Author: Meghan Stuthard

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

Grab some friends and head to the North Lounge

The first words I heard walking into the North Lounge? “There used to be bras hanging from the ceiling.” I’ve never left my undergarments at an establishment before, but I can appreciate a place that not only accepts but encourages it. The bras are now gone, but I have no reason to think that the North Lounge doesn’t still like to party.

Once the site of Mugs, the North Lounge’s owner Jeremy Denno has turned the spot into a bad-ass darts bar.

If you’re a darts person (I, like many before me, am a darts person after about three beers), this place is incredible. Not only do they host Friday-night dart tournaments every week, but they also have a handful of dart boards that are networked, allowing patrons to play against people worldwide. So the chances are good that at any given moment the North Lounge is open, you can take advantage of some drunk idiot in Singapore, and he can’t come fight you afterward. America!

The North Lounge is located at 4396 Old Raleigh LaGrange, which means that one route to get there takes you past the Raleigh Cemetery, aka a part of Rockin’ Raleigh that I do not want to see rock. You also have to brave scenic Austin Peay Highway, which might do you good if you really want to know Memphis. We cruised it with the windows down and nicknamed one stretch “The North Memphis All-Smells.”

But if you can make it past competing highway odors and a truly frightening cemetery, you are rewarded with delicious cold beer. They do not serve liquor but allow folks to bring their own and pay $3.50 for the set-up. What they lack in liquor they make up for in a wide selection of domestics and Jack Daniels ciders. Bud Selects are currently on special for $1.75 each. I sense they’re having trouble ridding themselves of these, as no self-respecting Raleigh citizen would be caught drinking a low-carb beer.

The delightful thing about the North Lounge is its history. At one point, there were in-ground hot tubs in the restrooms. They were finally filled in with concrete in 1998. I suspect health code violations are to blame, which really bums me out. A hot tub in a bar? Imagine the possibilities! The scandals! The buffoonery! The Chandler Parsons Instagram posts! … The risk of accidental deaths.

Anyway, the hot tubs are a thing of the past, but this place still rules. There’s a deejay booth where the walls are just a huge picture of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Near one of the pool tables is a The Color of Money poster, lovingly framed. Album covers plaster the walls. It’s also huge. This is the type of place where, when it’s packed, you stand to make an ass of yourself in front of a couple-hundred people.

The North Lounge is a little off the beaten path, but this is what I propose: Grab some friends, head that way, and order a bucket of beer each. Then dare a bro (I assume everyone has at least one bro in their friend group) to either chug a Smirnoff Ice in front of the bartender who looks like Willie Nelson or spend two minutes in the Raleigh Cemetery. Long story short, you’re going to have one super-Iced bro on your hands and a crowd of people who know how big of a wimp he really is. Then play some darts or some pool, hit the jukebox (the soundtrack the night I was there started with Guns N’ Roses, so check yourself before you punch in a Bieber jam), and mingle. Bonus: The graffiti on the fence outside reads “Her Loves Him,” meaning at least one romance has blossomed within those walls.

Big ups to Jeremy for reopening this place and, as he puts it on the North Lounge’s Facebook page, making Raleigh rock again. The domestics are cheap at only $2.50, and there’s a full menu of pizza, burgers, and fried ravioli. Arrive late, get weird, and throw down with people who definitely don’t care that you went to the Pilgrimage Festival last weekend.

The North Lounge, 4396 Raleigh LaGrange, 410-8530

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

Dream Bars launches new bar concept in Memphis

In Memphis, it’s only mildly uncustomary to walk into a bar where a woman wearing bunny ears is seated in an armchair surveying the scene. This particular woman is Hayley Milliman, one half of the duo behind Dream Bars. She and business partner Miles Kovarik have just launched their latest concept (they’re also the team that created Potterfest) in a seldom-used corner of Cafe Society.

The idea behind Dream Bars is ambitious: Every few weeks, they stage another pop-up bar with a new theme in a new location. From now through September 30th, it’s Wunderland, with an Alice in Wonderland theme. The next pop-up, launching in early October in a different place … who knows? Though we might see the pop-up bars resurface at Cafe Society again one month, we’ll never see the Alice theme again. With this sort of turnaround, you’d expect a lackluster presentation. But Hayley and Miles, I learned, don’t half-ass anything.

