Heidelburg: Wings, Stain Glass Windows and 'German-ness'

Heidelberg is located at 215 N. Main St. in Ann Arbor

This one hurt.

I’ll just start out by saying it now, my visit to Heidelburg hurt.

But it’s important to discuss why it hurt. Being my last week in Ann Arbor, I wanted to end my bar experiences on high note. And I thought, ‘what better place to go than a German bar’ (located here).

Despite my Irish name, I’m three-fourths German, speak German and I am in love with German culture. So I was thinking this is going to be great. Turns out my sense of expectation was just setting up for disappointment. (Thanks, insert your least favorite politician here).

My visit did not get off to a great start. Walking into the place, nobody was in the bar except the wait staff. 

‘Crap, I either picked a shitty Friday night, or this place is about to go under’. Turns out the place is set up with a sit-down restaurant upstairs and a bar downstairs, and that was where all the action was.

OK, shaky start, but mostly on me. When I made my way downstairs things were starting to turn around. Good music was on, the place was packed and it seemed like a very cool spot.

It was just after 7 p.m. and the bartender told me for another hour there will be free chicken wings for people who will order at least two beers. Sweet! Best place ever. I grabbed some wings and a beer and off to the races, so to speak.

**You can either stop reading here and assume the place is awesome, or keep reading to figure out what I was talking about in the opening sentence.**

When I asked for a Weihenstephaner, and that’s when things turned south, quickly. The bartender looked at me and said I had to order that upstairs. I just ordered wings and was in no mood to go back upstairs, so I settled with a Sam Adams Boston Larger. Not a bad beer, but I’m in a German bar, the least you can do is offer me a Beck’s.

And that was the sticking point of my visit the Heidelberg. Despite the German name and the really cool stain glass windows of the German coat of arms (Mecklenburg gets my vote, it has a puppy on it), the place really failed at doing the little things right to give it the German feel.

The little things make everything in terms of how a bar feels. Does the server know the regular names, is there local paraphernalia on the walls and ceilings, do people have a ‘regular spot’.

If you are going to have a German feel, great. But you better make sure your server doesn’t look at you as if you were from Mars if you say ‘danke’ after you get your beer. (People who I know that don’t speak German knows what ‘danke’ means, it’s not that hard).

My server was nice enough, but she did border just little too much on the ditzy side. Turns out that she was a student at U-M but then picked up bartending. She did her job well enough but had no grasp on German culture or the language.

This is obviously not her fault, but she probably is better suited to work at a Buffalo Wild Wings or something of that nature. (Not that there is anything wrong with that, but we all need to know where we work best).

And that was the microcosm of my trip the Heidelberg. It had a great setup, all the buildup you can ask for. 

But it takes the perfect pass right to the center of the penalty area and blasts it off the side of the foot and shanks a 30-yard skyhook that ends up in Row 13.

The downstairs bar did have Weihenstephaner Dunkel on tap and another German beer, but nothing else that was German. On the board they were advertising a special for Bud Light and Coors Light. And when you are selling yourself as a German bar, I feel those two don’t go hand in hand with the theme.

My disappointment in the lack of ‘German-ness’ in a German bar did sour my experience at an otherwise cool place.

There was a good crowd on hand, I was with a bit of the older crowd at the bar, but some more people my age were at the tables having a good time. (No, I haven’t descended yet into sitting by myself at tables at bars, I draw a line—check back in a year to see if I’m still singing that same tune).

I ordered the sausage platter on the menu (to the place’s credit they also had sauerkraut on the menu), but overall the menu options were pretty scarce. I ordered another Dunkel and dug into the sausage platter, which was pretty small compared to some other places I have been, but good nonetheless.

After talking to the bar staff for a while I discovered that the place is very popular among the U-M crowd, but more of the book reading type and less of the party bro type. Students are expected to be back in a week or so, and the staff seemed to relish the ‘quiet’ night.

Next to me were some older gentlemen fixated on the Tigers game and talking about horses. They were from nearby Milan and just visiting Ann Arbor. Turns out the bartender also owned horses and that got them talking for the rest of my time there. (I don’t own horses, see, that’s where I messed up, rookie mistake).

Reflecting on my visit, I was not too sure if I should be more disappointed in the bar or myself. (After giving it a minute of thought I firmly decided it was the bar, not me).

