At the Spinning Wheel, the pool tables are clean and the clientele isn't square but - aha! - it's a T-square!

Spinning Wheel: the sign, we're told, doesn't spin

The hairy guy's report:

On a trip up north awhile back, the hairy guy found himself turkey hunting with a shotgun-toting friend. Harry's job was to pretend to be a female turkey, the goal being to lure a horny tom out of the woods to his doom. This is not done by dancing provocatively in a short skirt but by making squeaky sounds with a small wooden box. Some guys apparently like that.

Harry was a failure. No gobbles. You might say he was acting like a total turkey, but evidently the real turkeys didn't think so. And you can only imagine what a blow to the ego it is when even a turkey doesn't find you appealing.

Of course, we humans have more civilized places to handle the mating dance. We have bars.

Like the Spinning Wheel, which might be a good place on a weekend night to see if you can arouse any interest from a hen or tom. Or sometimes both, it turns out.

At Ole Tyme Broadway, smiles are on the house, the pool table is gray and Fireballs flow behind door #4

Ole Tyme: Old in a very good way

The hairy guy's report:

We've been to Ole Tyme Broadway a few times. Ambrose and Mary Owczarzak are always happy and smiling. We always enjoy the visit.

That's what it's like -- a visit. They're good hosts, with good drinks and good food. Though we really hardly know them, it's like we're visiting friends instead of going to a bar.

Face it: Some people just aren't suited to running bars. They're not talkative. They don't want to work for themselves. Whatever. And that's fine, unless they end up running a bar. Others enjoy it and they're good at it, which is even better -- like this couple, who've been at it for years in the South End and have children who've followed in their footsteps.

At Ole Tyme, it always seems just like (yes) old times

Mary and Ambrose Owczarzak

Doc’s report:

"What is patriotism,” asked 20th century Chinese writer, translator and inventor Lin Yutang, "but the love of the good things we ate in our childhood?"

That was certainly the case with this blog’s co-founder Dan Nowak, who wrote under the pseudonym Baldo. As often as not, his happiest memories were of his service in the Navy and of the Polish cuisine of his youth in Bay City’s South End or, as he liked to say it, “Da Soud En’.”

Funeral meals, weddings, local restaurants like Krzysiak’s and the Oasis, Holy Name breakfasts -- above all, meals at  his parents’ and grandparents’ homes -- it all came down to potato dumplings, golumpki (stuffed cabbage rolls), czernina (duck's blood soup), the ubiquitous kielbasa, cabbage noodle soup, pierogi, Busha’s butter cookies if you behaved -- the cuisine of late-19th century Eastern European immigrants.

Trix's Pub: A bar with signs of a 4-tooth minimum (maybe), free beer tomorrow and a butt can today

Trix's: No fancy stuff, or preachin'

The hairy guy's report:

Setting off to see how far we could go into the South End before dropping off the edge of the Earth, we first stopped for lunch at Ole' Tyme at Broadway and 30th. It appears from everything inside that the intent is to name the place Ole Tyme, as in Old Time. But the signs outside say Ole', as in a Spanish sports chant.

It was a good lunch (a $3 Chicago-style hot dog for Harry, cod for Baldo and our comrade Doc). And after all, it's the food, drink and atmosphere -- not the signs -- that make a bar or restaurant.

But then it was on to Trix's Pub, and into some heavy-duty signage. There's no happy hour at Trix's. There's no food beyond packaged snacks. But there are signs. Lots of signs. 

We're not talking about signs of a heart attack or signs from the dead or anything like that. We're talking about signs on walls and fences. And almost all of them are spelled correctly. Almost.