The extraordinary thing about Zebra Lounge is that it's so small, and so tucked away, that you probably have walked by it several times and not even known it was there. Part of the reason for this is that the entrance to the bar is through an entrance of a high rise--front gate and front door and all. There's a sign on the outside that advertises the Lounge, but even then, it is subtle to the eye, and could easily be overlooked as well.
Fortunately this lack of attention is all for the best. The place is so tiny that a large following would make the place unbearable most nights, when it fills up to an adequate capacity of twenty-five to forty people. On weekends, the drunken boors from around the corner on Division Street will often wander in like deers caught in the headlights, wondering what fool in their right mind would open a bar so small, so dimly lit, and so cool. Then they order a round of Miller Lights, chug them down, and head back out to the party zone on Division to find some gutter to puke into, another larger bar with trendier house music bumping, jocko-homo doormen, and an overpriced pizza vendor.
Well, as you can see, I don't like those people on Division, which makes the Zebra Lounge a godsend. Zebra is a place out of time, an anachronism, an enigma. Locals who seem like they've been coming to the bar since the 70s camp out from late afternoon into the evening, burning down cigarettes and drinking gin and tonics, whiskeys, and martinis. Local youngsters from the area service jobs who know about the place will stop in for a couple drinks (before, after, and sometimes during a shift) and carry on an amiable chat with one of the similarly-aged bartenders, who add a little bit of youth to the bar's vintage aesthetic.
The actual piano-lounge aspect of the bar doesn't go into full swing until the evening time, and on weeknights it doesn't last all that long either. Go on the weekend if you want to check out the mainstay pianist serenading the crowd with his kitschy, campy, tongue-in-cheek renditions of crowd-pleasing favorites by songwriters you will recognize. Often you're just as likely to hear a cover of Elton John as a plausible rearrangement of Brittany Spears' "Oops I Did It Again." Like I said before, most of the act is somewhat of a parody, although cheesiness and all, it brings a festive and very real lifeline to the tiny space, and isn't overwhelming in any of its novelty.
The best time to check this bar out is weeknights between early evening and midnight. This is when it feels like Cheers. Weekend nights it starts to feel like a crowded chicken coop. Drinks are perhaps fifty cents to a dollar cheaper than down the block at The Hunt Club, but a rum and Diet is still $5.50. It's the Gold Coast, so don't expect any deals. Another bonus for the happy hour crowd is the trail mix left out on all the tables and on the bar. It is one of the most addictive trail mixes in all of the world. I shit you not! read more