The Perfect Bar
where everybody knows your name, and they shout it at you mildly aggressively
A good bar is a wonderful thing. A bad bar is even better. Any evening of the week, any day of the year - often even Christmas Eve - a bar is a place of respite for the weary. A tall glass water after running for proverbial miles in the barren desert of employment. Bars aren’t even about the alcohol [though, it certainly doesn’t hurt]; bars are about the atmosphere, the energy, the hum of community. The best bars should allow you to leave your troubles at the door and create new troubles within.
So, today I’m going to explain what makes the perfect bar and share with you, dear readers, the two closest places to the platonic ideal of a perfect bar that I have encountered in the wild. Throughout, I will be peppering in Yelp reviews for each establishment not as a promotion for these bars in particular [but you should absolutely go to them], but as a general illustration of my principles in action. These two bars provide the best examples, but the traits I espouse are universally beloved and worth fostering everywhere.
Good things come in inauspicious packages
Several years ago, my editor was trawling the Facebook page of one of our pre-existing favorite bars. In the comment section, a heated battle was raging between loyal fans of our favorite bar and the dissidents - they believed that the original long-standing local hidden gem had been usurped. Ever the brave adventurers and diligent barflies, we reasoned it was only appropriate that we, like the wise King Solomon, heard both claims and settled the dispute [with somewhat less baby-slicing]. So, we made the perilous 13-minute voyage from the south side of town to the north and settled in to litigate.
Walking up to the door, the new candidate already showed promise: we couldn’t figure out where the entrance was. After a few laps around the building - which is situated in the middle of an empty parking lot - we managed to find our way in. Immediately, the interior bombarded us with a beautiful array of Christmas decorations. The drink menu was filled with bizarrely complicated cocktails. The clientele was clearly just a bunch of People. There was abundant Detroit Red Wings gear on the walls. The waitress immediately gently bullied us for not knowing how to order correctly. The Green Bay Packers lost, leading all of the clientele to cheer loudly together and one bartender to call Aaron Rogers a pansy [I cleaned up the language for you, but she’s my hero for that]. There was a huge marlin on the wall. It didn’t take long for us to assess that this new find, Sandy’s by the Beech, was perfect.
Steps for bar evaluation
I have now crafted a clear set of criteria by which to evaluate the experience of any bar. Within minutes of sitting down, I can tell you whether a bar will be good or bad. Now, what most bars miss immediately is the fact they are fundamentally supposed to be comforting, cozy, and simple experiences; please, I beg you, do not make me scan another QR code at a bar to get your drink menu. It’s degrading. I don’t want the interior to be chic, fashionable, stylish, or, worst of all, clever. The food and drinks should be fundamentally Normal. Now that we’ve ruled out any place opened by a Millennial in the past 10 years, let’s discuss the do’s and don’ts of pub perfection.
1) If possible, there should be no windows
The bar is a safe space where I should feel wholly walled in from the outside world. A liminal space where I have no idea if it’s night or day. It should feel like an impenetrable fortress where my boss cannot find me and give me work. Failing this criterion does not automatically make the bar’s atmosphere unsalvageable, but it is an uphill climb for a bar to be considered perfect if I can see a single glimpse of sunlight coming in.
2) For the sake of the world and my sanity, it needs to be quiet
The best bars have absolutely no ambient sound. I don’t want to hear your weird, eclectic music. This is not a damn nightclub we’re running here. I’m very tired at the end of the day [and the beginning and middle parts of the day], and the last thing I want to do is scream over whatever music the owner deems worthy of invading my relaxation experience. I want to be able to whisper-talk at a respectful level. Music in bars just bombards the senses; it dulls your ability you fully appreciate the spa-like nature of a perfect bar. If I have to make a concession here - the kitchen is allowed to play classic rock so that you simply get the faint undertones of The Rolling Stones in the background.
3) Sports and more silence
The TVs should be plentiful, and ideally playing approximately 2-3 different games at any given time. Do I care what the score of the Ass State versus Nowhere East University game is? Not at all. Do I want to watch every damn minute of it while sipping a tall glass of Miller Lite? Absolutely.
