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Wine & Spirits

Sunday, May 11, 2008

In Fine Form

”Indigo?"
“No.”
“Navy?”
“Too light.”
“Midnight blue?”
“No, not that dark. More like a dark dust.”
“It’s darker than dusk.”
“That’s why I said dark dust.”
“How about the walls?”
“Olive?”
“No.”
“Seafoam green?”
“No.”
“Perhaps avocado?” volunteers Annie, our server, who’s done a remarkable job not laughing at our stilted Sports-Night-on-alcohol dialogue.
“Hmm. Like a cross between olive and avocado?”
“Olivado!” we say, in unison.
Fantastic.

Whatever the colors of the walls and ceiling, In Fine Spirits is in fine form with the launch of their adjoining wine bar (5420 N. Clark Street, Chicago), which opened its doors a scant month ago. Michael at the wine shop has been my go-to man for the last year for everything from the perfect birthday gift to the quintessential scotch by the fire to reasonably priced and universally appealing drinks for a crowd. Their new wine bar extends the experience in such a lovely way. Our neighborhood wine shop has now become the neighborhood rendezvous, and not a moment too soon.

I’m told that the tile floors and tin ceiling are original. So is the seasonal wine list created by the four owners (Jill, Shane, Paul, and Johnnie). They’ve got an overflow room space and private rental room on the second floor, as well as the largest off-Clark backyard terrace in the city. A nibbles menu that uses the best of local ingredients (some from fellow shops in Andersonville) keeps one semi-sober as one sips from glass to glass.

And so my friend Jeff and I pass the time at our leisure on this Sunday afternoon. Three drinks and two hours later, we’ve covered the latest in our careers and love lives, waved to several friends passing by our windowfront perch, and declared this our new spot. Annie tells us that the owners want to make the wine bar everyone’s third place: work, home, here. Here--and now--are a wonderful place to be. And while my buddy makes a quick mobile call, I sit and enjoy the color of the ceiling, which reminds me of the hue of the Pacific, roughly a half-hour before sea and sky become indiscernibly one in the night and about a quarter-hour after I’ve remembered how to relax.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Marty’s by Night

J.D. Moehringer’s memoir The Tender Bar anchors the author’s story to the local pub in which his uncle worked and in which he grew up and wise. My friend Laura, when she was in Chicago, hung out at Rose’s, a downright dive of a place on Lincoln Ave. Jen had Narcisse close by, the perfect place for a $50 appetizer and the chance to view a body-glittered crowd. And Joyce in Westminster has Maggie’s, home of monster crab cakes and pedigreed bourbon.

I have Marty’s.

Somewhat hidden away on a sidestreet in Andersonville, Marty’s is the perfect place to unwind. It’s where James and I celebrate the start and close of projects. Where I take Rob to drink down the tension of a day of planning. Where I meet Nelson to laugh while she flirts with the bartenders.

It’s cozy, one narrow room with polished dark wood, velvet curtains, and prints of old French ads. And the people who come into Marty’s are there to enjoy good company. Unlike some places I’ve wandered into--where the people clearly are neighborhood regulars and clearly don’t want you there--the people I see in Marty’s are always polite, pleasant, willing to strike up a short conversation, and generous with their smiles. It’s Andersonville, after all, and everyone’s welcome.

Marty’s doesn’t serve food, but they’re glad to bring you a martini glass full of munchables, and they have a fantastic martini list. Dave makes the best cosmo I’ve ever had--always the perfect amount of sweet and pink. And my favorite time to come is right when they open (5 p.m. every day of the week), when the place is empty and quiet. A couple of drinks, a few trickle-in people to say hello to, and then home in time to have dinner with my honey. What better way to end an evening.