A friend and I visited the Wunderland bar last week, and the bartender immediately handed us two apothecary bottles marked “Drink Me.” This is a good way to get people to hang out at your bar. Another great way to get people to hang out at your bar is to offer a selection of drinks that include an alcoholic hot tea and an absinthe cocktail. We got one of each, then we got another of each, and then we hung out with Hayley and Miles and yammered for several hours.

Normally, I credit the alcohol for any ability to talk to strangers, but Miles and Hayley are easy to talk to and eager to share their ideas about moving forward with Dream Bars. Miles excitedly explains his vision but credits Hayley with bringing all the intelligence to the table (“Duh, she’s a woman,” I wrote in my notes). Their passion is obvious, as anyone who has attended one of their Potterfest events knows well. They have an ease with discussing their hopes for Dream Bars that is refreshing and, for a cynic like me, inspiring.

After traveling extensively and hanging out in concept bars all around the globe, Hayley and Miles figured they could pull off a similar deal in Memphis. Their goal is to get their patrons to re-think their bar experience, and to head home and, as Miles put it, say to themselves, “Well, that was interesting.”

Here in Cafe Society, they’ve provided a full experience, from a lavender scent to a playlist wherein each song vaguely references Alice in Wonderland. The drinks are served in teacups, many of which Hayley found at Goodwill. The Alice theme, while by no means an easy undertaking, is just the start. They promise that each concept fuels the next and each idea will be a little more out there, but we won’t know what’s next until October.

Hayley Milliman

The awesome thing about Dreams Bars is that it promotes a symbiotic relationship between the company and the host bar/restaurant. Dream Bars will use an under-utilized space in a host bar and not only take advantage of the spare room but also provide exposure for the place. The chef of each host restaurant will provide insight for the menu. Cullen Kent, the chef and owner of Cafe Society, worked with Dream Bars to craft a themed food menu for the Alice concept. (They had a mushroom appetizer called “Eat Me,” but I had already been down the absinthe road and so I tapped the brakes.)

Providing exposure for existing spaces isn’t the only way that Dream Bars embraces Memphis, of course. They also craft their drink menu using local spirits from Old Dominick, and 10 percent of their profit is donated to a different local charity (the charity, like the theme and location, will change each time).

The sort of innovation that went in to Dream Bars, from the décor to the drinks, is what makes it stand out. In a city full of fun and interesting bars, it’s hard to come up with something new. They’ve succeeded. The drinks are fantastic (I tried them all, even one made with spiced rum that ended up being delicious), and the atmosphere was a perfect backdrop to make two new friends and somehow end up talking about Vin Diesel and the correct pronunciation of “Budapest.” Alice welcomes visitors Thursday through Saturday nights, from 7 p.m. until midnight, and I urge you to approach that fun couple, one of whom will be wearing bunny ears, and introduce yourself. We wouldn’t want to lose them to some other city.

Dream Bars Wunderland at Cafe Society (212 N. Evergreen) through September 30th.

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

A return to Old Zinnie’s

Right at the corner of Belvedere and Madison sits one of Midtown’s oldest bars, Old Zinnie’s. It opened its doors in 1973 and, thankfully, probably hasn’t changed much since.

We’ve all been to OZ at 1688 Madison, whether we needed a good happy hour while we waited on our laundry at the laundromat across the street or because our car got towed from that same parking lot and we couldn’t leave. Maybe we went because it was cheap or because there’s never live music and all you want to do is hang out and chat. Maybe you, like me, ended up there because the crowd was too much at the Lamplighter, and it was quicker to run over to OZ and grab a beer. Maybe we were both there at some point for the PBR on draft and 50-cent wing night on Mondays. I have gone for all these reasons and more to that dependable little corner bar with the big windows and the chalkboard that still advertises Washington Apple shots.

