Walking into Dove’s Luncheonette in Wicker Park, I grab a stool at the stainless steel counter, and a waitress with jangly hoop earrings and bright-red lipstick plunks down a steaming mug of coffee before I can even get my coat off. Soul music drifts from the record player, and rows of tequila bottles rattle behind the bar.
The wood-paneled diner time-warps me back a half century to a dusty Rio Grande town, a place where drifters might stop in for a quick sandwich and shot under the lazily spinning ceiling fans. It’s like being in a Nelson Algren novel—which is smack where Dove’s draws its inspiration from: It’s named after A Walk on the Wild Side hustler Dove Linkhorn, and modeled after the joints of his era.
Meanwhile, Dove’s 125 tequilas and mezcals flow from morning to nightfall. I didn’t realize so many Chicagoans drank the hard stuff before 11 a.m., but they do at Dove’s. Nelson Algren would be proud.
