You've probably driven past June's and not looked twice. You might have assumed that it was another one of those clapboard hole-in-the-wall joints that has a handful of colorful regulars, some cheap domestic bottles of beer and probably nothing on tap because it'd go bad before they had to change the keg. You might also imagine a place that shows the local news every day rather than constant ESPN, where the stereo spins little other than old Willie Nelson and David Allen Coe tunes, and those aforementioned regulars give any non-regulars a solid once-over if'n they don't look familiar. In the case of June's, you'd pretty much be spot on.
June's is one of a handful of no-frills taverns still left in North Center (Margie's on Lincoln is a similar watering hole, although Margie's at least offers Old Style on draft), where the bright blazing neon sign proclaiming the name of the establishment isn't hung in a window; it's nailed up against a hunk of plywood. All the hallmarks of the dive are in place: wobbly stools, Golden Tee, dart boards, bearded men with trucker wallets hanging out of their back pockets and women who holler out things like "Hummus?! What the f**k is that s**t?!" Pull up one of those stools, friend, and plunk down $2.50 for a frosty High Life. Watch the weather forecast, bitch about politics and make a new buddy or two—if you can get past the gruff exteriors of the bar, the staff and the patrons.
Centerstage Reviewer: Karl Klockars