I have eaten at Moody's many times on many occasions.
They have (or used to have) a pretty fair Bleu Cheese burger.
On any given weekend many, many years ago you might have found me browsing the book-warrens at the "Black Pearl" book store, nosing around in the ruins of the once magnificent Granada Theater before they gave up and pulled it all down, hustling pool at a low-rent Greek joint under the L tracks where they cross over Sheridan at Loyola, trying not to look stupid pretending to dance to house music at AKA, picking up the best wonton and dumplings at that little place in Edgewater, looking uncomfortable standing in the corner of a club (name forgotten) to which I was repeatedly dragged by co-workers which alternated between 80s rock, gay and Puerto Rican depending on the day of the week (and where I discovered much to my surprise that a couple of roided-up lady gym-rats from my gym danced for money.)
All of it and much more gone now. Memory only.
But Moody's abides: the inside still tending towards catacomb-dark visually dominated by a big fire pit on which you can singe your ass if you're not careful, and the outside still an airy beer garden, perfect for pitching woo or people watching or and intimate bit of theater.
I wish them all good luck.