Glenn's Diner

Glenn’s Diner: Where Chicago’s jogging elite goes to get fat.

I’m fairly certain I broke some sort of informal dress code today by forgetting to wear my sweat-wicking marathon-training shirt and short-shorts. Wait, I don’t own those. But everyone else waiting for tables at Glenn’s just before they opened this particular Saturday morning did.
So.
Good to know I picked the breakfast joint where all the fittest foodies in town like to gather.

In short, Glenn’s is glorious. Rob L. had sung its praises for meals other than breakfast, and based on other reviews? Glenn’s, you had me at “wall of cereal boxes.”
The restaurant has a great homey atmosphere — the diner bit is a misnomer, at least in my mind, unless it’s defined only by the fact that there’s counter seating — and incredibly personable service. My waitress was pretty ready to get me in and out, but I needed to be out in short order anyway.

I had blueberry pancakes, one of the day’s specials, a side of bacon, plus a glass of COLD, fresh-squeezed orange juice and a bottomless cup of piping-hot coffee. All of which were needed after a brisk bike ride in unseasonably cool summer weather.
The blueberries were crazy fresh — that’s really the only phrase I can think of to describe them — but the pancakes themselves were a little doughy on the inside. Beautifully golden-brown on the outside, deceeeeeivingly raw in the middle.

Cute location next to the Montrose Brown Line, which never comes. So if you sit on the patio, you won’t have to worry about noise!
And if you’re inside, there’s plenty of colorful artwork to keep your eyes busy if you’re solo. And fantastic nonstop ’60s soundtrack to keep your toes tapping while your mouth’s on flavor overload!

As I left, the runners glowed with satisfaction from their food and jogging high, and I was just fat and happy. Life is good.

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