Naja's Place - ‏154 International Boardwalk, Redondo Beach, CA

JUSTIN'S TAKE - Until this past weekend, if someone had suggested to me, "Bro, let's hit up Redondo!", I would have replied with "You must be fucking kidding me, right?" Everything I've heard about the place made it sound like a haven for complete assholes and Jimmy Buffett fans who ended up on the wrong coast. After this weekend, I'll admit I was wrong. Redondo Beach is a place for drunks, their families, and single-minded fishermen. Let's address the first point.

Naja's Place is a pretty astonishing bar. It looks like a completely abhorrent joint at first glance, populated as it is with shirtless dudes and overly tanned former sorority girls, crushing each other in the scrum up to the bar as a passably mediocre cover band plays note-for-note covers of Bob Marley and Sugar Ray songs. But we managed to find a spot at the other end of the bar, situated far away from the music and the crowd.

So what's actually good about this place? 88 beers on tap. And it goes beyond the admittedly always-welcome presence of Chimay and Craftsman. They have Allagash Curieux, Duchess de Bourgogne, Delerium Tremens, Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA, Lobotomy Bock, Arrogant Bastard, Boont Amber Ale, and so on. And the numbers aren't padded out with shitty beers, either. Other than Budweiser, Heineken, and a couple of unnecessary others, everything they have on draft is excellent.

The bartender nodded approvingly when Felicia ordered the Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA and the Allagash Curieux, the former for herself and the latter for my dad. Battling a cold and foggy on meds, I wasn't able to drink but instead merely pose with a pint for posterity. There's also something to be said for sitting in a boardwalk bar on a marina, watching people walk by as the sun goes down. After awhile I started to feel like I was in an Eagles song as covered by Sublime, but for some reason I was okay with that. Maybe it was the cold meds?

FELICIA'S TAKE - The noise level is high and people are packed into the place pretty tightly. The crowd contains> drunken older gentlemen who appear to have been sunburned for at least two decades, loud girls with crunchy hair and lower back tattoos, and dudes in patterned board shorts, Ray-Bans and flip-flops high-fiving each other. Nearly everyone appears to be drinking bottles of Corona or Bud Light. Despite my initial disbelief, a UB40 cover band is performing. In short, there are many things about Naja’s that I might normally not enjoy. But I set all these things aside and take a look at the taps.

And here is where I am bowled over. The selection of beers here is pretty stunning – nearly 80 on draft alone, according to the bartender. I’m so excited I can barely decide. I pick out the newly-available-in-California Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA and the semi-rare Allagash Curieux.

I find a seat and drink my beer, which packs quite a wallop. The weather feels just perfect and a mild breeze is blowing in from the sea. I begin to feel a sense of inner peace. All those loud annoying people now seem more like good potential drinking pals, friendly folks just enjoying themselves. I start to sing along absentmindedly to “Red Red Wine” while contemplating whether there is a word for a cover version of a cover version, and I begin to plot my next visit to Naja’s.

Prince o' Whales - 335 Culver Blvd., Playa Del Rey, CA 90293

SIMON'S TAKE - Possibly it's unfair to review a bar after just one visit. For example, we arrived at Prince o' Whales for a friend's birthday function at about 10:30 pm on Saturday, in a section of town on the Westside that I basically never go anywhere near. I was all about to write a review discussing how Prince o' Whales is pretty much the most depressing bar I've ever been to on a Saturday night, because the crowd in there, friends aside, seemed more like it was 1 p.m. on a Tuesday and acted as if they were just drinking as much as they could before they had to go back for the rest of their shift at the slaughterhouse. But then I go online and read about how Tuesday night, not Saturday, is the happening night at Prince o' Whales, because that's when they have their drink specials. And apparently the limited menu of bar food is really good. I wouldn't know about either of these things, because I wasn't hungry and I got charged $14.75 for a Guinness and a glass of the house wine, a Coppola Cabernet (although I will note that the bartender filled the glass of wine literally to its brim, as if she were filling a pint, which I've never seen anyone do before but entirely approve of).

So maybe I don't know enough about this bar to write a review of it. It's also possible that I just hate the whole fucking western half of Los Angeles, with the possible exception of a couple bars in Redondo Beach, the Museum of Jurassic Technology and the ocean, and therefore am poorly qualified to review a chill "beach culture" bar like this one. It's difficult to explain why I dislike beach culture, but to briefly summarize, what others see as a laid-back, peaceful and in-the-moment attitude, I see as insufferably hedonistic, lazy and dull. Whenever I'm at a beach bar, I want to make everyone in it do push-ups.

