Ed and Jean’s is, as Jean reiterates often, “Just a shot and a beer place. You don’t get more than that here.”
As far as patrons are concerned, they don’t even stock ice. Ask for it and Jimmy, the co-owner and resident sot, is likely to laugh as he serves you a cuss word that starts with “p.”
The tiny dive near the corner of Damen and Armitage is as small as they get and is perhaps best described as being three-quarter scale.
When the tiny row of barstools is lined with patrons (which happens when about 10 or so people show up), it”s hard to get a good game of pool going on the undersized table. This doesn’t bother the regulars, however, as the players are usually tipsy and the table is always free.
On this particular Saturday night the beer cooler is stocked with Red Dog, Busch, and Styrofoam boxes full of Jean and Jimmy’s leftovers. This is typical, as the two live in the back along with their dog, Miller.
Ed, the other half of the bar’s namesake, has sadly moved on to “White Sox Heaven.” Jimmy, a friend of the family, has promised to look after the well-aged Jean. Fortunately, for fans of the joint, this arrangement has been reversed.
As 44-year-old Jimmy drinks whisky from the bottle with his one good hand and bobs about in his overalls, Jean soberly watches television and serves the beer, always carefully removing the cans’ tabs and saving them for a children’s charity. She’ll occasionally glare at Jimmy through her gray bouffant wig and tell him to settle down, but she’s usually laughing with or at him along with the customers.
On the best of days, the two can’t seem to keep their hands off of one another, prompting newcomers to wonder about the nature of their relationship. “We’re just real good friends,” Jimmy says.
Jean and Jimmy’s May-December platonic romance is among the many unique draws that one of Bucktown’s last unpretentious haunts has to offer.
The kitschy little bar is bedecked with an old-timey cash register, aging Schlitz-era beer junk, a cluttered women’s restroom with an inviting pink sign that declares “Butts go here,” and a tired and sooty macramé owl that stands night watch alongside a wooden can crusher. It’s pretty much like being in your grandmother’s basement, complete with a stand-in drunk uncle.
On this particular evening, Jimmy is loudly challenging a younger, more sober opponent to a game of pool. The bartender is easily beaten, and as a result provides a round of Busch for the entire bar.
Upon his second loss to a new opponent, Jimmy offers up the prize of old pizza that would make Mikey of Life cereal fame vomit at a glance. After the winner declines, a slice is eaten by a regular who seems happy with an opportunity to round out his meal of warm whisky and pretzels.
Never the quitter, Jimmy ups the ante and produces a pair of electric shears for the third round. Upon losing, he pulls out a chair from their back room and plugs in the clippers. Sizing up his barber, he sheepishly screams “You cut my head and I’ll sue you!”
“Only at Ed and Jean’s would this happen,” Jean says as she points at a horizontally half-bald-to-the-scalp Jimmy. “Only at Ed and Jean’s.”