Chicago, IL

Ah jetlag, jetlag. What joy. Wide awake soon after dawn I decide to head to the gym, which is a good move seeing as the breakfast I'm later faced with is smothered in unexpected cheese and comes with a side order of fried potatoes. I try to resist but who am I kidding?!? When in America you gotta go large, and so Tom, Eli and I tuck in with gusto.

Soon we're all in Eli's hire car and heading off for a day of unique experiences. Eli plugs his Ipod in and blasts out the gospel-blues sound of The Consolers, a devout Florida-based husband and wife duo from the 50s, which gets us in the mood for what's to come. As we head along the Lake Michigan shoreline past Grant Park, Eli sings along, sweet soulful sounds that match the raw gospel growls of Brother Sullivan Pugh and his spouse Iola. Soon we're talking music and chatting Dolly Parton and before we know it we're entering Chicago's South Side.

Having been to Chicago a few years ago on a work trip, I remember the stunning architecture and glittering city skylines, but this is a whole new part of town. Rundown, burnt out shops, guys in baggy jeans and hoodies gathered on street corners, women drinking beer at 10am. "It's pretty rough round here," offers Eli. "When we get out of the car take everything with you."

We look at each other in the back, wondering where the hell this church is but soon Eli turns off into a quiet neighbourhood. Neat rows of houses with grass and concrete yards line the street and there on a crossroads is a little nondescript building with a tattered sign outside proclaiming the More Like Christ Christian Fellowship. This is the church where Eli cut his teeth when he lived in Chicago. It's a different building now but still run by Pastor Mitty Collier, a 60s soul singer signed to the legendary Chess label. Sadly we learn Mitty, with whom we were meant to have lunch after the service, can't make it as she's had to drive to Georgia due to her daughter getting sick.

However we are given a warm welcome by the small congregation who haven't seen Eli for a couple of years. As we enter they're coming to the end of Sunday school and the little kids are paraded at the front of the church to testify what they learnt today about God's love. They mumble through the lessons, and then some of the adults get up to testify their experiences. Three matriarchs of the church talk about love and not confusing it with lust. Praise Jesus! Amen.

Soon another Minister, Victoria, introduces herself. "Y'all got heavy accents. You from New York?" she asks us. I tell her I'm from Eli's record company. "Well I'm a singer. Eli, you make sure I get these people's details before you leave!" She fixes me with a stare. "I'll be talking to you later!"

Soon the service starts. There's drums, organ, tambourines, miked-up singers and Eli at the front singing and on guitar. 'Welcome To This House', 'This Little Light Of Mine', 'On The Ragged Cross' and many more are belted out. We get readings from scripture, a powerful 40-minute sermon about being a pilgrim, announcements about hip hop Sundays to bring more kids into the church, a lot of prayers, some big-style worship and a whole bunch of Hallelujahs, all interspersed with singing the Lord's songs."Give God a praise-clap!!", we're exhorted and then one of the Praise Team singles us out. "Let's welcome our guests from England. Stand up and tell us your story, where you're from and which church you belong to." Uh-oh!!

Lois goes first, telling them she was brought up a Catholic in Lincoln. Both John, her husband, and Tom also admit they were brought up Catholics. None look like they've been practising in, well, decades. I trump them all. "My name's William and both my parents are Ministers in the Anglican Church in England, " I confess. I get a round of applause and a few more Hallelujahs. Later three chairs are brought out. "The doors of the church are open" sings Victoria. "Does anyone want to come up and testify?" She looks at us. "Does anyone want to join this church?" she sings with passion. We stay rooted to the spot.

She keeps singing, vainly hoping that the Holy Spirit may just whisk a sinner to the front of the church, preferably from England. But God moves in mysterious ways and we somehow resist the old time revival gospel hour. The chairs are eventually cleared away and Eli takes a solo spot to blast out some old-time worship songs. He's really good! So good that Victoria proclaims, "He may look white, but inside this boy is black!!"

Three hours after we arrive, the service finishes. It's been a long and interesting experience. I haven't been healed and I sure ain't born again, but I stand up on behalf of all of us and thank the congregation sincerely for the warmth of their welcome. Unfortunately Victoria doesn't hear me loud enough, so I have to repeat it all again to her satisfaction. More applause and Hallelujahs. I'm doing good!

After taking photos of Eli outside the church we drive off past blocks of 'projects' (social housing) interspersed with pentecostal churches and liquor stores. We haven't seen a white face in hours and Eli tells us that the University of Chicago tells all the white students to stay away from the black areas. He ignored their advice and never had a problem, getting nothing but love and respect whenever he hung out around the South Side.

We drive past the University buildings in the Hyde Park area of town; Ivy League style grandeur contrasts strongly with the rundown buildings just a couple of blocks away. We stop at Hyde Park Records where Eli used to spend all his money to do a bit of second-hand browsing and another photoshoot before Eli takes us to Harold's Chicken Shack, a grim diner based in a parking lot.

It's not just Eli's favourite place to get fried chicken - apparently when Barack Obama lived in Chicago he used to come here all the time too. It's $4 for half a chicken smothered in a hot and mild sauce, which you order through bullet proof glass and take to a formica table to consume. You gotta pay cash and they don't take any bills larger than $20. Eli orders a bunch of food and seeing as it's 4pm by this point I decide to give it a whirl too.

Tom opts solely for chips maintaining he doesn't eat chicken. Lois, a strict vegetarian, actually looks sick just at the thought of ordering food here. I wish I'd had her sense. What eventually gets delivered through the toughened glass is about as far from food as you can imagine. Deep, deep fried chicken with the most artificial sauce, wedged in amongst fries and white bread. Not only does it look disgusting but the portion is HUGE. No wonder the people in the diner - and back at the church - are all super-size.

We stop a couple of times on the way back to the hotel to get more photos of Eli in Chicago locations until finally Tom declares, "It's a wrap!" and we're done. It's 5pm so we all retire to our rooms to get a bit of personal time and just unwind. Reconvening at 7 in the Crimson Bar we have a drink and Eli suggests pizza at Ginos, "the best pizza place in Chicago." Sadly he can't remember the way so relies on his IPhone to guide us to the pizzeria which he assures us is only a 15 minute walk away.

An hour later we've done a big loop, walked back past our hotel and still no sign of the restaurant. Eventually we stumble across it - and it's shut. It's a Sunday night after all. "I know, let's do Uno's", an apologetic Eli suggests. And so we end up, 90 minutes after leaving the hotel, a mere 500 yards away, eating deep-filled pizzas. The conversation is dominated by music - Etta James, Aretha Franklin, Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, Barry White, Sly Stone and a whole host of soul artists I'm pitifully ignorant of. Lois and Eli in particular are debating rare 7"s, extinct record label logos and obscure cover versions with unabashed passion. Tom and I just joke about the food. I'm still stuffed from the chicken horror earlier so manage 2 small slices before giving up. My arteries can't take it and there's no elastic in my waistband.

By 11pm it's all over. Bedtime calls along with terrible US cable TV full of healthcare adverts, home makeover shows and dire rightwing politicising (yep, sadly Fox News hasn't been destroyed). Lights off and time for sleep.