Oh yeah, Prince o' Whales. One side has a large bar and a stage for musical acts. The other side has another, smaller bar, a lot of televisions showing sports, a dartboard and some sports-themed video games. Then there's a back patio area with a ping-pong table, which okay, that's cool. And I like how you can be in the room with the music or not and still have a place to drink, reminding me of my favorite concert venue, Spaceland. But still, I'm sorry, this place just sucks. The people here are depressing, there's way too many dudes (2:1 male to female ratio, offhand) and everywhere you go, even though there's no one there, you feel vaguely claustrophobic.

In one of the later Cerebus books, Dave Sim envisioned a matriarchal society in which all men are kept more or less imprisoned within bars; they can leave whenever they want, but in order to do so, they have to stay entirely sober for a week. Thus, the majority of the male population simply stays in these bars and is miserable and drunk all the time and thinks about women constantly in a sort of hateful, wistful way.

This bar is exactly like that.

Beers on draft: Guinness, Budweiser, Bud Light, Newcastle Brown Ale, Sierra Nevada.

EVAN'S TAKE - Simon was relatively thorough here, so I'm just going to list a couple thoughts and observations on the Prince O'Whales.

1. Prince o' Whales is literally the dumbest name I've ever heard for a bar... and yet simultaneously pretty great. It seems like it would befit a fictional dive in a neo-noir movie featuring an actor like William Fichtner or M. Emmet Walsh as a malevolent bartender or something.

2. The staff was nice. The bartender poured strong... and the vaguely crossed-eyed doorman seemed genuinely happy to have us. It seems like he'd be pissed to invite more dudes to an already pretty ridiculous sausage-fest... but the place is called Prince o'Whales, so who knows. Maybe me and Simon were missing something.

3. The ping pong patio area had a very threatening vibe... for no reason. It's a ping pong patio! Here's a bit of advice to all you tatted-up badasses out there. If you want to look really tough and menacing... don't congregate around a ping pong table. You can't do that unless you are Yakuza. I've heard that they LOVE that shit.

4. The place reeked of french fries.

5. Two or three good looking women in the entire joint... but they were pretty hot.

6. After leaving I started to question my love of dive bars. I wondered whether I was getting soft, and was better off sucking down high priced wine in some ritzy Los Feliz joint... but then I remembered something: I love DARK dive bars. Kind of quiet... kind of gloomy, depressing little shitholes, with ROOM, and the chance of an odd sexual encounter with another lonely alcoholic... preferably one without a penis. A good jukebox helps too. This place couldn't satiate that hunger, and basically made me miserable, so fuck it... I hate the Prince o'Whales.

Tangier - 2138 Hillhurst Ave., Los Angeles, CA 90027

Simon's Take - It's difficult to hate a bar like Tangier, with its well-stocked bar with beers on draft (Stella Artois, Guinness, Pyramid Hefeweizen, Sierra Nevada) and its spacious outdoor seating area. Not to mention it's geographically the closest bar to my apartment, a mere block or so away. And yet, despite all that, I do hate Tangier. Hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.

One of my favorite aspects of Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares (the BBC version, not the overfunded American version, which can suck a dick) is when Gordon Ramsay tries to explain to a befuddled restaurant owner that their business is failing because it lacks a clear image. They'll stammer about how their menu has 400 items in a dozen or so cooking styles, offering both Mexican food and sushi, while Ramsay patiently tries to clarify to them that they should just do one thing, with only a few menu items, but do it well (seriously, this is, like, 60% of all episodes). He's right, of course, and having a distinct image applies even more to the ownership and management of a bar than a restaurant. A successful bar knows the crowd it intends to attract and can anticipate exactly what that crowd wants from a night out; thus, the miserable losers lined up outside the Cha Cha Lounge in Silverlake on a Saturday night are distinctly different in their stylistic preferences from the pathetic douchebags queued up a few miles away outside the Ivar, but everyone is spending money on booze and happy.

What then to make of Tangier, a bar and restaurant in an artsy-posh area of Los Feliz that caters to an uneasy mixture of drunken office drones, indie music kids and guido-style Armenians? Too fancy for the neighborhood's younger residents and too sleazy for the older ones, Tangier has struggled to define itself since its opening. Is it a restaurant, with a consistently vacant and suspicious dining area? Is it a concert venue, programming mostly local artists and, inexplicably, rappers on the Oakland experimental hip hop Anticon label? Is it a classy bar, the kind you can take a date to, or is it a sports bar, with its large monitor showing ESPN in HD above the bar? No one seems to know, least of all the people who work there, who all have the attitude of sullenly biding their time in purgatory.

