Profile: OB Bear, 7th & Westmoreland
Holy sweet goodness christmas fancy pantalones, what DON’T we love about OB Bear?
That’s why it’s easy to write here – the music is irredeemably bad.
I mean just bad.
Music this bad in a restaurant-bar this good will keep us coming back for years and years so we can finally concentrate on the words we are writing. As such if you ever find yourself inside the Bear on a weekday night and you see some wily-haired white boy with soju-infused eyes hunched over a bowl of peas scribbling in a notebook, kim will get you chi that it’s me.
Things we love other than the music sucking:
- neverending abundance of dried wasabi peas
- somehow the name of the joint mysteriously changes to the more preferred plural ’OB Bears’ once you get inside and look at the menu
- generally warm feeling that you are going to get way too drunk here
- proximity to all manner of strangeness outside
- giant variety of table kegs to choose from – cheapest being Hite and OB beer (not to be confused with the name of the establishment itself)
- proximity to the local AA chapter (just upstairs from the table you’ve passed out on)