Bar #7: Jefferson Inn

9:30pm, Wednesday, June 8

4874 N. Milwaukee Ave.

Price of Old Style: $2.75 drafts

The Jefferson Inn is a cozy little place on North Milwaukee Avenue. It's a few places down from the Gale Street Inn, which has some of the best ribs in the city, and next door to Edward Fox photography. I'm not sure of the quality of the pictures that Mr. Fox takes, but there's a statue of him outside the door (update: Ed Fox is long gone...the studio has been around since 1902).

Back to the bar, my brother and I walk in and it's pretty dead. Two women sitting at the bar in the front and that's it. There are a few booths next to the bar, and the back room is up a few steps, and also has a few nice booths, a flatscreen, and electronic darts. Looks like a good place to chill out with friends.

We order our Old Styles and the bartender asks us our names. She's probably in her late 20's/early 30's and is one of the most disproportionate people I have ever seen. She's barely fitting in the shirt she's wearing, with her boobs pushed up to her chin, but her curves end after her waist...no butt whatsoever. Sorry about the bartender critique - this won't be a regular feature of the blog - but this had to be noted. Anyway, she doesn't believe me that my name is Adam, because guys tell her that all the time. Why? Because her name is Eva. Oh, of course! I guess people at dive bars read a different Bible, or maybe they updated the names in the New-New version to make them trendy. If that was so, it would be Aiden, not Adam, and Eva.

Popcorn. There is popcorn behind the bar. Eva quickly fills us a bowl before we even ask - ok, this girl's alright. She convinces us that the bar will pick up after 10pm. We sure hope so, because America's Got Talent is on TV, and we're actually getting into it. Ten o'clock rolls around, and sure enough, people start filling up the place. A good number have just gotten off work at Gale Street Inn, and shots are being ordered. Must have been a rough night at work. No--the shots are being ordered by this guy that just walked in, and seems like a very happy drunk. He's an Indian dude, and reminds me a lot of Rajesh from Big Bang Theory (who can't talk to women unless he's drunk). Raj orders drinks for everyone in the bar, except for us (WTF - getting screwed by the regulars again), and then proclaims a number of times, "Oh man, who the f--k is gonna pay for all this?" We're done with our beers by now, and make our way out. We need to pass Raj to leave the bar, and we wonder if he'll offer us a drink. Nope - all we get is a "See you later, guys!" and a smile. No big deal for us...we had one more bar to hit, and man was it a doozy.

Bar #6: Murray's Tavern

8:30pm, Wednesday, June 8

5522 N. Elston Ave.

Price of Old Style: $2 bottles, $1 drafts

Murray's Tavern is a blue collar dive bar located in the Jefferson Park neighborhood, an area of Chicago mainly populated by city workers, firefighters and police officers. I used to pass this bar all the time on the way home from work, with its Old Style sign hanging high above the door, suspended from the roof. We pull up and see an unmarked police car sitting out front...this could be interesting...

As we walk in, all four people sitting at the bar turned and stared...once again, we're obviously not regulars. The jukebox did not screech to a halt, though. Sinatra kept on playing as we took our seats, with the bartender nowhere to be found. We look around the bar...pool table, electronic jukebox, piano, Murray's Flag, and tons of pictures of drunk people hanging behind the bar. There is also a picture of Murray behind the bar...may he rest in peace.

Ten minutes later, a woman came from out back and got us our beers, and by now the old man next to us is trying to balance a HUGE white plastic platter on his head. This guy couldn't be the undercover cop, right? You never know in Chicago...

Halfway though our beers, plastic platter is still not staying on old dude's head, and keeps on clanging on the ground. By this time, a group of four guys have come in, and there is Irish music blasting from the juke. At least it was drowning out the sound of the clanging platter. The Irish play list reaches it's crescendo with everyone (except us) singing "The Streets of New York" by the Wolfe Tones...hmmm, this is a more authentic Irish bar than most I've been to in Chicago that claim to be (i.e. Irish Oak, Irish Eyes, Hye Bar, Mystic Celt). Oh yeah, we don't mention our ancestors are Scottish.

My previous thought rings even more true when we finally get to talk to the bartender, Maeve. She is 100% Irish, and came to Chicago 7 years ago. She give my brother a bunch of places to go see in Ireland when he and his girlfriend travel there in September. Unfortunately she didn't know too much of the history of how Murray started the bar, but it's been around since 1953 (see picture of flag). We thought about asking the locals, but weren't sure they liked us, especially based off this conversation:

Drunk guy 1: Hey Maeve, take care of these guys...they look like a couple firefighters! (laughs)

Drunk guy 2: Firefighters? Maybe those guys that fly the shitty planes and drop water on forest guys. A tough of tough guys here. (more laughter)

No idea what that meant, but I'm sure they were making fun of us...and I'm positive that, if he were still around, Murray would not approve.