But I haven’t gone to Old Zinnie’s in a while. I haven’t gone to that dependable little corner bar with the big windows in two years because I was not yet brave enough to return. You, like me, probably have a place where you find your peace. Maybe you find your solace in a church, or maybe you feel most serene in a vegetable garden. But maybe you, like me, find your peace in the comfort of a sturdy old bar, a dependable jukebox, and a smattering of post-workday curmudgeons. Your peace, like mine, isn’t necessarily at the bottom of a bottle, where it’s easy to forget, but found in what a bar can represent: a place to remember. So, one week after saying goodbye to a friend and two years after saying goodbye to another, I went to Old Zinnie’s to say hello to ghosts.

The great thing about great bars is that they never change. OZ still sports the stained-glass window of an ice cream sundae and the assortment of “There, I fixed it” oddities like the shot glass holding up the TV. Although Old Zinnie’s serves food, there’s always the trusty popcorn machine at the end of the bar for those looking for a snack. Ginger was working the evening that I went. You know Ginger, too, because she’s been there a while. She’s happy to pour you a drink and to discuss the menu. The bar itself is open from 2 p.m. to 3 a.m., but food is only served from 6 to 11 p.m. The regulars claim that the OZ burger is among the city’s most underrated. I also took note of the bologna sandwich, appropriately christened “The Zinnieloney.”

The great thing about Old Zinnie’s, beyond its resistance to change over the years, is that it felt exactly the same as the last time that I was there, when I went with someone who is no longer here. Myriad people have passed through my life; some are now dead, and others are just gone. But at OZ, in that old smoky bar, I am able to remember them best. This awful summer heat seems to breed tragedy, like it’s so hot that it drives people, in some overheated frenzy, to do the unthinkable. It’s puzzling that heat can make a world feel so cold. But Zinnie’s, with its Tullamore Dew restroom signs (Dewds and Dewdettes), preserves our memories for us. Zinnie’s, with its famous Zebra Stripe shots (main ingredient: strawberry vodka), like all the dark, smoky bars, has served as a place to find peace.

It was to Old Zinnie’s that I went, as I have gone to many wonderful places like it, to offer up a prayer and a wish. May we all find what we seek, whether it is a joint that still serves crinkle fries and hands out bottled beers in koozies or a bar that stands for more than that. Maybe it’s our hope that these spaces, where we find our tranquility, will get us through the summer without having to say any more goodbyes. Maybe you, like me, are tired of drinking with ghosts.

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

Old Whitten Tavern: Ankle Tattoos & Cheap Drinks

CREDIT: Justin Fox Burks

It’s a Tuesday night, and this strip mall is crawling with people. I am wildly unprepared to fight a hundred-person mob for a domestic beer in the suburbs, but it turns out the crowd belongs to a nearby dance studio hosting a dance-team tryout. A much more manageable crowd belongs to the Old Whitten Tavern, a bar that has come highly recommended from devoted Bartlett beer-drinkers. The Old Whitten is the local watering hole; it’s small, dim, and it is delightful.

When visiting a new bar, I want to know what the place is known for. While Old Whitten has the Bonnie Melt (“The Bonnie Melt is #1!” says the homemade sign above the kitchen entrance; silver glitter on blue paper serving as all the proof you need to order their famous version of the Patty Melt) and serves tater tots (we’re all suckers for bars that serve tots, and if you claim otherwise, you’re a liar), it doesn’t have a drink that it can claim as its own. Or does it? In perusing their shot menu, I found something called Walter’s Muffin Top, which is essentially just blueberry vodka and sweet and sour. While this isn’t anything super-special, it is named after a guy named Walter and his muffin top, and that’s funny enough to warrant ordering. “To Walter, and his seemingly too-small pants!”

Justin Fox Burks

The Bonnie Melt at Old Whitten Tavern

On this evening, there is a man seated next to me who arrived on his motorcycle. He’s a regular and sporting a biker vest that proclaims him to be a member of the Boozefighters. He’s drinking, so I assume he’s not fighting against booze, but I do wonder if he’s fighting on behalf of booze or because of it? The Old Whitten has many mysteries, and this must be one of them.

