Billy Goat Tavern

Below the Magnificent Mile, Chicago’s main boulevard of fashion, below the clatter of those well-heeled heels, below the touristy hoi polloi marching from Millennium Park to the John Hancock Tower, the original Billy Goat Tavern sits buried in the sidewalk, a squatting totem to Old Chicago, serving a regular crowd of shirt-sleeve newspapermen, blue collars, and general appreciators of the slower life.  
The bar is features the usual panoply of liquors.  The beers are mostly domestic, with a few very standard imports.  Recommended are the “Haus” beers of which there are two choices: Light and Dark.  Complex, it ain't, but who cares.
The menu is even more austere: “Cheezborgers.”  The beef patties are made special for owner Sam Sianis as are the doughy buns and  the sharp, crisp dill pickle slices.  And conveniently enough, the patties are so thin you can order a single patty snacker (although this has resulted in some eye-rolls from the griddleman) or a quad-patty delight that was, until recently, know as the Sosa (till that fink skipped town.)  And yes, there are “no fries, cheeps,” but who cares.
The space has the look of a punch-drunk pugilist, squat and broad in the nose with a couple of cauliflower ears, but genuinely happy enough to smile. On the walls hang the names of writers from both major local papers (including former regular and renowned columnist Mike Royko), and stories of Billy Goat Sianis and his legendary curse of the Chicago Cubs. The two bar TVs are usually tuned to the news, or a late afternoon game show, or the nightly sporting event, or any other program that seems to say that this is a bar to sit a while, chat a while, drink a while, and generally while away the time.

This place doesn't live up to the tourist hype. Sure, it's fun to say that you've been here - but the portions are pretty small and the prices a bit inflated. You can find better fare for cheaper elsewhere in town.