Chicago friends, I have a confession to make: my favorite bars seem to be hipster bars. I don’t know how it happened, nor do I know what will break my hipster bar streak, but it started with Handlebar and the Violet Hour (which isn’t so hipster, but it’s in Wicker Park so it counts) and now it’s come full circle with Big Star. I first realized it was a problem when we took my parents to brunch at Handlebar and my dad tried to flag down a random, plaid-shirt wearing hipster, thinking she was a waitress. And then, Thursday night, I went to Big Star for the first time.
And yeah, the bouncer was a jerk to me, plaid blazer and all. I know I look like I’m twelve, thanks, but I’m not. You are, however, so original for pointing that out. And sure, the girls in the bathroom did look like they had stepped out of page twenty four in last the Urban Outfitters catalog, right down to the kicky little cowboy boots.
But the Big Star margaritas.
And the guacamole. Oh my god.
The thing about Big Star is it was downright energizing. Maybe it was the music, maybe it was the margaritas, or maybe it was the fact that it was St. Patrick’s Day and I didn’t see a single person wearing green. But Big Star is the type of place that makes me want to take up salsa dancing and start honoring Thursday Margarita Day.
Disclaimer: I still love plaid shirts, and yes, I wear them too. They didn’t do anything wrong, nor should they be a casualty of this trend. Also, I don’t have photos of said night of margaritas because I really didn’t think carrying around a couple thousand dollars’ worth of camera gear was worth an artsy margarita shot and a few off-kilter candids. Maybe next time. I did, however, save the postcard that came with our receipt just because I hate photo-less posts.