The problem here is the crowd that frequents such an establishment. Unless a decent band is playing - an increasingly unlikely prospect due to the management of The Fold, the music scheduling organization that books Tangier and other neighborhood venues, but that's the subject for another article - you could firebomb Tangier on any given night and be fairly certain to harm no one of any value. At 9 p.m. on Thursday, the bar was initially packed by three tables' worth of overweight women in work attire boisterously screaming at each other the top of their lungs like a pack of corpulent hyenas. Then they left and the bar area went from crowded to eerily empty in one giant, pear-shaped exodus of fat. Feeling suddenly vulnerable, I went to sit outdoors while I waited for my "friends," but it was empty there, too, and it made me feel sad and lonely, so I went back inside. Then the bar started to fill up with musicians that were playing in the back room that night and their friends, mainly girls with tattoos and ill-conceived piercings and emaciated dudes wearing jeans that a recent Dachau survivor would have difficulty squeezing into. Scattered amongst these types were a few pairs here and there who seemed to feel that they might be in the wrong bar: a few older couples on dates, a bunch of girls apparently on a "girls night out" but also clearly wondering why no one was hitting on them or buying them drinks, and a group of dudes in slacks and striped dress shirts who probably would have been buying the girls drinks if the atmosphere at Tangier wasn't so damn uncomfortable. Everyone then got kicked out when the bar abruptly closed at midnight.

It's too bad because, like the increasingly unfortunate Derby across the street, Tangier could be really cool. There's plenty of good space within, and it's not badly designed; as previously stated, its walled-in outdoor seating area, with heat lamps and a fountain, really is quite a nice place to get your drink on if no one else is there. But as is, you should only go to this place if you're looking to drink yourself into a misanthropic stupor that will last for days.

Evan's Take - I've never gotten a real bead on this place for the very reasons stated above. This seems to be the primary Los Angeles venue for the alternative hip hop collective, "Anticon", but I've yet to catch any decent show here by any other artists. You get quite a bit of singer-songwriter stuff, none of it really good.

I stuck to mostly jack and cokes... with one Stella. The bartender wasn't aloof so much as she carried herself as if she'd recently been smacked in the face with a volley ball, and could only squint meanly at the bar patrons for any sign of her mysterious assailant. Getting served takes some time and effort... which was weird, since there really wasn't that many people there.

I also ordered an appetizer... some bizarre shrimp cocktail; it consisted of two delicious jumbo shrimp, and then a gross concoction of shredded bits of shrimp, and a bunch of random spices and vegetables. To be fair, I ate the whole thing, but you could have thrown a sauteed puppy on my plate that evening, and that cute little fucker would be half digested by now.

As you can tell by this review, and the lovely picture of me above... I'm far too classy and good looking for a pit like Tangier.

Vinoteca - 1968 Hillhurst Ave., Los Angeles, CA 90027

Simon's Take - My favorite neighborhood bar of the moment, Vinoteca is a beer and wine bar opened by the owners of the fantastic Italian restaurant Farfalla on the same block. Small and usually overcrowded, Vinoteca otherwise does just about everything else right, from a staggering list of wines stored and tapped from sealed glass humidor-things to a draft beer list featuring a couple of hard-to-find favorites. (Check it: Schneider Weisse, Chimay, Maudite, Stella Artois, Peroni, and Bitburger, all served in brand-specific glassware.) Prices are reasonable and the servers are friendly, informative and attentive. The limited food menu is okay, with free toasted stale bread from Farfalla to sober up on, which is surprisingly delicious after more than two drinks. This place gets my highest possible recommendation, but I'm into bars that are quiet, small and dark; if you're looking for a night out partying, other bars in the area would probably serve you better, such as the Drawing Room or Ye Rustic Inn, especially as Vinoteca closes at midnight on weeknights and one a.m. on weekends. Vinoteca is more a bar for a date or to start an evening before moving on to another bar; it's also one of the few places I've seen in Los Angeles where people will sit at the bar reading or doing work, which I think is cool.

As a footnote, I should point out that Vinoteca offers a house wine that the owner has had made exclusively for his establishments under the label name Farfalla. This wine is disgusting and tastes like Charles Shaw diluted with tap water; I wouldn't give it to a dog I was trying to murder. That said, I like everything else about this place.

