Issue #6: An Ode To A Bar

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Here comes a regular.

I can’t remember the first time I made it to Best Intentions. I do, however, fondly remember the time I took a friend there who was visiting from out of town. As soon as work ended, I met him at the dimly lit bar, beneath the soft glow of the vintage light board advertising a list of classic cocktails. We sat, we chatted about why Chicago was great while sipping on sub $10 drinks, and we caught up. When he wanted the full tourist treatment, we decided to swing over to Pequod’s. He saw the daunting line out front and his face dropped in dismay, so I elbowed him in the ribs and gestured for him to follow me upstairs where we could skip the 50 minute wait and just pony up to the bar and order our pizzas there. It felt like an evening of insider secrets and some real townie action. And that was it: Best Intentions made me feel like a Chicagoan for the first time.

For about 9 years, I was living on the Far South Side of Chicago, commuting to my job in West Town, being an active tourist in a city I lived in. And though I always felt like a phony when my co-workers wanted to grab happy hour beers at nearby haunts, the relatively new history of Best Intentions kept me from feeling out of place.

Bought, revitalized, and remodeled in 2015 by Chris and Calvin Marty, Best Intentions can best be described as the perfect neighborhood dive meticulously planned out to every single specific detail by bar industry veterans who wanted to do things the right way. Their main drink list showcases a list of classic cocktails that hover around $10 (with some dipping even cheaper), they only have one beer on tap and it’s Coors Banquet (you can get 10oz for $2 or 16oz for $3), their happy hour specials only pertain to a select variety of sherries, and they have a beer engine tap that dispenses shots of Angostura Bitters (for an agreeable $4). On hot days, you’re best off just going for their boozy milkshake based off of Wondermint, or maybe you wander to their patio where a secret Cabana bar has a unique cocktail menu. And then there’s the extraordinary food menu, making Best Intentions secretly one of the best restaurants in the city.

On most days, you’re likely to pony up and order something easy and cheap, like a Coors and a cheeseburger (meticulously modeled after a fast food burger and priced similarly). On some random nights, you might find yourself ordering a Martinez and getting an entire bone in pork chop paired with spätzle and house cured sauerkraut. The bathrooms run entirely different music than the main room, and both feature meticulously curated playlists.

When my girlfriend Ashley and I moved to Humboldt Park on the west side, I got to re-configure my life as a true Chicago resident. Getting to know each other better and getting to know our neighborhood, I remember wandering in three years ago through the snow and cold, both of us ordering a round of daiquiris. I still have a photo of her in a winter hat and scarf, leaning against the wall, holding a pale green goblet as some sort of last sliver of summer and warm weather wishes.

I miss those daiquiris.

I reached out to Aubry Robinson, a friend and bartender at Best Intentions, to help me fill in the gaps. Her relationship to Best Intentions is a complicated one: not only was she bartending there before the bar shut down for the pandemic, Best Intentions is also her favorite bar. Like me, she can’t really remember her first time going in.

I officially met Aubry when a friend of mine, Kylie, was coming in town from Seattle to Chicago. As we made tentative plans to grab a quick drink while she was in town, she suggested we meet up at Best Intentions, since her friend worked there, which was convenient because that’s where I was going to suggest. As I strolled in, Kylie introduced me to Aubry, and when we realized we already recognized each other from when times that she’d served me, I knew I had reached full regular status.

* * * *

We don't often talk about what being a regular means in lofty, philosophical ways. At a bare minimum, being a regular shows a type of tie to the community that exists within the bar. Ashley and I used to find ourselves stopping by for sherry happy hour with a handful of crossword puzzles in tow a few weeknights a month, where we got to chat with our regular bartender Pito about life and five-letter words for “works dough.” We celebrated our last New Years Eve at Best Intentions, where their six course meal was finished off with a slab of prime rib and a rib of Alaskan king crab legs. We’ve been doing this for a few year now, Chris Marty told me as he was waiting to help us find a seat at the bar. The cost of the dinner really just covers the cost of food. We almost lose money on it, but it’s just so fun.

