Over It

On Friday, the Halfstreet had an unexpected tour of the new “Washington Corridor” here in Htown. You know a place has arrived when people start naming it, though they are going to have to come up with something catchier than that if “they” want it to stick. (For our faithful readers, not in Htwon, Washington Ave is a street over on the Halfstreets side of town, that has recently seen an influx of trendy dining and drinking spots. It has also gotten a recent increase in attention.) Trendsetters that we are, the Halfstreet has long frequented several places with Washington Ave. addresses. In fact our wedding reception and impromptu after party were both on Washington, so I guess that makes us uber-hipsters. Sadly our recent experiences haven’t been so positive.

A couple Friday's ago, the HSH was out of town, and I was out with the Bossman (so called because I work for him, and ‘guy I’ve known for 8 years and who saved me from consulting hell’ doesn’t have as nice a ring to it), Rog (of burger fame) & NJ (of Miami fame). After the typical starter course at Candelari’s we ventured over to Pearl Bar. I had been there before and thought it was decent. Nice atmosphere, good jukebox, not overly priced. But since then I had gotten a RAVE review from an acquaintance. He called it “hands down the absolute best bar in Houston” so the group decided it deserved revisiting. After all, if I had known I was in the BEST BAR IN HOUSTON the first time, I would have taken note and spread the gospel to the Halfstreet. I should have been tipped off by the valet parking (rampant on Washington and previously discussed here). But sadly I’ve become so used to it, that I hardly notice these days. Soon after entering the bar though, it was very clear to me that not only was it NOT the best bar in Houston, it might vie for worst. There was a 6 people deep moat that ran the entire length of the bar, and the bartenders didn’t seem like they were in a hurry to actually serve anyone. Combined with the fact that it was so packed, that it was impossible to find a place for 4 people to stand even remotely together (and that’s with Rog as lead blocker, not an insignificant force) and we were ready to get out of there in about 7 minutes, or as fast as we could drink our one beer. Apparently my acquaintance had been spreading the gospel just fine all on his own, and he managed to turn his favorite bar into a poorly serviced cattle car. Moo. Maybe there was a time in my life when the more packed a bar was the more I enjoyed it, but those days are loooong gone. These days I want a crowd somewhere between crickets-chirping-empty, and drink-knocked-out-of-hand packed (which actually happened at Pearl). On the plus side, not wanting to waste our valet parked car, we ventured across the street to a shady looking watering hole called the Chaise Lounge. This was way more our style. Nice crowd, but not impossible to get a drink. Smallish, and not filled with pretentious jerks. Check, Check Check and Check. We thought we had a winner.

Fast forward to this past Friday. We again started at Candelari’s to rally the troops and partake in $5 happy hour pizza (gosh I love that place), and then figured we should take the HSH over to see what we had found the weekend before. MJ (NJ's brother—are you keeping up with this?) and Bossman arrived ahead of the HSH, Rog, and myself. They were waiting on the street when we arrived. Either Rog has a bigger mouth than I knew, or we weren’t the only ones who had gotten fed up with the crowd across the street at Pearl Bar. Either way, our new little find on Washington lasted exactly one week before turning into the same poorly serviced cattle car that Pearl is. Grrrr.

We loaded up (left one car in valet because they told Bossman it would take over 45 minutes to get his car…seriously, are you starting to see why I HATE valet in Houston?) and headed over to another new place on Washington (I told you, they are everywhere). We found a prime parking space without the aid of valet (take that!) and were excited about maybe finding a place that would last longer than a week. WRONG. We were met at the door by a man wearing a black suit, black shirt, and red tie and told we would not gain entry to his establishment, as the Bossman was wearing flip flops and MJ was wearing tenny’s. Oh. My. God. Seriously people. Two months ago this place was inhabited by hobo's and now we can’t get in based on footwear? You’re kidding right? No? Buh-bye. I was annoyed beyond belief. Not that there aren’t places in Houston that I expect that from, but not on Washington. Please not on Washington.

In the end, we ended up at the same place we always go, feeling thoroughly punished for trying to expand our comfort zone. I think it’s all a sign of my impending 30th birthday. There was a time in the not so distant past where none of this stuff would have bothered me. Valet? How convenient! Way crowded? Look at all these great people! Now it’s just a recipe for a blog posting about how I’m so over all this Washington Corridor crap. Next stop: Retirement home.