A divey, divey tied bar versus a Scottish pub.

Life Pro Tip: Always bring beer on the Metra.

Started this matchup out at The Wheach’s place in the burbs again and took the Metra to Union Station. We learned from our previous freshman follies and came equipped with a round or several of canned Coronas. The fanciest of Coronas.

After boarding the train we met up with Speakeasy who boarded at the previous station. Speakeasy had already started a sixer of Banquet Beer Light by the time we found him, a sign of a good Bar Bracketer. First piece of business: get Speakeasy an alias for the Chicago Bar Bracket. You may have guessed, but we ended up going with Speakeasy.

After some deep thought and stimulating conversation on the train we arrived at Union Station and hopped in a cab. No fun Lyft driver stories here.

However, as the cabbie attempted to “turn” onto Iowa we informed him that traffic happened to only go the other way on this street. The cabbie launched into a full scale, DEFCON level 1 rant, mostly about the terribleness of driving people to random parts of the city. Much like Olan, the Lyft driver who yelled at us about “slamming” doors, I feel like this cabbie may want to rethink his career choices.

Soon enough we “arrived” at Archie’s Iowa Rockwell Tavern. I use “arrive” with hesitation because we selected a drop off location about a block from the bar in an attempt escape the cabbie’s fury.

The official arrival at Archie’s did not surpass the whimsy of our partial “arrival”. To compare arrivals to fireworks, the arrival at Archie’s was probably a black cat. And a dud black cat at that.

We entered a bar featuring a sole patron who I can only assume is a permanent fixture of the Northwest corner of the bar. I imagine his faded windbreaker as the modern equivalent of mummification.

After a couple minutes of waiting for Bradley, our bartender, to come back inside we ordered a Hamm’s & Jim Beam for $5. A deal I am definitely not opposed to and one which stuck out to The Wheach on the tavern’s surprisingly solid beer list. We each got a round of Hamm Beams and both refreshers went down with equal parts deliciousness and smoothness.

While settling into the bar I noticed several mementos tacked onto the frame above the mirror behind the bar. Seeing this as an excellent opportunity to find a new home for my newly acquired Chicago Bar Bracket business cards I approached Bradley with my proposal. Unfortunately the honor of immortalization at Archie’s is reserved for regulars who have moved away. One of our first signs that Archie’s is very much a bar for its regulars.

For my second round I asked Bradley if he had any recommendations. He recommended beer. I pressed on and asked him for his favorite beer and he suggested a Vandermill Cider, eventually steering me to his favorite: ginger & peach. It was not my cup of cider. The Wheach did not appreciate me telling Bradley this when asked for my opinion. The Wheach has a general objection to me giving honest reviews of food and booze to my servers and purveyors of alcohol.

Fresh off insulting Bradley’s taste in ciders and with the rejected business card proposal still very much a sour point, we decided it was appropriate to come up with a second proposition for Bradley. Speakeasy had a profound fondness for Archie’s old-timey cash register. Most likely because it looks like it belongs in an actual speakeasy. Unfortunately our efforts to purchase the cash register did not succeed.

 

As appropriate for this hour of the day (5:30pm), Speakeasy initiated the regular Bar Bracket inquisitions regarding an adventure into the land of Malort. Speakeasy and I each ordered a shot of Malort after setting our priorities straight and grabbing some more Hamm Beams. The Wheach sat out. I figure The Wheach still had his sobriety intact if he operates how I do in regards to offers of Malort.

 

After ‘Malortin it up’ we removed ourselves from the bar to a couple of tables in the center of the bar. While moving through the bar I also noticed a giant pine cone near the window. Naturally I asked Bradley if I could invite the pine cone to party with us. Bradley had no objections and soon enough the pine cone joined the Chicago Bar Bracket. The pine cone did not receive an alias.

For the rest of my time at Archie’s  I reserved part of my brain for debating the pros and cons of stealing this pine cone. Luckily I feel my years of klepto-inebriation have passed, for the better or worse, much like other things in life like my diet or respect for bartenders  feelings in regard to the reviews of the drinks they serve.

Our interests shifted to the bar’s many boardgames as we enjoyed our Hamm Beams and recovered from the Malort shots. We originally settled on Clue, but The Wheach exploded when I informed the group that I didn’t remember how to play Clue. Apparently it’s too complex to explain. Even the pine cone mocked me.

After several suggestions and vetoes of various games, Speakeasy proposed a dice game he knew of from his travels through life: 7-14-21. This is a game I vaguely remember from past experience, or maybe just hearing it mentioned, but I found it enjoyable enough to include here.

The pine cone did not excel at this game. I have a feeling that the pine cone did not add much to our group besides cobwebs and dust.

