If I Owned a Bar

Inspired by Conner and Emily.

If I had a bar, there were be places everywhere to sit. And there would be no stools without backs--I want everyone to be comfortable. I would have couches and armchairs clustered together around fireplaces, and booths would outnumber tables. There would be a nice outdoor area with a firepit that would be lit in both summer and winter. Servers would be fully clothed, because it bothers me to see half-naked girls walking around and being jostled in a crowded place, especially in January, when you know they'd rather just wear pants.

We would have readily available beers from Minnesota and Wisconsin, as well as some classic cocktails (so as to include the Bloody Mary). No beer would cost more than $5, and happy hour specials would have beers 2 for $5, and no appetizer over $5, because that's what I feel like spending. I would make sure that there was good, affordable wine available, and if you wanted to order a box of wine for your table, you could do that, too. I would not serve shots, because nothing good ever comes from that.

We would also have good coffee available, and every cup of coffee would be served with either one's own French press or carafe for refills. And also a little pitcher of cream, because that is so civilized. The bar food would be excellent but a little eclectic, and would not include 1) artificial cheese (ew, queso dip) or 2) things that are so thematically different as to seem dubious (sushi tossed in with nachos and potato skins). We would serve sturdy dinner, like shepherd's pie, meatball subs, and meatloaf, but also really excellent salads, because sometimes I need to eat leaves, and I think others feel the same way. Every week we would host a Crescent Roll Party night, when we'd plug in toaster ovens at some tables, and patrons who selected that menu would be presented with dough and a variety of fillings. There would be a comprehensive milkshake menu. On Sundays we would serve brunch, and you could bring in bottles of champagne and purchase a pitcher of orange juice to mix with it.

Classic board games like chess and checkers would abound, as would sets of Connect Four. I would offer Slankets for patron use, as well as for purchase if you decided you couldn't live without one anymore. There would also be a library area with books and chairs and ottomans. Customers could program the bar's music via an actual jukebox that didn't require quarters, and it would be stocked with classic rock, oldies, bluegrass, Motown, some alt-country and the complete works of Neil Diamond. Once a month I would host a cooking event, like a chili cook-off or a build-your-own pizza party. In the winter, we'd have a gingerbread house decorating night and snowman-building contest.

We would occasionally clear away some sofas to make room for live polka music, and at the end of the night you could stumble outside and catch a ride home, because my bar would be located near a useful bus line so no one had to worry about getting home at the end of the night, or pay ridiculous amounts for parking. But if you did want to drive, we would have a parking lot.

Update: I forgot to include the TVs showing classic sitcoms like The Mary Tyler Moore Show, Bewitched, I Dream of Jeannie, The Dick Van Dyke Show, and The Bob Newhart Show, among others.

Horizontal Truffle Shuffle

While I am a little disturbed by Taco Bell (I crave it once every three years, and I order a ton, and while I'm eating it I am conscious of the fact that I feel terrible), my roommate loves it. Loves it. And her favorite item of all time is the Cheesy Gordita Crunch. In college, she used to tell us it should be called the cheesy orgasm crunch. Which just calls to mind some really, really unpleasant imagery.


Anyway, last week she and I were watching TV and a Cheesy Gordita Crunch commercial came on. Her sheer joy inspired what I can only describe as a horizontal truffle shuffle. So, this, but on the couch: