

Stretching the northerly boundaries of Cubbie territory nearly to Irving Park Road, this dive-among-dives has only one thing characteristically Wrigleyville about it: its name. The first sign: the bartender's missing her four front teeth. The second sign: The low, garage band–ready stage with cowboy hats atop the amplifiers. The final clue: the refreshing absence of loud, red-faced bros and their stumbling Botox broads.
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