NealHere we go...
August 19th 2008 08:33
My recent adventures on the town:
Let's start with the worst.
My sister. A friend of a friend. A coworker of my wife....all have mentioned “Sneaky Pete's” to me at some point as being the “place to go” in downtown Minneapolis, a place I haven't visited much for it's nightlife offerings since Foundation closed it's doors (where am I supposed to dance to drum and bass?). In asking of where to go in a bachelor party situation, it was Sneaky Pete's for just about every suggestion.
We actually stopped at a couple of bars between the Metrodome (after a Twins game) and our walk to Sneaky Pete's that were acceptable, but the mythical beast was number one on our list. Upon our arrival, we get our “SP” tattoo and head in and the place is dead. A group of us head right to the main bar and I start a tab with my card and ID (which they hold on to) and buy a round. We then decide to head outside to a nice little area with some tables and a full on beach volleyball court. A waitress comes up with a tray of shots eloquently labeled “Sloppy Pussies.” Yum. Who doesn't love Jagermeister mixed with what tastes like black cherry soda syrup? I suppose Sloppy Pussy is more appealing to “chicks” and “bros” than “Watered Down Cherry Nyquil.” We partake, but I miss out on the next ten rounds by looking the other way like I farted in an elevator.
It's not until I'm up to the bouncer at Drink that I realize my credit card and ID are still at Sneaky Pete's. I run back to said shithole and although I have a stamp, I have to line up with a cue full of people no older than 21 aside from a bachelorette party. Although I am outside and not near the entrance, some spotty future salon receptionist rudely asks me why I'm smoking. I choose not to bark being that a bouncer is likely to reject a man making girls cry and ignore her. I'm smoking because I choose to smoke, enjoy it, and am within a legal restricted area to do so.
I get in, extremely agitated from my wait in line to a place in which I have a tab running, to see hundreds upon hundreds of frat boys and sorority girls all huddled in masses, some moving arrhythmically to Usher or some horrible shit, all in the way of me quickly retrieving my cards. After bumping into several greasy haired chuds and cookie cutter soccer moms to be, I made it to the bar where more chuds were waiting for the Coyote Ugly waitresses walking on the bar pouring liquor in into chud-holes. The waitress came to me and I couldn't turn down a free anything at this point and allowed her to pour in the....what could it be? Vodka? Whiskey? As she poured, I realized it was the Sloppy Pussy. Never have I been happier that I didn't have to tip.
“Can I get a Vodka/Redbull, a Summit and my tab?” I figured it would take me the length of two drinks to even escape this bar, and I'm always one to plan ahead. I drink the cocktail while meandering through the seemingly endless crowd, all the while wondering if I had indeed died and this was Hell; awful pop-rap blasting, women giving me hateful sneers, overhearing men say chauvinist things to women all preventing me from escaping. I knew I wasn't dead when I made it to the outdoor area with a full beer and found another adult that I was acquainted with, suffering through a bachelorette party. It was obvious this place wasn't for us grown ups.
I don't go to clubs and here's why. I'm married, and even before, I didn't need to wear suits and spiked and frosty tipped hair and try and flaunt money and dance to nauseating music to meet women. I didn't need to buy champagne or Louis the XIII to build up my image. Now there's places like Sneaky Pete's and Drink (or the Wild Onion in Saint Paul) that are clubs for college kids. I have no problem with them having that because it keeps them far away from me, but I seriously hope I never, ever, ever, ever have to step foot in one of these bars again.
SNEAKY PETE'S GRADES
BEER------------D
SPIRITS---------A
MUSIC----------F
OUTDOOR-----A
CLIENTELE----F-----
It gets better, folks. I did in one week go to not one, but two places I liked.
The first was Senor Wong, which sounds kind of spring-breaky, but this place is adding some Minneapolis cool to downtown Saint Paul. I was off of work one Tuesday and a friend who's weekly day off is Wednesday decided to check out this joint for it's two dollar Sake bombs and appetizer and drink happy hour. Late night happy hour! Suck it, suits! We're hangin' out LATE!
