Beaver's Pub: Bourbons, burgers, bites and tails. No live beavers, but free smoke (your choice) in a drink

Beaver's Pub: Cannabis is next door

The hairy guy's report:

Not to be outdone by all the beers made these days with odd ingredients, a distillery in New Hampshire makes a bourbon called Eau De Musc, which includes oil from the castor gland of beavers. In a moment of post-pandemic giddiness, it sounded intriguing. And if it was to be found anywhere in town, Beaver's Pub downtown would be the obvious place.

No luck. Beaver's has plenty of bourbons, but not that one.

And with a marijuana outlet recently opened next door, Beaver's might be the place for a cannabis cocktail. Nope, can't get that either; the state prohibits them.

We didn't even find any live beavers, though a pair of stuffed ones are above the bar, posed as if they're gnawing on wood.

A downtown bar in need of a drink named for a beaver

Stuffed beavers above the bar

Doc’s report:

“Little darling, it’s been a long, cold, lonely winter.”

But here comes the sun: The masks are off, and the dam of social distancing has burst, giving way to a moist intimacy, like culture cells in a petri dish.

It looks to be a celebratory summer. On a recent Saturday night, Beaver’s Pub closed an hour early because it was so packed, according to one server, that “We couldn’t maintain our service and quality levels.” Service and quality key the culture at Beaver’s Pub, in everything from drinks, to food, to decor, as Harry, the G-Man and I discovered on a recent visit.

Strikers Sports Bar: The Empire (some of it) returns, with pool tables, fried pickle fries and bowling (or not)

Strikers: Plenty of beer

The hairy guy’s report:

Some bars have a great view. It’s hard to go wrong with a rooftop bar atop a skyscraper. But we don’t have that. Or a beach bar aside a clear blue lake. We don’t have that either. 

 

We do have downtown’s Strikers Sports Bar, which has a fine view across Washington Avenue of the county courts and health department and their parking lot. If you had a legal issue to resolve, Strikers is the closest place to drink it off or celebrate, depending on how things went.

 

But face it: Even if you hold the local courts in high regard (and maybe you don’t), we’re talking about a building that’s a former strip mall -- not a grand architectural gem. So you wouldn’t go to Strikers for the view.

 

You might go there, though, to shoot pool, have a beer and a burger and a conversation – the sort of pleasant things people do in bars.

Thoughts on life at Strikers, with a bit of Robert Frost

Doc’s report: 

 

It was only a year ago that Harry, the G-Man and I were visiting the newly launched MI Table.

I noted then that it’s funny how the scents, sights and sounds of nature take you home, especially, for me, in autumn:

• The yellow mums crowning in the pots downtown on Washington,
• The musky scent of sugar beets refining in the crisp autumn air from the southwest.
• The rumble of the 18-wheelers up Center, Columbus and Kosciuszko hauling those beets over the Lafayette Bridge to the refinery on our still-unfixed damn roads.

It’s comforting to know, in uncertain times, that some things never change.

VNO: Burgers, beer, a Skrewball on the rocks, quiet, a dash of New Age, a happy Sue - and wine, lots of wine

VNO: Good place for reading

The hairy guy’s report:

Before the world went haywire, I was in a silent book reading club -- a friendly group that met in the side room at VNO, the wine-inspired joint on Midland Street. The idea was to quietly read for an hour. It’s like, if you can imagine it, high school study hall with an open bar.

It turned out that reading for an hour was no problem but keeping quiet was. At one session, I ate potato chips left over from dinner. Nobody stared, but I became obsessed with keeping my mouth shut while chewing and it was hard to concentrate on the book. Ordering a drink required making hand signals to the waitress – who politely avoided saying anything (or laughing).

It’s an odd thing to do in a bar but not so out of place at VNO, which is a rather quiet place anyway with good food and a full bar. In a hectic world, calm prevails here.

