue.  A lady’s maid may have suggested to the lady of the house that a diamond parure was not really necessary for an informal outdoor event.

To ensure they were as culturally informed and conversationally adept as any New York hostess, the ladies of Chicago began to organize clubs, including the Fortnightly and the Twentieth Century Club. According to Fabulous Chicago, the original purpose of the Fortnightly was the dissemination of both “social and intellectual culture.” The same book identifies Mrs. George Roswell Grant as founder of the Twentieth Century Club, who noted that “when a distinguished foreigner … comes to Chicago, they want to meet the representative society people. They don’t care about being bored with a lot of men who have a local reputation as men of genius … they want to meet people whose names are known as men and women of fashion.”

Mrs. Frances Glessner was a cultural institution in and of herself. The Prairie Avenue resident was the founder of the Monday Morning Reading Class, a group that fostered friendships among Chicago’s intellectually active women and faculty wives from the new University of Chicago.  Mrs. Glessner was also a member of the Fortnightly, the Colonial Dames, and the Art Institute of Chicago.

The Fortnightly Club, located since 1922 in the Lathrop House on               East Bellevue Place.

The children of Prairie Avenue were seen as extensions of their parents’ accomplishments. For the privileged boys and girls, there were governesses fluent in multiple languages, private tutors before entry into Eastern prep schools, and equestrian instructors. Then there were the obligatory lessons at Bournique’s.  It became far more than a dance academy, as was its original purpose when established in 1867. Bournique’s was a place where, per an 1883 Chicago Tribune story, “particular attention is given to gracefulness of motion, courtliness of deportment and modest self-confidence, all of which are so essential and characteristic of well-bred people.” The Bourniques became sufficiently successful to have opened several locations. The most opulent was in a newly constructed building near Prairie Avenue, designed by the architectural firm of Prairie Avenue resident Daniel Burnham.  It boasted a huge ballroom, with a dance floor composed of more than 173,0000 pieces of hardwood.

The intrepid people of Prairie Avenue were visionary, even in their social legacy.

“Over the river and through the wood to Grandmother’s house we go” was sung frequently by carolers in the late nineteenth century.  If these singers were proceeding toward Prairie Avenue, they may indeed have crossed the Chicago River, and traversed through the considerable woods that were still in existence.

Once they arrived at their destination, family and friends were in for holiday treats that would be rare delicacies for most of Chicago’s population.  Several of this hallowed street’s residents founded or were in upper management in grocery firms, or meat-packing barons. They were well-suited to provide feasts. Samuel Tolman, who lived at 2031 Prairie, was the vice president of the grocery company that bore his family name. John Wesley Doane, at 1827 Prairie, presided over his family’s tea company. Marshall Field, whose mansion stood at 1905 Prairie, was known to have private rail cars of exquisite food shipped from New York City’s most elegant restaurants.  He also stocked fine food in his own wildly popular department store.  Finally, some of the best cuts of meat to be found anywhere would be prepared by the cooks at the 1215 Prairie home of Philip D. Armour.

This opulent dining room belonged to Joseph Sears

Prairie Avenue families typically consumed meals that were considered quite upscale for the time.  During the holiday season, their cuisine existed on a grand scale that few of us can imagine today.  Why and how did wealthy Chicagoans celebrate with meals fit for royalty?  As mentioned above, many of the city’s founders made their fortune in providing food.  Naturally, meat packing barons and grocery store founders had the wherewithal to eat well.  With wealth came the privilege of having lots of help.  As those of us who followed Downton Abbey know, affluent families had a retinue of staff to assist them in every conceivable way.  Although Prairie Avenue residents many not have had the sheer number of people “downstairs” as did the Earl of Grantham, they would have had a well-equipped kitchen crew.  Chicagoans most desirous of impressing their guests went out of their way to hire French chefs, as Parisian cuisine was then very much in vogue.

