A valet takes your vehicle and stows it in the vacant lot next door–he works for Dana, not a valet service, because Dana owns the lot. The restaurant’s sign is a neon rose on a stem, set against a black background. The Rosebud looks out onto Taylor Street a couple blocks east of Ashland. He’d rather pop up as a bold-faced name trailing one of Sneed’s ellipses than have people know much about him. Though Dana has built his business on an illusion of friendship and intimacy, he’s careful to maintain a certain distance. “The only people who like Alex Dana are those people who don’t know him, like his customers,” says one former associate. He can be a martinet with his staff, and worse with business associates over the last decade he has been sued many times. Though he readily spills anecdotes about the stars, he’s more circumspect about less savory customers. Yet there is a dark side to this publicly cheery man. Many observers credit the Rosebud with revitalizing the old Italian neighborhood around the University of Illinois at Chicago. His critically acclaimed eateries make loads of money. The son of Italian and Greek immigrants, Dana grew up in the restaurant business in Chicago and has succeeded beyond anyone’s expectations. Let me make you something off the menu, a special dish from the kitchen just for you. You don’t have to wait, he’ll tell a cherished customer–let me get you a table. He knows most of the regulars by name, and he falls all over himself to do them favors. “People want to see the owner, to be recognized and impress their friends–and know that he will take care of them.” That Dana does, whether at Centro or the Rosebud. “He’s the key to our hospitality,” says Rosebud manager Benny Siddu. Soon his focus turns to an aging dandy at another table–and on and on into the night he goes, the consummate host. “It’s the place.”ĭana, 45, is now off having a word with a well-manicured young woman and her date. As for Centro, “the people I want to interview want to go there,” says Sneed. When you do a column like mine, you can’t spend a lot of time away from the computer, and if you go out to eat you want to work.” For her, table-hopping at the Rosebud is time well spent. At the Rosebud, she says, “You’ll find a cornucopia of different types–cops, politicians, celebrities, swarthy-looking guys that make you wonder who they are, and people having liaisons.

Sneed says that from her point of view there’s nothing like a Dana joint. ĭana stops to have a word with Sun-Times gossip columnist Michael Sneed, a regular customer. Now the newspaper columns are filled with the names of stars who dine with Dana: Madonna, Frank Sinatra, Tommy Lasorda, Carol Burnett, Linda MacLennan.

In fact, Chicago hasn’t seen anything like Dana’s establishments since the heyday of the late-lamented Fritzel’s, the Loop hangout for Joe DiMaggio, Marilyn Monroe, Phyllis Diller, and Tony Bennett during the 50s and 60s. Centro and its better-known predecessor, the Rosebud Cafe on Taylor Street, are havens for celebrities. It’s early yet, and there are no celebrities in the room. “‘Bye, Alex,” says the silver fox, and Dana drifts to the next table to schmooze with a new set of diners. He looks a little like Danny DeVito, and sounds a lot like him but Dana’s accent recalls the streets of Chicago rather than New York.

(“I’m a swear mouth,” he admits.) His small, edgy eyes crinkle and he chortles whenever he hears or says something funny or crude. The silver fox grins, and Dana, Centro’s proprietor, shares a little conversation with him and his companions.ĭana speaks in low tones, in sputtering bursts studded with profanities. The silver fox turns to find Alex Dana, a bald, bearded man in a starched shirt, black slacks, and Italian oxfords. “We get serious women here on the weekend,” explains manager Billy Arnott, “East Bank Club women in these little dresses, with everything toned just right.”Ī tanned white-haired gentleman, seated at a table with his wife and another couple, is stealing looks around the bar when he feels a hand on his shoulder. The regular clientele, sleek and monied, are looking at each other, and the staff are looking at the clientele. But only the neophytes are looking at the walls. Centro has been designed to look like an Italian backyard, with muted colors and big photos of food and food shops on the walls. The wait for a table at Centro Ristorante, the red-hot eatery in River North, has stretched past the hour mark, and those stupid or unlucky enough to have arrived hungry are cooling their heels at the long bar in the front room.

Food smooze