Fat Man Inn, Gurnee for Breakfast, March 22 at 6 AM OBO

Last summer, I copied this odd thought down I saw in the business office of an art gallery:

"You can make yourself enter somewhere frightening if you believe you will profit from it. The natural response is to flee but people don't act that way anymore."

A few weeks ago, I was waiting in line at the post office. There was a noted restaurateur in front of me. He had been quoted recently as enjoying breakfast at The Point, where Milwaukee Avenue and Route 41 converge. I told him I was surprised at his selection. I learned the reporter had already collected lunch and dinner suggestions, so by default he had to come up with breakfast. It's location 15 miles north of my home puts it off the radar screen with my neighbors. So to get recognition by anybody I knew was quite surprising.

I then asked what may appear to be the loaded question: "Have you ever been to The Fat Man Inn across highway 41?" "No." "Are you afraid?" "Yes." "Me, too. I cannot shake off the biker bar image the place has always had."

Ten years ago, there was not enough money to get me inside The Fat Man. It's faux Sante Fe adobe hut always circled by motorcycles and pickup trucks. The place was just enough run down to complete the look of a place nobody wanted to go to unless they were looking for trouble. When the Fat Man died of a heart attack, the media covered his funeral for the hundreds of motorcyclists who followed the funeral procession.

The Fat Man languished for a few years. If someone was continuing the business, it was hard to tell as I drove past. The motorcycles were less and less as the Inn was seemingly placed on hold. In the last few years, the same guy who owns the Greek family restaurant 'The In-Laws' which is maybe a mile south on Milwaukee Avenue acquired it. The Fat Man Inn was tidied up, the gravel driveway paved and even a bit of landscaping was installed. Yet my fear of this place can't be shaken off and clearly I am not alone.

Last Spring, I was driving up to Mitchell Airport when I passed the Fat Man Inn. There was a sign on the parkway advertising a $1.99 breakfast. A biker bar does breakfast? Bar snacks and liquor is the domain of a biker bar, not breakfast.

I know no Chicagoan will be attracted to this curious and fear provoking (at least for me, I will admit) breakfast destination. However, I wager there must be some Lake County residents who have wondered about this place as much as I have. I propose making the Fat Man Inn a dead early breakfast destination for 6 AM on March 22 - I am willing to shift the time up to 7 or 7:30 AM, if this will sweeten the deal for someone to come along. I also know the pool of interested parties is thinner in Lake County, so I may just be talking to myself. If you're a Lake County Lurker, then sign on and post!

In any case, I will be there come Hell or high water. I may do my best Don Knotts imitation from the Ghost and Mr. Chicken, but I will force myself to do the deed with or without company.

Fat Man Inn
36309 North USHighway 41
Gurnee, IL 60031
847-244-8300

Point Restaurant
1952 North USHighway 41
Gurnee, IL 60031
847-662-4130
Breakfast and lunch
_________________

Cathy,

The Twisted Spoke, another biker bar (admittedly somewhat of a faux biker bar) does a GREAT breakfast, so there is hope for the Fat Man. Good luck!

P.S. The Twisted Spoke also features smut and eggs on weekends in true biker bar wanna be tradition. Even their phone number evokes the devil.

The Twisted Spoke
501 N. Ogden
Chicago, IL
312-666-1500

Hi,

I hadn't thought of the Broken Spoke. Though I've been invited to the Smut and Eggs breakfast before, just haven't quite made it. It tends to coincide with my desire for sleep.

Yeah, I am waiting to see what happens. After projecting all my fears, it may turn our exactly as thought or much a do about nothing.

I shall soon find out.

Regards,

In the very off chance someone is coming tomorrow ... I won't be there. I have an unexpected family issue. So what I cannot do today, I will do Wednesday instead.

Regards,