4) The staff is correct for being a little mean to you
You’re on their turf. You don’t know anything, they know everything. You simply must toughen up and not take personal offense when they berate you for taking too long to order. You asked for a substitution? You asked to be bullied. You asked for a cocktail that requires Google? You asked for the glass to be slammed on the bar a little bit. The staff at a perfect bar aren’t rude; like a stern parent, they’re just teaching you how to behave. I’ve seen the staff at perfect bars take care of all manner of peculiar and/or ailing patrons with the utmost care. They have your back when the chips are down. So, give them a damn break for forgetting that you asked for light Italian dressing twice… we’re in a place with no windows what the hell were you thinking ordering a salad?
5) You get what you get, and you don’t throw a fit
On that note - did your order come out a little wrong? You ordered a Blue Moon and they gave you Bud Light? You ordered a burger with no cheese and instead they correctly gave you delicious American cheese? Suck it up. Eat it. No perfect bar’s food or drink has ever been so exotic that you can’t cope with it for one evening. You are not here to maintain your diet [judgmentally] - you are here to drink in the good vibrations and accept what the universe is giving you. The perfect bar knows what you need in that moment, even if you didn’t ask for it. And, if you play it cool, I pinky promise you are rewarded. I once took my family to Sandy’s by the Beech, and the waitress spilled approximately three drops of my mom’s drink. We, correctly, said it was not a problem, and in return the waitress brought an entire second cocktail to replace it and refused to let us pay for it [and oh did my dad try]. There’s a social contract in a perfect bar that is unlike anywhere else, and if you respect it, it will respect you.
6) Controversially - cash-only really is superior
It took me a while to come around on this criterion, but cash truly is king. Money being exchanged for goods and services is a certifiably Classic Activity. Whaaa whaaa you want credit card points??? You don’t carry cash??? Take your 21st Century mindset and leave it at the door. Things move a little slower ‘round these parts, and no amount of your fancy wheeling and dealing is going to top the experience of putting down bills on a table. If you are a weenie who needs a real hand-holding, “practical” reason cash-only is better, consider that you can leave your table whenever you want if you pay in cash. No more chasing down the waitress to get your card or a pen [I personally just love my relaxation to come with a side of signing transactional documents] - just put the cash down and walk out the door. Everyone is perfectly happy with that arrangement.
7) Can the social contract get any stronger??
Now, this is a criterion that I have only encountered at one bar, but damned if I didn’t love it. The original protagonist from the opening of this blog is another local bar called Miller’s, and it’s an institution around here for a reason. Since 1941, they have proudly championed the Honor’s System for payment - you order, you eat, you walk to the bar to pay. There is no ticket; the bartender didn’t watch you order; he didn’t converse with the waitress; hell, he might not even have been in the same dining room as you. Instead, the bartender trusts you to tell you exactly what you ordered, rings it up on the teller, and you hand him cash. That’s beautiful and heartwarming. I’ve been to Miller’s now many times in my life, and I’ve never once heard someone omit even a single slice of cheese from their burger when relaying their order for payment. It would be criminally easy to hide a side of fries here or a beer there, but instead, everyone respects the contract reverently. As a reward, you will have enjoyed the best burger of your goddamn life and a Budweiser served ice cold in a skinny glass.
While we’re on it, I would be remiss to not mention two of Miller’s other stunningly unique qualities, as Miller’s also constitutes a perfect bar [there’s a reason the Facebook comment section pitted these two worthy adversaries head-to-head]. First, Miller’s has no menu. Now, they also only serve one item, so the only trick is learning how to properly order your delicious hamburger. Daunted? Don’t be. Listen to the other customers. Learn from the social circle you’re now in. You’ll be a pro soon enough, and you’ll earn the respect of the community along the way.