The owner of Senor Wong is the son of the owner of Red Dragon and brought a few drinks over to his Saint Paul spot. The drinks are under new names like “Donkey Punch,” “The O-Face,” and “Angry Dragon.” This guy is definitely of my generation.
Being a Tuesday night, the bar was pretty dead. There were about ten people in the place as I'm sure their bread and butter on Tuesdays are the earlier happy hour attendees. This allowed us to converse with the owner himself, who was tending bar, and a couple other employees. Typical dude talk; Tarvaris Jackson's progress, the inherent southernness of illegal dog fighting, the convention and it's 4am bar closings, etc. A delightful underground hip hop soundtrack played at conversation level.
I started with an Angry Dragon which was on special for $5 and it was made perfectly (couldn't taste the 151). It was so tasty that another was in order, but not before a couple $2 Sake bombs. My friend and I split a couple apps, chicken wings and pork skewers, both better than expected and on par with some of the more expensive offerings at places like Azia. It wasn't until I was towards the bottom of the second Angry Dragon and in the middle of a coherent tale of my South Pacific horror stories that a heavy drunkenness hit me all at once and I remembered that there's shitloads of booze in these drinks! When I was 22, I drank 3 Zombies at Red Dragon and absolutely vomited violently (probably the last time that happened....oh capricious youth!). I tried to wrap up the increasingly incoherent story and then had a beautiful shot in front of me. I can't even recall what was in it, but it was made in the fashion of a kamikaze but included pineapple juice. The owner then topped the shot with a slice of orange, poured vodka onto said orange and lit on fire. Maybe there was sugar on it too? Think so. Drink shot, bite orange. Unbelievably delicious and grimace free. I hope I tipped well, but shit was foggy, son!
After the owner gave us a couple free beers (count one free shot and two free beers EACH) we could tell the employees wanted to get going as it was just my friend and myself not spending enough to keep them all there, so we went to Alary's for last call (drunken decision, leave us alone). But for a $12 cab ride, the night couldn't have been better.
SENOR WONG GRADES
BEER-----A (Delirium Tremens on Draught)
SPIRITS----A
MUSIC----A
OUTDOOR----C
CLIENTELE-----Us and the cool ass owner? A
A few days later, I worked on my stupid Ford Galaxie all day and made almost no progress. It was a night for an angry buzz, so I bought some god awful Sparks and some cheap Vodka to imbibe before hearing some rock at Hexagon bar, a bar I hadn't been to in probably three or four years. We got a ride from a “sober cab” who would later take us to a party, get drunk and stoned and pass the fuck out, leaving me with a $24 cab ride, but that's another story. Anyways, we get up to Hexagon to hear 38 seconds of the band we apparently went to see (I'm not cool in any way), Yoleus. Then, I went and ordered a Vodka/Redbull to keep the energy trend going. The thing is I ordered from a grandmother. Never got the story on that, but I felt it to be uniquely Minneapolis for an old lady to be serving drinks to punks and hipsters during sets of overambitious local rock bands.
By the time the next band came on, I needed a beer, and Hexagon is not the kind of place you want to go and order a Trappist Ale, so I go for the can of PBR and head back to the tiny stage area to hear Paper Mice from Chicago. The pretty much rocked the joint of people too cool to even enjoy the band they went to see. The set was good, the outdoor smoking area was good, the beer was cheap and ice cold. Had Gay Beast not come on and made me dizzy and nauseated with their incessant time changes, the night as a whole would have been fun. If you're looking to see some hipster rock in a dingy old bar and drink cheap and for some reason acceptable PBR, check out the Hex for a show. If it's a band you like, the setting is quite intimate and the sound will really hit your ear drums in a way the Turf Club can't even offer. I can't really rate the quality of beer or spirits since I swigged the schwaggest of schwags, but it's a cool spot.
Well, there's this month's, and the FIRST EVER MONTHLY BOOZE TRAIN! Hopefully I'm stressed out and wealthy enough to keep it going every month until my annual health kick. Have to get off these cigarettes now that it's a social faux pas on par with walking around with my balls hanging out.
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