Another mystery: The online reviews of this place all talk about how amazing the bar grub is, and yet no one is eating. I quickly discover that, for the Tuesday after-work crowd, sitting down to dinner isn’t in the cards. There are nine TVs in there, at least two on each wall, so no matter where you’re seated, you are accommodated. What cracked me up is that the Old Whitten keeps all nine remote controls behind the bar, like one couldn’t do the trick. There are also three pool tables, all occupied the night that I went. Also worth noting: two very special barstools that were covered in camouflage material — for the barfly who doesn’t want to be seen.

A sign of a great bartender? One who knows the name and order of every patron before they even finish sitting down. Holly is a wonderful bartender. Smiley and quick, she greets every single person in there by name. More: The drinks are cheap — domestics at $3, and that isn’t even for happy hour. The Old Whitten also boasts an enviable selection of flavored moonshines which can always be counted upon to facilitate a good drinking and karaoke crowd. The bar hosts karaoke each Saturday night, and, if the regulars are to be believed, it gets rowdy. Who doesn’t like rowdy karaoke?! This night, however, Celine Dion’s “All by Myself” is playing loudly over the speakers, which, if we’re being honest, might also facilitate drinking and singing.

Justin Fox Burks

Walter’s Muffin Top at Old Whitten Tavern

I don’t venture to the outskirts of Memphis Metro that often, but the Old Whitten Tavern made it worth it. It was similar to one of my favorite Midtown haunts, right down to the Buffalo chicken egg rolls on the menu and the indoor smoking (your move, Blue Monkey). If it’s one thing that can be counted upon in a neighborhood bar, it’s ankle tattoos, pool, and cheap drinks. Truly, that’s the tie that binds us all, regardless of whether you live inside the Parkways or not. Final note: The bar has a Pabst mirror so you can make a crappy joke to your unimpressed fellow bar patron.

The Old Whitten Tavern is open at 11 a.m.-2 a.m. daily, with daily happy hour specials, open mic and karaoke nights, and live music on select nights. It has a full bar and menu. 21-plus only.

Old Whitten Tavern, 2465 Whitten

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

The Big S: A Very Memphis Bar

A couple weeks ago, we had a full-on Memphis meltdown after some nerd from Nashville began trolling us with a series of misspelled tweets and non-applicable GIFs (full disclosure: I am Nashville-born and mostly Nashville-raised, and this cretin offended even me). It was absolutely maddening, but here’s the deal: That guy doesn’t get it and never will, and that’s just fine with me because that means he stays the hell out of Memphis and the hell out of bars like the Big S Grill. The Big S is Memphis through and through and embodies all this city has to offer, and it does it all in a tiny, unassuming house next to the train tracks.

1179 Dunnavant is stuck in time. It doesn’t look like it has changed anything about itself since the ’60s except for the name (formerly it was known as the Hawkins Grill). Indeed, the telephone directory hanging by the front door looked older than I am.

The Big S has six barstools, five tables, and three booths, keeping it intimate. We sat at the bar, where there were holes worn in the fabric from years of boot toes pressing into the sides. The place was dim, lit only by a few red lights. My buddy and I looked at each other. The Big S Grill was a winner.

There are a handful of things that make a bar: the music, the people, and the drinks. A bar doesn’t require anything more than that, which is why it baffles the mind that so many bars are terrible. The Big S Grill scores a 10/10 in every category. The jukebox is packed with soul classics, and not one patron in there was under 60. But the drink of choice in the Big S is where the Memphis really comes through. We were served two 40-ounce bottles of beer with a chilled rocks glass and a napkin. A chilled rocks glass and a napkin! I dare you to find a better setup than that.

My friend and I were one of several people in there, but every other patron was an older gentleman. Just like with Ashton Kutcher, the headwear was evenly split between fedoras and trucker hats, but unlike Ashton Kutcher, none of these guys’ hats made them look like assholes. In fact, any one of those guys could’ve been my own grandfather, sitting there with a trucker hat perched on his head, barbecue sauce running down his arms as he ate his pulled pork sandwich at a gritty neighborhood bar. The Big S serves their barbecue from a smoker out front, and although we didn’t partake, we were the only ones in there not eating. It looked and smelled incredible.

