“Greasy spoon meets greased palms. The Ramova Grill lies a few blocks north of the 11th Ward Democratic headquarters (the political birthplace of the Daley clan) in Bridgeport. It’s not hard to imagine old committeemen hunkered down in the high-backed wooden booths, filching swigs of coffee and plotting patronage moves under the cover of cigar smoke and the waft of grilled hamburger air.
The decor is straight out of the 1940s: chrome-trimmed, red vinyl lunch counter stools sprout from the floor like a row of tulips. The original storage cabinets behind the counter have warped so that the drawers no longer fit flush in their wooden pockets. The refrigerator in the back room is a true icebox, with white curvy doors, thick chrome compression draw latch handles, and an inch of jagged ice lining the interior. The steam from the grill fogs the plate-glass window and hisses like a reptile. Glassware plonks on Formica, silverware clinks on porcelain, and the neon sign in the corner buzzes incessantly.