Last night, for no good reason, I'm hanging out with some friends at Pippin's, which is probably one of the worst bars in Chicago. It's not cheap, but it's filthy, has a grizzled, older clientele, third-world style bathrooms, not much space and mediocre bartenders.
Granted, none of the things that are wrong with Pippin's are the worst in the city in said categories (for example, Inner Town Pub has a dirtier men's room, but has a better crowd and is cheaper), but they exist there in a combination that makes it the bar of absolutely last resort for people like me who live close to it.
Seems like the last place for a celebrity sighting, right?
Who was there but famous chef and author Anthony Bourdain, entertaining a circle of dirty barflies and hangers-on from his book signing at the nearby Michigan Avenue Borders.
It just goes to show that even if you earn a living off of your good taste, the occasional lapse is acceptable.
Bourdain seems himself the best of the worst kind of barfly. I hope to fall into this category someday, and I'd be honored to slurringly challenge dude to a shot-off in any rancid dive on Earth. Cheers to an awesome sighting, in my (cook)book!