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Nelson Algren wrote that being part of Chicago is “like loving a woman with a broken nose. You may find lovelier lovelies, but never a lovely so real.”

Milwaukee is that woman’s rather plain sister. Married a nice guy, found a secure job. At reunions, somebody eventually says: “Hey, what ever happened to her?”

If you want the big city, it’s 90 miles to the south. If you’re thinking about sports in Wisconsin, chances are you’re thinking about Green Bay. Milwaukee’s fate is to be overlooked.

I hadn’t been there for 30 years. For all I knew, the citizens had sold the place to a large cheese concern and moved to Florida. So I thought, hey, maybe my sons and I should go to a Brewers game.

Remember the Brewers? They’re the Midwestern baseball team whose caps show up in Central Iowa about as often as Osama bin Laden T-shirts.

The way our schedule worked out, we could watch the Brew Crew host some outfit called the Washington Nationals. Apparently, this is a major league team, although I would have guessed “drag racing competition.”

Also, I wanted to compare cities. Downtown Des Moines has more workers than downtown Milwaukee, we’ve been reminded many times. So which group of working stiffs has a better place to spend their days?

I don’t want to break your heart, Milwaukee, but if it’s a swimsuit contest, I think Des Moines wins. Our downtown may be petite, but it shows what you can accomplish if you just sell enough annuity policies.

If it’s the talent portion, it’s closer. Our marina is in Polk City. Yours is right downtown next to a fabulous-looking art center, which is just down the street from a new science center, complete with its very own sailing ship.

You have a cluster of theaters – the kind with stages, not screens – and a river walk that cuts through a mini-Chicago canyon of buildings. You have plenty of restaurants. And Milwaukeeans must have long lunch hours, because somehow they’re supporting a good chunk of street-level retail. Retail without skywalks? Must have a mild climate.

Your new Harley-Davidson Museum is nicely done. The Miller Brewing Co. tour and the Harley engine factory tour are a fine look at how things get done. Visitors to Des Moines can watch our city crews patch the streets, but it’s not the same.

Then there’s the ballpark. It’s easy to love the tradition of a stadium like Wrigley Field, but Miller Park is a lovelier lovely. And that retractable roof — pretty fancy for a city without a real skyscraper.

Still, there are signs of a self-confidence problem. We stumbled across a battle-of-the-bands concert featuring local talent, and one song sticks in my mind: “Leaving Wisconsin,” which lists all of the people and things that broke the state’s heart: Bret Favre, the Braves, Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Inferiority complexes are something we Iowans know about. Maybe we can get together over a beer and talk about it – I’ll call Barack Obama and see if he wants to bring some pretzels and sit in.

All in all, I’m glad we got reacquainted.

Good to know that you haven’t been just killing time for the past few decades, humming old jingles (“I’m from Milwaukee, and I oughta know …”), wondering why so many movies are shot in that publicity-hogging Illinois city over the horizon and gazing at a baseball signed by Warren Spahn himself.

Don’t try to act too sophisticated, though, Honey. We received our official welcome on Interstate 94, when a biker, decked out in black and radiating enough menace for a professional wrestler, roared around us on his Harley and flipped us off.

I get the feeling, Milwaukee, that every evening after you shoo the children out of the Discovery World Museum and fold up the white wings on the art center, you go right back to bikes and beer.