An occasionally updated chronicle of estate sales in the city and suburbs of Chicago.

"It's such a guilty pleasure..." Lynne Stiefel, Pioneer Press


Monday, October 5, 2009

Northfield Caterer's Lair

You hear "Northfield" and you think, "nice." And 75% of the time you'd be right. But every suburb -- even the North Shore's toniest -- has its poor relations. You can find them tucked away on narrow streets, on the bad side of town and the wrong side of the tracks, near the gas station and park that are nothing but trouble.

An estate sale that begins in the garage is usually signifies one of two things: you won't be allowed inside, or a hoarder used to live here.

There are enough aluminum roasting pans here to take you through Thanksgiving, 2028.

There were repeats of a lot of things. Five church fellowship hall-sized coffee pots, for example.

Buy this and you could smash each glass against the floor as soon it was gone for just $9.00. Not counting the medical bills from all that flying glass.

Let's go inside through the kitchen. Whoa -- it smells like pee in here!

Here's a little merchandising hint: turn that seat cushion 90 degrees and you could mark that chair up from $38 to an even $40.

Yeesh. One of those rooms.

Buy them for the packaging, wear them for the all-day no-fail support!

The bathtub carelessly filled with a collection of old beauty aids is getting to be a common theme.

I'd buy these, but I'm afraid they'd make the rest of my look seem dowdy.

The sign says, "Frogs. Ask for price." So I did. But the frogs weren't talking.

Wow -- I wasn't expecting this room.

C'est magnifique!

The only time people would think pictures of street urchins are adorable is when there weren't already so many of them on the street.

Let's head down to the basement then get out of here.

This is where everything became clear. Two ovens. Tons of cooking supplies and equipment. A gargantuan stack of cookbooks going back to the fifties. And all those glasses and coffee pots outside. Someone ran a catering business. Out of their basement and garage.

And I'm willing to bet none of the customers knew their hot dishes were born in this hot mess.

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