|
A D V E R T I S E M E N T
|
|
|
|
A D V E R T I S E M E N T
|
|
Flynn’s: Hip to Be Square?
There is something almost shameful about a guy like me (drunken hipster) discovering that there are some pretty character-rich watering holes outside of the nurturing bosom of West 7th Street, West Berry Street, and downtown. My hipsterism was seriously called into question over the weekend when I happened upon a little Westside gem, Flynn’s Irish Pub, just off Cherry Lane south of I-30. Everyone I’ve spoken to about Flynn’s (mainly my hipster-asshole friends, whom I hate) claim they have known about the cozy, out-of-the-way pub for years and say they go there all of the time. But like that great rock band that everybody’s heard about but never heard, Flynn’s is mainly the kind of place whose name a hipster-asshole will drop into bar conversation just to prove his (typically contrived) commoner roots.
Other than me, there wasn’t a hipster within 500 feet of Flynn’s when we went there last week. Don’t ask why. But anyone who enjoys cold beer in non-pretentious atmosphere should make this joint a regular stop. The bartender was friendly, and the crowd was downright brotherly – a regular offered me some pizza, and I wasn’t even drooling over it. The walls are plastered in vintage movie and sports posters. My favorites were the old-school Battlestar Galactica and Charlie’s Angels posters in the men’s room. And there are plenty of comfy couches and fun clutter, including an old foosball table and a plastic octopus hanging from a plant. Basically, Flynn’s looks and feels a cool ’70s-era teenager’s garage sale. With beer.
Things got off to a great start the moment I walked in. A puppy (Chow mix) greeted me and escorted me to a seat. On the way, I passed folks playing darts and people chillaxin’ on the throw-rug-covered couches, reading copies of The Onion. The bar offers a good variety of Brit-brew, such as Bass, Guinness, Newcastle, and Harp, and several regional microbrews. Out back is a beer garden, replete with stakes for horseshoes. (The patio door reads, “Don’t let the dog outside or the red cat inside.”)
Bars like Flynn’s are rare here in these parts. Scandalously rare. The average joe or jane needs a place to go to solo sometimes and not have to worry about feeling like an outsider. Flynn’s may be that place.
But go quickly, before word reaches my hipster-asshole friends. – Eric Griffey
Roll ’Em, and Let ’Em Roll
Speaking of diamonds in the rough that shouldn’t be, I was out in West Fort Worth the other day and passed a place called Bon Ton Roule, a cigar shop tucked away in an innocuous strip mall on the deserted west side of Camp Bowie Boulevard. My expectations were low when I walked in and, to my delight, blown away after just a few minutes. There’s nothing strip-mall-y about BTR. The comfy shop is laid out with plush leather couches, humidors and cigar lockers, and a giant television.
One of the regulars there told me that people walk into Bon Ton Roule complete strangers and walk out lifetime friends. I’m not sure I made any bffs during my visit – I’m way too aloof – but I definitely enjoyed the company (and my stogie). With a handful of other folks, I took in the last 45 minutes or so of Die Hard. Everyone introduced himself to me (the crowd was all male, natch) and encouraged me to come back soon and often. You gotta love a place where the regulars have a sense of ownership.
Every Wednesday, according to one of the regulars, is Sopranos night, and every Thursday, movie night. Bon Ton Roule also frequently hosts special tasting events sponsored by cigar makers. The next one is in late May and will be sponsored by Romeo y Julieta cigars. – EG
Email this Article...