Like many of these lesser-known dives, the Big S Grill allows folks to bring in their own liquor for a small fee. At a table nearby, three men were passing around a bottle of Svedka. The bartender had brought them beer mugs full of ice in which to make their mixed drinks. A whole beer mug for a vodka drink? Giddy up! My friend noticed one of them wearing a Memphis Tigers shirt and remarked, “I like your shirt.” The man replied, “You like the blue? You gotta like the blue if you’re in Memphis.” While the rest of us entitled jerks have been arguing about the Tigers since halfway through the Pastner era, the loyalty of the men of the Big S Grill has never even faltered.

We paid our tab, a beyond-reasonable $9 for two 40-ounce beers, and as we stood up to leave, the owner walked over and introduced himself. The Big S Grill has been run by the same folks, more or less, since the 1960s. This guy has surely seen the best and worst in people over the years, but greeted us as warmly as he would greet his own grandchildren. He called out, “Y’all come back now, you hear?” — just like in the movies — as we were walking out.

The next time we run across some Nashvillian — or any other city’s less-than-stellar example of a citizen — who wants to hurl racial slurs and lame jokes at Memphis, don’t let him win. Be glad that he’s off making some other city’s population dumber. Be happy that he doesn’t understand. Be thrilled that we’re taking the highest road, all while sitting in a low-ceilinged bar drinking beer with grandpas.

The Big S, 1179 Dunnavant (775-9127)

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

A Visit to Barbie’s Bar Light

Everyone has seen the empty lot on Summer with the For Sale sign, where all there is to denote this barren lot as the original location of Barbie’s Place is a faded sign advertising pool and karaoke. I’ve driven past this lot for years and always wondered about Barbie and what became of her bar. Turns out, Barbie’s Place, now called Barbie’s Bar Light Sports Bar, is just down the street at the corner of Summer and Mendenhall.

If you’re coming to drink at Barbie’s, it’s best to know a few house rules. This is a beer-drinking, cigarette-smoking joint. They don’t serve liquor, but you can bring your own and pay for a $3 set-up of mixer and ice for each drink. Barbie’s expects its patrons to have a good time, so there’s a two-drink minimum if you’ve brought your own spirits. This is a dart-throwing, pool-shooting joint, with numerous pool leagues reigning supreme. If you take a dart to the head, then you didn’t heed the rules. This is a jukebox joint, and you better be able to croon a few country songs along with the regulars, because it’s doubtful you’ll hear anything off the pop charts.

Barbie’s Bar Light, despite what it looks like from the outside, is huge inside. There’s plenty of seating, even with pool tables taking up half the space. The windows are covered, ensuring that what happens in Barbie’s stays in Barbie’s. Turns out, a lot can happen when you offer buckets of six ice-cold beers for $13 Monday through Thursday. My friend and I got our bucket from Christy, the bartender working that evening, and sat down at a table to watch the pool league battles go down. Everywhere people were pulling liquor bottles out of their purses and jackets and jamming them into their own ice-filled beer buckets. Nearby, a woman in pearls with perfectly manicured nails poured herself a tall drink from her own handle of vodka and topped it with Evian water and a squeeze of lime she pulled from her bag. This is a tempting option for those of us who complain about the regulated liquor pours at other bars and restaurants. If you feel slighted by the small amount of alcohol in your drink, go to Barbie’s and make your own! If, after a few drinks you need to go the restroom, they’re marked with a Jeff Gordon Dr. street sign.

