By half past ten on the Sunday I had eaten five things with apple in them and was carrying a sixth, and the cheapest of the five had beaten the dearest by a margin that was not close. Apple Fest ran Friday October 2nd through Sunday the 4th on the three blocks of North Lincoln between Sunnyside and Lawrence, nine until six on the weekend days, five dollars suggested at the gate on a banner nobody was enforcing. The street works on a clock and the clock is unforgiving: at nine it is a farmers market, by noon it is a crush, and the people who show up at half past one on the Sunday get a better fest than anyone who came at midday on the Saturday.
The Ledger
In the order I ate it. An apple cider donut pie from Bang Bang Pie & Biscuits, six dollars, which is a cider donut set on a slice of crumb-top pie, two desserts sold as one, and I am still not certain which of them I was charged for. An apple cinnamon roll from Jerry & Geraldine’s under about an inch of white icing, eaten standing up, because there is nowhere on that street to sit and the kerb was already taken. A slice of apple pie from The Chopping Block. An apple crisp donut from Dinky Delights, the largest ring on the block and the longest wait for one. Apple churros from Byron’s, three to a tray under enough powdered sugar to make the first bite a guess. A cider donut from Daly’s, sold by the bag. A filled apple empanada from Luciana’s, which I did not finish. And cider from Mick Klüg Farms, the only thing I bought all morning that had been grown rather than assembled.
What I did not get to, and should have: the apple and smoked gouda pizza coming out of Bad Johnny’s wood-fired oven, which is the one item on the street that treats an apple as an ingredient rather than a theme. The tarte fine pomme at La Boulangerie. A grilled cheese on a stick. A Dirty Apple Burger, which was chalked up next to an Apple Pie Burger on the same board, and I have no theory about either. Phase Three Brewing was pouring a peanut caramel apple ale called A Bushel of Apples. Somebody was selling an apple pie smoothie.
The prices are where this fest argues with itself, and it manages to do it inside forty feet. That Bang Bang slice was six dollars. Further along the same block a stand wanted ten for a slice of apple pie and another two if you wanted cream on it, which I did not. Apple fritters were eight dollars each. A cup of cider donut holes ran about seven. Meanwhile the farm tents at the north end were selling Michigan fruit by the quart — Ruby McIntosh, Mutsu, Jonathan, Honeycrisp, Crimson Crisp — at seven to eight dollars for the quart, Honeycrisp singles at five, fall squash at two apiece. Somebody is buying four dollars of apples, baking them, and asking ten a slice. That is a margin I do not begrudge anybody working a tent through an October weekend, but it is worth knowing before you pick a queue to stand in.
Apple cider donut pie, Bang Bang Pie
Apple cinnamon roll, Jerry & Geraldine’s
Apple pie, The Chopping Block
Apple crisp donut, Dinky Delights
Apple churros, Byron’s
Cider donut, Daly’s
Cider donuts by the bag, Daly’sThree Stands, One Donut
The thing to test at an apple fest is the fried one, and the street was running it four or five ways. Daly’s had small knotted donuts in coarse cinnamon sugar, going out by the bag, the paper going translucent on the walk up the block. Dinky Delights had the bigger ring, the apple crisp, warmer and heavier, more of the work done by the crust. Somethin’ Sweet Donuts had a pink tent doing fritters and sprinkle donuts, and at half past nine it had no line at all, which tells you where the crowd gets its information and how long it takes to arrive.
Daly’s took it, and not narrowly. The crumb was looser, the sugar was still coarse enough to read as sugar rather than as a glaze by the time it reached me, and the thing had been fried recently enough to be warm without being heavy. The flaw in my own test is worth printing rather than hiding: I ate all three inside an hour, in that order, and the third of anything tastes different from the first. Dinky Delights had the crowd. Daly’s had the donut.
Where the Apples Came From
Seven farms came in from three states, which is the half of this fest that is not a concession stand, and it is worth walking to the end of the block for. The chamber’s own vendor list puts Mick Klüg on the street from Saint Joseph, Michigan with more than ten varieties, cider served hot and cold and sold in gallon and half-gallon jugs, and an apple cider oat horchata that I asked about twice and still cannot explain. Los Rodriguez came in from Eau Claire and Joe’s Blues from Bangor, both Michigan; Phil Foster from Huntington, Indiana; Belly Acres from Hanover and John Bailey Honey from Kankakee. The Klügs have been doing this since the 1930s, three generations deep, and they work six Chicago markets a week on top of a weekend like this one.
Walk the length of it and you notice that Mick Klüg is what most people are holding. Their cup is the default cider of this fest the way a plastic cup of Old Style is the default beer of a ballgame, and the jugs going out by the half-gallon at the north end are the single clearest sign of who actually came to shop rather than to eat. Which sets the real price of an apple product here: a farm drives fruit in from the Lake Michigan fruit belt and sells it at about two dollars a piece, and a stand a short walk away buys the same crop, bakes it, and asks ten. The five dollars at the gate is the one markup out there whose arithmetic is published — it goes to streetscape work in Lincoln Square and Ravenswood and comes back as grants to area non-profits, not to a promoter.
Bring cash. Jerry & Geraldine’s is cash only and says so on the board, the cider and beer tents are cash only, the apple latte stand is cash only, and the one ATM inside the footprint stands next to Geraldine’s charging its own fee.
The Part That Was Not Apple
Plenty of stands were selling something “apple” and the best savoury thing I ate had none in it. The pork and chive dumplings from Union Dumpling House came out fast and on the right side of greasy, at a fest whose entry requirement is fruit. Roasted Corn & Company was building elote bowls under cheese and lime two tents down from a man selling jerk chicken. The pork chop sandwich remains this city’s real signature item and the hot dog remains a tourism policy.
Things on that street I am not going to explain. A scarecrow on stilts, working the length of the block all weekend. Bundles of small gourds sold as “pumpkin on a stick.” Indian corn at ten dollars a bundle, moving steadily. A baby onesie for sale reading TAKE ME TO THE TITTY BAR, hung at eye level, forty feet from a children’s area where toddlers were fishing for apples in water tubs with nets.
The fifteenth Pooch Costume Contest had run at the Seedling Stage the morning before, and the entry that beat the field was a dog in a felt vest got up as a charcuterie board with a dorsal fin, called Shark-cuterie. By the Sunday afternoon the Flat Cats were playing swing on the main stage and people were dancing on the pavement in front of it under string lights.
The limit arrived at the empanada, which was fine and which I abandoned anyway. Eight sweet things before noon is one or two past the point where the fifth stops registering as anything except sugar, and I am not going to pretend the back half of that list got a fair hearing from me. I sat on a kerb on Leland for a while afterwards. The cider helped more than it had any business helping.
The best thing at Apple Fest 39 was the cider donut from Daly’s, sold by the bag, and a whole bag of them came to less than one slice of pie did anywhere on that street. Skip the ten-dollar slice with the two-dollar cream, and get there at nine.
Cover image: the apple cider donut pie, Bang Bang Pie & Biscuits. Photo: u/Jeeperscrow123 via r/chicagofood