Evan's Take - This place isn't as stuffy as you'd think it would be. The female bartender that served me seemed genuine and helpful, and there is a relaxed atmosphere to the place. There's a shitload of great beers on tap... Chimay being my favorite.

One of the bartenders has HUGE fake tits, but I'm not sure if she works there anymore. Actually, come to think of it, I believe that there's a second bartender there with HUGE fake tits.

If that isn't an incentive to venture to a classy wine bar in Los Feliz, then I don't know what is.

Little Cave - 5922 North Figueroa, Highland Park, CA

Highland Park always feels like the other side of the moon to me, even if you're coming from Eagle Rock. I often find myself groaning at the prospect of having to drive back home, that is up until I get there and start drinking; then I don't care. Tonight I hit up the Little Cave because it was actually on my way home. Following a screening of the 1922 German Expressionist Nosferatu, accompanied by some of the worst Manheim Steamroller-like music, the Little Cave seemed like an obvious choice.

The Little Cave feels a bit more spacious than an actual cave. Although in earnest they've made all the light shades red and covered the dropped in-ceiling lights (also red) with cut outs of bats. Had I actually been in caves maybe I could point out some discrepancies, but for drinking purposes I'll go ahead and pretend. Seating is plentiful with both stools around the bar, and with a bunch of low to the ground ottomans and against the wall bench seating. I had a party of 10 and we were all able to occupy a corner comfortably and within earshot of each other. To the back they have yet more space alloted to a smoking patio which has a random assortment of tables/chairs/empty bar to lean against. And it's pretty bright from the lights in the parking lot next door. Showing up at 8:30 the bar was dead except for maybe a couple guys who were the bartender's friends or regulars. Although appearance wise you get the cross between tatted up punk guys and cholos here, everyone was pretty mellow and friendly. The bartenders are quick, engaging enough not to be dicks, and the bar back did a great job of continually emptying our little table of the mountain of glasses that would accumulate every 15 minutes.

Music wise, there was some great soul/funk playing, maybe just one of the bartender's ipods, for the start of the night, however once the DJ showed up around 10 I was forced to listen to a mix of tolerable 80's music and some overplayed indie dance scene music from 2006. Blah. I like to listen to DJs either playing somewhat of a theme, or at least not crap. Mediocrity of music at a bar has become accepted to a point that angers me. But then again, you're playing to drunk people who will ask you to play Willie Nelson 6 times in a row even though you've stated you're only playing girl groups. The Little Cave is trying to do some music nights, and apparently is looking for DJs, which would explain the spotty themes and selection of current nights.

Drinking is moderately priced here. A regular mixed drink is around 6 and a half bucks. Thursdays is $3 Hefeweizen Drafts, which was also a plus to come this night. I was always pleased with my whiskey drinks, which were pretty strong. For me, I will go with a beer now and then, but I like to partly judge the bar on how my whiskey and diet tastes. Anyways, there is a decent sized liquor selection, with any bar's usual stock, nothing fancy.

The only issues I have are parking and people here. There is only street parking, which is fine around 9, but showing up around 11 you are parking in someone else's neighborhood with the chance of never finding your car again. I was told you can park in the CVS parking lot nearby, but honestly, when I pull that stunt I always get a ticket, so the choice is yours kids. The other problem is the crowd tends to lean a bit towards sausage fest. There were some couples who started pouring in around 10:30, but mostly it was the black tshirts/dark jeans guys who all look like they could take you one handed. So, if you just want to hang with your bros, or if you're going to be ignoring everyone else there, this is a pretty ok place for that. If you're a chick who wants to go out with girlfriends to just 'hang', maybe not, as you will get hit on by multiple guys named Frank. However if that IS what you're looking for, head on down! You can spot a couple hipsters around, but this place always feels harsher and yet friendly at the same time- not a hipster combination.

One thing to note is that this is one of the bars around LA that is known for its bar tricks, like blowing fire. However, in the several times I've been to this place no one has shown any impetus towards doing this. Oh sure, they LOOK like they could do it no problem, but no one does. Maybe I'll try out for it next time.
-Elana R

Casita Del Campo - 1920 Hyperion Ave, Los Angeles, CA 90027

This is one of the better Mexican restaurants on my side of town. It’s funky though. Not food funky… think Priscilla Queen of the Desert Funky. Proudly displayed beneath their sign is a garish poster featuring three Latin drag queens, none of which probably weigh less then 225lbs. The “Three Chicas” apparently have a drag revue going on in the subterranean depths of the restaurant, deemed “The Cavern Club”. Their show was that night, so it was a packed house.

