Say you live in the city, say you drive. Say you enjoy drinking, rambling from one establishment to another, digging the scene and meeting people. Say you're law-abiding and respectful of life and limb, both your own and others'. Time for an El Pub Crawl.
One of the disadvantages of aging is that, as our careers develop, we no longer have a ready-to-go party posse. So what do I do? I invite my wife. Though I can't say I married Marya for her appreciation of a good quaff and her ability to stay upright when she's got a skinful, it hasn't hurt any. And what better day for an afternoon carouse than Sunday? While others are repenting, we'll have the bartenders all to ourselves.
We spend the morning riding the Red Line on the South Side. I've been wanting to include the Dan Ryan branch, but it doesn't seem to fit in this series. Near the stops, gas stations are more prevalent than bars. Moreover, on the South Side, the El just isn't the meandering, cantankerous contraption it is on the North Side. It's a people mover, set off from the neighborhoods it divides by freeway overpasses. And, unfortunately for those who dwell south, there's just not the same pleasure standing in the middle of eight lanes of whizzing traffic as there is above a colorful, pedestrian-thronged street.
So, with apologies to our South Side brethren, who are no doubt used to getting shafted by city planning, we return to the Loop to begin our day of debauchery. We disembark at Monroe and eagerly enter the venerable Beef 'n' Brandy. We're hungry, so we need both kinds of fuel. Though nearby office workers patronize this place on weekdays, and it gets its fair share of foot-weary shoppers and tourists, the crowd thins downstairs in the cocktail lounge. It's soothing and dark here, and the rumble of the State Street subway provides a pleasing and constant reminder of our mission. A waitress arrives and we place our orders: a taco salad and a peach daiquiri for Marya, a cheeseburger with grilled onions and a concoction called a "banchee" for me. I feel like we're on vacation.
Marya pronounces her drink delightful - not too sweet, and my banchee tastes like an atomized banana split with a high proof rating. The food is just serviceable but does the job, providing a solid base of absorbency for the next ten hours.
Two stops north to State and Lake, where Off-Track Betting may provide a more unusual environ in which to take our next drink. We're asked if we're of age - though not carded - and assessed a buck each for Illinois sin tax. Upstairs, it's crowded and smoky as racing fans cluster around ubiquitous TV monitors, following the action at racetracks all around the country.
We buy plastic cups of Old Style and mingle, trying to figure out the process osmotically from the pallid crowd. Failing, we approach a teller window marked "Information."
"Oh, a couple of first-timers, huh?" asks our gambling oracle.
"How do you bet?" I ask.
There's no line behind us, so she prints out a wager stub and launches into an explanation that, while lengthy, leaves us completely confused. Unable to follow her imperfect explanation of trifecta and perfecta, I ask how to bet on one horse to win.
She refers me to a video screen, where horses are represented by numbers, with odds adjacent. "OK, I get this," I say, "but how do I find out the names of the horses?"
"Well, you could find out the horse's name if you want, but it's really more of a numbers game," she says patiently.
Disillusionment strikes. I'd thought horse racing, while seedy, had an element of romanticism, or at least color: I mean, where else can you cheer on a competitor named Knob Gobbler?
We decide to keep our money, and wander the three levels of the OTB. The top level, the Derby Club, is where we'll come next time. Leather seats and a dress code declare, "This is where the winners sit." Or at least those who can afford to lose.
We ride north to the Chicago stop, where Streeter's Tavern is just a little farther from the El than we'd normally venture. But it's a straight shot and the sidewalk is wide, decreasing the likelihood of head-on pedestrian collisions.
The reader board out front advertises margaritas, and, as we descend the steps into the bar, sure enough, Jimmy Buffett is crooning "Margaritaville."
Margaritas it is. With its prefab eclecticism and easy-to-hose floor, Streeter's screams college bar. This is underlined when the music changes to the greatest hits of the Doors. Nonetheless, the drinks are good, and we enjoy a best-of-three pool tourney on a good-sized table.
When it's time to use the trough in the men's room, I make a pleasant discovery: a two-way mirror allows me to view the barroom as I relieve myself. Catering to jealous boyfriends is probably quite sensible in a place like this. Marya informs me the women's room is similarly equipped.
At North and Clybourn, Weeds owns the kind of individuality that Streeter's strives for. There's a lot of mixed-quality art, a weird hexagonal mirror mosaic, a drop ceiling of silkscreens and a potpourri of lamps. Serapes as tablecloths lend an intriguing, if slightly iffy-feeling, touch. But the coup de gras are the hundreds of bras hanging over the bar.
Marya orders a rum and Coke, I get a bourbon highball, and we take a table. A mellow breeze drifts in the open doors and a Sox contest statics quietly away on a small TV. Somewhat tired, we rest our arms on the table and lower our heads to drink through our straws.
When get up to we leave, I ask if the bras are an art project. "They're donations," replies the bartendress. "I'd leave my bra,' says Marya, 'but I'm not wearing one."
By this point I'm feeling kind of dozy from all the booze, but our next stop lies just on the other side of the Clybourn station, so we keep going. The Bluebird Lounge is a gem, green in decor, comfortably retro. Marya wants a fuzzy navel, and though the affable bartender doesn't know how to make one, he's amenable to executing our best guess. The result isn't exactly a fuzzy navel, but it's good. I have a glass of ale, and we settle into a booth for a conversation marked by long pauses and forgotten points.
