Lunch with Blago at the Dirksen U.S. Courthouse’s cafeteria

Five blocks from where Mayor Rahm Emanuel had moments ago declared in his inaugural address his pride in leading a city “driven by a common thirst for change,” Rod Blagojevich is thirsting for something sweet and carbonated.

On a lunch break from his corruption retrial in the second-floor cafeteria of the Dirksen U.S. Courthouse, the ex-gov is standing in front of a beverage cooler wearing a sharp navy-blue suit and an undecided stare. The big decision: Coca-Cola Classic, Cherry Coke or Coke Zero? “Lots of opportunities here!” he says, with a car salesman smile.

Much of the morning’s court proceedings were spent parsing the meaning of one of Blagojevich’s favorite profanities. Defense attorney Sheldon Sorosky asked former Blago fund-raiser and lobbyist John Wyma to define “Fuck ’em.” Wyma testified that his old boss used the phrase in October 2008 while discussing trading tollway construction funding approval for a $500,000 campaign kickback. Sorosky’s needling questioning drew objections from prosecutors and Judge James Zagel.

Despite the battles raging in the courtroom on the 25th floor of 219 South Dearborn Street, everything’s bleepin’ golden under floor two’s fluorescent lights. This is the home of Market Creations Cafe and, for an hour every day, a surreal scene: The major players in the Blagojevich retrial set aside their allegiances over pasta primavera and orange chicken. Shoulder to shoulder, defense and prosecution amicably slide their trays through the salad bar line, paying equal deference to the sneeze guard as they tong on a few more bacon bits.

At one end of the cafeteria, a table of lunching journalists have their laptops open, ready to write up Wyma’s damaging testimony. Blagojevich approaches, Coke in hand. “Can you believe the Bulls are rescheduling the playoffs for Oprah?” he says, eliciting giggles from the gaggle of hacks. Say what you will about his ability to govern: No one can work a lunchroom like Blago.

“I don’t know what goes on upstairs, but down here everyone gets along,” Market Creations manager Tanysha Smith tells me. “It’s neutral territory.”

Toward the center of the room, Blago’s posse leans in around a circular table. Rod strides over, takes a seat next to wife Patti, who reports she loves the cafeteria’s fish. Sorosky steals bites off the rest of the defense team’s plates. Later, the surprisingly jovial crew passes around a bag of Peanut M&Ms.

One table over, veteran courtroom sketch artist Verna Sadock is nibbling on a large chocolate-chip cookie. “[The cafeteria] is like being backstage at a play,” she says. “You see the star going to lunch every day, which I’ve never seen in my life. Most defendants leave for lunch with their coats over their heads. They don’t want any attention. [Blagojevich] welcomes it.”

Sadock catches Blago’s attention. “Do you like my artwork?” she asks.

“Very much,” he replies, grinning.

“All right, well, I’ll let him eat his lunch now.”

Sadock is sitting with Pat Kennedy, a retired junior-high-school math teacher from Roselle who’s been attending the trial for kicks. “Last week,” she says, noshing on sweet and sour chicken, “[Blagojevich and I] talked about math and how poor he did in math in school. Patti spoke up and said, ‘But our daughters are really good!’ ”

At 1:30pm, people begin reassuming their roles. Court’s back in session in ten minutes. Rod and Patti take the stairs up 23 floors.

Within minutes, journalist Cecilia Peón, who’s covering the trial of alleged terrorist Tahawwur Rana for the Mexican newspaper Diario de Yucatán, is the lone luncher. “Years ago,” she recalls between bites of a mozzarella-tomato salad, “I was the translator for an attorney in a case involving insurance fraud and drugs. During the day, everyone was enemies. In the evening, everyone had dinner together. I’m telling you: Food is the grand uniter.”