The Truth About Bar 107
I like my bars like I like my men. Well lit, friendly and cheap.
That’s a lie.
I like my bars like I like my men. Well lit, friendly, cheap, trying too hard and proud of their personalized MySpace page.
That’s also a lie.
Shit. I like bars that are well lit and friendly. There. That’s it. The man-bar analogy really isn’t working like I thought it would.
I met Ryan downtown at Bar 107, 4th and Main, for a night of crap beer, free (pop)corn and to gather fodder for a review. For reasons of full disclosure, I will admit this isn’t the first time I’ve been to Bar 107. Jeannette and I recently stopped off here after a nine hour eating, drinking and videogame spree that landed us in downtown Los Angeles at midnight with a few dollars left in our pockets and a thirst for adventure. I’m not allowed to go any further into that story at this time.
Ryan and I agreed to meet at the very reasonable time 10:48 PM on a Friday night. After paying a $5 cover charge (not expecting) and having my license scanned (because I had some how been transported into the future) I scampered inside and saw Ryan at the very, very, very long bar [photo], straddling the last two remaining empty bar stools. They happened to be the same bar stools Jeannette and I sat at just two weeks earlier. Kismit.
The place is well lit, so as we know, I liked it at first blush. Unfortunately, the spectacular lighting gave way to the hipster kitsch that adorned the walls and made me search for the mandatory 37 pieces of flair that all bar keep are required to wear by company policy. Fortunately, this turned out not to be a new feather in the TGI Fridays franchise cap, but the following items were seen adorning the interior of Bar 107:
- a “nude beach” sign above the bar
- at least one velvet painting
- a monkey on a surf board
- Rock Em Sock Em bits and pieces
- the leg lamp from A Christmas Story
- mounted buck heads with clever logo trucker hats
- the head of a jackalope, which we all know is an endangered species.
You don’t have to try that hard, 1(07). Really. I liked you the moment I knew you served ice-cold cans of Schlitz, Olympia and the hipster Silverlake favorite, PBR. Your only beer on tap is Miller Hi-Life? Brilliant.
I wasn’t really paying that much attention to what the drinks cost. Maybe $4 a beer? I was too busy chatting it up with Ryan and trying to ignore the rapidly growing crush of people that had appeared by 11:30 PM. I was also a mite distracted by the guy on the bar stool next to me who surprised me every 20 minutes or so when he would gnaw on my shoulder for a spell. I think he might have had a vitamin deficiency. I didn’t ask. Friendly enough fella, so I let him be.
Jeannette might disagree with my summation in recounting her previous visit to Bar 107, which I’m still not at liberty to divulge details of. But aside from the cover charge, kitsch overload, unknown price of beer, and slobbering gnawing guy, I like this bar. It is well lit, friendly and unless you’re comparing it to the price of a 16 oz. Pabst from a bar in Flint, Michigan, it’s relatively cheap.
I didn’t even mind the wet shoulder and slight bruising.
107 4th Street