Chicago Restaurant Week already? And me without a gift.

Actually, I’m always leaving gifts at restaurants, in the form of generous tips, plus those little fees tacked on the end of the bill. For employee health care, supposedly. They’re voluntary, in theory. But I’m not hard-hearted enough to strike them off the tab. Though I wish they’d just fold them into the cost — Kimberly-Clark doesn’t tag an optional nickel on the price of a box of Kleenex so their employees can have sick days.

Restaurants seem to be getting better at it. It’s been a few years since I was puzzling over the bill at Big Jones, trying to figure out what the 20% ”service fee” might be — that’s the tip, right? — when the waitress, who’d obviously been through this charade before, hurried over to explain that no, it wasn’t the gratuity, but an extra wallop designed to help keep the lights on during COVID. Two percent is one thing; 20 is something else. Still, I ponied up, reluctantly — my guests were watching— and walked out brooding that I’d just left 42% extra for an OK brunch. I never went back.

Restaurants are an odd business. You can eat at home, and usually do. They’re really social/aesthetic experiences disguised as strapping on the feedbag. Of the three legs of any dinner out — food, service, atmosphere — two-thirds don’t involve ingesting anything.

We need restaurants. How else are we supposed to celebrate occasions? My wife and I tried Rich Melman’s latest, Miru, for my birthday in June. Everyone is raving about the scenery from the 11th floor of Jeanne Gang’s St. Regis Hotel — “Miru” is Japanese for “view” — but honestly it could look out onto a cinderblock wall and I’d be eager to go back, just for desserts like Black Sesame Mochi, described as “Charcoal-Vanilla Ice Cream, Black Sesame Praline, Mochi Sponge.” I don’t know if that sounds as fantastic as it truly was. Let’s put this way: it costs $18, and I can’t wait for the chance to order it again.

Neil Steinberg/Sun-Times

Regular readers know that my boys are restaurant birddogs. My older one is mired on the East Coast, alas. Though in December we did manage an excellent dinner at the Fraunces Tavern, on Pearl Street in Lower Manhattan since 1762. Get the pot pie.

George Washington said goodbye to his troops at the Fraunces, which made me wonder what, if any, historic figures are associated with Chicago restaurants. The Beatles never really went to Margie’s — no offense, still the best hot fudge anywhere. Though Margie’s does have a cameo on “The Bear,” and that has to count for something. President Harry Truman also enjoyed a 7 a.m. Jack Daniels at Miller’s Pub in 1952. Is that enough?

Neil Steinberg/Sun-Times

We’ve been meeting the younger boy and his fiance at Libanais on Devon Avenue. It presents itself as a bakery — walking in, I always think, “When I die, and go to heaven, this is what it’s going to look like.” Enormous stacks of sweets, trays of cookies wrapped in cellophane, ready to be whisked away to celebrations, iftars and eids and such. Last time we ate there, my son and I excused ourselves three times during dinner to press our noses against the glass cases and strategize dessert. Libanais is also a full Middle Eastern restaurant. The Armenian sausage sandwich — OMG. Also the presentation. The orderly little tray of mint tea. The friendly and efficient waitstaff. The diverse clientele.

There’s one treat I always get at Libanais that’s not on the menu: hope. I’m a little reluctant to mention it, as it’s really something I bring with me, like a BYOB. But what the heck. Libanais is a Lebanese restaurant, and being there makes me so happy that I look around at this room full of similarly happy people, from all backgrounds, Muslim women in headscarves, large families, and me with my hungry Jewish clan digging in — all united in enjoyment of top quality food served well, and I think: This, THIS is what people want. Not all that killing. This is what, left to our own devices, we’d all spend our time doing. We don’t realize how precious what we have here is. How rare in the world. Someday other people in other places will figure that out. Until then, restaurants help.