Kenny,
Are you going to see the Old 97s at Grant Park, or at the Abbey on the 6th? The Abbey show was on- again/off- again, now it's on, and tickets went on sale last Saturday. I had the fortune of going to college outside Dallas while the band was cutting its teeth, but have missed them for a variety of reasons (births of children, etc.) every time they've been through here. I just re-read your post, and realized you're seeing them at Summerfest. I don't know if you've seen one of their shows before, but they're fantastic live, and I highly recommend seeing them in a more intimate indoor venue like the Abbey. I'm pretty excited. Unfortunately, Jonathan Richman cancelled this weekend at the Double Door. But enough of miscellaneous musicspeak.
Lem's and the bar next door
I highly recommend a trip down south for some ribs at Lem's and some Old Style next door at Miss Francie's bar (and Bid Whist parlor). I've been threatening a lengthy post on a recent excursion to the two, but as it becomes less and less recent, and my memory is already fragmenting, I might as well give up. But let me say, for anyone contemplating Lem's and fearing the south side, that, just as a single data point, the bar next door is the single friendliest bar I have been to in Chicago.
Wednesday night, I believe, is the day to go, according to patrons when we were there. The crowd was quite lively and the DJ was pumping some serious 70s soul and funk. There's no great beer list, but the Old Style is a hell of a way to wash down Lem's ribs. I bought an apple martini for some girl whose birthday it was, and it was terrible. I don't like those things to begin with, but this thing was worse. On the plus side, the bartender brought the shaker to the table emptied most of it into an oversized martini glass, and then poured the remainder into a juice glass so she could top it off. It was bad, but at least there was a lot of it.
To flesh out the night a bit more, me and a buddy, a U of C grad student and Hyde Park resident, met at the cultural center for some Persian classical music. A fantastic show. It left us hungry. Now my buddy is as pale of flesh as I, and while he's not exactly frightened of the big bad south side, he's relatively content to inhabit the insular world of Hyde Park and travel to the north side for social outings. He's also not nearly as obsessed with food as I am. To wit, he'd never had Lem's. So we hopped the red line, walked the eight blocks to Lem's well after dark, picked up some ribs and tips and, not content simply to eat in the parking lot, and having no hood of our own, we sought out a watering hole to wash town the pig with some suds.
Now I'm not exactly sure of the name of Miss Francie's. It could have just been Miss Frances'. Or it could have just said Francis on the sign and the Miss was appended by the various patrons with whom we spoke. But it's on 75th, just a few doors west of Lem's on the same side of the street.
When we entered, I believe one or two jaws dropped. It was clear that few white boys hang out at Miss Francie's. Before our first beers were opened, we were warmly welcomed by a man who happened to be an off-duty, undercover, project-working, Bid Whist-gambling cop. He was astonished we'd heard of Lem's. "Heard of it?" I asked, puzzled. "I thought everyone knew Lem's is the place in Chicago for ribs."
Spending too much time on Chowhound, and now here, certainly skews one's perspective of what's well-known and oft-frequented. He was not the only one that night incredulous we knew of Lem's. The man bought us some drinks, chatted for a while, told us how much better the neighborhood is now then it used to be, and checked with us regularly to make sure we were enjoying ourselves. He also made us promise to return with more "white boys from the north side", and strongly encouraged us to learn how to play Bid Whist, pointing at a smiling picture of Michael Jordan playing Bid Whist at Miss Francie's. I still don't know what Bid Whist is, though I believe it's in the genre of Hearts, Spades, and other "trick" games.
I could go on, or I at least I could have sooner after the fact. We were similarly approached by no less than four other bar patrons, each one just as friendly, and wanting to talk about how surprised and pleased they were that we were white and traveling to their part of town. In fact, I was shocked by how openly everyone seemed to discuss "the race issue". It's the kind of thing that you generally tread lightly around in social situations, and elicits nasty flame wars on Chowhound.
But what was most surprising, is how much more foreign it felt than simply being a white Chicagoan travelling to Black Chicago. It was much more like an American traveling in Europe (back when they still liked Americans)--that sort of "Hey...what are you doing here...oh, that's great!...cheers all around to the foreign folks" kind of atmosphere. Again, it was easily the friendliest reception I've had at any bar in this city.
By the end of the night, many more Old Styles later than originally planned, the DJ was giving shout outs to the two white boys in the corner, and we were got a round of applause from the whole bar. (We were not alone in this--lots of people were getting rounds of applause from the whole bar.) It was surreal. And absolutely shocking, and a little sad, that the presence of white guys was as foreign to that bar as it would have been had we stumbled into a brauhaus in Düsseldorf. But man it was a blast, and I can't wait to go back.
Lem's eaten on the hood of one's car seems to be the Chowhound/LTH-way. But I highly recommend checking out Miss Francie's next door. And if you're concerned about the neighborhood or the time of day or the darkness, well, you'll hear a lot of different things. Some people will surely say it's dangerous, and I would not dismiss their experiences out of hand. I've not felt it. I'm also not a Chicago native, and I didn't grow up informed by the collective memory of the dangers of the south side. This is merely another story to consider. When we finally left Miss Francie's, it was well past midnight, and we walked the eight or so blocks back to the red line, with nary a cold glance felt upon our shoulder.
Edit: Add title/subject.
Last edited by
Aaron Deacon on June 22nd, 2004, 8:01 am, edited 1 time in total.