"Don't look for glitter and gold, 'cause it's not here." So speaks Jimmy, bartender-cum-historian-cum-dishrag philosopher at Bucktown's Ed and Jean's. After 55 years in business, this small, wood-paneled pub is more of a great yarn than a typical watering hole. The short bar lies buried under countless knickknacks, trinkets and tokens collected over the years like bullwhips, bunny figurines, leis and an entire miniature Christmas village.

Sadly, Ed's gone to that great dive in the sky, but Jean still shows every single night, no small feat for a girl of 83. She insists she won't stop until she moves into her "next home," i.e., the boneyard. "The mortgage is already paid," she laughs. What's kept her around this long? For one, she doesn't drink. "I only got a mouth fer hollerin'," she says, and Jimmy knows just how spry she can be when she reaches around and slaps him for getting lippy.

Stools along the bar seat 12, tops, though you'll never catch that many folks inside. Colorful characters make this a classic neighborhood haunt, but strangers peering through the screen door usually keep walking once they see the tiny pool table and busted juke. If you're in the mood for music, ask nicely and someone might flip from COPS to oldies on the Music Choice channel.

Ed and Jean's is strictly a shot and beer bar (cash only), with brews from $2.75-$4 and $1.25 bottles of Red Dog that practically give themselves away. Shots are $3, unless you want something high-toned like Jameson, Absolut or Canadian Club, in which case whip out fifty cents more. Jean keeps it open every day, including holidays, and even brings dinner on Thanksgiving. "Once Jean's gone, this place is gone," Jimmy ruminates. She shouts back from the end of the bar: "I'm not dead yet!"

Centerstage Reviewer: Michael Foreman