Best dive bar ever.
Posted: Sat Oct 17, 2009 1:59 pm
So my girlfriend and I have been looking for places to hang out in Davis/Sacramento that aren't proof of douche (see, there's that phrase). She spotted this one joint on her way out of the gym that just has an old, worn out, yellow sign that just has the word "club," and an arrow pointing down at the door. The rest of the writing has faded into oblivion.
We went in to check it out last night, and upon walking in the door we are encountered with a long, narrow place that has one large group of 8 or so Chinese people, obviously busting each others' balls in Chinese, and one white bald guy sitting at the far end of the bar.
The place itself has got cheap, 70s wood paneling on the walls of the type you'd see in the billiards room of a poorly finished basement, maybe with a KISS poster on it. The carpet hasn't been changed out, or probably even cleaned since the 80s, and is a total garish red and was just flopped down over what used to be a tile floor.
There's two random, dead TVs. One with a random, dead VHS player beneath it. There's also a folding table with an old ass microwave, and two pieces of electronic houseware that I couldn't readily identify. The table itself is tucked neatly against a pile of random rubbish. Not stinky garbage, mind you, but just crap, like would accumulate in the corner of an average person's garage.
There's a poster of Karate Kid behind the bar, the most random decorations you could put in one joint, and a dazzlingly out of place flat screen high def TV that was tuned to a sports station.
We sit down at the bar, and ask the bartender if he could make us two Manhattans. The bartender, a guy in his late 40s named Jackson, who we later found out spent a couple of years as a semi pro hockey player, but as it turns out is only missing teeth because his three year old watched Kung Fu Panda one too many times and kicked him in the face, doesn't know how to make a Manhattan. Or anything but beer in a glass, actually.
So after saying "OK, screw the Manhattans, how about a Bourbon and Ginger instead?" We then had to guide him through the identification of the bourbon we wanted, and had to help him find bitters because his bar doesn't have ginger ale, and he has no fucking clue what bitters is. (For those who don't know, "bar ginger" is mostly sprite, a couple splashes of coke, and a dousing of aromatic bitters.)
After finding all of that for him, we have to help him out with what size glass to put the drinks in. This would be an easy task, only no two glasses in the entire bar match. No shit, it was the MOST random collection of glassware that I've ever seen in my entire fucking life. It's like someone went around to hundreds of grandmas' houses and stole one glass of whatever size from each. Classic.
So after finding two appropriate tumblers, he pours us the booze, sets down the rest of the fixings in front of us, and lets us mix our drinks to taste.
Then he asked US how much we owed him. "About five or six each. Here's fifteen, keep the change."
He takes the three fives, and throws them on top of a cash register that has to have come from the 1940s or 50s. Huge, two drawers, mechanical push buttons, the works. Only it's buried in bricabrac and random bullshit.
As it turns out, it's the guy's wife who runs the bar, and it has been in her family for 30 odd years. He's a white guy from Toronto with classically bad luck (his hockey team went under, he turned into a drunk and lost his first wife because of it, then got another shot at playing hockey and crashed his ultralight and broke both of his legs... that sort of luck). His wife and her family are off the boat Chinese.
Every chance he gets he proudly shows off his picture of his new 6 month old daughter whose fault it is that his wife isn't there running the bar, and he's bumbling about it instead.
The daughter is a cute baby, but in the picture she has the most cross, sideways look I've ever seen on a baby in my entire life. She literally looks like the landlady from Kung Fu Hustle, right before she's about to go kick someone's ass. It's fucking hysterical. The bartender doesn't see the look, he just sees his baby that he OBVIOUSLY adores like nobody's business.
Oh, and the bald white guy at the end of the bar when we first walked in? His name is Lawrence. Lawrence in a lawyer, about in his 60s, is bald as a cue, and looks like he hasn't seen the sun in forty years. Lawrence is also a swerving drunk regular who commandeers the jukebox to dance to disco tunes and sing off key all night. He knows the songs by heart.
Lawrence bought my girl and I a bunch of drinks under the premise of "There's something wrong with those two, they like each other."
I can only imagine what goes on behind Lawrence's eyes. Heartbreak? Bitterness? Something, though. He's got the look about him that says "I'm in this dive every night, and I get this drunk for a reason."
When I asked Lawrence what kind of legal work he does, his reply was a swaggering "I defend the innocent! (And the soon to be guilty.)"
So we sit there, and listen to the Chinese bust balls, and of course it was the only woman of the bunch who was clearly the alpha member of the group. She had the "I'll slap the shit out of you" look clearly about her, and this indeed was verified by our bartender, Jackson.
We listen to Lawrence sing and dance to disco.
We listen to Jackson tell stories about how the place used to be jam packed every night, but how it went down hill when they got busted for letting folks gamble ("Now we have to use these goddamned 'fun chips' instead of money") and how the place got shut down TWICE for letting people stay after hours, and how the business never really came back after that.