We played three rounds of 7-14-21, dishing out a shot of tequila with a pickle back, a prairie fire (the three of us agreed that we like prairie fires), and a cement mixer (made with Kahlua due to a lack of Bailey’s).

On the third round Speakeasy suggested a cement mixer, had to buy it, and had to take it, in addition to ending with all three shots of Beam. The Wheach and I vetoed Speakeasy taking four shots and confiscated two of the Beams. Throughout the night Speakeasy made clear that he could still take two more shots if needed (or allowed).

After wrapping up our third round of 7-14-21 (and asking many people at Archie’s to play with us) we decided to head to Duke of Perth.

With the mental scars still fresh from our cabbie encounter we decided to summon a Lyft and after a short battle with the Verizon overlords KImmie arrived at Iowa & Western. Cool fact: Kimmie is her actual name, not short for Kimberly.

Judging by the piss-poor quality of my conversational efforts during this Lyft ride, I can officially say that the Metra and Archie’s got me drunk. In short Kimmie was probably one of if not the best Lyft drivers I’ve ever had. Meanwhile I acted like myself, which sounds atrocious.

I have decided to have The Wheach sum up the Kimmie Confessions as I feel I cannot do my readers justice when trying to recollect the lows of my attempted conversation. You you can find The Wheach’s account towards the bottom of this post.

As Kimmie most likely praised god for being done with me, we arrived at the Duke of Perth.

What Archie’s lacked for in terms of first impressions the Duke more than made up for, both in terms of ambiance and the service we immediately received from the hostess, Maggie, and the bartender, Mike.

I asked Mike about personal favorites and his favorite drink to serve. He replied beer. I eventually pried some beer recommendations out of him and had a Twisted Thistle IPA. The IPA pleased me. Not too hoppy, but with bold flavors.

I apologized to Mike for pestering him about drink recommendations and explained my desire to have a genuine Duke experience for the Bar Bracket.

I believe the mention of the Bar Bracket is what sparked the interest of Jamie W., a 25 year veteran patron of The Duke and overall good guy. We quickly spiralled into a conversation about what makes a good bar – a fairly valuable discussion for someone comparing bars – and a meta bar conversation about what makes good bar conversations. We agreed that good conversation is a sign of a good bar.

 

As I’m sure happens frequently in Scottish pubs we soon ran into the topic of Scotch. I used my standard line about “I’m not really a Scotch drinker because I feel you have to pay a lot of money before you get something worth drinking whereas you can get a good bourbon on the cheap.” Given my current state at the time I’m sure this came out as “Smerga dersh dersh Scotcha money Makers Mark.”

Jamie would not stand for this. He said he would buy me a good Scotch. And holy shit did he buy me a good Scotch. I took a picture because I feared my feeble mind could not remember this elixir.

I’m not sure what this drink cost, so I’m not sure if Jamie’s offering really countered my “Smerga dersh dersh” proposition. Regardless, it definitely changed my mind about Scotch.

While working on our Scotches and beer, Jamie introduced to a couple more regulars and Nick, an off duty Duke bartender.

Eventually our hunger caught up with us and we moved over to a table to enjoy the first bar food of the Chicago Bar Bracket.

I had the fish and chips. I vaguely remember a lot of peas. Probably an amount inedible by any human.

The Wheach also had the fish and chips, which is surprising because it took him till about halfway through his meal to remember he does not like fish. The Wheach had a rather daring night, as he also drank most of a gin martini despite not being a fan of gin. And by not a fan I mean he would probably drink cinnamon and gasoline before gin.

Sadly, The Wheach has successfully done a cinnamon challenge, so the cinnamon and gasoline suggestion may not be too far off the mark.

After waking up for work at 5:30 am this particular Saturday I quickly approached “let’s go take a nap in the cab on the way to Union Station” mode. That may be what I did. Maybe not. But maybe.

Before doing a recap of the two bars and revealing the votes, I’m going to post the promised Wheach writeup. This is my segue.

Goober (Plunger) has asked me to fill in some of the spaces of our expedition to Archie’s Iowa Rockwell Bar and The Duke of Perth. I’m happy to oblige as his conversation with Kimmie the Lyft driver was really something to behold. After the very interesting (read: screamy) first cab ride, I must say, Kimmie was a delight. She was very nice and I didn’t get the “I’m going to get murdered if I gently shut her car door” vibe from her that I’ve received on a prior Lyft experience. Her car also smelled very nice and was overall quite comfortable. It’s no secret that I’ve generally been very leery of the ride-sharing movement in general, but people like Kimmie help to ease my mind a bit.