At VNO, an inconvenient (and New Age) veritas

Doc’s report:

“In vino veritas,” as the Latin aphorism has it: “In wine, truth.” The booze goes in, the truth comes out. Practical tip: Don’t talk to your wife’s sister when you’re drunk.

That aphorism was affirmed, in ways both hopeful and ridiculous, on a mid-August visit to
VNO Wine Warehouse & New Age Restaurant by Harry, the G-Man and me.

We like to get the bad news out of the way up front. That way, we can enjoy ourselves and get around to distracting ourselves from the world’s problems. Simply put, our bodies are crumbling, and our lives have become a sort of Bataan Death March to McLaren financed by Medicare. There are enough bad reports from every gland, organ and system in our three bodies to send Dr. Deborah Birx scarf shopping.

John’s Bar (and party store if needed): Good burgers, no fries, a warm welcome and a piano for Christmas

John's Bar: "Nothing changes too much."

The hairy guy’s report:

One evening at work years ago, a guy got a call from his very pregnant wife. She was hungry and wanted a burger. She wanted it cooked medium with only this and that on it. And she wanted it from a certain bar, not the one he intended to visit after work.

After hearing anger on the line, he changed plans. Sadly, the burger was cold by the time it got home (She recalls it arriving about six hours after she called, but they disagree on that minor detail) -- leading to renewed anger. Sometimes a guy can’t win.

And a few hours later, she went into labor -- showing the true power of a good bar hamburger.

At John’s Bar, on Tuscola Road amid farms a short drive south of town, the burgers are surprisingly good though a bit small. So it might take two to induce childbirth. Regardless the outcome, you’ll at least end up with two good burgers.

Looking for the johns at John’s? You'll need a tractor

Men's room door at John's

Doc’s report:

In the mockumentary movie on folk music, “A Mighty Wind,” the fictitious Folksmen trio sing a song titled “Old Joe’s Place.” It offers many of the comforting clichés we’d like to remember in our favorite diner:

Now they don't allow no frown inside
Leave them by the door.
There's apple brandy by the keg
And sawdust on the floor.

An even less pretentious name than Old Joe’s Place is John’s Bar, our mid-year destination.

As bars reopen, we find masks, no masks, open space, foamy taps, everywhere a sign - and a lot of smiles

Sign at the Green Hut

The hairy guy’s report:

What happens when bars suddenly reopen after being closed for – gee, how long was that, anyway?

People walk in and smile a lot, it turns out.

We can tell that because mostly they’re not wearing masks, though it’s tough to drink or eat with a mask on anyway. Life is full of risks, and time will tell whether this will come back to bite us in a few weeks. In the meantime, we’ll enjoy it.

But every bar now has an assortment of signs saying to do this and don't do that. "Do you feel sick?" asks one. (It almost invites you to act like a wiseguy and think, "Yes. I need a beer.")

The masks are off, but I’d know those eyes anywhere

Doc’s report:

The loyal reader will be happy to know that I’ve kept my blog writing skills sharp during the shutdown by reading the appropriate classics: “One Hundred Years of Solitude” (Gabriel Garcia Marquez) , “Love in the Time of Cholera” (also Marquez), and “The Plague” (Albert Camus).

I met the hairy guy at Coonan’s, my go-to place, and ran into Randy Howell outside. Randy has also kept his trivia-hosting skills sharp during the shutdown, by posting dozens of insightful and entertaining journal entries on Facebook.

Way too far beyond last call: We carry on as best we can in life without bars (but we surely don’t have to like it)

Sign at Barney's Bar on Michigan Ave.

The hairy guy's report:

Here we are, stuck at home, hoping for better days -- a return to things we took for granted. Who ever knew that the simple act of hanging out at a bar with a beer would become just a fond memory? 

One friend reports being given a bottle of hand sanitizer made by a distillery and notes, longingly, that it “smells like a delicious bar drink.” How sad is that?