Drinking at Barbie’s is a spectator sport. I certainly didn’t want to interrupt anyone at the pool table or dartboard to ask them about their favorite Berclair-area watering hole. They came and went, clutching their fancy pool cues to their chests as if they were newborns. My friend remarked, “Some people go to church. Barbie’s regulars go to Barbie’s.” He nailed it. I’m not entirely sure some of those folks leave when the door closes and locks for the night. Barbie’s is one of the few places in town that, from what I have noticed, serves the trifecta of Busch, Bud Ice, and Natural Light in bottles. There’s a menu, too, offering burgers and pork rinds. Barbie’s also serves tacos on Mondays and Tuesdays. I got excited when I saw Christy serve someone a bottled Sunkist, but she was quick to point out that it was, in fact, a Henry’s Hard Soda. I was still impressed because what other area bar serves Henry’s?

As Toby Keith’s “I Love This Bar” plays in the background, I ask Christy if I can pay up with her. The woman is swamped. She’s the only one working a huge crowd, but you’d never know it. She keeps it together and courteous the whole time. She’s constantly cleaning out ashtrays, offering her guests more beer, and straightening up tables. I highly recommend this place, especially for anyone interested in darts or joining a pool league. If you work in the Berclair area, make this your new happy hour spot. I can’t promise you a seat at the bar, but I can guarantee Barbie’s will have a spot for you somewhere.

Barbie’s Bar Light, 661 N. Mendenhall, is open seven days a week.

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

The Bobcat

The Bobcat Bar & Grill is my new favorite bar. I knew it would be, even before I stepped through the door, because one lame Yelp reviewer shamed the Bobcat for being “a hole in the wall where locals go.” Your loss, Deb B.!

The Bobcat, at 4730 Poplar, is indeed an amazing, dark, dingy hole in the wall, full of cheap beer, cheap pool (75-cent games!), and lots of cussing. Oh, does Deb B. not like beer and cussing, either? It ain’t called the Kitten, girl.

I rightly assumed that the Bobcat is the type of place where I wouldn’t see anyone I know and thus, wouldn’t be seen. Indeed, it’s absolutely a place you go to not be seen, which is probably more than half the reason my ex agreed to go with me. It’s a beer-only joint, but you can bring your own liquor. Smoking is allowed inside. There is a pool table, an electronic dartboard, and shuffleboard. It was made for East Memphians who can’t justify the trip back to Midtown to drink at Alex’s Tavern. And yet, the Bobcat isn’t a new thing. It’s been here, crouched in beer-soaked anonymity, for 30 years.

The Bobcat is the kind of bar where Sparky can hop on the bar with a handful (or two) of beer bottles.

Jaime, aka Sparky, has been manning the bar for 13 years. When we walked in and ordered a bucket of Miller Lite, she said, “I’ll give you bucket prices, but I don’t want to leave that big-ass bucket on the bar.” Jaime gets it. Above us, dangling from the lattice that served as the ceiling of the bar, was a pair of shooting-range earmuffs. Bobcat mistletoe.

Just as in the wild, it took the Bobcat regulars a while to warm up to the newcomers. One finally sauntered over and advised that if a guy named Richard ever invited us to play a game of darts, tell him no. I asked which man was Richard, and he said, “He’s already gone. Already made his money off of us.” Then he demanded another beer from Jaime, saying the Bobcat should be called the “Last Chance in Hell of Getting Any Kind of Courtesy.” Jaime, not skipping a beat, responded with a courteous string of curse words. Did I already mention the cussing? Oh, the cussing! It’s glorious! This is a place where you can curse a coworker until you’re blue in the face, damn an in-law with the fiery passion of a thousand suns, and publicly express regret at having children, and no man in the Bobcat will bat an eye. That’s right; no man. Besides Jaime and Anna, the other bartender, and me, there was just one other woman hanging out in the ‘Cat. “This is their little fraternity,” Jaime said.

The owner is a guy named Billy, a former bartender himself. When he arrived, he immediately went to work, helping Jaime wash dishes. I’ve never seen the entitled bar owners in Midtown lower themselves to doing actual work. But this is Billy’s bar, where his friends hang, and it’s obvious that he takes a lot of pride in his little haunt. No fancy drinks, no fancy décor, just Billy, his buds, and a guy named Richard hustling folks.

“This is the type of place you can kick your shoes off!” I say to my friend, as I kick my shoes off. The Bobcat is carpeted, friends. Besides the pictures of bar regulars and Grizzlies players that adorn the walls, there are tons of trophies. They’re from Billy’s continued success in both the Memphis Italian Fest and the World Championship Barbecue Cooking Contest.

