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| The Bronx Bar is located at 4476 2nd Ave, Detroit. |
Being content; the best feeling any person might be able to
possess.
The state of knowing what you have, and being at peace with
it.
Pretty much that sums up, the Bronx Bar, located here.
The semi-punk bar in Midtown Detroit makes no apologies for
it being what it is; a place to listen to loud, 1980s punk rock, and give no
apologies about not being the “typical” bar scene.
Wandering in a Saturday night, I wasn’t too much in the mood
for conversation (heck, I started this crap-tastic blog up for Lord knows what
reason).
The bar is a really solid staple of the Midtown
Hipster/Wayne State scene. Good beer selections, a decent grill and an even
more decent pool table.
I walked in around 9 on a Saturday night (cue Meatloaf tune from Rocky Horror Picture Show). The place was packed, so I took a seat at the
bar the awkward “L” shape part of the bar. So there was some lady with her dude
friend at my “9 o’clock” –Top Gun reference-- so in order to face them I had to
turn 45 degrees to the right, which is awkward. (Wow, first story in, and I’m
already incorporating geometry – evolving)
I ordered a Bell’s Kalamazoo Stout ($5) and just got lost in the
music.
I wasn’t there much to socialize. Since I started living in
Detroit, I made a promise to spend at least one night a week out somewhere,
regardless what people in my circle of friends were up doing.
Saturday night seemed to be the night, and it was a pretty
chill crowd at the bar (around 60 percent dudes and 40 percent dudettes). I
enjoyed my first beer while absorbing the bar’s atmosphere.
Enjoying my weekend off from my job (more on that in latter
blog posts I’m sure). I wasn’t much for making friends for the night. But
seeing an empty pool table to my right, and an empty beer in my hand. I ordered
up a Pilsner Urquell ($5) and put a dollars’ worth of quarters on the table and my
name on the chalkboard.
I waited for a minute before a dude showed up to the table –
sweet, loving playing against a complete stranger, less guilty about beating
them that way (no, seriously, I pride myself on my pool abilities – everyone
has their own knack, and I have billiards).
We started the game off, and when he hit a clean, solid
break, my mind broke. “Holy crap, this dude knows how to shoot.” He went on a
run of five balls before I got a turn.
Turns out he was just fooling around with his lady friend
but knows how to shoot when its serious – well played dude, well played.
I made a late rally to make it close. By the end we were
trying to play defense to avoid the other person from win --- I’m sure there is
some sort of life analogy I could draw from that. But I was on my second
Pilsner (I ordered an Atwater Dirty Blonde ($6), but the bartender handed me a
Pilsner and I was in no mood to argue. Stoicism, it’s a great way to live.)
Eventually, I committed a table scratch after not hitting my
target ball. I just realized these last six paragraphs don’t make sense for
people who don’t play pool.
Well, it’s 1 in the morning as I’m writing this, so I sure
as hell aren’t fixing it. Quick rundown, in pool (where you pay money for
playing the game) you have to hit your own ball first – after calling the
shot—if you don’t it’s a scratch and your opponent gets to place the ball
wherever on the table.
After four turns of use going back and forth making safety
shots – we both thought it was really intense, but I think the dude’s
girlfriend was not happy. She was checking her phone asking when the game would
be over, but the dude was getting into it.
So yeah, I ruined Couples’ Night, apparently.
After my loss, I roamed around the bar for a while. The place
was hopping, even for a Saturday night. There wasn’t a place at the bar, so I
resigned myself to roaming around the bar and putting another round of quarters
on the table.
It seemed I was the only person at the bar who wasn’t in a
couple or a group – such is the life of an amateur, snarky bar reviewer. Two
other dudes were on the table, and took on the winner.
I may chalk it up to (ha, pool pun) the lack of interest in the game, but
I didn’t play particularly well. It was getting late and I realized the odds of
meeting anyone interesting were slim. Again, very loud punk rock bar, so it’s
not ideal for small talk.
After I finished my game, I went near the bar to pay my tab
and head out the door.
Midtown Detroit is definitely a nice part of town – albeit a
little (sarcasm) hipster like. But whatever, the hipsters aren’t that bad, they tend not to mess with cars parked in the street.
Bronx Bar is a solid bar for solid people. Probably not
going to win any “best places to socialize” award. But it knows what it is and
who they serve – and you can’t help but appreciate that.
The Bronx Bar. A content bar for content people. And at the
end of the day (Did I really use ‘at the end of the day’ as a closing – wow I’m
rusty. Next post will be better, people.)
But back to the point at hand, isn’t a content bar really
what we all want. A place to drink. A place to
chill. A place to be you – And listen to really loud punk
rock music.
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