The food here is fantastic for the most part. I’ve had better albondigas soup, but it’s solid enough. The chicken mole tops any I’ve had in Los Angeles, and their chips and salsa are uniquely awesome. Service can vary… I’ve had some of the worst service I ever experienced a couple months ago, but this time it was stellar. It’s a predominantly gay owned and patronized establishment so sometimes they hire pretty boy waiters that could give a shit about service, because everybody’s tipping them well no matter what they do. On this occasion our waiter was quick to bring us shot after shot of Cazadores and Dos Equis, and our food came much faster then expected. I had the mahi-mahi which came with fried plantains’. Very good.

There’s a well stocked bar, filled with a couple hipsters, some odd looking locals, and a bevy of sketchy middle-aged gay dudes out trolling. I wouldn’t suggest coming out to the bar just to drink unless that’s what you’re looking for. The main attraction is the food and the tequila… preferably a combination of the two.

I made the mistake of trying to take a piss right around the time the drag queen show ended, so the bathroom had a longer line then any lady’s bathroom I’d ever seen. I’d had several drinks, so my temper was short when one duo took especially long to vacate the premises… and I might have uttered, “C’mon… hurry up.” I was quickly put in my place by the line of effete gentlemen, “Oh look… we’re ruining his night.” Another one rubbed fake tears from his cheeks… “Look I’m shedding a tear for him”. I lowered my head and resorted to pissing in the alleyway beside the valet parking lot.
- Evan K.

Melrose Bar & Grill - 8826 Melrose Ave., West Hollywood, CA 90069

I really don't have anything interesting to say about this place, because you know what? I liked it. It's a friendly, attractive little bar and restaurant with an excellent menu, accommodating servers and just a decent vibe. Though the bar area was crowded with patrons, I'd recommend Melrose Bar & Grill more as a place to eat and drink rather than just drink, because that way you get to sit at a table and the food, as I've mentioned, is worth the cash. A good place for a chill date: not so fancy that you'd feel self-conscious about how you're dressed or anything like that, but nice enough that your date wouldn't feel in any sense insulted. More of a quiet, adult crowd than a lot of area bars.

As for drinks, they had a menu of wines and classic cocktails, but I didn't really examine either, instead checking for their beers. They only had two on draft, but two is plenty when they're Bitburger and Craftsman 1903 Lager. Justin had just recommended the Craftsman 1903 Lager to me the other evening, and it is indeed one of the best beers I have ever tasted. Bottled beer selection included a respectable range of Belgian ales, from Dupont to Lindemans Framboise Lambic, but who cares, you can get those in stores. Craftsman 1903 Lager, on the other hand, is only available on draft and only in the Los Angeles area, though I imagine that will change in the future; for now, it's one of those rare discoveries that makes you honestly proud to reside in this city. I plan to visit Melrose Bar & Grill again sometime soon and get so drunk on the stuff that they kick me out and ban me from the premises and I don't have to worry about being tempted to drink so far from my neighborhood in the future.

- Simon B.

The day after we posted the Redwood Bar review... Justin's came down the pike

I've been to a few bars in downtown Los Angeles and my experiences have been pretty varied, but they had many aspects in common: the bars were typically totally professional, had deep selections of beer (or in the case of Seven Grand, whiskey), and were frequented by crowds of horrible douchebags reeking more of Wall Street than Los Angeles. So I headed to the Redwood with some reservations, which ended up being unfounded because the reservations I ended up having were totally different.

The service at first seemed so non-existent that I made a beeline for the bar, desperate for a drink, when our server ambushed me en route and asked me what I wanted to drink. From that point forward she stopped in to check in on us every few minutes, chatting us up about random shit like our middle names and the like. Unlike service which is often considered "pleasant" at other joints I've been to, this was completely genuine, the sort of which you tend to only get at bars pitched halfway between "complete, scary, gaping maw of a dive" and "middle class".

I had two pints of Craftsman Hefeweizen, which is the best of its kind I've ever had. This wasn't the first time I'd tried it, but it may have been the best pint of this beer that I've ever had. The selection aside from that seemed to be a little run-of-the-mill, just slightly better than average. Guinness, Bass, Boddington's, Pabst, and a couple more that I can't remember. A little help, fellas? There was a Craftsman 1903 on tap as well, but they were out.

