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Boni’s v. Bonny’s

Last night after a game of trivia at the Whirlaway, I ventured back to the bar formerly known as Boni’s. The space was exactly the same; it looks like maybe they amped up the red lights and made it darker, but the tables, chairs and bar are all untouched. They pulled out the internet jukebox and put in a photo booth. The chopped up anti-drug bathroom door was now full size and lockable. Minor changes, all. Except the clientele. The bar is now called Bonny’s and when I was there around 11 pm, the crowd was 95% white hipster. This is a radical change.

Honestly, I don’t know what to think. This isn’t going to be one of those “I liked old Boni’s, why’d they have to kill it” posts. I didn’t like the old Boni’s. That place had nothing going for it. It was dingy, the beer wasn’t cheap, wasn’t good, and wasn’t served quickly. Someone threatened to stab me the first night I was there. 4 AM bars are for meeting people. No one my age ever went to Boni’s. It was a last resort on a Tuesday when going home or taking a cab weren’t options. To see the new Bonny’s so packed with my peers and not one regular patron was shocking. The bar had a completely different feel. And I’m not so sure about it.

When I first started going to the Two Way Lounge, it was rough. There were pockets of hipsters, but for the most part, it was an older, drunker crowd. I saw someone knifed there. I saw fights, police, ambulances. The bar slowly shifted, with more hipsters replacing the regulars until Thursday-Sunday at the Two Way became unapproachable; there were just too many kids. The bartenders all quit or were fired, the prices raised (slightly). The Two Way changed, and I stopped going. The bar doesn’t feel the same. It’s calmer; it doesn’t have the spice of life. Boni’s will never experience this. Boni’s will never fade. It’s over; it’s new. It never got “uncool” because it never was cool.

I’m cautiously excited. The idea of a walkable, cheap 4 AM bar so close to home is intriguing to say the least. One that I won’t get stabbed at is even better. But the idea of the displacement of the bar’s old customers is somewhat worrying. Will this create an influx of douche to Logan? I don’t know. I can tell you this though. I will be drunk at Bonny’s tonight around 2.

Wait for people to start saying “I miss the old Boni’s”. I’m pretty sure I don’t.

Bardump

I am going to write a real, well-thought-out review/essay tomorrow. Now here are a bunch of bars I’ve been to and what I think about them. This is all off the cuff; anything that pops up is getting print folks. I’m not editing.

Alice’s: Four AM and Karaoke? Sign me up for “Money for Nothing.” FTW.

Club Foot: I hate when family restaurants put shit all over their walls, and I hate it when this place does it too. FTL.

Happy Village: Ping-Pong is not an excuse for a four-dollar Schlitz. FTL.

Innertown: Quiet with good seating and attentive bartenders, one of which looks like Joan Holloway with brown hair and glasses? FTW.

Two Way: Eh, Old Style is making me sick. FTL.

Whirlaway: Yeah, I’ll take it. FTW.

Coles: I didn’t like drinking in my Uncle’s Basement when I was in high school, and I sure as shit don’t like it now. Nope. FTL.

Owen & Engine: Sure, I like winter okay. FTW.

Longman and Eagle: Everyday is good eats and cheap whiskey, Mondays are cheap eats and cheaper whiskey. I’ll take it. FTW.

The Continental: Okay, why not. FTW.

The California Clipper: Yeah, totally. FTW.

Moe’s Tavern: Stay away. Good beer list though. FTW.

Burger Bar: Tuesdays, yes. Other days, I dunno, does North and Clybourn have other bars? FTW.

Mathilda’s: Yep. FTW.

DMK: Same thing. FTW.

Jake’s: Uh huh. FTW.

That seems like a good number. Like I said, this is a bardump. The real essay is tomorrow. Tune back in.

Corn Dog Man?!

I was drinking at *** *** *** (which I haven’t reviewed yet, so its name is secret) and this guy walked in carrying what looked to be a Tupperware container of cat litter. He started yelling “Mumble mumble Blah mumble!” as he walked up the bar towards the other door. My boy Brian immediately turned to me and asked “Did he say Donuts?!”

I hadn’t a clue. I waited until walked the length of the bar and then headed back towards us. On his second pass I heard what he had to say. It was: “Corn Dogs! Corn Dogs!”

“Holy shit! That guy is selling corn dogs?!” Brian looked excited.

“I guess,” I responded. I called to him. “Hey!”

“Corn dogs?”

“How much?”

“One for a buck, six for five.” Sounded like the tamale man.

“One-“

“Six, here’s five,” Brian interrupted, handing the strange man a fiver. I tossed a dollar asking for just one, from Brian, not the corn dog man.

“Mustard or Aioli?”

“Mustard!”

“Aioli!”

“Aioli regular or Aioli Cajun?”

“Regular!” Brian was faster than I, I’d did asked for Cajun.

The man then opened his Tupperware and set two paper boats on the table. “Mustard’ll be this one and Aioli’ll be this one.”

He squeezed out regular yellow mustard onto the left boat and this grey-yellow sauce onto the other. He then pulled out three home-made corn dogs from his bucket and set them on the right boat. Three more home-made dogs onto the left. Brian paid and he booked like a fuck. We sat there a sec, taking it all in. We then feasted, three dogs each.

If he comes to a bar near you, don’t wait, don’t hesitate: Buy at least ten dollars worth of dogs and sauce, tip like it’s Hot Doug’s, and enjoy. You can thank me later.

Quenchers Saloon

Hey everyone, I moved! I now live in Logan Square, in close proximity to the Burlington, so my opinion of that fine establishment is only going up. But now that I am mostly settled, posting shall resume.

Quenchers is located not too far from me, at the corner of Fullerton and Western. With a name like Quenchers Saloon, I didn’t expect much, it sounds like a bro-y kind of joint, but I’m always happy to be surprised, especially when it comes to my drink. Quenchers is a beer bar through and through, but while other beer bars class up their love of shitty-hops with booths and quiet dining, Quenchers takes the opposite route, with a stage for up and coming bands, a photo booth for chug-fests, video games for the lonely alkies, and a popcorn machine with bottles of hot sauce. Yes, hot-sauce-popcorn. Fuck yeah.

The service here is always stellar, prompt, knowledgeable and above all, kind. Quenchers gives back to its drinkers too, with planned trips to breweries and distilleries. Building community while destroying your liver. My kind of place.

Quenchers: FTW.