Kevin St. James


This place is one weird, schizophrenic joint. On the one hand you have the local, after-work crowd, and on the other you have the marauding bands of Germans in their green socks and double-decker bus badges. The latter of the two groups makes its exit around the same time the former rolls in for beers and grub. There are $9 French dip sandwiches and $14 nachos. Um, fourteen bucks for a plate of cheese, chips, and salsa? While the sandwich was actually decent, there’s no way in hell I’m droppin’ that kind of cash on a crappy Mexican appetizer at a bar! The seating situation is bordering on horrid, as waitresses rush around trying to pull tables together, stealing chairs from your table and giving you the hairy eyeball until you pay up and get the hell out. One night we had the pleasure of sitting essentially in the laps of two girls who referred to all football players as “those people.” When pressed on what they meant, they said “you know, fat, stupid blacks.” Check please! That unpleasantness aside, we don’t think the place breeds racism or dumbasses, but it certainly spawns boredom after about nine o’clock or so. The place is set up so poorly that it can’t hold onto its happy hour clientele. They eat and leave. They stand at the bar and realize that they could be somewhere way cooler, with more beers on tap and cheaper food. [MF]

741 8th Ave.