Last Call: Wednesday, March 05, 2008
2600 W 7th St, FW
Fuming at BoomerJack’s

The gall of some people never fails to amaze and sadden me. When you’re running through an airport or in the middle of a fistfight or something, then, sure, I can see why you’re not exactly bouncing around, shaking everybody’s hand. But when you’re just sitting down, drinking beer, and chomping on nachos, what conceivable reason do you have to be rude?
To wit: For happy hour last Friday, the wife and I went to BoomerJack’s, a gorgeous restaurant-bar that just opened in Montgomery Plaza, right across the street from Pei Wei, Ronin Sushi and Sake, and Gloria’s.
Anyway, BoomerJack’s: The place, like I said, is gorgeous. Between the cluster of booths and tables inside and the small patio outside is a square bar, with stools on both sides. While we were there, all of the patio stools and seats were taken. Since we just wanted some beer and appetizers, we hovered around the inside bar. When a seat opened, my wife sat down, and I stood behind her. We were between two couples, one young and the other a little older. A few stools to our right were three or four gigantic cowboys, huge dudes who were too clean and nicely dressed to be occupational cowboys but wore cowboy boots, ropers, long-sleeved button-up shirts, and what had to have been 20-gallon lids. At one point, a couple of them disappeared. I went over and asked the lone cowboy left if my gal and I could take their spots. In the most courteous way possible, he told me that his buddies had just gone out for a smoke and would be back any minute. He actually apologized for disappointing me. I told him, “No sweat,” and happily thanked him for his time.
The folks between whom my wife and I were sandwiched weren’t nearly as cool. The couple to our left had space to move their stools a couple of feet, which would have at least let me stand next to my wife rather than behind her like a creep. And I know they saw us — the guy caught me staring at him a couple of times. I wasn’t trying to be a jerk. I just honestly was amazed that the thought of sliding down to allow another couple room to enjoy each other’s company evidently didn’t even cross his mind. Unbelievable.
Even worse was the guy in the couple to our right. After the cowboys finally skedaddled, leaving about five feet of empty space, I kindly asked the guy if he and his date wouldn’t mind scooching over, to let my wife and I sit together. He turned and glared at me, like I called him a name or said his haircut sucked. He went back to his nachos and seemed content to stay there until a couple of seconds later, which felt like forever, when his gal said to him, “It’s OK. Let’s move over.” And he did, grunting and groaning, like he was carrying a horse up a hill. After he finally situated himself, I said, “Thank you,” loudly and inches from his ear — he didn’t even acknowledge me.
Don’t get me wrong. I am too damn stubborn to let a couple of ignoramuses keep me from going back to BoomerJack’s. I can actually see myself doing a lot of hanging out there. Our bartender, even though she was swamped, was fast and friendly, the place is near my office, and the food was really good. I swear to God, I took a bite of a cheesestick, and the gooey insides stretched from my mouth to my fully extended hand. And the red salsa that came with the chips may have been the best I’ve had in a long time: chunky but also smooth and not the least bit watery.
And, I admit, if I’m gonna dwell on how bad some of the eggs were, I’d be remiss in not remembering the good ones, like the cowboys, who definitely helped make the BoomerJack’s experience a positive one. — Anthony Mariani

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