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 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.

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.

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.

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. 

At the Black Pearl: It was a Dark N Stormy afternoon, when even non-pirates can shoot pool, drink and eat

Black Pearl: More than what the sign says

UPDATE: This place has gone out of business.

The hairy guy’s report: 

The world is full of bar lists -- 10 this, 10 that -- but the ultimate must be one from liquor.com -- The 263 Bars That Matter Most. Among them is Black Pearl, which might be the one on Water Street downtown across the street from the antique mall and the St. Laurent nut house.

But it's not. The one on the list is in Fitzroy, Australia, a Melbourne suburb, and it's said to have "a vibe that feels like a 1970s bachelor pad in the best possible way."

The Black Pearl in Bay City does have touches of bachelor pad. A foosball table, for instance, which might be out of place at a rum bar with a pirate motif. But even old pirates must have liked to relax with a friendly game after a tough day of plundering on the high seas.

Even better, there’s a pool table (along with a pinball machine, a dartboard and a bar-top electronic console). You might not think of a rum bar if you’re looking for a good place to shoot pool downtown. But you should.

American Kitchen: A burger with egg, absinthe with laughter (but no hallucinations) and malts with booze

American Kitchen, downtown on Center

The hairy guy's report:

Among the 24 taps at American Kitchen downtown on Center is one for Stella Artois, the Belgian pilsner. Harry decided to skip it, like almost everyone in Belgium does ("Belgians Have a Term for People Who Drink Stella Artois — Tourists," the Wall Street Journal reported recently).

He also skipped Vander Mill Totally Roasted, a hard cider. "The medley of cinnamon, pecan and vanilla will dance on your palate," the description says. Harry got a bad mental image from that one.

He settled on Arcadia Jaw-Jacker, described as a celebration of autumn that doesn't include pumpkin. That sounded good on an autumnal afternoon. And it was.

But what finally caught the hairy guy's eye was a squat bottle of absinthe beckoning from the end of the bar.

The Silver Palace: It's not silver or a palace, but the popcorn is free and you can get Kinky anytime for $3

The Silver Palace, or maybe just the Palace

The hairy guy's report:

A bar's name can leave you full of anticipation, or not.

For instance, at the downtown bar called Jake's, you might expect to find a guy called Jake. You probably won't, because he sold the place. But you really should stop in, if you haven't recently, to see the large new windows looking out over Third Street. Tearing down wood panels to restore what must have been the building's original look gives the place an entirely different feeling.

But that's not why we're here, except to note that naming the bar Jake's makes it sound like a friendlier place than it would if the then-owner had used his actual name -- Jacobs, which sounds a lot more formal.

And if you come across a bar called the Silver Palace, you might expect something grand. Maybe dark wood paneling. White tablecloths. Hefty silverware. You'd wonder if you'll need a dinner jacket, or if you should at least tuck in your shirt.   

Lucky's Pub on Midland Street, where you can get a Train Wreck, foosball or some kind of screwdriver

Lucky's and the Westown

The hairy guy's report:

A neighbor tells about moving to town awhile back. She and her then-husband unloaded stuff, then went to Midland Street for the sort of thing people do there.

Eventually driving home from Lucky's Pub, an officer pulled her over, somehow sensing a DUI. After checking her out-of-state driver's license, he announced, while snapping on the cuffs: "Welcome to Bay City!" 

Just recently, Harry had a fine afternoon at Lucky's, meeting a bunch of friends for a feast of chicken wings and beer before heading to a poker game. He had no run-ins with the law. But he did have a lousy night at cards. Meanwhile, the friends went off to play trivia at another local bar -- and they lost.

There seems to be a pattern here, raising an ominous question: Is a visit to a place called Lucky's pushing your luck?

Coonan's Irish Hub: Trivia on Mondays, nothing on Sundays, Guinness anytime and politics by request

Coonan's Irish Hub on North Johnson

The hairy guy's report:
 
An online directory of Irish bars in Michigan lists places with names like Bailey's, Dooley's, Kelly's, McThis, O'That and Paddy's Whatever. Local bars (or do we have to call them pubs?) on the list are O'Hare's, Paddy's Green Hut, Washington Street Irish Pub and Coonan's Irish Hub.

A disclaimer warns, in part: "It is up for you to decide whether or not there is any similarity to an actual Public House in Ireland."

The hairy guy has never been to Ireland, so he can't say. But Mrs. Hairy Guy, who has been there, says Coonan's is more like a restaurant because it's bright inside.

It does beg the question of what makes a bar an Irish bar.

Tavern 101: A record-breaking Delirium Tremens and a tall, cold Sock Monkey. But no luck with a Dead Guy

Tavern 101: Indoor and out

The hairy guy's report:

Back in the summer, about a week after Tavern 101 opened on the ground floor of the new Mill End Lofts building downtown, the hairy guy went in with his wife and some friends. A menu listed the available 50-some drafts but had no prices.

Well, he figured, this isn't the kind of place to go for cheap beers. But how much can a beer cost, anyway? So for lack of any other criteria and aiming to try something new, he chose one for its name: Delirium Tremens, from Belgium. Harry was prepared for a case of the shakes, perhaps a view of Wenonah Park across the street in paisley.

What he got instead was something less than a pint, in a sort of brandy snifter glass. The beer was fine (owing perhaps in part to its 8.5% alcohol content). He experienced no delirium, which was good, and was thinking he could drink one again sometime, until the bill showed up. It weighed in at $9.95.

Tavern 101, an anchor of Bay City’s renaissance

Meagan behind the bar at Tavern 101

Doc's report:

An apt symbol of Bay City’s cultural and economic revival is the Mill End Lofts. Where once stood “The World’s Most Unusual Store” -– and thank God for “unusual” -– we now have a glistening and vibrant commercial and residential space.

A bright red all-caps sign accents the night skyline as you cross bridges from the west, complementing the view of our brightly-lit and renovated City Hall tower clock. It’s as though Hell’s Half Mile has become God’s Little Acre.

Anchoring the southwest corner of the lofts building, where historic Center Avenue meets Water Street at Wenonah Park along the river, is Tavern 101.

When I was a boy here, there was no place like it. Until this year, there still wasn’t.

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.

Governor’s Quarters: A basement bar with crafty brews, a name in limbo, knotty pine and tiny bubbles

Governor's Quarters: It's in the basement

The hairy guy’s report:

Bars can be havens for strange snack foods. Pickled eggs, for instance. The only time you’d yearn for a pickled egg would be after some beers, if ever. Same thing for fried stuffed olives, which Esquire magazine declared a few years ago to be the best bar snack ever.  (“Screw truffled popcorn,” the magazine said.)

But we’ve never seen a bar advertise pickled eggs. Presumably, patrons just notice the jar and eventually try one. The hairy guy, who never has, figures a pickled egg sounds like it could quickly end any happy hour (though as a kid, even peas turned out to be OK once he tried them).

So when a west side bar was actually hyping on Facebook (days in advance!) that it would have liver-and-onion sausage on a certain Wednesday – apparently calculating that this was something to draw in customers -- well, that was too good to pass up.

As it turned out, the sausage – and more -- was free. We ate it. And we liked it.

And as it also turned out, the sausage was an anomaly for a place that’s quickly gained a following among local fans of craft beer.