In my 20s, I’d sneer at people who brought their babies into bars. Then I became a father. In the sleepless throes of the first days of parenthood, my wife and I were desperate to leave our home and get a burger and a beer. We’d roam the city streets, stroller in tow, as if we were in a vast desert and dying of dehydration.

That’s how we discovered Rockwell’s Neighborhood Grill. While walking around Ravenswood Gardens on a summer night, we spotted its spacious patio at the corner of Rockwell Street and Eastwood Avenue. It was filled with families: kids running around screaming, strollers parked to the side, visibly exhausted parents silently chugging craft beers and throwing fries into their maws. Hallelujah! We’d found our oasis.

One of the servers signaled it was OK to sit down with our 2-week-old, pointing our attention to all the other families. After ordering beers, we thanked him for being so accommodating. He smiled. “Rockwell’s: Chicago’s best baby bar,” he joked as he walked away. We’ve been going regularly ever since.