A WINDY CITY | February 19th 2008

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Charlotte Howard, the Midwest Correspondent for The Economist, observes the unexpected beauties of Chicago, her new hometown. Sure, the buildings are tall and the air is cold, but the hot dogs come smothered in neon-green relish ...

From ECONOMIST.COM*

Chicago is a city of American beauties. The ivy-covered walls of Wrigley Field. The Monadnock building, one of America's first skyscrapers. The bundled rods of the Sears Tower, America's tallest. And that culinary masterpiece: a smothered Chicago hot dog, distinctive for the snap of its casing, neon-green relish, long pickled peppers (known only in Chicago, for obscure reasons, as "sport peppers") and invariable absence of ketchup.

Still, nothing matches the sight of Lake Michigan, stretching to the horizon like a wide ocean. When I moved here at the end of the summer, the lake was a glistening turquoise. I was surprised to find that the city of big shoulders is also the city of bikinis. Women en route to the lake strolled in bathing suits past men wearing the pinstriped variety--a taste of Miami in the Midwest.

I chose an apartment near the lake in an area called, appropriately enough, Lakeview. Chicago is a patchwork of diverse and ever evolving neighbourhoods, from Ukrainian Village, where Orthodox churchgoers pass resolutely unorthodox hipsters, to Andersonville, land of Swedes and lesbians (not mutually exclusive). Lakeview, on Chicago's north side, includes Wrigley Field and Boys Town. During baseball season, the streets teemed with waxed gay men and tubby Cubs fans.

Now Chicago's notoriously cold winter is here. The water has become choppier, and most boats have left the lakefront--last week they sailed past my office window in a solemn procession down the Chicago river.

Some say Chicago earned its nickname as "the windy city" not because of its weather, but because promoters of the World's Fair in the 1890s blew so much hot air. Still, the literal explanation seems justified. The wind has started whipping around my ankles and down my coat collar.

The growing chill does not seem to deter the natives. Ask a Chicagoan about his city and he will erupt with praise. This is a great city, he will tell you. Perhaps the greatest. I was born in New York, where people don't gush that their city is the best in the world (they take it as assumed). In Chicago the constant barrage of adulation can seem almost desperate. But what one man calls exaggeration, another calls heart.

The city's most avid promoter is Richard Daley junior, Chicago's benevolent ruler since 1989. After the city's steady decline in the 1970s and 1980s, the mayor has reason to rave. The economy has perked up and downtown is awash with residents and construction.

Now Mr Daley's fervent if garbled salesmanship--a friend of mine calls him the Jackson Pollock of the English language--has turned toward yet another municipal goal: Chicago wants to host the Summer Olympics in 2016.

This autumn Mr Daley welcomed members of the Olympic committee, who came to see Chicago stage the World Boxing Championships. The day before the event ended, Chicago's elite held a lunch for Jacques Rogge, the president of the committee. It was a drawn out, sycophantic affair in a gilded ballroom. (The press were perched on a platform, watching hungrily as diners tucked into what looked like delicious chocolate cake.) Mr Daley gave his customary spiel about the glories of his fine city. These days Chicago is as windy as ever.

(*Charlotte Howard is the Midwest Correspondent of The Economist. This column is part of her week-long diary about the Midwest, published on Economist.com)