An omnipresent owner transforms his neighborhood snack shack into a mini-Lambeau Field on Sundays.
The piano man keeps it classy for blue-hairs and Audi drivers who frequent this cheery, family-owned restaurant.
Don't keep the hops-hounds waiting; study the sick beer menu beforehand.
Bored husbands achieve knurdness in the Ring of Honor above the penny-plated, beer-tap backsplash.
The James Beard House is partial to the Interior Mexican comida comprising this divine brunch.
Breathe uneasily during Chicken Shit Bingo, but stand a chance to win a bet.
This two-location iteration of real neighborhood dining has fries dipped in buttermilk you can't do without.
Habitual nourishment of body, mind, and spirit is a result of telepathic kitchen staffers and a gregarious owner.
Even without an aquarium, the wonders from the deep would not be relevant were it not for the daily specials.
Tech execs sold on this brave new world are probably sold on you for staying there.
Don't call it a comeback, hon, the Tuesday special of chicken and dumplings has been here for years.
Sorry, stranger, cash only for the best pancakes in town.
A feeding frenzy of movers and shakers wine-spectate on honey-colored hardwoods.
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