Sure, you can stop in at some places for a carry-out burger. And you can still drink at home. But would you rather have a conversation with someone on the next barstool or with your cat? And if you write a blog about bars, what do you do when the bars aren’t there?

Having bars closed isn’t as bad as Prohibition must have been, though we don’t know anyone old enough to ask for perspective. Even Bob, our 94-year-old next door neighbor, can’t remember it. “Prohibition? That word never even entered my mind,” he says.

Willew: More soup than tap beer, a $4 burger, a Citra, Mentos, breakfast (on weekends) and lots of parking

Willew: The doctor and barber are out

The hairy guy's report:

Old buildings can find new lives. A couple old downtown office buildings now have slick, upscale apartments. Earlier, the old city hall became a restaurant called (imaginatively) Old City Hall.

And a short drive out Midland Road at Two Mile, in a nondescript building -- Mrs. Hairy Guy says it looks like an insurance office -- there's the Willew Lounge, in what the bar's website says is a former doctor's office and barbershop.

An afternoon on the wagon at the Willew, with tears

Doc’s report:

Global warming’s promise of an early spring lured Harry, the G-Man and your humble narrator out of winter hibernation, and we trundled into the Willew Lounge on the day before Fat Tuesday or Mardi Gras. Mardi Gras Eve, if you will, or, I suppose, Lundi Gras (Fat Monday).

The way Harry and the G-Man were putting away the beers and burgers, we might as well go whole hog and have Jeudi Gras, Vendredi Gras, and Samedi Gras. (Fat Thursday, Fat Friday and Fat Saturday).

The G-Man asked if I was still “on the wagon” (Yes: 3+ years), and wondered about the etymology of the phrase. According to the online Phrase Finder, the probable etymology is the early American 20th Century water wagon, where people could quench their thirst with water, rather than alcohol.

Country House: $1 beers (on Mondays), 50-cent pool, infused cherries and licorice (anytime) in Kawkawlin

Kawkawlin Country House: almost perfect

The hairy guy's report:

A country house sounds like the sort of place where Martha Stewart might spend a happy afternoon gathering eggs from contented free-range chickens.

The Kawkawlin Country House, for instance, sits across from an old feed store that might be described as shabby chic and next to railroad tracks that curve off longingly into woods.

But inside one afternoon, instead of Martha crafting dainty tarts, we found Jamie from Crump ("I'll kick your ass from stump to stump," she joked) behind the bar, popping tabs off beer cans.

And if you're looking for a country house, you might drive right past this low-slung concrete block building. If you do, though, you'll miss a friendly bar with cheap beers that's a great spot to shoot pool -- a more traditional bar than some of the snazzier and noisier places in Bay City.

At the Country House, you can save the tab you left

Kawkawlin Country House, where beer tabs live on 

Doc’s report:

In the design of the modern beer can, John Updike saw in 1964 an image of technology gone wrong. “This seems to be an era of gratuitous inventions & negative improvements,” he wrote.

He fondly recalled the beer can of old: “It was beautiful -- as the clothespin, as inevitable as the wine bottle, as dignified & reassuring as the fire hydrant. A tranquil cylinder of delightfully resonant metal, it could be opened in an instant, requiring only the application of a handy gadget freely dispensed by every grocer."

At MI Table: Joe Louis Punch, Star Chicken Shotgun, Purple Gang and a restroom game (but no more oxtail)

MI Table: big windows downtown

The hairy guy's report:

It's autumn, for sure. Leaves have fallen, the weather has turned brisk and the coat is out of the closet.

It's also that time of year when cocktail fans with time on their hands think of ways to mix alcohol and produce. For instance, there's a recipe for Drambuie and acorn squash. If that sounds good, you might like gin and brussels sprouts. Or gin and pine cones. Some people ask why; others ask why not.