I’ve been to Germany and tasted authentic German culture, so it is not fair to compare anything in America that tries to put a German spin on what they are doing to the actual Weihenstephan Abbey in Freising (place drop, I actually have been there. It’s totally cool and you need check it out, but I digress).

But at the same time, many other bars do a good job setting a theme without being culture experts (See an example right here).

You don’t have to sell out on the theme, but a little effort goes a long way.

Did I set the bar a little high—yep. Did they have it coming a little with name like Heidelburg –yep. It’s still was a good place, but if felt like a bit of a wasted opportunity. With just a few more details and a much improved beer selection, the place can really be something.

There’s a lot of potential, but you feel a little down about it because you know there is more there.

My visit was a lesson in setting expectations. Sometimes, you do expect too much, but the only reason why those expectations are there is because you believe they can be reached.

I’d go there again with a group of friends or catch them when the U-M crowd is there, but I still feel a sense of disappointment that I can seem to shake.

I mean seriously, ‘bitte shone’, it’s not that hard to say. 

Ashley's: umbrellas, trivia night and puns

Ashley's is located at 338 S. State St.

 What makes bars better the restaurants?

Silly question I know, beer is the simplest and best answer to this bit of trivia.

But if you’re looking for a secondary answer, I’d offer this one. The bar is the last ‘judgment-free’ zone in America. Well, providing you find the right bar. (This is a blog about bars, not a bar in and of itself, so judging is OK).

Tonight I made a trip to Ann Arbor favorite Ashley’s, located here, home of what might be the best beer selection in Ann Arbor—and that’s saying something.

It was a drizzly Monday. I told myself I’d buy an umbrella in June, but that’s not going too well, because of---things.

I took a seat at the bar, which was experiencing a pretty sparse crowd both at the bar and the table seating area.

I ordered a Founder’s Oatmeal Stout and the Badger Burger, your classic BLT burger, but with a pretty respectably BBQ sauce to go on it. The bar was empty, with the exception of the 40-something-year-old business man three stools to my right and the group of two college-aged guys trying to win over young lady who looked a tad bit older than both of them. Safe to say neither of them won the contest, but I’ll give the tiebreaker to the dude who didn’t say mention his snake in his apartment every two minutes; seriously guy, suitably-- try it. 

When I was halfway through my burger and looking to order a Newcastle Brown Ale, I noticed I was the only one remaining the bar. Normally, this is not the worst thing to happen. Usually being the loner at the bar gives you a chance to speak to the bar staff and get the inside scoop on the night.

Alas, this was not one of those nights. The seating area was now packed, since Monday night at Ashley’s is trivia night.

Trivia night is a cult phenomenon around the Ann Arbor bar scene; not that I’m complaining. I’m a nerd, not afraid to say it. But even worse, I’m a nerd in multiple categories.

It’s one thing to know that Fe is iron on the periodic table; it is one thing to know Napoleon Bonaparte was born in Corsica and not France; and it is another thing to know the first FIFA World Cup was played in Uruguay in 1930 with 13 teams. But when you know all three of those things, you really have done a good job diluting all sense of being normal, even amongst other nerds.

For me, trivia is the vindication for acquiring a lifetime of worthless knowledge. (But it’s not worthless when you win a gift card to Buffalo Wild Wings because you know the Warsaw Pact better than you know your cousins).

The thing about trivia night is that it really is for groups of friends at tables. For the average guy at the bar who just wants a drink and a casual conversation, trivia night really limits that with a DJ asking random 1980s pop trivia questions and playing one-minute versions of once famous songs. Perhaps this is why the more experience bar crowd avoided Ashley’s tonight.

Still, sitting at the bar did give me time to people watch and make some mental notes on how people act in groups. For the most part, the teams that did well were the most regimented.

 “Putting the D in” was by far the class of the field tonight (both in the name and on the scorecard). 

The group had the leader with the pencil and would go directly to the person on the team that had knowledge of whatever category the question was related to (history, science, music, who was in this particular commercial, etc.). While other teams tried to ‘talk it out’ and collaborate on the answer, this team of winners knew what was up –just give the ball to the most talented player on the field, and everybody else move out of the way.

“Putting the D in” were the masters at this strategy of teamwork by enlightened aristocracy. While other teams delved in with the idea of team voting and ‘Hey, let’s combine answers so we get half points’ (this strategy not only didn’t work, but really should result in losing points on the count of it is that bad of an idea).

