Sunnyside Tap

One of the main reasons I love this bar is that it is hipster repellent. I have been going to it on and off for a good 15 years. You will never see a guy with an A Flock of Seagulls hairsyle and tight jeans here and I like it that way.

This place is where fun goes to die.

I came here with my friend after work on a Friday, because I am a connoisseur of random Chicago dive bars (this is the first of many such reviews to come). We got there around 6PM and found the doors locked. I thought the place was closed for good (a known hazard when frequenting dives in gentrifying areas), so we went across the street to a little diner to regroup and decide on our next stop. Our waitress told us that Sunnyside was open, but it opened whenever the septuagenarian owner felt like it. So, after a quick snack we headed back over to find that it was in fact open.

You know how sometimes you can enjoy a dive bar genuinely because of the cheap drinks and fun and random characters, and other times you can enjoy it ironically? Well, neither of these frameworks worked this time. The only person in there was the elderly, non-talkative owner (who took both our beer order and our payment in silence), and the only sound was two 12" televisions mounted to the ceiling, emitting that weird too-blue light that often happens when cheap old televisions are on their last legs.  The decor was a few Spuds McKenzie-era Budweiser posters that had seen better days. We sat near the front door with our coronas (limited selection and no tap, despite the name), as the owner stared at us from across the room. Actually, he was staring at the television directly above our heads (I believe "Cops" was on), but the effect was the same.

My friend and I drank our beers, talked in that forced jovial manner that you do when you're in a situation that you want to at least find funny but deep down just want to get out of, and left. Please don't let this experience be in vain - there are many dive and non-dive bars in the area to check out, heed my advice and go to every other one before stopping here.

If you don't love this place, you are obviously a vapid & soul-less philistine. Take the wholistic approach and appreciate it for what it is.

The posters on the wall range from '87 to '92, as do the more contemorary tunes on their malfunctioning jukebox, upon which only the "popular" button works. The carpeted restrooms are soaked in piss. The bar has a wicked curve on both ends.

The lady bartender is a beautiful old Italian woman who seems as reluctant to assimilation as this magnificent dive.