As much as a regular invests in the bar they attend, it’s really the bar that invests in its regulars. Putting on a big New Year celebration where they almost lose their shirt every year. The occasion when a drink was comped, or a check just seemed light at the end of the night. The way every single bartender would nod, wave, or say hi and ask how you’re doing in a way to actually start a genuine conversation. Pricing out your drinks in a way that lets people comfortably stop in a few days a week. Creating an overall vibe that’s comfortable and accessible.

Regulars are the bread and butter at a place like Best Intentions:

Personally, I remember the time Ashley and I were there and got to hear the woman next to us talk about her father, an immigrant from Algeria, who raised a rare type of small bird in the Chicago suburbs for meat, and how he was becoming too conservative and always looked down on the men she tried to date.

Being a regular is something entirely new to me. My old job required me to travel a lot. I ended up feeling more comfortable at a hotel restaurant in Appleton, Wisconsin than I did anywhere in Chicago. I had more interactions with the same service workers in Miami than I did in my own neighborhood. Things changed when Best Intentions came into my life.

My friends Ashley and Evan took me to there after taking me into their home when my marriage was falling apart. I took my friend Georgia to Best Intentions to talk about her tumultuous love life. I brought my friends Charles and Natalie there for a quick 2pm cheeseburger after their flight landed on the way back to my place. We took our friend Trevor there for a late morning sip after a devastatingly huge breakfast that was so monstrous he ended up staying an extra day in the city. And every one of those times, my brain thought oh, let’s go pop into our bar.

That sense of ownership I feel as a regular is mirrored in a way to Aubry’s sense of ownership as an employee.

It’s worth noting what those details mean. In many high-end cocktail bars, these types of details create an environment that feels stuffy, or oriented to give comfort to insiders who know what to order and how. At Best Intentions, these details are designed to eliminate every potential instance of friction between the bartender and the customer. The experience is so perfectly curated that it feels like you’re just strolling into your neighborhood bar to grab a quick drink and quick bite.

It’s those moments that I miss.

* * * * *

March 11th, 2020, I swung by Best Intentions to meet my friend DJ and his brother Matt for a quick howdy before Ashley and I were headed to a comedy show. It was a busier than normal early Thursday evening, and shaking Matt’s hand, I immediately regretted it. We shouldn’t shake hands anymore! I shouted over the music. Fist bumps, or, like, elbow touches. I remember DJ nodding his head, that sort of Oh, right! realization, but it all seemed odd that a handshake was a problem as we stood around in a crowded bar. Getting rid of handshakes, that was the first step, right? Reduce unnecessary touching? I remember thinking about how these steps would come in waves as the COVID-19 pandemic started to take root. Maybe we’d have to reduce capacity in offices, or something. And then, in the car, on the radio, I heard that the NBA was suspending their season due to infected players.

The next day, Ashley and I talked about the pandemic. I cancelled my plans for a week long work trip, telling all my co-workers in rural Wisconsin that something bad was coming. She still went into her office for another day before we decided not to leave the house anymore. Chicago’s Stay-At-Home order was enacted on March 21st, and Best Intentions has been closed since then.

I didn’t get to Best Intentions on the last day they were open, but I did go to Best Intentions on the last day that I was out and about in the world. I try to think about how much community lives in that space, and how many people I’ve met just sitting at the bar for an hour. I try to think about all the ways I wish I had been able to say goodbye, like a big blowout — something like when I met Aubry and Kylie, and we tried to eat a baker’s dozen cheeseburgers between the three of us.

But then I can’t help but thinking how fitting my send off truly was — a quick pop-in to see some friends, a friendly chin-wag with the bartenders, one drink and then gone. There was such comfort in knowing that the bar was there, the bartenders were friendly, the drinks were great, the music was good, and it could be just so easy to sneak in on my way out into the night. And that, truly, reflected what it’s like to be a regular. In hindsight, it was the perfect example of everything that Best Intentions wanted to achieve.

I can’t wait to go back.

If you enjoyed this essay, consider checking out Best Intentions website for all their social media links and updates.

Big thanks to Aubry Robinson, who was gracious to volunteer her time getting information that informed every aspect of this essay. Aubry is a hospitality professional in Chicago who has worked in coffee, bread, and bartending her whole working life, and currently misses hugs and high fives, music shows, creative activities in studios, and Best Intentions.

Artwork by Ashley Elander Strandquist. You can view her illustration work here and check out her printing business here.