The second best team “Let’s Go Brew” (ha, get it? It’s like Let’s Go Blue, but in they’re in a bar so they threw in a beer pun—yes, I know I’m an asshole at times), had a similar strategy. But instead of having a team of nerds who to go to, this team had the go to nerd who wrote down the answer all the time---essentially he was Kobe Bryant. If he made it, the team will do well; if he misses, well, what are they going to do? Go to the couple at the corner of the table that has been making out for five minute straights (I’m not against public displays of affection, but if you put your tongue in someone’s mouth for the duration on an entire Major League Baseball pitching change, someone is bound to get hurt).

By this time, I’m finishing up my Weihenstephaner Hefeweizen and looking for the door. To my right is the same chick and two bros from earlier. (God bless them for still trying, it’s like the end of Gallipoli, you know it’s going to end poorly, but you still have to watch). I thought about grabbing another, but then someone missed a question about who the Bull Moose Party nominated for president in 1912, and I felt it’d be best I leave before I put my ‘Teddy Roosevelt , I’m going to tear through you like Panama' face on. (RIP Robin Williams).

 I paid my tab for my delicious burgers and set of beers and headed out the door.

All and all, Ashley’s offers the best beer selection in Ann Arbor, and the food menu is pretty solid for the non-beer drinking. Which reminds me, the chick being hounded by the two bros was drinking a cocktail at a beer bar, never a good sign guys. (At least order a cider, it’s the right thing to do if you don’t like beer). 

Anyway, the one Khaleesi and two Jorah Mormonts did return to the bar. Neither of them tried to impress her with their knowledge of StarCraft and Tolkien, so I can’t feel sorry for them. (But we can feel sorry for Jorah, damn you Daario Naharis).

Upon leaving, I wished I had a chance to get to learn about  the staff a little more. Judging from my prior experiences at the place, the staff seems seem pretty legit. But busy nights are always rough—so they were worth the standard 15 percent tip.

As I was walking out, the rain was still coming down, reminding me that fall is on its way (umbrella, needs to happen, soon, maybe). U-M is not that far from the bar, so I’m dead-set positive the place will be an entirely new scene in a matter of a few weeks, just in time for me to be in Grand Rapids (my lucky day).

But Ashley’s is the bar you wish you had in your hometown for nice post-work drink and burger. 

Unless it’s trivia night, that’s never good alone. So as always, pregame scouting can never hurt. 

Seriously “Let’s Go Brew”, you missed ‘who was the first African-American coach to win the Super Bowl’—Tony Dungy. That’s a layup. Go back to cocktails and 1980s pop songs.

Conor O'Neill's: Michael Collins, khakis and the Civil War

Conor O'Neill's, located at 318 S. Main St, is an authentic Irish-American bar

Being the bar and tavern connoisseur that I am –and even more so now that I’ve started this blog—one of the most important things I have learned about my bar experiences is you need to understand ‘the scene’.

There are a lot of bars, there are a lot of different types of bars, and there are a lot of different people that go to these bars. 

Understanding these bars and how you should act in each one plays a big role on how good of a time you will have at said bar—or at least it will affect the guy in a dress shirt and khakis sitting at the bar sipping on a Guinness just trying to watch Liverpool on TV. 

Last week I was paying homage to my Irish roots at Conor O’Neill’s, the Irish pub located here. The place has a really great atmosphere when it comes to Irish-American pubs. Along with your tradition Irish beers, the wall is decked with hurling kits, Irish limericks and picture of Michael Collins (who disappointingly does not look exactly like Liam Neeson).

I ordered a Guinness and the Mary’s stew, which I recommend you try at least a cup if you stop by, and was sitting at the bar. Next to me pulled up three rather large gentlemen who took a seat next to me at the bar. 

The man next to me ordered a Bud Light and just stared at me, asking what in the world I was drinking. I responded that I was drinking a Guinness (the place doesn’t have Murphy's on tap, but I later found out that I could still order it in a can). The man was from southern Mississippi and told me that I didn’t need that fancy beer, that I should be good with a nice, crisp, American beer.

The man’s name turned out to be Bill, and Bill turned to his buds and pointed at me saying, "look at this Yankee drinking some fancy beer". The Yankee reference alerted me I was in for a night.

My new southern friend Bill wanted to know why I was standing out so much, wearing my dress shirt, khakis and drinking a Guinness. They were in t-shirts, ripped jeans and drinking a Bud Light---and I’m the one standing out.

