RSS
Home
Chicago dives shudder at the mention of the Tally Ho
Print
Email
RSS
Subscribe
Somewhere in Chicago, as you read this, an old dude is scratching his head, wondering why his local tavern has been overrun by indistinguishable young people. These young people seem weird to him; their jeans are tight—too tight, and they choke down pints of Old Style with forced gusto. He doesn’t know it now, but soon his tavern will begin playing bad music and serving cans of PBR for as much as $3. Thursdays will become retro night—a curious ceremony involving false moustaches and noticeably worse music. Soon he will retreat, intimidated, confused, and, on account of the inflated price of beer, a little too sober to stomach the change.
The topic of real vs. phony dive bars is a heated one, and I refuse to enter my two cents on what constitutes authenticity. However, I’m confident that even the most erudite nightlife commentator would agree: The Tally Ho unequivocally qualifies. I don’t know that the neighborhood—a seedy portion of Rogers Park—has much to do with it, although I suppose it helps with overall tenor.
More to the point: The Ho is undiscovered—a quality I’ve decided has as much to do with dive-i-ness as does, say, accumulated filth. Not that the latter is an issue—new owners have tidied up a bit, counting, among other triumphs, the presence of toilet paper in the john.
Beer is cheap, although I can’t really remember how cheap. Let’s say it was cheap enough not to keep count. Regulars—other bar owners and long-time old-timers—are about as friendly as they come and there is an excellent circa 70s tapestry of a horse. The Ritz, it ain’t; rumor has it though that soap might turn up in the bathrooms.
Related Articles:
Comments