Later, we play a fishing-themed pinball game and a couple of rounds of Centipede. I want to get our names stamped in a medallion by an old arcade gizmo against the wall, but the bartender won't vouch for how well it works.
As we stroll down the sidewalk, Marya declares the Bluebird the best yet. "The ladies' room takes the cake," she adds. "There were fresh flowers in there." Lamenting the fact that I've forgotten to get the name of either the pinball machine or the music playing, I curse my dereliction of duty. "If I was any kind of a journalist, I would have gotten that right."
"But you're a drunk journalist," Marya reassures me. "The same things aren't expected of a drunk journalist."
I resolve never to work sober again.
At Morse we hit the Red Line Tap. Taking a gamble and ordering Manhattans, we're rewarded with two pleasingly palatable concoctions. At the bar, they're watching "The World's Most Amazing Videos," NBC's response to Fox programming, and indeed, it's amazing. An elephant stomps its trainer, a race car hits a cameraman, and a bungee jumper's bungee comes undone. We relax, though, to find out that though many were hurt, no one was killed. A patron observes, "They don't show bad stuff on this one."
The Red Line Tap isn't a bad place to tipple, but it's neither as unique as Weeds nor as classy as the Bluebird. It's spacious, offers pool and darts, and has art student pastels, Christmas lights and a stuffed fish adorning the walls. One has the feeling that, were it not Sunday, we'd be engulfed by a well-lubed collegiate crowd.
Just north of the Loyola stop, Bruno and Tim's Lounge is a real Chicago tavern. A good indicator is that the tavern is attached to a liquor store - as this is - if not in a liquor store. They're watching "America's Most Wanted" in here, and we thrill to the stories of concealed identities, unsolved mysteries and general misanthropy. We drink Manhattans here, too, although the well liquor isn't as good. Another feature of real taverns: stools with backs on them, for long stays. We're at the point where, when John Walsh intones, "heinous crimes," we giggle and look at each other, saying "anus crimes" in unison.
When the show's over, we decide it's time for a nightcap at Granville and one of our favorite bars, Gino's North. Gino's is tiny, but the vibe is just right. It's also one of the most beautiful saloons in Chicago, its back bar a Deco gem of undulating brown wood, broken by a dramatic showcase for a statuary nude. Recessed lighting on the ceiling makes the light just right, and friendly service makes you feel like a regular. Two Black Russians, and we bask, soaking up the moment. Though I've been here many times, I have forgotten what a balm to the eyes Gino's North is.
We've spent a dozen hours and a hundred dollars, we've ridden the entire length of the Red Line twice, and we're in a damn fine mood. Of course, your Red Line pub crawl might consist of two, three or four points on the CTA map, but think of it this way: The more bars you hit, the more lives you're saving.
- RED LINE IMBIBERIES
MORSE
Red Line Tap, 7006 North Glenwood.
(Exit to Lunt, turn left.)
Buffalo Bar at the Heartland Cafe, 7000 North Glenwood (773)465-8005.
LOYOLA
Bruno and Tim's Lounge, 6562 North Sheridan (773)764-7900.
(Exit to Sheridan, turn left.)
GRANVILLE
Gino's North, 1111 West Granville (773)465-1616.
(Exit stop and turn right.)
THORNDALE
Moody's Pub, 5910 North Broadway (773)275-2696.
(Exit stop and turn right, cross Broadway and left.)
The Ole St. Andrew's Inn, 5938 North Broadway (773)784-5540
(Exit stop and turn right, cross street.)
BERWYN
Ollie's Lounge, 1064 West Berwyn (773)784-5712.
(Exit stop and turn right, then jaywalk across the street.)
ARGYLE
Red Rooster, 1124 W. Argyle.
(Exit stop and turn right.)
LAWRENCE
The Green Mill Cocktail Lounge, 4802 North Broadway
(773)878-5552.(Exit and turn left, look for the glittering lights.)
SHERIDAN
Sheridan "L" Liquors, 3944 North Sheridan Rd. (773)528-6753.
(Exit and turn left - it's practically under the tracks.)
ADDISON
Sports Corner Tavern & Grille, 952 West Addison (773)929-1441.
(Between the stop and the ballpark.)
BELMONT
Lakeview Links, 3206 North Wilton (773)975-0505.
(Exit stop, turn right, then left on Wilton.)
Off Broadway Lounge, 1004 West Belmont (773)525-0131.
(Exit stop, turn left. It's across the street.).
NORTH & CLYBOURN
The Bluebird Lounge, 1637 North Clybourn (312)642-3449.
(Cross North Avenue and follow Clybourn on North side.)
Weeds, 1555 North Dayton (312)943-7815.
(Cross Clybourn going West, then South on Dayton.).
CHICAGO
Streeter's Tavern, 50 East Chicago (312)944-5206.
(Take the northeast exit and head toward the lake.).
GRAND
Rock Bottom Brewery, 1 West Grand (312)755-9339.
(Up the southwest stairs.)
STATE & LAKE
Off-Track Betting, 177 North State (312)419-8787.
(Take the northeast exit.)
MONROE
Beef 'n ' Brandy, 127 South State (312) 372-3451.
(If you see the Carson Pirie Scott doors, you're too far north.)
Berghoff Cafe, 17 West Adams (312)427-3170.
(Exit toward Adams, West side of the street.)
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