I politely told them that since I was in an Irish bar, I like to try Irish food/drink, and they were polite with my response.

After a couple of minutes then turned to me and asked where I was from and what I did for a living. Eventually they asked, ‘Man, have you ever been out to God’s county.’

Outside of Vatican City or Israel, I’m not too sure what qualifies as God’s country, but it turns out its Mississippi—who knew.

I told them I haven’t been, and they insisted that Southern hospitality is to die for. However, my friends from Dixie were impressed with Michigan hospitality and were surprised by how nice we were. So yeah, go Pure Michigan.

Then they asked me if I ever tried moonshine. I told them I haven’t, and I prefer to get my alcohol in a bar or store and not from a bathtub. (Specifically Jamison, yes, Guinness, Jameson and stew, every stereotype you heard about Irish-Catholics is true, just go with it.)

My new friends were disappointed that I never tried moonshine, promising if they see me again they will have some of the “good stuff” for me to try. By “good stuff,” I’m guessing they mean if I drink more than a glass of it I’ll go blind.

After turning down living in God’s country and moonshine, coupled with the way I dress and what I drink, the southerners determined that I needed to lighten up and be normal. If they only knew that was impossible.

I finished my stew and switched from Guinness to Murphy’s, while the southerners were on their fourth Bud Light---I guess Bud Light must be one of those beers that’s only enjoyable when you pound it down in one take.

They asked me where they can find some college girls and how come I wasn’t with one at the moment. I answered the Blue Leprechaun was a good spot (even though my experience there would not suggest so) and that I was single—thus drinking at the bar. 

The southerners were in town for a fishing convention somewhere in Wayne County and wanted to stop by Ann Arbor to check out a college town. They were disappointed to discover that college was not in session in early August, thus a lack of young females gracing Conor O’Neill's 

At this point, they were talking with the bartender, trying to get the bar to sell moonshine, seeing as they felt the bar’s liquor selection was not good enough. Turns out Bailey’s and Jameson is for snobs, I’m learning all sorts of new things tonight.

He then offered me some southern advice and said the only reason why I was single is that I don’t drink ‘real beer’ and I wear khakis at the bar---great, glad we pinpointed the problem.

I was glad to take the sage wisdom and turned to the barkeep for another Murphy’s.

The Conor O’ Neil’s staff is very knowledgeable, and some of them do sport the slightest hint of an Irish accent that is the perfect blend of authentic and not cheesy.

Bill turned to me and asked how I could enjoy living in Michigan with the endless winter. I brought up Michigan’s incredible beer selection (which he seemed to dismiss or say was not ‘real beer’), the combination of small towns and cities (which he dismissed Detroit as place where people get stabbed) and our schools (which led to a rant about how much better the SEC is at football compared to the Big Ten, granted he has a point there, but I didn’t go to a Big Ten school, so no loss on my part).

I then asked Bill what was great about ‘God’s county’, and he happily replied the South has the best weather, best food and is the home of the greatest general ever- Robert E. Lee.

I conceded the food and weather, but being three stouts in and feeling the Irish blood rushing through my veins after downing some stew, I was in a contesting mood in regards to fighting.

I reminded my new friend that General Ulysses S. Grant sort of took Lee behind a woodshed and kicked him around all over Virginia (that and Gettysburg was a blunder amongst all blunders—but I guess it’s not Lee’s fault, he only ordered his army to attack uphill, against a bigger force, that was in trenches, and better supplied……and his troops had to cross an open field…why the hell do southerners like this guy again?)

History rant aside, I also brought up General Tecumseh Sherman, who drove through Georgia like a tank—so much that they named one after him.

Bill gave me a look of intrigue or "God, this Yankee knows too much” and went on his way. History degree shows its merit once again. 

Satisfied that I got a chance to talk about history, and realizing that I missed two Liverpool goals, I finished my Murphy’s and headed for the door. 

I’m not saying we implement a dress code for everywhere, but for the love of God people, at least pick a shirt that doesn’t have last week’s mustard stain on it. I like to think God would permit laundry detergent in his country.

Walking out the door a group of people in nice dress shirts and blouses sat down at the bar. Well crap, why didn’t get to talk to those people. And they each ordered a Guinness—snobs.

Arbor Brewing Company: Soccer, Stouts and Advanced Communication Theory

Last week, I had the pleasure to assist in the coverage of the events surrounding the much anticipated Real Madrid – Manchester Unitedmatch at Michigan Stadium.

