Letters: Long live the Drake Hotel

During my years as a Chicagoan, I loved many meals on the lodge — the fantastic rooster salad on the long-gone Drake drugstore and the bookbinder soup and poached turbot on the late Cape Cod room. In truth, I used to be so enamored of the Drake’s delicacies that I used to inform people who once I turned 70, I used to be going to desert my fixed weight-reduction plan, purchase a bunch of muumuus, transfer into the Drake and feast. Seventy got here and went, and with 80 approaching, the selection to take up residence on the lodge doesn’t exist proper now.

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