Justin V.
Yelp
Oh, Alice. My sweet, sweet Alice. If the Mexican Powers Boothe weren't already sensually tapping your well-kept ass on the daily I would be all over that coca-cola shake, girl. On the real.
... but how to describe your bar? Can the feeble trappings of the English language possibly encompass the august and hallowed interior of this tiny pocket of God's own Heaven?
Probably not, but it is our duty to do so or die in the attempt.
The first time I stepped foot in Alice's Lounge, nestled snug in the corner property at Belmont and Central Park I thought I was no longer in the city limits. Having spent the first 275 trips to Chicago going no further northwest than possibly the Logan Theatre, I was under the impression everything west of Pulaski dissolved into a lake of fire and a writhing mass of souls denied The Almighty's grace and gaze, left forever to burn in their shame. I figured Central Park was like, basically the gate to this abysmal anti-where.
Imagine, then, my surprise when my 3am jaunt to perdition's brink turned out to be the most fun imaginable.
Eurotrash karaoke? Check.
Dollar pool with twitchy-eyed regulars? Check.
Cheap drinks chock full of booze? Check.
Hot Polish bartendresses I believe are all related? Check, check, check.
Small buffet for no reason? Um, check.
Did we have to ring a doorbell to gain entrance to this earthly garden of delights? CHECK!
Now, all of these things with the exception of three generations of Polish heat slinging drinks can be found at various other substandard venues in and around the greater Chicagoland area, certainly closer than Avondale, right?
Sure, but much like eating a burrito at Chipotle vs. having a hand-ground, homecooked taco de harina being gently pushed into your waiting mouth by a slender, nubile Mexican maiden on the banks of the Rio Lerma, the difference is in the details.
Alice's Lounge is run by Alice, and Alice is both lightning fast and smoking hot.
Alice's Lounge is full of the single best mix of Polish discotheque extras, Mexican gangbangers, slightly obese whores and neighborhood drunks you will ever find, and they are all ready to karaoke at a moment's notice.
Alice's Lounge has free chicken wings and little fried thingamajigs and veggies with dip because shooting pool in between belting out forgotten Jon Secada tunes builds up a powerful hunger in a man (or woman).
Alice's Lounge features Alice's Boyfriend, the most unbearably suave Mexican Powers Boothe impersonator ever to grow a moustache. Mexican Powers Boothe will also wipe the whole goddamned pool table with you in under three minutes because the balls are AFRAID of Mexican Powers Boothe and want to hide.
Alice's Lounge has manged to find the most overinvolved, semi-frightening karaoke overlord to run the weekend festivities, his penchant for harmonizing and backup vocals unmatched in this or any other era, and also beguilingly enhanced by his neverending supply of props (includng but not limited to: an inflatable saxophone, irradiated, glowing sunglasses and a fake keyboard). You have to witness it to get the "full effect."
Alice's Lounge does not give a good god damn how drunk you are. Any 'antics' up to (and maybe even including) pulling a knife are dealt with admirably by both the (hot) staff and the bevy of die-hard regulars/inadvertent bouncers. In other words, acting a damned fool is no real detriment to your drinking and may in fact greatly improve your fun factor, provided you don't shank anyone.
Go ahead. Ring the bell. Extend your index finger and push that bad boy all the way in. All you have to lose is your equilibrium, inhibitions, hymen, mind and heart.