Last Call: Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Final Approach
3109 Alta Mere Dr, FW817-735-1694
Teed Off

Allegedly in golf parlance, the final approach is the part of that whack-the-little-white-ball game when you’re within spitting distance of that little patch of grass that’s been scalped and is stuck through the middle with a flag – I think. I don’t know for certain, and I honestly doubt that any of the regulars at the regular-guy joint near Burleson called the Final Approach would know, either.
At least that’s my guess based on the crowd there last Monday. The brunt of one particularly highbrow conversation had to do with the absurdity of the Nashville Pussy “hit” “Blowjob From a Rattlesnake.” From a purely academic standpoint, the, uh, inflationary effect of a rattlesnake bite (Google it, if you’re curious) would put all of those creatively misspelled boner pills to shame. Interestingly, the convo was initiated by a cowboy who originally hails from Jamaica. Even more interesting — but much less surprising — was another guy who raised the Jamaican cowboy’s story with one that involved himself, a buddy, booze, Valium, and a highly irritated baby ratt’ler. As you can probably guess, the ending was not happy, but the coda was a treat. After slamming his shot, the guy said, “And now he and I go to church a lot more often.”
Anyway, the Final Approach was pretty dead last Monday, but on most weekends, all four pool tables are full of dudes and their old ladies, sinking eight balls (not those kind) and knocking back shots of Crown Royal ($3 all day, every day). All in all, a pretty good time. Not as good as can be had with a sexy rattlesnake, but, then again, I’m not looking to increase my church attendance. – Steve Steward

Off-Season Shopping, Summer-Style
Like doing Christmas shopping in July — don’t laugh; some people are that anal — shopping around now for good deals on, of all things, margaritas might be worth your while.
Just ask me, the gal who doesn’t have enough, uh, balls to order whiskey straight up, the priss who won’t drink Lone Star from a bottle. (I actually will but only at Lola’s Saloon, where the beer is always scandalously cheap or only when the bar’s just too divey or nice but just too packed to bother the ‘tender by ordering the shaken, rattled, and rolled cocktail.)
We all know that the margaritas at Joe T. Garcia’s (2201 N. Commerce St.) are strong, but the only reason people really go there is to sit on the cool patio and see or be seen. And since it’s frigid out right now, you have even less reason to visit the Northside stalwart. A great option: La Playa Maya, right down the road at 1540 N. Main St., where killer ’ritas are $2 from 3 to 7 p.m. on weekdays.
Out in Arlington, there’s Bobby V’s Sports Gallery Café (4301 S. Bowen Rd.), where the tasty tequila-infused treat will run you only $2.50 all day, every day. Elsewhere in A-town, you have El Gabacho Tex-Mex Grill (2408 W. Abram St.), where they’re only $4 ’til 7 p.m. and are extremely heavy.
Remember, though: You’re talking to a person to whom tequila is so strong there’s no appreciable difference between anejo and reposado. However, I know a crappy ’rita when I’m served one. As the old saying goes, you don’t need to be an award-winning chef to know crappy food. Well, same goes for ’ritas. And pretty much everything else you put in your mouth. – Laurie Barker James

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