Saturday, July 30, 2005
High Roller's Stag Bar
For T and F,
The Neighborhood Bar, the pub, the tavern, four elaborate and ancient walls caught in a time pocket. Call it a time capsule pickled and preserved in alcohol. Do not tread in these walls if ye subscribe to political correctness, hate card playing, mind smoking or need a sterile scent in the air to drink. This is where the times have been taken, thrown into a box made of time and forgotten. Here men speak like they did 50 years ago. It is a wondrous time when the gang of the porch, Yayabo, Ash, even Fu, come by here for a drink. Worthy of that trip across a river that is like crossing a nation. Sleepy and unchanged, just the way I like it.
We do drink here, the workers from the Zatarain's factory down the river road, the judges, the old retired men that remember when this neighborhood was filled with longshoreman spending their hard earned coin on a local, and illegal casino. Within this pub the men remember, and even agree, with segregation and racism. The ancient judges of the courthouse a few blocks away drink here, the onces that spy from cityhall with their drinks in their hand at lunch. Right next here to the common ground.
Drinks are 2 and 2.50 except if you order beer, then you can drink forever. Come by and ask for Mrs. D, she may even have some monstrous pork cracklin for you that ya can get just down the road on Paris.