The cuisine was also interesting. The menus are in Spanish with English translation. While we were perusing the offerings, chips (which weren’t fresh) were provided alongside three types of salsa. The salsa was decent and at least two of them were spicy. One I would guess was tomatillo and jalepeños, the other habañero and the third was a mild tomato and pepper salsa. For my main dish, I chose the zucchini flower quesadilla. The Good Midwestern Boy chose something something vegetarian that I could eat, the poblano and potato pepper quesadilla, which I ended up liking better than my dish; it had a smokey taste and mine was simply devoid of flavor. The spa specialist's date ordered steak with mole poblano, a dark Mexican chili sauce. Most of us sampled the mole and I thought was the best tasting item in the place, aside from the Dos Equis Negro cerveza that we were pounding.
One of the hippies ordered the “Sangria” which was nothing like Sangria. The drink consisted of beer mixed with Tapatio sauce and chili and lime dusted on the rim. It was an interesting take on a Bloody Mary. My advice is to stick with Bloody Marys. The same Hippy also didn’t realize that her smothered burrito contained pork. Pork was not mentioned on the menu according to her. Perhaps this important piece of information was lost in translation or maybe just not included on the menu. We chose not to play pool there since we could not get strong drinks which is actually a bit of a travesty that no margaritas are offered. Plus, all six pool tables were in use by locals that seem befuddled by our presence in such a place. We waited for the waitress to come to give us our bill but we never saw her again. Apparently, one needs to pay at the cashier. The meal was priced according to what I would expect but the experience itself... who can put a price on that? The food was not inedible but that’s really all I can say. There is nothing that will pull me back but I would actually recommend going there with a group of friends once. Oddity can certainly be alluring.
One last note on the ambiance. I took a quick glance at the bathrooms and noticed that the handicapped stall did not have a lock nor toilet paper. The women's bathroom was decent but the men's was in lesser shape with a carpet have turned up and gang tags on the wall. Yes, I went in to the men's bathroom. I was curious.
We left one adventurous experience behind only to find another one ahead of us. The Three Alarm Saloon was close by and I just knew that it would fit perfectly with the experience of the night. I did live at Remington Apartments across the street from the Three Alarm Saloon for a year but never ventured inside. Perhaps it was literally “too close to home” for me or maybe because the place makes no effort to hide that it is a dive bar. I cannot imagine that the peppermint style paint job on the building draws in many passersby and the name… it does not take much thought to come to the conclusion that this is not a top tier wet spot. I do admit that I have in recent years developed an appreciation for dive bars and the type of atmosphere entailed. These places deliver an experience that help build character and make one more well-rounded. The second we walked in, we knew this was the type of place that would be entertaining. In fact, it was a bit of sensory overload.
First of all, we were greeted by a likely return patron, Crazy Mike (pictured above). He asked from whence we had come, well, not quite in those exact words. In short, we were clearly not the regular coral. Crazy Mike was a bit alarming (no pun intended) and we quickly brushed past him to tour the place. The layout is a bit cozy with room to spread out a bit. The group saddled up to the bar and took note that drink selection was not the most wide ranging but they had whiskey so it would appease this crowd. A shot of Hennesy at room temperature was my way of breaking into this joint. We found a table in the back which is devoted to karaoke and dancing. Unfortunately for us, Karaoke is held on Thursdays and this was a Friday. There was a jukebox though. In fact, there were a lot entertainment devices like a “test your strength” grip machine which told me I was basically weak (using only one hand), a virtual bowling alley (don’t know how that is suppose to work nor did I venture to try), a pinball machine, a hunting game similar to duck hunt, a real legitimate poker game taking place in the corner with a tough looking crowd, mainly the elderly cleaning lady who meant business, and three pool tables. The Hippy and I put in some dollars and picked out tunes on the Internet wired Jukebox. We selected Shakira, Duran Duran and Bob Dylan but were scared away by Crazy Mike, who came up to us to seek our approval for his taste in Led Zepplin. We ran from him and he literally chased us back to our table to ask which artists we chose on the music machine. If it is not obvious by now, we were not interested in conversing with this character who is well-deserving of his self-assumed moniker. He was somehow cerebral enough through his non sequitor, drunken state, that I assume he has been in for a long time, to pick up on our disinterest and he disappeared, yet, his unbearable body odor still lingered.
But do not fret, that was not the last of Crazy Mike. He sought our friendship another time when we moved over to the pool table section. Mike knew that neither myself or the Hippy was interested in him so he introduced himself to Amber, who in turn introduced him to her husband, Jerome. Jerome played the part and told Crazy Mike that he was going to “Tap that Amber's ass later tonight”. Jerome kept up the gig and starting rapping about how he likes to wear chains and hit up on the dames. For those of you not in on the joke, Jerome’s name is not Jerome and he is not married. Nor is he a rapper. This was a bit of a rouse from a white boy from Alabama. Perhaps Jerome felt emboldened by the flavored shots that the waitress brought to us at the pool table. The selection she offered included jello shooters and concoctions named the likes of “wet pussy”. What the hell… we embraced the “experience” and each ordered a shot. The shots tasted like otter pops and was lacking in alcohol content. The Jello Shooters, I hear, had a stronger taste. Fortunately, I had another warm Hennesy to use as a chaser. We all would have liked Chivas Regal but this bar does not stock it. There was an OK beer selection which included Cut Throat, a Cherny, Murphys and I'm sure it had the other beers like Coors, Bud that I do not even consider drinking. I am not one for Irish beer so Cut Throat it was; it's a good local "go to" beer put out by Uinta brewing company. The DJ took over the Jukebox at 9 and we played a few rounds of pool. The shot lady came by again hoping to get more money out of us and we gave in one more time.
What could I ask for… a night our on the cheap with good friends. I definitely had a an experience and a fun one at that. It was not high class but some of the best nights are in places that are the least sumptuous.