Then he locks the door and says "It's after two, just let me know when you want to leave and I'll make sure the coast is clear before I let you out. Oh, and if you get a DUI, you can sign that guitar over there on the wall."
There's so much more about the place that could never be put into words.
We went in to check it out last night, and upon walking in the door we are encountered with a long, narrow place that has one large group of 8 or so Chinese people, obviously busting each others' balls in Chinese, and one white bald guy sitting at the far end of the bar.
The place itself has got cheap, 70s wood paneling on the walls of the type you'd see in the billiards room of a poorly finished basement, maybe with a KISS poster on it. The carpet hasn't been changed out, or probably even cleaned since the 80s, and is a total garish red and was just flopped down over what used to be a tile floor.
There's two random, dead TVs. One with a random, dead VHS player beneath it. There's also a folding table with an old ass microwave, and two pieces of electronic houseware that I couldn't readily identify. The table itself is tucked neatly against a pile of random rubbish. Not stinky garbage, mind you, but just crap, like would accumulate in the corner of an average person's garage.
There's a poster of Karate Kid behind the bar, the most random decorations you could put in one joint, and a dazzlingly out of place flat screen high def TV that was tuned to a sports station.
We sit down at the bar, and ask the bartender if he could make us two Manhattans. The bartender, a guy in his late 40s named Jackson, who we later found out spent a couple of years as a semi pro hockey player, but as it turns out is only missing teeth because his three year old watched Kung Fu Panda one too many times and kicked him in the face, doesn't know how to make a Manhattan. Or anything but beer in a glass, actually.
So after saying "OK, screw the Manhattans, how about a Bourbon and Ginger instead?" We then had to guide him through the identification of the bourbon we wanted, and had to help him find bitters because his bar doesn't have ginger ale, and he has no fucking clue what bitters is. (For those who don't know, "bar ginger" is mostly sprite, a couple splashes of coke, and a dousing of aromatic bitters.)
After finding all of that for him, we have to help him out with what size glass to put the drinks in. This would be an easy task, only no two glasses in the entire bar match. No shit, it was the MOST random collection of glassware that I've ever seen in my entire fucking life. It's like someone went around to hundreds of grandmas' houses and stole one glass of whatever size from each. Classic.
So after finding two appropriate tumblers, he pours us the booze, sets down the rest of the fixings in front of us, and lets us mix our drinks to taste.
Then he asked US how much we owed him. "About five or six each. Here's fifteen, keep the change."
He takes the three fives, and throws them on top of a cash register that has to have come from the 1940s or 50s. Huge, two drawers, mechanical push buttons, the works. Only it's buried in bricabrac and random bullshit.
As it turns out, it's the guy's wife who runs the bar, and it has been in her family for 30 odd years. He's a white guy from Toronto with classically bad luck (his hockey team went under, he turned into a drunk and lost his first wife because of it, then got another shot at playing hockey and crashed his ultralight and broke both of his legs... that sort of luck). His wife and her family are off the boat Chinese.
Every chance he gets he proudly shows off his picture of his new 6 month old daughter whose fault it is that his wife isn't there running the bar, and he's bumbling about it instead.
The daughter is a cute baby, but in the picture she has the most cross, sideways look I've ever seen on a baby in my entire life. She literally looks like the landlady from Kung Fu Hustle, right before she's about to go kick someone's ass. It's fucking hysterical. The bartender doesn't see the look, he just sees his baby that he OBVIOUSLY adores like nobody's business.
Oh, and the bald white guy at the end of the bar when we first walked in? His name is Lawrence. Lawrence in a lawyer, about in his 60s, is bald as a cue, and looks like he hasn't seen the sun in forty years. Lawrence is also a swerving drunk regular who commandeers the jukebox to dance to disco tunes and sing off key all night. He knows the songs by heart.
Lawrence bought my girl and I a bunch of drinks under the premise of "There's something wrong with those two, they like each other."
I can only imagine what goes on behind Lawrence's eyes. Heartbreak? Bitterness? Something, though. He's got the look about him that says "I'm in this dive every night, and I get this drunk for a reason."
When I asked Lawrence what kind of legal work he does, his reply was a swaggering "I defend the innocent! (And the soon to be guilty.)"
So we sit there, and listen to the Chinese bust balls, and of course it was the only woman of the bunch who was clearly the alpha member of the group. She had the "I'll slap the shit out of you" look clearly about her, and this indeed was verified by our bartender, Jackson.
We listen to Lawrence sing and dance to disco.
We listen to Jackson tell stories about how the place used to be jam packed every night, but how it went down hill when they got busted for letting folks gamble ("Now we have to use these goddamned 'fun chips' instead of money") and how the place got shut down TWICE for letting people stay after hours, and how the business never really came back after that.
Then he locks the door and says "It's after two, just let me know when you want to leave and I'll make sure the coast is clear before I let you out. Oh, and if you get a DUI, you can sign that guitar over there on the wall."
There's so much more about the place that could never be put into words.
