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Archive for the ‘Bar’ Category

The weather is warming up, you feel that sweat on your brow. You pulled out your jean cut offs and put them on. You’re feeling like an animal awake, after the long hibernation of winter.

You suddenly are salivating for all the barbecue and meat you’ve missed over the winter. All you want is that open flame, and a sandwich full of pork. Preferably pulled.

Now that the sacred Blue Mondays have long since gone the way of the buffalo (although, anyone notice the buffalo sandwiches comeback?), you’re looking for your next meaty summer event.

Well Loki Lounge is having a porktastic event this Sunday, May 3rd. What better way to welcome the summer with open arms than to eat wonderful pork creations by some of the best connoisseurs this side of the East River (COUGH COUGH ChezJJP COUGH).

I like sections of Pig!

I like sections of Pig!

Now I’ve only walked pass the Loki Lounge, but it looks like a nice place. Pool table, darts, patio, and the first review on Yelp calls it…let me see….”awesome”.

So show those swine what you think of their flu and taste some delicious pork, while helping…um…toxic waste victims in the Philippines? Alright…go for the pork, stay for the um…Philippians?

+ =

Nom Nom Nom

Nom Nom Nom

P.S. Reports of my death have been slightly exaggerated. Seeeee, I’m fine.

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Oh man, last night was dudely. My hand hurts from high-fiving. My stomach hurts from attempting to digest chili, wings and beer. But most of all, my heart hurts from watching a hundred or so Bengals fans witness a tragic loss to the New England Patriots.

To explain. I don’t know anything about football. If I were a character in Varsity Blues, I would be James Van Der Beek sitting on the bench reading Kurt Vonnegut instead of the playbook. And then instead of being put in to replace the injured quarterback, I would continue reading Kurt Vonnegut and tell Jon Voight he’s a jerk. Last night however, I was invited to meet my roommates at Phebe’s Tavern & Grill on Bowery and 4th Street. This is a Cincinnati Bengals bar, and my roommate had a Bengals sweatshirt and plenty of enthusiasm to spare. The bar was separated into two rooms. In the front room, there is the main bar, as well as nice tables set up for dinner. The backroom has a smaller bar, with tons of tables set up for drinking and general merriment. We sat in the back room.

Apparently the famous dish at Bengals games is the Skyline Chili. This dish consists of spaghetti with a cheese and runny meat chili sauce on top of it. This deceptively simple dish was quite delicious, and we all joined the clean plate club within minutes of getting served. After a few more beers, the game started. I tried my best to relate to my surroundings by saying things like “The New England Patriots aren’t patriotic, they hate freedom!” and “Has anyone seen the movie Little Giants? It’s awesome!” The Patriots then scored a field goal, and the smiles around the room vanished momentarily. Luckily the waitress was efficient and the beers came at a steady pace. The pain was numbed.

Next we got wings. My roommate ChezJJP knows my aversion to spicy things, and ordered the wings at a medium spiciness. They were hot. Again, the waitress continued to supply drinks at a wonderful pace, which put the fire out in my mouth. The Patriots scored again, followed by the Bengals. It was then that I got to hear a song from everyone. I can’t recreate it here, but I can say that it was a beautiful and melodic aria sung by a collection of drunk people banging on tables. After this, the night got a little hazy. We left shortly before the game ended, but considering the 34-13 loss, we didn’t miss much. It should be said that it was a genuinely easy going and friendly crowd who never let the loss get to them too much.

Speaking as someone who most would say is more likely to attend a Bangles concert than a Bengals game, I had a pretty good time. So basically, if you aren’t really a sports fan, but are looking for a place to watch a sporting event, drink cheap beer and eat deliciously unhealthy meals with friends, Phebe’s is a pretty decent place. Obviously, if you’re a Bengals fan, this is a pretty good place too. You can say whatever you want about football, as long as you say it loud and follow it up with a high five. Isn’t that what being dudely is all about?

Phebe’s Tavern & Grill
359 Bowery at 4th Street
New York, NY

Who Dey?

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Nostalgia is fully represented in popular culture. Images & products of vintage television, video game and brands are found everywhere, offering a sense of happy recollection with a slight sense of irony.

Barcade is a staple of Williamsburg, letting you wade knee deep in the nostalgia by offering a host of antique arcade games. You can relive playing Ms. Pacman & Galaga with a joystick that for some reason won’t move left, just like back in the day! All the while they offer a wide selection of drinks.

In this same spirit, the owners are opening a new bar this weekend in Greenpoint called The Gutter. They will be offering the same mix of nostalgia, with a new suburban feel, by offering goold ole fashioned, plaid pant wearing bowling.

I know personally I’ve traversed the length of Brooklyn in order to find bowling, and finally to have one so close is like mana from heaven.

So you should definitely relive the joy of communal shoes & tacky bowling shirts while receiving of what I expect to be (similar to Barcade) a wide selection of draft beers. After intense research by the Brooklyn Skeptic staff, I’m sure you will get an in-depth review later.

The Gutter
200 North 14th Street
Monday – Thursday 4pm to 4am
Friday – Sunday 12 noon to 4am

Bowl!

 

Photo by”highwaygirl67″

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Beyonce’s Fall…Captured.

Beyonce’s finest moment has been put back up on youtube. Try to catch this before BMG takes it down (again).