At MI Table, which opened in mid-September in a two-story space with large windows looking out over downtown's main corner of Center and Washington, a list of new seasonal drinks wisely sticks to fruit -- mostly apples. One, the Michigan Poison Apple, brings back a fond memory of a night long ago in a peanut-shells-on-the-floor basement bar on Detroit's east side called the Poison Apple, with a large house drink of the same name.

We have no idea what was in the old Detroit version. And a Google search for drinks called Poison Apple turns up various things, many of them green and one with edible glitter.

At MI Table, decor and cuisine whisper Pure Michigan

Doc's report: 

As a janitor, I like my supper like I like my humor: clean. It’s harder than it looks. It’s less about Scrubbing Bubbles and swirling Old Dutch cleanser than it is about removing everything that doesn’t belong there. My motto: “Take out the papers and the trash, or you don’t get no spendin’ cash.”

An editor will tell you the same thing: The challenge is conciseness -- taking out every yakety-yak word that doesn’t add meaning and move the damn thing along. (“Brevity is the soul of wit.”) 

Cleanliness might be next to godliness in the adage, but in our historic city by the bay it’s at the northwest corner of Washington and Center. MI Table, the new farm-to-table offering in the stripped down and renovated Crapo (or Legacy) Building, joins its neighbors a block east at the Public House and two blocks west at Tavern 101 in the trend toward clean, bright, spare, glass-encased bistros with authentic, local, natural menu items. (Now if they could just put something green and relaxing at the northeast corner of Center and Saginaw, where the Red Lion used to be. Yeah, that’d be great.)

At Castaways: A blue Hawaiian, a Cranium Crush and an appetizer to wrestle with along the Kawkawlin River

Castaways, a large place on the water

The hairy guy's report:

On a recent sunny afternoon visit to Castaways, up on the Kawkawlin River, we reflexively asked for a Manhattan, our favorite drink.

Can't do it, said Julie the bartender. No sweet vermouth.

Undaunted and feeling adventurous, we asked Julie to suggest a summer drink. She recommended a blue Hawaiian, which is on the menu's list of specialty drinks. Bring it on, we said, casting abandon to the river. Turns out it's not overly sweet and was a fine choice.

An afternoon at Castaways: Trivial thoughts, bad jokes

Doc’s report:

Driving the 5.5 miles from my launch site at Coonan’s to my port at Castaways, I sailed past the Bier Garten at the 3.4-mile marker. I think it speaks to my credibility that I measure trips as the distances between bars.

Passing the Bier Garten, I thought of a recent trivia category I aced there: beer history. (The category prompted a question: “When is trivia no longer trivial?”)

Here are the questions. No Googling or scrolling. The answers are at the end:

1. When someone asks you to mind your “p’s and q’s,” what reference to a British bartender’s request are they making?
2. Pilsner beer originated in what country?
3. During fermentation, what two ingredients of beer are produced?
4. A beer becomes “skunked” as a result of the introduction of what element?
   

Good luck.

The Rathskeller: Plenty of beer, burgers and TVs (even outdoors). Call it the Rat, but don't expect to find one

The Rat: TVs out front

The hairy guy's report:

The printed bills at the Rathskeller, a stalwart presence on Midland Street, have a note at the bottom: "Thanks for being part of our Rat family." The menu includes a Rat Dog for $4.25. And for dessert ("desert," the menu calls it), there are Rat Tails, described as "warm breadsticks sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar drizzled with chocolate caramel."

This is all in good humor, though it raises an ominous question. But we're happy to report that county Health Department inspections of the Rathskeller as far back as 2012 include no mention of actual rodents or other vermin or critters there.

They also fail to mention that this is a friendly place. Many bars on a Monday afternoon are all but deserted. This one is abuzz.

An afternoon of street-level fun and games at the Rat

Doc’s report:

Sing along with me, gentle reader, to the tune of “Ode to Billy Joe”:

"It was the third of June, in our historic city by the bay.
Well, I met Harry at the Rat, and the G-Man was on his way."

