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A D V E R T I S E M E N T
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A D V E R T I S E M E N T
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A Sylvan Retreat
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” said Robert, one of a handful of customers at the Knotty Pine last Monday and a regular. He was there having beers with his mother. “Tony Dungy retired?!”
Robert, his mother, and I had been chatting about all manner of stuff — religion, politics, family — and had just touched on professional football and the departure of the Indianapolis Colts’ head coach when the streakers streaked by. I just happened to be looking over Robert’s shoulder and out the open door when they came in. The sunset had cast my little view of quiet, tree-lined Camp Bowie West in a preternatural yellow glaze, transfixing me in downy reverie — there’s just something about the way summer sunlight slants across the countryside that, even for a city boy like me, is comforting and reminescent of youth and home, and security and safety. The girl came in first. Trailing behind her, um, healthy proportions was an equally, uh, healthy man, with a black beard and long black hair. They hooted and hollered all the way from the front of the bar to the backyard.
“Are you kiddin’ me?” Robert said. “Tony Dungy retired?!”
Not that the Knotty Pine is frequented by exhibitionists — it’s not, or so I’ve been assured — but in such a clean, laid-back, small joint, fun in all of its various forms is accepted and, as Robert’s nonchalant reaction indicated, pretty much expected. We later found out that the couple had lost a pool bet next door, at the Ole House Tavern.
The Knotty Pine and Ole House Tavern are about five feet apart, and I had never heard of either place until I got lost one day and drove past them. I didn’t get a chance to haunt the Ole House last Monday, mainly because the Knotty Pine made me feel completely at home. The complimentary beef taco salad — with jalapeños, Fritos, and huge chunks of fresh tomatoes, and topped with chili con queso — may have been better than anything I’ve had in any Tex-Mex restaurant. Plus, the jukebox was full of every C&W classic you can imagine, and the company was splendid. As for the scenery, let’s just say I love me some summer sunsets in the sticks. – Anthony Mariani
Another (Emerald) Gem
OK, let’s be honest. All kidding aside, we all know that Irish folk like their beer, with the word “like” being somewhat of an understatement. So, naturally, a body would expect an Irishman who owns an Irish pub to, y’know, partake of the stock occasionally.
But, as the old saying goes, there are exceptions to every rule, and the exception in Fort Worth, as far as we know, is one Liam Conlon, the charming — and stone-cold sober — proprietor of Conlon’s Pub, a no-frills but totally lovable hole-in-the-wall just north of downtown on White Settlement Road, across the street from Angelo’s Bar-B-Que and Lambert’s Steak, Seafood & Whiskey and flanked by car dealerships and warehouses. Conlon’s also is just far enough away from the nightlife action on West Seventh and Foch streets to serve as a retreat but not too far away to inhibit bar-hopping.
Originally from County Roscommon in Western Ireland, Conlon has been working for the City of Fort Worth for years and opened his pub almost a year ago to little fanfare. Like any small-business owner worth his or her salt, Conlon has been working hard on building a following and, based on a couple of happy hour visits, is doing just fine. Quiet and unassuming, Conlon has an accent as thick as Guinness stout but easy to catch on to after a couple of minutes.
The pub itself is much like its owner, straightforward and amiable. The staff is cute and courteous, the drink selection is solid (a dozen taps, 20 or so different bottles, and the usual liquor selection), and the room is dog-friendly. Nothing fancy, just necessary.
But the little surprises are what make Conlon’s a destination rather than just a place to power up or close down. Hanging behind the bar is a word-of-the-day board, and the pool table, dartboards, and foosball table are all located in the back of the pub, keeping the tables up front and bar counter free from any gaming ruckus. The lighting is low but not so much so that you can’t see your hands in front of your face. Also, playing a song on the internet jukebox isn’t as expensive here as in most other places, and the volume is just right.
Conlon’s best attribute by far, though, is arguably the one that matters most: the prices. Not only is everything here about 50 cents cheaper (or more) than pretty much everywhere else, but the pub also offers happy-hour prices to all service-industry employees at all hours. Conlon’s philosophy is that people who bust their asses to serve the rest of us deserve a little TLC too. Not bad from a guy who doesn’t even swallow a drop himself. Also, live traditional Irish music will be going on at Conlon’s every other Saturday for free. — Joshua Loewen
Contact Last Call at lastcall@fwweekly.com.
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