Arbor Brewing Co. is located at 114 E. Washington St.

And when I say covering events, I mean holy sh## every story we’ve written his week has something to do with soccer. Not that I’m complaining. I love soccer, I love talking about soccer, I look at complex life questions and put them in contents that relate to soccer (seriously, if you can’t solve a problem in 90 minutes—plus stoppage time, just admit defeat and move on).

I had a late night on Friday—leaving the office around 10 p.m.-- and went downtown to check out the scene at the street party that I wrote a story about hours before. Because nothing beats going to a party to write about it.

The streets were packed and the atmosphere was great. And after seeing the attractions for about an hour, I made my way to Arbor BrewingCompany, just a hop, skip and throw from my office.

The place was packed and when I got my Michael Faricy’s Irish Stout, I could only find a spot at the standing bar located by the window.

Next to me was a group of Manchester United supporters looking at the chalkboard menu and trying to figure out what they would like. I didn’t think to start a conversation with them—there is something about it being OK to start conversations with people you don’t know while they are sitting, but once they’re standing, it’s hands off.

The group decided to go with some English Pale Ales—staying true to stereotypes, I like it—and proceeded to comment on how nice a town Ann Arbor is in their charming accents.

The Brits had a generally positive view of the town and said that Michigan was a ‘remarkable’ state. While I don’t people from elsewhere making positive remarks about my home state, I kept thinking about the communication/social concept ‘face’.

A quick rundown of what ‘face’ is, or at least what I remember from college. ‘Face’ is the act or mood that you put on for a given place or setting. It is not necessarily who you are, but more or less what you want others to think who you are—got it, no.

OK, try this. Face is the act you put on when you meet a hey-I-know-you-but-not-really friend, and you put on a short act to get you through the five-minute conversation of awkwardness.

Back to the pub, I was wondering if it was fair to judge Ann Arbor based this one experience. Ann Arbor seems to have a festival every week—I would know, I cover them. But is that the fair look of what AA is, are all of these events merely Ann Arbor’s face that it puts on for the summer. Questions for the philosophers.

Either way, the Brits did seem to have a positive opinion of American craft beer, noting it was better than the Coors Light they were drinking earlier; I could write a Coors Light joke here, but why bother?

Eventually, a spot near the corner of the bar did open up next to a 20-year-old something wearing a Bayern Munchen jersey. I took a seat and ordered an Bavarian Bliss and turned to him and say, “Geht Bayern.”

The dude turned to me and said he had no idea what I was talking about. Why I was busy looking embarrassed he explained to me his girlfriend got him the shirt, and he knows next to nothing about the sport. Now, I do know there is never a good time to say your “girlfriend should be with me instead”, but if there ever was one…..

The rest of the night was filled with Ann Arbor natives and out-of-towners packing the bar, getting a sample of Arbor Brewery’s  fine selection. I laid off the food menu to give the bar backs a break, plus I feel I would have received the death stare had I even tried.

Among those in the bar were a group of Man U supporters and a group of Real Madrid supporter. For as much of a bad rap European soccer fans get, by and large they were the friendliest people you will meet. Perhaps they were playing the ‘face’ card as well, who knows I was three-pints deep at that moment.

It was then I felt a hand grab my shoulder. I turned and found the hand belong to a women in her 30s that that either has visited the tanner too much or is part lizard.

She asked me which beers to select. Now I’m not a big believer in the ‘personal bubble’, there is short list of people who should touch me: People that I know, and people that want to be punched.

With that and mind I just suggested the brewer’s generic pale ale and hope she would be on her way—it didn’t work. She called her other friend over and pointed out that I was good at making selections; oh God, I made it worse.

Seeing it was half-past midnight and I was meeting up with my friends the next morning—which turned out to be noon-ish—I called for my tab and headed out the door.

Ann Arbor’s streets were still alive as I was making my way back to the car. The thought going through my mind was the search for the Golden Mean in crowds. Yes, you do want to meet new people. But no, it’s never good when the only conversation you can have is in your head about communication theory terms in your head (trust me, that sounded just as lame writing it as it will when you read it).

I guess the middle ground is all the way to go. Sure you want players on the field, but if you don’t have room to move around, nothing good will come of it. I then strolled past the Bank of American clock and noticed it was 12:30 a.m.---tomorrow’s going to be a long day.

Hey, it’s 12:30: 90 minutes is all you need.