OK, you’re right. This is a bar blog, not karaoke night. Let’s get on with it.

Since last we three met, Harry’s daughter has married; as a result, a young man has asked to call Harry “Grandpa.” It was the G-man’s 62nd birthday; he’s 31 pounds lighter and his Social Security has kicked in. So I treated the G-man to a shot of Hot Damn, a red cinnamon schnapps; our bartender toasted him with another.

Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather: Our bartender was Breanna, whom the loyal and attentive reader will remember from our April 2015 review of Hooligan’s.

At Old City Hall: A katsu sando (?), imported cherries and more wines than beers. (Nope, this isn't a dive bar)

Old City Hall: It really was

This is our 50th bar report. We're not done yet!

The hairy guy’s report:

Merriam-Webster, our favorite dictionary, defines a dive as “a shabby and disreputable establishment (such as a bar or nightclub).” It also lists “divekeeper,” a sadly underused term for “a keeper of a dive.”

But some places consider it hip to be considered a dive. One bar that opened in an up north town not long back described itself as “an upscale dive bar” – an unwelcome oxymoron if ever there was one. If you’re going for shabby and disreputable, you at least expect cheap drinks. That place didn’t stay in business long.

Old City Hall is charming, polished and professional

Doc’s report:

A few observations on the importance of old halls:

• When tourists returning home highlight their trips, it’s surprising how often, in my experience, their touchstones are halls: Preservation Hall in the French Quarter, Carnegie Hall, Faneuil Hall, the Royal Albert Hall, the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, and the like.
• My own college experience was punctuated by the building of Wickes Hall at SVSU in 1969 and my first class in Angell Hall at U of M in 1971.
• The Vikings’ version of heaven is Valhalla, literally “the hall of the slain” warriors.
• I don’t have a bucket list; but, if I did, #1 would be a certain hall in Cooperstown, N.Y., my version of heaven.
• And I’ve been to my share of halls of both the pool and the dance varieties.

At the Oasis: Perch for sure, but also liver and onions, gray walls, porch chops (but no porch) and breakfast

Oasis sign, with wrong phone number

The hairy guy's report:

On a biting-cold day, with much of the city huddled indoors, we figured a bar would be the perfect oasis. So what better than one called the Oasis?

It turns out, according to recent sad research, that among the expected effects of climate change is a worldwide shortage (and doubling in cost) of beer. Heat and drought, it seems, will heavily cut into production of barley, and things spiral downhill from there. Talk about wanting to cry in your beer ...

Excess heat, though, wasn't on our mind on this day. Beer was. And in contrast with bars where the many options on tap require time to make a studied decision, the Oasis made it simple.

Back from the ashes, the Oasis serves up memories (along with its food and drinks) in the South End

Roxy behind the bar at the Oasis

Doc’s report:

I used to have the $3.99 breakfast at the Oasis Lounge at 8:30 on Wednesday with Dan, who co-founded this blog under the name Baldo. Dan was my best friend; he passed away in April 2014. The $3.99 breakfast is the same today as it was then: two eggs any style, and a choice of potato, meat and toast.

Twenty or so people are there on any morning during the week for breakfast: retirees or people on their way to work.

The Oasis is at Kosciuszko and Lincoln, where Lincoln jogs between two stoplights. Dan grew up four blocks north and a block east at 18th and Birney, I grew up 10 blocks south on 32nd and Lincoln, and we both went to school at St. Stan’s, four blocks west at 22nd and Grant, the heart of the South End.

The Wanigan: Whiskey and oatmeal at 7:30 a.m. (if you want it), named sandwiches and a river view till 10 p.m.

Wanigan: Now with a full bar

The hairy guy's report:

One of the perks of being human is that we get to name things -- pets, kids, sandwiches -- though not always appropriately. Consider the famous song "A Boy Named Sue."