Though no liquor is sold at the Bobcat, here’s the deal: If you bring a bottle of liquor, it costs $8 for your first drink, and then $2 per drink or $1 per shooter afterwards. Math indicates this might even out to a regular bar tab, but there is a certain pride that comes from hauling a brown bag into your local watering hole. On top of that, domestics are $2 Sunday and Monday and $2.50 during happy hour. The bar serves one food item: pizza. I didn’t try any, but it looked delicious.

The Bobcat opens at 4 p.m. daily and remains open until, well, whenever. Check out the website at gobobcat.com, where there’s a menu, specials, and photos of the bar staff. The Bobcat is a Grizzlies and Cardinals bar, and yes, Deb B., it is most definitely where locals go.

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Food & Wine Food & Drink

The Lookout: A Pop Atop the Pyramid

When it comes to drinking, I typically don’t need things to be made too difficult. I like my bartenders like I like my enemies: close and familiar with my bad habits. But I stepped out of my comfort zone to visit The Lookout, the steampunk/fish tank-themed bar at the top of the Bass Pro Pyramid. I had been only once, when it first opened, and while impressive, I assumed it was a novelty space and not one I would frequent regularly, if at all.

The first obstacle that I don’t like standing between a bar and me is a free-standing elevator. The Pyramid itself is 32 stories tall and the elevator covers a solid 28 of them, but I’ve overcome greater obstacles for whiskey. I visited on a Tuesday right around sunset, where I was surprised to find a pretty good crowd for early in the week. Most were the professional sort. The folks dining at tables looked like the type of people that don’t want to pay for the Affordable Care Act but are totally okay with paying $10/person to ride in an elevator while a recorded greeting from Bill Dance plays.

The bartender working that evening, Jay, has been at The Lookout since it opened. He was full of useful information, but that can wait. Let’s get to drinking. I had the Blood and Sand, a spin on an Old Fashioned made with Maker’s 46. My friend had the Memphis Mule’shine, made with Tito’s vodka and Ole Smoky Peach Moonshine. The specialty drinks were strong and ranged in price from $10-$12, so while it’s not the cheapest bender you’ll go on this week, it gets the job done. Jay said that one of the more popular cocktails is the Uncle Buck, a less-sweet margarita made with tequila and Chartreuse. We tried that next, and it was delicious, although I caution against drinking multiples of it before stepping back on that elevator.

The main draw of The Lookout, of course, is the view. The sides of the restaurant open on both the west and south sides, where visitors can take a selfie on a sprawling observation deck overlooking the river and downtown Memphis. Though the walls may not be completely open every day, the decks are always accessible. I’ve always wanted to see what it would be like up there for a lightning storm (try the Quiet Storm, $10!). The other draw is the massive fish tank in the middle of the bar. The bar encircles it, assuring you a great view of a 70-pound catfish and its smaller friends. Jay calls the catfish Priscilla, though he said everyone has their own name for her. If fish in captivity aren’t your thing, there are TVs to watch Grizzlies games. This isn’t a bucket-of-beer type place, though, so prepare to pay $5 a beer for domestics and $6 for specialty beers to cry into during the third quarter.

I’ve lived here 11 years, so I’m guessing that makes me enough of a Memphian to have the “Let’s size this situation up and see what could go wrong” attitude, which is how it came to be that I asked Jay about what we do in case of a fire. I looked for emergency stairs on the ride up and couldn’t find any. Jay explained that along the inside of the Pyramid, cleverly disguised and encased, are nearly horizontal “staircases,” horizontal enough that they turn a 28-story trek into a 56-story one. Next question? “They have the weight capacity for all staff and guests,” Jay said.

That settled, I moved on to the wine. Their extensive wine list featured many by the glass, all $8-$16. They also had a list of regional whiskeys and bourbons, ranging from $10-$25. The Lookout serves a full lunch and dinner menu to help absorb multiple Duck Blind Sunrises, a boozy rum cocktail that is also popular with the clientele. There is also live music a couple of times a week. It might not ever be my go-to neighborhood bar, but a post-work cocktail high above the city? It might as well be at The Lookout with Jay.