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This past weekend I spent my Saturday evening in the Financial District at a bar called The Patriot. The Patriot is a large two story dive bar located on Chambers and Church St. Upon walking into The Pat, you’re met with the typical All-American pub garnish: flags, wood tables, jukebox, etc. Nothing too surprising. However, once you walk up the stairs onto the second floor you realize this is no ordinary bar as your eyes cannot help but be immediately drawn to the…wait for it…six bras hanging off the light fixtures. Now, I’m not saying getting six women to give up their unmentionables isn’t an accomplishment in itself, but I’m assuming the brassieres were most likely tossed up to the ceiling on separate occasions. Meaning, at one point there must have only been a single C or B-cup hanging off a light bulb. Therefore, you’d think after spotting the second or third isolated bra, the owner might have felt compelled to buy some more simply to provide a little balance. Bra balance. I mean, you can get like, five for $10 at Filene’s Basement. No one said ceiling lingerie needed to be nice, just trashy.

Along with the questionable undergarment decor, there’s something to be said about The Patriot’s jukebox, and how it sucks. I think it held about 40 cds, all of which were country. But that’s to be expected. But what’s not to be so expected is that only five or six songs actually get played. I’m not sure if it was the jukebox itself or the people paying for the songs that decided to run “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” and “Sweet Home Alabama” in rotation, but either way, they should know that those songs, if heard more than once in an hour setting, will cause someone to go on a blog and whine about it.

And to my friends who are reading this right now (hi, guys), I know you’re probably saying to yourself, “But flung bras and ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’ were both featured in your favorite Adam Garcia film, ‘Coyote Ugly.’ How can this not be your favorite place on earth outside of the $5.50 DVD bin at Wal-Mart?” My answer to this question is: I do not know. It’s a mystery to me as well.

But I must say, though The Patriot has its faults, it has some good points too. Well, really just one: $6 pbr and $9 bud pitchers. This means everyone can buy their own pitcher of beer and take swigs right out of them, like when people used to use those head-sized coffee cups. And last time I checked, people who get incredibly drunk off of cheap beer are really pleasant, especially when they’re frat boys who end the night with some pool cue dry humping.

Suggested Beer Glass

So in conclusion, while I wouldn’t give The Patriot my highest rating, I wouldn’t give it my lowest either. Overall I’d give it 1 1/2 Bubble Yums (out of a pack of five).

PS. Just so you know, this place would work well for any hipster looking to hang out somewhere that would give them the “ironic” bar cred.

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Well, no one ever said thrashing around on stage was easy and Beyonce (Knowles) illustrated this at a concert the other night when she fell down some stairs during her show. And Beyonce didn’t simply just trip or lose her balance, she literally fell down in the worst possible way (in my opinion anyway), tumbling down several stairs and then subsequently diving head first to the bottom of the platform. It was like a magic trick. Especially due to the fact that immediately after losing her balance (and self respect) she got right back into her thrashing groove and continued on as though she wasn’t the main component in what might as well be R&B’s most humiliating spill of the century. Amazing. If that had happened to me, I mean, I don’t even know what I’d do. Die, maybe?

But you know, I commend Beyonce. She’s a true performer. Rock on, girl.

Also, apparently after the the fall Beyonce asked anyone that had caught her embarrassing moment on tape to not post it online. Umm, dream on, B-yon.

ps. You should try to catch this clip before BMG manages to take it down.

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On Tuesday night, like many other Tuesday nights, I went to the Gowanus Yacht Club, one of my very favorite bars in Brooklyn. Expecting another delightful evening quaffing brewskies under the stars, I was shocked to discover that the bar had, in fact, been infiltrated by fascists. At first, I wasn’t sure. Obviously the fascists weren’t hanging around bragging about their totalitarian ways. No, no. They appeared to be the regular bartenders, but there was a tension in the air that could only be attributed to an absolutist power structure that had enveloped the establishment.

My proof:

1. Upon seating ourselves at a rickety table (which rocked and caused my beer to spill on more than one occasion), my companion and I realized that there was no longer any table service. I looked plaintively at the (former) waiter, hoping he would bring me beer just like he had in the past. But no. As I battled my way up to the beer-to-cup staging area, he leaned on the bar and laughed. In most bars, this is ordinary and acceptable. Not so with the GYC. Generally, it is so crowded that walking through the place with a beer in hand is simply something that must be left to professionals.

2. There were no paper towels in the bathroom. Again, something that can be overlooked in a normal bar. But the GYC only recently installed a bathroom, which is in a fake room made of drywall taped to whatever used to be in that basement. I mean, you wash your hands in a utility sink and squirt soap from a ketchup bottle. Seriously. Under these conditions, paper towels are essential.

3. They have recently created a “smoking section” in a bar that is literally without walls or a ceiling. When I walked in, there was a big crowd in the front area of the bar. This is, at best, uncommon on a Tuesday evening. As I pushed through the throngs, I realized there were plenty of tables and chairs a little farther back. I silently wondered why they didn’t just go sit down. But then I figured it out. On several occasions, a few poor souls tried to light cigarettes in the completely unmarked, arbitrary no-smoking zone. Upon the first flick of the Bic, the surly non-waiter would march up, and yell something like “Dude! DUDE! You can’t smoke there! It’s a no smoking section!” At this point, the offender would calmly get up, walk three feet away, and continue smoking. All those who remained in the fantasy non-smoking section, glanced quizzically at each other while continuing to die from second had smoke because there are no walls in this tiny, tiny bar.

Only a fascist would have let this happen to the GYC. Where’s Churchill when you need him?

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Gowanus Yacht Club: Unburdened by walls, and completely overrun with fascists.

Photo: Slice

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