Marty’s by Night

2 February 2007

J.D. Moehringer’s memoir The Tender Bar anchors the author’s story to the local pub in which his uncle worked and in which he grew up and wise. My friend Laura, when she was in Chicago, hung out at Rose’s, a downright dive of a place on Lincoln Ave. Jen had Narcisse close by, the perfect place for a $50 appetizer and the chance to view a body-glittered crowd. And Joyce in Westminster has Maggie’s, home of monster crab cakes and pedigreed bourbon.

I have Marty’s.

Somewhat hidden away on a sidestreet in Andersonville, Marty’s is the perfect place to unwind. It’s where James and I celebrate the start and close of projects. Where I take Rob to drink down the tension of a day of planning. Where I meet Nelson to laugh while she flirts with the bartenders.

It’s cozy, one narrow room with polished dark wood, velvet curtains, and prints of old French ads. And the people who come into Marty’s are there to enjoy good company. Unlike some places I’ve wandered into–where the people clearly are neighborhood regulars and clearly don’t want you there—the people I see in Marty’s are always polite, pleasant, willing to strike up a short conversation, and generous with their smiles. It’s Andersonville, after all, and everyone’s welcome.

Marty’s doesn’t serve food, but they’re glad to bring you a martini glass full of munchables, and they have a fantastic martini list. Dave makes the best cosmo I’ve ever had—always the perfect amount of sweet and pink. And my favorite time to come is right when they open (5 p.m. every day of the week), when the place is empty and quiet. A couple of drinks, a few trickle-in people to say hello to, and then home in time to have dinner with my honey. What better way to end an evening.