I used to drink here before I became a beer snob. It's one of those real charming dives that you go when you don't have much to do but don't want to drink by yourself. I haven't been here in over 2 years. The reason why is because it never seems to be open. The front door is always shuttered up. Are you open anymore?!
Review Source:When I first moved into Avondale, two blocks away from this place, I thought that I must see what kind of bar is basically in some guy's home. When I went in with my friends we saw that place looks like it is in his basement. It's a tiny ass place with the atmosphere of a bar in a guy's basement, with Fred Flinstone dolls all over the place.
Ray himself looks like an aged Fred Flinstone, which explains the dolls. We talked to him for a little bit and, he was a nice guy, saying he was retired. When we asked what he used to do he said he had been the bartender of Ray's Tap. Yes, the place we were in right then. Apparently he just considered himself retired and was going to close the place in a little bit less than a year.
We talked some more and my buddy was asking him if he had caught the White Sox game. Ray said he "didn't follow minor league teams." My friend said, "No man, I mean the White Sox." Ray walked out from behind the bar over to some neon light in the back and said, "Yeah I don't follow minor league teams," and then flicked switch on. The light said Sox Sux. We just laughed.
The place is pretty cheap for the beers, but it kind of sucks that it opens at 10:30 PM. And then that it closing in less than a year. Oh well.
Best. Dive. Ever. In an 'it's actually, certifiably a dive' kind of way.
You kinda have to shout your order to Ray a couple times since he's hard of hearing, but after several truly, astonishingly cheap drinks you'd probably be doing that anyway. I've been to a few random events here after which you can't help but stay and enjoy the scenery, which is nothing short of fascinating and bizarre, sort of  like a David Lynch film. I am saddened that I haven't seen the tits of this infamous Rose character, but alas, that must mean I need to go more often.
This bar is like your grandfathers basement and a "locals only" place in the middle of America thown into a time machine set for 1976. David Allen Coe on the jukebox, Old Style in cans and other such surprises. Ray seems like a good dude and keeps it real by making his bar look like you're walking into a house. Good work brother.
Review Source:God, I miss this place.
An old stand by from when I used to live in Logan Square, my buddy Ryan and I would hit this up for the most David Lynchian evenings ever. I'm not sure how to describe this place, or how to list the pros and cons. It is the most surreal bar you'll ever go to, and if you're a seasoned bar hound, you'll appreciate it right away. I'll just describe the first fifteen minutes of walking in for the first time:
Ryan and I wander in, peeling back the rickety and weathered wooden door. Narrow like a train car and dusty like a tomb, there is so much shit on the wall, it resembles the den of a pack-rat meth addict. Flintstones toys, license plates, pictures, old Bears posters from the 1987 season, and Kathy Ireland spread out on a yellowed and water damaged spread. Sitting on two barstools are Peanut and a man we called H.S. Steve, due to looking dead on like Hunter S. Thompson and being named, obviously, Steve. Rose, the bartender, poured us two MGDs in mason jars, two shots of whiskey from an unmarked bottle, and took off her shirt, asking for us to use our "fancy camera phones" and "post a titty video on the internet." At this moment, Ah-Ha's "Take on Me" popped on the Jukebox, Peanut starts laughing to himself for no reason, and H.S. Steve turns to me and asks if I need anyone killed, all while Rose jiggled her breasts, asking how big Ryan's cock was. Then the night started to get weird...
Where do I even begin?
Half of my MGD was poured out of an old pitcher behind the bar then topped off with beer from the tap. Â
There are questionable David Allen Coe songs on the jukebox right next to The Smiths.
When asked about the dart team sign over the door the bartender replies "oh..we haven't had a dart team in years!"
There was a christmas tree up in August.
Peanut, one is the regulars, is always up for a dance.
Upon leaving the bartender raised up her shirt and showed us her bare breasts.
I love Rays.
I went here regularly for nearly 2 years until I moved out of Logan Square. It's located just off the Belmont Blue Line stop. You can get a stein of MGD for $1.50. Just be sure to wipe the rim of the glass. If that makes you uncomfortable I think the PBR is $2. On most nights, you can walk in to the bartender, Rose, an interesting character in every sense of the word & worth the trip alone, sitting by herself in the nicotine-stained, dimly-lit room. Probably staring at one of many pieces of Fred Flinstone memorablia littered about the place. It was explained to me that the owner (Ray, of course) bears a striking resemblence to the Hanna-Barbara character. Sure enough, he does. If there's a regular there, you may be in for a treat. This can be good or bad. They have a jukebox, an updated model of the one that was there when I first started going in, that has a decent selection of the usual sort.
Basically, I just go here because this is where the drunks go to die & service will never be denied unless you cop an attitude. You can even put your head down on the bar. You may want to wipe that down first, as well.
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