Anyway, we were all having a great conversation, making small talk, etc, until Goober veered us off the road. I’m pretty sure this is the point in the day that Goober turned from kinda normal buzzed-drunk and having a good time to taking the Blackout Choo Choo to his stop at Shitfaced Station. Now I fear I’m going to do a bit of a disservice to exactly how much Goober screwed the pooch with Kimmie because I can’t remember the exact phrasing but I can definitely provide the gist. I have been consulting with Speakeasy regarding the specific language but sadly he can’t remember either. Though I’ve heard that Kimmie now follows CBB on Twitter so Kimmie, if you’re reading this, feel free to correct me. Anyway, it went a little something like this:

Goober (in response to Kimmie): Well, you don’t have the best looking face in the world.

Kimmie: What??

Goober: You know what I mean!

Kimmie, The Wheach and Speakeasy: What, that she’s ugly?

Goober: No, no, just….there’s like…well there’s like better faces in the world (starting to look concerned he’s digging himself deeper).

Now, you need to realize that everything Goober is saying is coming out of his mouth with a tone like he’s the most suave dude Kimmie has ever met followed by complete confusion as to why she’s not melting for him. Meanwhile, the rest of us are more or less flabbergasted and myself and Speakeasy are honestly getting more shocked by the moment that Kimmie hasn’t kicked us out yet.

The other memorable component of the conversation during the drive was Goober peppering in increasingly personal questions about Kimmie’s life and family members. Perhaps out of kindness, perhaps out of pity, or perhaps out of the assurance that there was no way Goober would remember any of this, Kimmie was surprisingly forthcoming. Goober managed to find out her child’s name, her school and the general area in which they live. I was waiting for his next line of questioning to involve her child’s class schedule or perhaps blood type, but sadly (or mercifully) the Lyft ended before reaching that level of privacy invasion. Of course by the end of the ride Goober’s sentences were not so much compromised of words so much as stuttering baby talk. In any event Kimmie was the best cabbie we’ve ever had and I can’t wait to go to her child’s flute recital next month.

In general I’d say the Bar Bracket is bringing even more of the Goober out of Goober, which 1.) I thought (hoped?) was impossible and 2.) Is only going to lead to more stories of this ilk.

Oh yeah, the vote:

Archie’s is a bar that I would be at almost every day if I lived within walking distance. The Hamm Beams are really hard to beat after a day at ol’ salt mines. That said, if you aren’t a regular, it might not be the best spot for you. Duke of Perth was a warm, welcoming pub where I felt like old friends with customers and employees alike.

 

Duke of Perth by a mile.

 

Wheach Out

Archie’s is overall a pretty standard corner dive bar based on what I used to see when I worked on the Miller Lite beer trucks. Although, to Archie’s credit, it definitely did not smell as bad as most of those dives. The comparable bar in the Bracket, at least physically, to Archie’s is probably Quencher’s, but that really doesn’t give Quencher’s the credit it deserves. Quenchers had multiple rooms, a patio, more dive bar nick-nacks, and one hell of a beer list. Plus Quencher’s had Uncle Rick, the bartender.

Still, based on first appearances Archie’s had a surprisingly good beer list. Also, Bradley dealt with us in a friendly manner, even if we didn’t dive into conversation.

The big downside to Archie’s is that it felt like a bar in existence almost exclusively for its regulars. Really, the Bar felt like the adult version of the kid’s parents’ house that has a pool table in the garage and the parents don’t care about drinking. That or the real life version of a Moe’s tavern. I assume the person planted in the Northwest corner to be Barney Gumble in this analogy. Either way it felt like the bar had a Cheers-esque connection between the common patrons and bartenders – a connection that left us on the outside looking in.

Meanwhile the Duke of Perth definitely fell on the other end of the bar spectrum. The Duke is not a high falutin’ fancy place, but they nailed everything about being a pub. The Duke had a great atmosphere with a sharp bar & bartender to go with it. The staff greeted you immediately and overall it felt like you always had service while the staff also kept their distance and gave you privacy.

Additionally, the Duke had it’s own militia of regulars (as The Wheach said, there were more regulars out this night than in the Revolutionary War) and the Duke’s regulars came across as approachable and willing to bring us into their conversation. They also came across as very proud of their bar (and interested in the Duke’s success in the Bar Bracket).

At the end of the day, in my quest to find the best bar in Chicago this was probably the easiest decision so far. Speakeasy, The Wheach and I all agreed that the Duke of Perth is the better bar. Also, and don’t take this as any disrespect to Archie’s, but Archie’s feels like the first bar that I don’t feel any disappointment about having to vote down. The Duke is simply better.

If you still feel like reading more individualized reviews of each bar, feel free to check out the reviews on the Chicago Bar Bracket Google+ Page.

If not, cheers until the next time I go hunting for Chicago’s best bar.