The Glessner family had a modern, well-stocked pantry

A typical holiday meal was served in many courses with libations to accompany each course. Women in their tightly-laced corsets would likely gaze in fear at the sheer amount of food they might be expected to consume.  A visitor not educated in the complex etiquette of the time would be mystified at the intimidating array of silverware and wine glasses at each place setting.  Specially printed menus would be placed at each seat, so guests would have an idea as to what to expect and eat accordingly.

A hand-painted menu from an 1894 dinner party given by Mrs. Harry Hammer

Not surprisingly, Chicagoans had a wealth of choices for the many varieties of meat and seafood that were expected at a special meal. When Prairie Avenue was at its apex as a residential area, oysters were a prized delicacy, and no meal was complete without them in some form.  Herewith is a holiday dinner, with actual recipes courtesy of the Prairie Avenue Cookbook.  Click on each link for the recipe.

Appetizers
Raw Oysters with Relish
Olive/Pickle Tray

Soups and Garnishes
Chestnut Soup
Sweet Potato Balls

Seafood
Baked Shad with Shad Roe Sauce

Poultry
Roast Goose with Apple Stuffing
Celery Salad

Meat
Young Roast Pig
Asparagus

Desserts
English Walnut Cake
Charlotte Russe

Coffee, Crackers, Cheese

Amontillado, Chateau Rolland, Mumm’s Extra Dry, Cognac, Liqueur

A roast pig was a holiday favorite among Prairie Avenue families.

A cautionary tale, depending upon your choice of animal companions:  According to the Prairie Avenue Cookbook, “the Harvey children” (1722 Prairie) “had a pet piglet at the family’s summer home on Mackinac Island, which, unbeknownst to them, was being fattened for slaughter. The children remember with horror seeing their piglet, roasted, arrive at the Christmas table on the festive board garnished with mistletoe.”

Real estate listing books, that is.

A 1928 fairy tale house designed by Harold Zook

For sale: A beautifully maintained Cotswold-style home designed by Harold Zook, an architect whose whimsical, organic style endures in many homes in Chicago’s suburbs.  This home sits atop a little hill on a popular street in my town. Since its construction in 1928, each owner has taken care to preserve the character and idiosyncrasies of a signature Zook home. Let’s take a look inside.

Welcome home to a door with irreplaceable original hardware.

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While browsing the always-fascinating archives of the Chicago Tribune, I came across a news item from the January 20, 1934 edition about the auction of items from the estate of Edith Rockefeller McCormick.  Mrs. McCormick, who died in August 1932, along with her husband, Harold McCormick, commissioned celebrated architect Charles Adams Platt to design the magnificent Villa Turicum as their summer retreat.  Blueprints emerged from Platt’s dreams in 1907, and it took another ten years for the Italianate villa to rise on the shores of Lake Michigan in Lake Forest.  The McCormicks reportedly spent $2 million on the home’s construction, and even more on the home’s interiors. Not the happiest of married couples, they spent little time at their stunning home.  The home and grounds sold at a sheriff auction for an ignominious $51,524.00 in October 1933.  A developer bought the languishing property and the 260 acres surrounding it in 1956. The once-magical home was razed. Here is an astoundingly beautiful website dedicated to the Villa.

The article, not terribly legible, reads as follows:

Chicago Tribune, January 20, 1933

“The throngs of visitors who yesterday inspected the grounds and furnishings of Villa Turicum, the Lake Forest house of the late Mrs. Edith Rockefeller McCormick, numbered about 2,200.  On the previous day, the total was 14,000.  The decrease in number was attributed to the fact that admission was free on Thursday, while a charge of 50 cents per person was in effect yesterday.  The remainder of the personal effects of the onetime “richest woman in the world” are to be offered at auction beginning at 2 p.m. today.  The furnishings of Mrs. McCormick’s home at 1000 Lake Shore Drive and her art treasures and jewelry already have been disposed of.  Proceeds of the auction are to be used in paying claims against the estate.”

The ad, that appeared in the same edition

The ad for the sale.