The menu looked pretty good, but I wasn't hungry so I just stole some fries from Evan and Simon. Thumbs up to both types (regular and sweet potato). The burgers looked good. I liked the seafaring decor, which wasn't too overbearing. The crowd was pretty sparse (maybe because it was Cinco de Mayo and everyone else in town was sucking down margaritas at El Cholo or partying on Oliveras St.), which was a plus.

The problem with this place, at least on this night, was the shitty bar bands they had occupying the stage for most of the night. The first one was some roots-rock nightmare, coming off like bad Mellencamp or Tom Cochrane (you know, that "Life Is A Highway" jerk). The second act was acoustic blues, and it was totally inoffensive and much quieter. I really don't like live music at places that are not advertising themselves as performance venues, for two reasons: usually most people there aren't looking to hear live music, and all-too-rarely do such places have a separate room for such events (one positive mark for the otherwise awful Molly Malone's). This is why I also tend to despise karaoke bars. But that's just me.

I would go back to the Redwood, despite my reservations. The food was reported as being good and I did like the service. I would just make sure to return when there's no balladeers braying onstage, and I also hear that it's really packed on the weekends. Fuck that.

El Chavo - 4441 W Sunset Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90027

(this blog comes from friend Elana, who actually has her own music blog which you can check out here: http://payingmyownway.blogspot.com/)

ELANA'S TAKE:

Mexican Restaurants dot the landscape like liver spots on Elizabeth Taylor; there's so many around LA that they blend into the background. What makes one stand out from another 3 doors down the street depends on some unique charm that makes them stick out over and over again. Like having a good bar. And with fluorescent sombreros tacked on to the ceiling.

El Chavo has apparently been bought and remodeled by Melanie Tusquellas, the owner of the Edendale Grill in Silverlake. I do admire the fact that they tried to keep the bar in pretty much the same condition as the 'old' one. Although, in trying to make it into a larger bar, they've only succeeded in stretching it out slightly, and up. Why up? More room for the black light sombreros?

Anyways, for this being my first post here, I'm going to try to stick to a formula for getting all my information out, without going off on a tangent and forgetting to actually write about the bar.

So...PROS:

· Cheap and tasty liquor. That should be a priority for anyone who likes to go out drinking on a more than social basis. Total bill was $20 for 3 Coronas and a shot of Casadores. They also boast, and by boast I mean other patrons have raved and I personally like, a strong ass margarita. The drink itself being somewhere around the 5 dollar mark, you can toss a couple back and make a night of it. Their liquor selection is a decent size, and they offer more than tequila.

· Friendly staff. There was 3 waiters/bartenders (they may possible share duties, I'm not sure) hovering around the bar for the hour or so we were there. I'm almost pretty sure these are the same guys who've been there since I started coming a few years back. Older dudes, the kind that could make you your drinks in their sleep, and also know that you should be drinking your beer out of the cold glass they just got for you and not straight out of the bottle like a jerk. Sorry guys. They will entertain you in conversation briefly and aren't put off by questions. And showing how accommodating they really could be on the night we visited, they were totally ok with us switching out the card for the tab to another person in our party. For some reason I appreciate the lack of questions in doing things like that and just like the simple answer of Sure, go ahead and do that.

· Free bar food. And not crap free bar food. No urine smelling peanuts here. Just chips and salsa, brought to you when you sit down, and refilled without asking. Their variation of a salsa roja may be a bit too spicy for those of you who like your Mexican condiment more on the mild ketchup side, but for me it is perfect. You get a decent cup size of salsa and the chips are fresh.

· Atmosphere. I am only now just learning the name of this place. For a couple years now it was just known as, "That bar with the black light hats on the ceiling by the Vista". And it's the kitschy niche in the Mexican Restaurant world that earned my patronage. If I remember correctly, they used to have live music playing in the dining room. Tonight they had an ipod. I should have asked if the live music went away with the remodel, maybe next time I'll find out. However, the playlist they had going was a mix of what the live band would have been playing, but also thrown in was some mondo lounge and some old surf en espanol. It wasn't offensive, I just hate it when places proudly display their ipod out like you actually care. Anyway, the decor tried to stay as close to the original as they could. The hats are there, christmas lights are entwined through the glass shelves holding up the liquor, the colorful yarn folk art hangs next to little donkey pinatas, a nice heavy wooden bar- the kind where you feel safe holding on to after you realize you've had one too many. Except, where you would expect an over-sized velvet Jesus painting, you get an over-sized black and white photo of Dolly Parton. It all seems like a mess, but it's something to talk about.