A boy I know (not named Sue) got a kitten when he was 5 and named it Nibbles. Cute name for a cat. Now he's 7 and into video games; when a new cat recently showed up, he wanted to name it Iron Fist. (His dad luckily exercised a veto.)

Then there's the list of sandwiches with cute names at the Wanigan Eatery & Deli, which has been open for years on South Wenona near Salzburg but recently added a bar and expanded its hours. For instance, #17 is called Adam & Eve on a Raft. You expect maybe a slice of apple, some rib meat, a deviled egg, a snake -- something that hints at the biblical tale.

Wanigan adds a bar, and we examine sandwich names

Sign outside the Wanigan

Doc’s report:

Near the northwest foot of the Lafayette Street bridge and a stone’s throw from Putz’s Hardware, the Wanigan Eatery has had a latent liquor license for many years.

But when it put in a few stools around an L-shaped bar and started serving alcohol two months ago, it tied G’s for fewest bar stools in Bay City, and raised the bar, so to speak, for its main competitor, Intermission Deli.

Of course, Bay City has other establishments that serve prepared sandwiches, soups, salads and specialty foods. Subway is a deli. The 3rd and Johnson Market and Eatery combines a deli with local produce. And Kroger and Meijer have large deli sections.

Tri-City Brewing: Beer, more beer, popcorn (usually), crayons (!), well-behaved dogs and canning on the fly

Tri-City Brewing: Beer made here

The hairy guy's report:

Fashioning himself a reverse beer snob in minor protest of all the strange beers flooding the market, the hairy guy often asks for Bud Light.

But he's been rethinking that since reading a book he found at the library downtown. It's the story of Big Beer (Anheuser-Busch and Miller, themselves part of even bigger corporations which have since merged) vs. craft brewers, of mass-produced cheap beers vs. pricier brews that are described like fine wines. The big players eventually bought up some craft brewers -- forcing beer aficionados to declare loyalty either to still-independent brewers or to the beer itself, regardless of ownership.

And during a week when a Supreme Court nominee's longtime love of cold beer played an undisputed role in an otherwise heated and disputed Senate hearing, we sensed a visit was in order to Tri-City Brewing Co., the local craft brewer.

Tri-City Brewing: One of the cleanest places in town

Behind the bar at Tri-City Brewing

Doc’s report:

The two words that come up time after time in descriptions of beer and breweries are “clean” and “water.”

Tap the Rockies, From the Land of Sky Blue Waters, Brewed with Pure Rocky Mountain Spring Water, and so forth. There’s a movement toward listing the ingredients in so-called “clean beers,” meaning they're free of additives.

They say there are two things people should never see made: laws and sausages. But you should see beer made. You’ll be impressed with the craft and the commitment to cleanliness.

The Crowne Pub: Cheap beer, a bear to be named later, free games and a deep-fried Ding Dong (till 1:30 a.m.)

Crowne Pub, despite what the sign says

The hairy guy's report:

When someone asks which bar is our favorite, we say there really isn't one. But Duso's, on Midland Street, always gets a mention for its $1 pints of PBR anytime. That's tough to beat.

Or was.

Now the Crowne Pub has opened directly across the street from Duso's, throwing down a beery gauntlet with $1 pints of Hamm's anytime and free bar games to boot.

Perhaps it all boils down to whether you prefer PBR or Hamm's (though it might be tough to tell the difference) and whether you care about the looming presence of a large stuffed bear in the Crowne Pub.

A day at the new West Side free-game wildlife preserve

Doc’s report:

I met Harry and the G-man recently at the new Crowne Pub on Midland Street and settled into the late mid-summer afternoon. As I often do in a new place, I tried something I’ve never had before. In this case, it was a beer-battered, deep-fried zucchini.

Not a plate of sliced half-dollar zucchini fried in olive oil with minced garlic like I do at home; it was a whole zucchini. It was perfect: crunchy on the outside but yielding to the bite and moist in the middle, with two side sauces: ranch and an eye-opening sriracha.

