A take-your-time spot for a snack and a chat, away from the Benzedrine throb of Chicago's Villagey Near North Side, is the low-ceilinged, unpretentious A Bit of Sweden (1015 N. Rush). Here, with quietude enow to permit a make-out discussion of Bartók and Buxtehude with that stacked little culture hound, you can sip an aquavit at the cubbyhole bar in the corner; wander around the smorgasbord table, sampling and yakking as you go; dawdle over strong coffee; top things off with a platter of plättar (those little Swedish pancakes) and lingonberries; then, thus fortified, brave once more the artfilm/bistro/bookshop/leotard hazards of Rush Street. It's not a late-hours place: open five to 9:30 every day except Sunday when they open at noon, shut up shop at eight.
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The latest night-life phenomenon, growing wildly in cities across the nation, is the hi-fi listening room complete with booze, hefty stereo rigs, plus a fat supply of tapes and LPs for the patron's listening pleasure. You can ask for, and get. Bach (J.S. or C.P.E.) if you're brave, but mostly the requests are for Scotch and Frankie Boy. In Philly, Jack Dubin confirms the Sinatra rage. He's impresario of the Hi-Fi Studio (22nd and Walnut), a second-floor setup over his downstairs bar. It's the same story at Joe Marcucci's Chancellor Room (13th below Walnut): a Sinatra Hour is observed there nightly, and almost reverently. Bill Rodstein went the whole bit at his Latimer Cafe (247 S. 17th), by putting in a Sinatrama Room that features a photo gallery of the Thin One and Frank's own telegram commenting on the honor: "Thanks! Sounds like a gasser!"
