Even though I didn't go to karoake last night (damn you, exhaustion and sinus infection), we're still going to take a few minutes to talk about the wonderful little sub-category known as bar food.
I'm not talking about what little yuppie places or fancy little wine bistros like to call "bar food". I'm not talking tapas or canapes or other little frou-frou deals. I'm talking good, old-fashioned, might be bad for you but is definitely worth sinning for, makes you drool just thinking about it bar food.
The bar I frequent, Corner Pocket Bar and Grill, has some of the best bar food I've every tasted. And believe me, I've tasted a lot. They have a healthy variety, with everything from your traditional burger to meatloaf to gator tail. Prices are reasonable, with a burger and side running you right around the six, maybe seven dollar mark. Dinner items, such as the meatloaf or even their version of surf and turf, will cost a little more, but still no more than ten, and you'll get soup or salad, and a side or two. I haven't tried their desserts, just because super sweet stuff doesn't seem the best idea when you've been drinking all night, but they sound delicious.
As great as all this sounds, it's really the appetizers that sell the place. Including the aforementioned gator tail, you've also got potato wedges, fried green beans (a personal weakness), mozzerella sticks, southwest egg rolls, and a killer special on wings. I'm not a huge fan of wings myself (I don't like bones in my meat. Yes, I'm weird.), but everytime one of the servers/bar girls passes me with a basket, my mouth waters and I find myself wondering if I can overcome my aversion to the bone. And then I remind myself that I really can't and I sigh a little sigh of disappointment. But they still smell great.
And hoenstly, there's just something about eating food in a bar that makes it taste better. I have no idea why. I couldn't begin to explain it to you. I've eaten food in beautiful restaurants with great service and not been all that impressed. And then I've eaten food in dingy, beat-down bars served by bartenders who've been ridden hard and put up wet for the better part of fifty years and I've had my metaphorical socks knocked off. There's no rhyme or reason and I honestly don't want to know why because I feel like if I did find out, it'd lose some of the allure.
I'm not a foodie. I don't wax poetic about the make up of a good Chicken Cordon Bleu or philsophize about how the importation of slaves into the Southern states laid the groundwork for a food culturee still thriving today (bene seeds--seriously, go look it up if you doubt me). I just know that when I walk into a bar and order a burger, it will be amazing, almost without fail.
Ok, so maybe that was a foodie moment. But at least it was just a little one.