Bars of the Western World #5: Old Style, Cold Beer

Bars of the Western World #5: Old Style, Cold Beer

My exhaustive, close-to-encyclopedic chronicle of bars of the Western World has taken me to Irish pubs in Berwyn, and roadhouses in the suburbs , as well as one of Oak Park’s oldest bars, now transformed with flat screens, R.I.P, and the area’s only gay bar and even bars where the girls are knockout beautiful and have really husky voices.



Last night, discovering Paradise Sushi and Sauna closed (forever?), The Wife and I stopped in what is now my favorite bar: Old Style/Cold Beer. With competitors like Packaged Goods and Bottles and Cans, Old Style/Cold Beer has a tried and true formula that many imitate: darts, juke box, limited beer selection on tap, and a full house of Chicago-types.

Old Style/Cold Beer is the kind of place that makes me glad I didn’t shave; me and just about every other guy at the bar had a stubble, the kind of look that says No, I didn’t go to work today, and if I did, it wasn’t the kind of job that expects a smooth chin and shined shoes.

Old Style/Cold Beer has a bartender lady who was friendly but not too friendly, and the guys at the bar – who seemed to give us a somewhat WTF look when we walked in – became a whole lot friendlier when I went with a beer and a shot rather than something that comes in a stemmed glass. One guy came up to us and said, apropos of nothing, that he was dancing with a girl whose father just died and he was just comforting her, though his arms around her suggested his motivations went well beyond merely altruistic. As is my wont, I steered the conversation to food, and this was the gist:

ME: Some food is better as leftovers.
GUY: I’m not a leftover kind of guy.
ME: What’s your favorite place to eat?
GUY: C. Manny’s. It’s great. You get a load of food. Leftovers would probably be pretty good.
ME: But you’ll never know.
GUY [Laughing, walking to jukebox]: What do you wanna hear? It’s on me.
SOMEONE SHOUTS IN BACKGROUND: Play some Taveres!
ME: Play whatever you want.
GUY: I’ll play something I think you’ll like.

What it turns out he thinks I would like is a selection from Tears for Fears, which I thought was a touching selection for the guy to make and was probably, in some way, his critique of who he thought I was. Never got his name, but he told me a few times he was “from the neighborhood” (while simultaneously asking me if I was, too) which I’m sure applied to most of the people there. He also told me he preferred rice made in the style of the Dominican Republic, and that he thought Mexican rice was bland…though he was going to eat Mexican that night to help the fatherless girl, Blanca, feel better. She was, I guess, Mexican.

The power of alcohol was dramatically demonstrated when, about three-quarters of the evening through, I found myself, to my horror, getting into a Brittany Spear’s song that Blanca kept spinning (she also kept apologizing to The Wife for reasons that my failing ears failed to discern):



Could have been a sobering moment…but it wasn’t. Anyway, I’m a sucker for self-referential art, and my fascination with trash is, indeed, equally shameless. Let the record show that this week the poster has not only linked to a Brittany video but to Teen Vogue; clearly, your honor, this man is losing is mind, though not unpleasantly.

At some point near the end of the evening, a striking Russian woman came in with a fur hat, and disgorged martini glasses from a plastic bag; I believe she wanted mixed drinks, and at Old Style/Cold Beer, if you’re looking for that kind of beverage, you might have to bring your own glassware.

Couples talked quietly in corners, smooching; the guy in the Packers sweatshirt, who has been slamming Old Style and blackberry brandy, is having another; three big guys at the pool table (in sales, I’m guessing?) are vigorously fist pumping with veins popping out of their heads, as apparently there’s some sporting event that makes them excited and happy.

And so the evening goes at Old Style/Cold Beer, drinking okay brew, having gregarious, non sequitur single-line conversations with those around me, leaving feeling like this was a more satisfying social experience than I’d had at a bar in a long time.

Bottles and Cans (multiple locations)

much as i like food, people are more interesting.