· Crowd Control. The bar is small, maybe 10 bar stools total. And yet I've never had to wait for a seat. It could be just luck, or that a Tuesday night at 8:30pm is not a really busy time for a bar, in a Mexican Restaurant. Our party pretty much filled up the room. One patron came in and began writing in his notebook at the end of the bar, apparently journaling too. It didn't start to pick up until 9:30 when a couple came in.

· Location. When more customers starting trickling in, it was time for us to leave. Not because of more people, but because we had a movie to catch at the Vista. This place makes a great alternative to the Good Luck or Tiki Ti (which is a crapshoot whether or not it will even be open when you want a drink) when you want to get a quick drink before a movie. However you probably won't be able to get a drink after, unless you see an early show.

CONS:

· It's not a dark cave of a bar anymore. This remodel opened it up more to the restaurant making it lighter and brighter, which sucks. I liked the closed in, almost suffocating feeling, of cheap decorations hanging near your head as waiters came dangerously close to you with large trays of hot food.

· The fear that those 10 bar stool will all be full when all you want is a quick drink. On the one hand, I like an intimate bar setting, on the other, when it's too small you always run the risk of having to drink over someone's shoulder. So here El Chavo runs pretty favorably in my eyes. One bizarre question though was answered this night. The Dolly Parton photo on the wall? Well, taped to the cash register is a regular snapshot of her just standing at the bar. The waiter responded with "It's Dolly Parton's bar". Not an owner, just a patron. And that's why they lovingly display her blowup mug on the wall.

The Redwood Bar and Grill - 316 W. 2nd St., Los Angeles, CA 90012

SIMON'S TAKE:
There's something depressing and bad about this place, one of those bars that's attempting to be four different things at once in an effort to appeal to all Los Angeles social contingents while actually not appealing to any. It's like a stand-up comedian who's not getting any laughs with his jokes and so he starts desperately dancing and smashing watermelons.

And it really is difficult to say exactly what isn't working here; the bar is dark, well furnished and nice, the booths are comfortable, and our waitress (who gave us her name, like, four times, but no one remembered it) was attentive and knowledgeable, even pointing out the owner to us when he slunk in with his head lowered to drink for free at his own bar.

Maybe it was the shitty house bands, which ranged from loud rock music when we got there, a quiet female singer-songwriter when were eating, to some old white Los Angeles "blues" guy by the time we left, again ensuring that absolutely no one there was happy with the music. Maybe it was the menu, which I would describe as barely adequate for a bar with the word "Grill" in its name. Or maybe it was just the sparse Monday night crowd, with about a 6:1 guy-girl ratio (not that our table of creepy dudes was helping).

I think I would sum it up with my trip to the restroom. I walked the entire length of the bar, had to walk directly in front of the sad, white Los Angeles blues musician as he played his sad, white blues to approximately no one, and as I stepped into the bathroom, I almost collided with a tall guy wearing a dark suit. "Um," he said, "The big toilet's not working." And sure enough, as I stepped into the bathroom, I discovered that its sole toilet was clogged with feces and overflowing onto the floor. This kind of undermined the classy vibe that the Redwood seems to be going for, but, on the other hand, it's nice to think that some things about downtown Los Angeles will never change.

Beers on draft: Bud Light, Pabst, Stella Artois, Boddingtons, Guinness, Bass, Blue Moon, and Craftsman Hefeweizen.
- Simon B.

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EVAN'S TAKE:

“You really shouldn’t have come on Cinco De Mayo” the friendly waitress confided in me several minutes after we stepped inside. She was probably right. Who the hell goes to a nautical/pirate themed bar on Cinco De Mayo? It was my idea, so I’ll take the blame this time.

Finding the Redwood was very easy, and I managed to get parking directly in front of the place. The interior is filled with anchors, nets, and even a series of cool paintings depicting ships being pulled down by lovecraftian like giant squid creatures. I really dug the décor. It was reminiscent of one of my favorite bars, the HMS Bounty… but with a slightly confused modern edge (which might have to do with the designer being responsible for the look of the Los Feliz restaurant Fred 62s). The place is dark, which I always love, and you can get fairly remote seating, so to not be bothered by all of the louder drunks sitting at the bar (or the band). Nobody was there when we arrived at 10:00pm, and it stayed that way for a while. More people began to drift in around 11:30ish. The first band was a truly lousy and much too loud blues/rock band that apparently plays there every Monday. I didn’t mind the later acts as much… and even thought the last one, the “LA White Blues Guy” to be sort of appropriate for the place. Apparently some legitimate musicians (a member of the Tom Waits band) play on different days of the week. The waitress emphatically pushed that beyond it being Cinco De Mayo, we really should have been there on any other day of the week… and she seemed earnest. For all I know on another day the music is much better, and there are more people in the joint.

