South Side Annie's

More or less verbatim dialogue:

Mr. Draft: "Give me a Stella Artois."

Hilda the barmaid: "How about 'Hello...how are you?...May I have a Stella Artois, please?' "

And so, Mr. Draft received a quick lesson in conversational barroom etiquette at South Side Annie's and the Barflies were off to a good night. In reality, the Barflies approached Annie's with a bit of trepidation, as it is one of those bars that is often buzzed by, in a rather rough south end neighborhood. But as is often the case, our apprehensions were unfounded. Up until about eight years ago, a place called the Owl's Nest existed in that space, and that place had a reputation deserving of trepidation...and caution. But now, the roughest element seems to be Hilda's lesson in manners. South Side Annie's is actually a very warm, inviting dark wood saloon, which has a large television screen positioned above the bar, and an adjoining game room with pool table, video games and Foosball. The bar is festooned with an admirable collection of license plates from many states, and a digital reader board, which emits messages concerning specials and a quote-of-the-day. Mr. Draft enjoyed his bottle of Stella Artois, not overly disappointed that the draft selection was limited to Sam, Bud, Bud Lite, and Coors, as an adequate selection of bottle beers was available. Mr. Whiskey embraced his moniker and ordered a Jack-and-Coke. South Side Annies also gets a nod of approval for the traditional bar room offering of pickled hard boiled eggs, as well as stuffed peppers, as low-cost snacks. On the night of Mr. Draft's schoolin' by the cute and sassy Hilda, pitchers of Sam Adams were available for $5.00. Pleasantly surprised by all that awaited within South Side Annie's, the Barflies give it an 8. Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Mix, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Whiskey, Mr. Brew-haha

Redwood Saloon

Located in the South End, on Cove Road, on the safe side of the hurricane dike gate, the Redwood Saloon has garnered a reputation as a biker bar, but on the night of the Barflies' visit, there was nary a biker to seen. Instead, the few customers that were there were drunken old men, or obnoxious loudmouths. The barmaid seemed more interested in shooting pool than tending bar, and, oddly enough, the two wall-mounted televisions were tuned not to a game or the news, but to Access Hollywood. One patron shouted to another, "Hey Jim- what'cha doin"?" Quickly came the response- "Fucking drinkin', what'da think?!" The draft selection was limited to Bud , Miller and Killian's Irish. Bagged potato chips, nuts, and pumpkin seeds were available to munch on. The bar itself, a small and nondescript brick building, can only be described as an odd semi-naive embodiment of some one's Jack Daniels and television induced idea of a western-style saloon. Outside, there were actually a couple of hokey hitching posts. Inside, an O'Keefian cattle skull hung on the wall. There were swinging saloon-style doors between the bar and the back room. But unlike the Long Branch Saloon- the classic drinking establishment from Gunsmoke- there was no sense of order provided by a Marshall Dillon, or amiability provided by a Miss Kitty. However, there was a bit of liquor fueled entertainment provided by a Festus Hagen-like regular named Bob, but was called Lefty by another regular, because of a lame right arm. This place ain't exactly about being respectful or gentlemanly. As can be expected, Mr. Mix made fast friends with Lefty, and the Barflies had to drag him away from the sparkling conversation that they were engaged in. This bar would have rated a 3, but the overwhelming stench of stale piss that Mr. Draft encountered when he used the lavatory spirals it further downward to a 2. Which is still better than Red J's Colonial Lounge. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft. Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Cork, Mr. 3Boes)