Second, Miller’s does not serve its food on plates. Not even paper plates! The burgers and fries come wrapped in a piece of parchment paper, and that’s all you need. They also bring you the only necessary toppings for a burger - pickles and onions, and you get no say in the matter at Miller’s because they’re correct - in a piece of parchment paper. When they’ve finished laying the bounty on your table, you can enjoy your feast unencumbered by superficial formalities. Miller’s cuts to the heart of the matter, and they aren’t afraid to reveal your truth from under the façade.
8) Cheapness wins out
In the war between Miller’s and Sandy’s by the Beech, my editor and I are still constantly redrawing the borders as we get updates from the frontlines [this is a really tortured metaphor for saying we go get burgers and drink beer, but I like it]. When I’m at Miller’s, I love Miller’s. When I’m at Sandy’s, I love Sandy’s. There’s room for both in my heart. Parents often claim that new children don’t reduce their love for their existing children - their love simply expands. That’s me but with bars, my beloved children. But, the edge often goes to Sandy’s when I’m forced to choose for one simple reason - the price.
A perfect bar is also perfectly priced to be about ten years behind the times. Why can I still get a full dinner at Sandy’s for under $15? It’s unclear. But I appreciate more than they will ever know. They respect the rule that more things should be $10, and, in the spirit of the social contract, I generally reward them by tipping minimally 30% every time. A perfect bar allows you to forget all your worries, including financial. Perfect bars are by the people, for the people, and a bastion of community.
9) “Where everybody knows your name” is not just an excellent theme song for a TV show
The final criterion to determine whether a bar is good, particularly when you are a newcomer, is to watch the regulars. If you sit at a perfect bar for at least an hour, you will see someone come in who knows the staff by name, an owner sitting at the bar with the regular customers, and/or hugs exchanged by patrons and staff as they insult each other. Whether the bar is a one-time trip or your regular haunt, there is a current of community underpinning it that you are lucky to mingle in while you are there. A bar without a soul will always reveal itself by the lack of warmth and familiarity between all who converge there.
I’m getting hungry, and I want a beer
If I could sum up the criteria for a perfect bar in one word, it would be: unpretentious. I love a bar with a good gimmick [see below for the Christmas themed bar I got to frequent en route to a Bob Dylan concert in Grand Rapids… that day involved a lot of mental whiplash], but I don’t want a bar that’s gimmicky. Don’t overcomplicate it, don’t overstimulate me with noises, lights, choices, or god-forbid, bubbly staff. Let me sink into my chair, sip a drink, and munch on my fries mostly unperturbed. I see the fad of meditation and raise you quietly staring into the distance at a hockey game you don’t really care about in a bar with a gentle buzz of life in it.
Perfect bars are the lifeblood of a community, and they have soothed my soul many a time. Stumpies, you know the drill - I call you to action this weekend to visit your local watering hole. Maybe you know exactly where I’m talking about; maybe this will be new for you. You may have to Google “dive bars” to get there, but the results will be worth it. Go patronize the places that are carrying society on their shoulders, go bask in the class-blind fraternization of a place where all can seek refuge, and go get a damn beer. I will be at Sandy’s or Miller’s tonight, you can bet on it.
speaking of beer… you can finance my trips to perfect bars with one simple click!
Nice Katie! Made me think of someone I heard on a travel podcast saying they like to avoid the “typical tourist trap” yada yada, and they do it by going on TripAdvisor and reverse-sorting restaurants so the worst reviewed places are at the top. The idea being that if most people hate it, it’s a place to go because you’re avoiding consensus/group think 🧐
There’s so much to comment on in this excellent post, Katie, that I almost--I say almost--reached for a pen and pad in order to take notes as I read so that I could properly compose a comment that nailed all of the salient points that popped into my noggin as I read. But then I remembered that I am a proud Stumpie and that kind of behavior would be positively un-Stumpie-like. So I will just say this: the fact that you correctly identified that fish carcass as a marlin (not a swordfish, & not a sailfish for Pete’s sake) I think raises my esteem for you just a notch or two higher. Bravo.