Hooters: Wings in bacon, salt on a napkin, a great view, a Big Daddy and a Royal Flush. But sorry, no vermouth.

Hooters at the end of Midland Street: Lots of orange

UPDATE: This place has gone out of business.

The hairy guy's report:

Reading an occasional western helps keep things in perspective.

For instance, in one of his many novels, "The Lonely Men," Louis L'Amour describes a rough bar in Tucson: "The men who hung out there were hard cases, men with the bark on, men who had been born with the bark on. There were men came into that place so rough they wore their clothes out from the inside first."

Now that's a rough bar.

The hairy guy thought of that on the year's first truly summerlike day, when he strolled into the Hooters at the end of Midland Street and noticed a balding guy at a table near the door glaring, scowling at him. 

Branding at Hooters: An owl and orange (lots of it)

Doc's report:

Hooters, a “breastaurant” where Midland Street meets the Saginaw River as you drive or amble east from the west side of town, is not, in the conventional sense, an “unsung bar of Bay City.” It’s one in a chain of some 430.

But my pleasant midweek mid-afternoon there with Harry recently affirmed my conviction that, in our historic city by the bay, all is pleasant, civil and, above all else, even in the face of the oppressive forces of conformity, authentic. 

The panorama east from Hooters’ pristine windows or capacious deck presents a view of  downtown, including St. Laurent Brothers and Jennison Place not available from any other perspective. The Saginaw River flowing north to the bay is affirming in its constancy; and Megan, our waitress, was as competent and pleasant as the late-May afternoon breeze.

At J&R's (or is it JR’s?): Farmers in the morning, Road Burgers at lunch and fine (maybe) art on Center Road

J&R's, despite what the awning says

The hairy guy's report:

The only problem with being retired is that even if you like to stay busy, you get to sit around and eat more. And you gain weight. So occasionally, you think about living healthier, drinking less and all that.

The urge usually passes. But for those moments, someone has come up with allegedly healthy cocktails -- things such as a Grape-Kombucha Sipper, which sounds as appealing as a shot of Old Tennis Shoe on the rocks.

When you tire of kale smoothies and you can again fit into your pants, a celebratory stop is in order at J&R's Center Road Bar. There, you can make up for lost time with one item.

Thoughts on life (and a victorious pool game) at J&R’s

Kelly, the bar manager at J&R's

Doc’s Report:

I pass by J&R’s on Center Road twice a day, five days a week, on my way to and from work. You have to be careful on that stretch of Center, just east of Essexville, in Hampton Township. I’ve had a lot of close calls; you have to drive defensively.

Last month, I was coming home from work and saw the police cleaning up a horrendous car crash.  I read in the paper that a driver blew through the stop sign at Jones and Center and was struck by a Metro bus. The bus driver and the five passengers were uninjured; but from the looks of the car, I was surprised its driver survived.

JT's Pub: An old place with a new name, a great burger, fancy fries, a nameless drink and a useful ladies' room

JT's: Around the corner from Midland Street

The hairy guy's report:

Midland Street isn't as hopping as it once was. 

O'Hare's, one of the stalwart bars of the entertainment strip, has closed, with little notice as best we could tell. (We peeked in the front window and found the upside-down Christmas tree still on the ceiling, fully decorated.) The River Rock is open but actively for sale. A couple of recent stops at VNO down the street (including a Saturday night) found it far from packed.

Maybe nighttime rowdiness has led people to look elsewhere, such as newer restaurant/bars across the river. A serious street reconstruction project last year likely didn't help.

The street work did widen the sidewalks, cutting parking but adding space for outdoor tables -- though we wonder how many there'll be. (Maybe Unclaimed Freight, the big hardware store, could set up nice seating to serve nuts and bolts. At Cops and Doughnuts, where workers wear "inmate" shirts, those considered low flight risks could serve coffee and doughnuts out front.) 