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Food & Drink Food Reviews

Up the Stairs to Bari’s Intimate Dodici

CREDIT: Courtesy of Vincent Hale

Imagine being led up a dark stairwell by a man of small stature with only a few candles to light your way, unsure of what awaits you at the landing above. Is this one of those Game of Thrones nightmares? Not in my case. The man of small stature was not Tyrion Lannister, but Matteo Severs, age 9. What awaited me at the top of the candle-lit stairwell was not death or any sort of mutilation (or marriage, for that matter), but a delicious cocktail. Welcome to Dodici, the heavily spirited, super-secret speakeasy from Bari Ristorante.

Dodici is the latest dream-come-true from Jason and Rebecca Severs (parents of aforementioned maître d’ Matteo), the owners behind Bari at 22 S. Cooper in Overton Square. Formerly an artist’s studio, the upstairs space has been transformed into a cozy, luxurious bar with delectable, carefully crafted cocktails from mixologist/magician (mixomagician?) Vincent Hale.

Calling them cocktails is hardly fair to the drinks, as they are truly works of art. Dodici is the Italian word for 12, the amount of people Dodici can seat. “We named it that to convey the intimacy of the space,” Rebecca Severs says. “It’s still Bari, but we added a room and wanted to give it a name.”

If it sounds exclusive, it is. But this is not a snobby place. Vince welcomes each patron with lively chatter and an in-depth description of each cocktail that is ordered. He handmakes nearly everything, from the ice to the bitters to the syrups. Each liquor is selected by Vince himself, and it is likely something you’ve never heard of. And if you and I have never heard of it, that’s pretty much a guarantee that your in-laws from Collierville won’t infiltrate this place. “When Vince came on board, we quickly realized he has such a unique and clever mind for mixology,” Rebecca says. He doesn’t disappoint.

Dodici is accessible from a “secret door” inside the Bari enoteca (loosely translated, that’s “wine library”). If Dodici is full, you are invited to stay at the enoteca downstairs until a spot upstairs is available. Once upstairs, you take your pick of velvety armchairs or a barstool at the handmade bar (also courtesy of Vince). If you’re lucky, Matteo himself will escort you.

On the menu, Vincent has included an “amaro rapido.” He describes it as a new style of mixing a drink. It translates to “rapid bitters,” and he builds the bitters in front of the patrons. Atop the bar he has several dishes of spices, barks, and seeds, including cinnamon, Angelica, cardamom, and even beet powder, for color and sweetness. Most bitters take months to sit and stew, but Vince’s bitters come together in front of you. “It’s much more aggressive,” Vince says. “Built quickly, you taste every little nuance; it’s much more active.”

The rapid bitters is ground up and mixed with gin and bourbon, double-strained into a coupe glass, and garnished with a sage leaf. “The bar is almost like an apothecary at this point. I can base a drink on a person’s palate and build to suit,” Vince says.

He’s also making a drink from aquavit, a Scandinavian spirit not offered in Tennessee. Because he is handmaking the aquavit, each batch will be different from the last. Similar to gin, it is driven by dill and caraway and backed by autumn spices and barks before being mixed with sugar and absinthe. “You can’t taste it anywhere else in the world,” Vince says. He is affable and funny and there are no dumb questions when Vince is behind the bar, which bodes well for someone who had no clue what aquavit was until he told me. (Now I feel all fancy!)

Dodici will stay open later than Bari’s downstairs bar, meaning that anyone arriving after closing time will have to be let in by Vince. This will probably eventually be done by phone or callbox, so bear with them while they work it out. The good news is, you can enjoy amazing craft cocktails until the wee hours, as long as Vince is willing to let you hang out. Dodici is open on Friday and Saturday nights at 5 p.m. It’s available for rental for private parties. The bar will begin offering meats and cheese plates within the next couple of weeks. Cocktails range between $14 and $15.