So it was a surprise to notice last fall that a new place, JT's Pub, had opened around the corner.

10 things (mostly) about JT's: Inventive drinks, great food, college football history, good hosts and more

Holly behind the bar at JT's

Doc's report:

A recent question at bar trivia asked: "Which of these drinks does not belong with the others?":
    a. Tanqueray and tonic
    b. Jack and Coke
    c. Cranberry juice and vodka
    d. 7 and 7

The answer is "c," a cosmopolitan. The other three are call drinks, so named because the waitress "calls" a specific brand of spirits, like Jack Daniel's. One of the 7s in a 7 and 7 is Seagram's 7 Crown.

Holly, our bartender on a recent trip to JT's Pub, knew that. Like Harry and me, Holly is an alum of SVSU, and, like my mother, of Reese High School. With that pedigree, you'd expect her to have the competence and personality that will serve her well in a coming job in sales.

The Sabre Room, a cocktail lounge with all you'll need (fried cheesecake, anyone?) to stay out of the gutter

Sabre Room: A place to play

The hairy guy’s report:

Everybody likes to act like a big wheel once in a while, doing things like buying a round for the bar. So one afternoon, after a profitable night of poker, the hairy guy, feeling (pardon the pun) flush, turned on his barstool in the Sabre Room and, with a flourish, shouted: “A round on me!”

Of course, the bar, a large space inside Bay Lanes on North Euclid, was empty – which shows the importance of timing. The magnanimous gesture cost not a cent.

If he’d have waited longer, the evening bowling league – filling 30 of the alley’s 32 lanes, the bartender said – would have turned up, and Harry the Big Wheel might have been stuck buying pitchers of craft beer for hordes of strike-bound keglers.

Shakespeare and Sisyphus turn up at the Sabre Room, helping us uncover the true meaning of shuffleboard

Doc’s report:

On a table in Tap Alley, a new craft bar complementing the larger Sabre Room at Bay Lanes, stands a 30-inch-high, 48-piece Jenga game. Players take turns removing one wooden piece at a time until the entire structure collapses. Then the tower is rebuilt, one piece at a time, until the structure rises again, only to be destroyed again. The game goes on, as in most games, as long as two people are willing to play.

Seems like a modern version of the myth of Sisyphus, cursed forever to roll a boulder up a steep hill in Hades, only to watch it roll back down again.

“It’s like bowling,” I thought, on a recent visit to Bay Lanes with Harry and the G-man. “You knock down the pins, set them back up, and knock them down again. What’s the point?” 

Tubby’s: A longtime South End joint for beer, burgers and games galore, including Schmier (just for mom)

Tubby's: Drab on the outside, warmer inside

The hairy guy’s report:

A posting from earlier this year on Tubby’s Facebook page shows a nice note received by the owner: “We were in Tubby’s last Thursday as it’s our night out with my 80 yr old mother. We have been trying different places each week. Just wanted you to know that so far Tubby’s was voted mom’s favorite.”

Maybe we shouldn’t have been surprised, then, to walk in on a Wednesday afternoon and find the place packed with retirees playing cards.

If they’d been playing poker, Harry would have thought he’d walked into a dream. But no such luck. They were playing Schmier.

Tubby’s: Friendship and poetry (!?) on Kosciuszko

Doc’s report:

To paraphrase Woody Allen: Now that I’m 68, I know that my life is easily a third over.

Indeed, it is the autumn of my life. And it is autumn here in our beautiful and historic city by the bay. Keats nailed that combination of ripening maturity and nostalgic wistfulness, in our lives and in the season, when he addressed autumn as the “Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.”      

So it was with a certain sense of urgency to share the latest products of my maturing imagination that I met Harry and the G-man on a recent Wednesday afternoon at Tubby’s. But before you could say “Watch this,” a bear, a monkey, and a platypus walked in.