The clientele was oddly difficult to categorize. A few dyke/punk/indie girls were in and out, and a birthday party seemed to be going on outside. A couple obvious regulars sat at the bar. I spotted a couple girls walking around sort of dressed like pirates… and was informed that it was pirate night. I’d earlier seen a couple guys with dreaded hair, and had mistaken them for just one of those freaky burning man guys, or maybe some peace punk variation, but I guess they were going for a Jack Sparrow look, and failing miserably. This pirate subculture is something that perplexes, and yet surprisingly doesn’t annoy me. I understand why people would want to be a pirate… I just don’t understand why they would want to dress like one in modern times. Maybe I do slightly resent the fact that I even had to type out…”pirate subculture”.

Service was fan-fucking-tastic. There’s an unpretentious bartender would answered any questions, and was very prompt. Our waitress was quite likeable and present. Usually servers have a real bitch-fit when they have to separate a bill, but she even suggested it… which earned her major points in my book. My salmon burger was really good… the spicy French fries were delicious, and the beers were great.

This is definitely a weird bar… and I can’t say that I left feeling 100% about it, but the service is REALLY good, and the place has a cool look going. I do think that if we were there on a different night it would have been closer to a home-run, but regardless I had a good time, and would suggest it to people who want to just shoot the shit in a strange looking place for an hour or two. Not a place to go to meet girls or do anything overly social, but they do try to take care of their customers there, and I place that above most things when it comes to bars.

- Evan K

The Wine Bar at the Landmark - 10850 W. Pico Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90064

Kind of like drinking at a bar in an airport or museum, this sterile, nicely lit bar is actually located within an arthouse multiplex, which itself is located within a shopping mall in West L.A. Difficult to describe the crowd because I've never seen more than ten people there. The architecture is very cool, the oak ceiling tapering to the floor on one end like an attic room, and the bar is supposedly a lounge for moviegoers, meaning you can just sit on a comfortable couch and watch sports on the big screen television while waiting for your movie to start and no one will bother you. The bartender we spoke with was both knowledgeable and friendly. As for drink selection, well, it's a wine bar, with a good list of bottled beers, including a full range of my favorite Unibroue ales, but nothing on draft. There's a fair selection of wine with an expansive price range; cheapest glass was $7, most expensive was $100, so, you know, whatever. I saw an appetizer menu as well, but no place for a kitchen, so I wouldn't risk it. Due to the fact that it's an attempt at an atmospheric lounge located within a multiplex that faces out onto escalators and a snack bar, this is possibly the worst bar in America to try to pick up women or socialize in any capacity, but if you absolutely have to get wasted before seeing an art film and you forgot to bring your flask, this will certainly do.

As an inauspicious beginning to this feature, we were unable to drink a second beer at this bar because it closes at 11 p.m. and the movie we intended to drink before and after, Errol Morris' documentary "Standard Operating Procedure," didn't get out until about 11:50. Incidentally, "Standard Operating Procedure" is absolutely the least enjoyable movie in the history of cinema to see with a light buzz.

- Simon B.

Why is this happening, and why should you care?

You shouldn't care really. Practically everything has user reviews: bars, restaurants, microwave dinners... even dates nowadays. If something exists, you can usually find a review on it. I'm creating this blog for selfish reasons. As much I can scan the web for hours, and read tons and tons of reviews... I can't seem to find a definitive list of bars that I would enjoy, or even a good reference guide warning me from ever entering a bar that just the briefest exposure would make me want to remove my head from my shoulders with a thousand butter knives. Everything is too disparate, a million disconnected voices, all with their own set of prejudices, likes, dislikes... baggage. I want a limited set of voices and personalities to prevail here... in particular, my friends, people that seem to have good taste. This blog will have a variety of contributors... but I'm sure I will agree with most of their opinions, because I respect their opinions...

The other reason I'm starting this blog, is because I have issues. I have a fear of driving in Los Angeles. The freeways here creep me out, and I'm always getting lost. In consequence, I don't feel like I've been fully experiencing this place. I've been here almost four years now, and there's a handful of bars that I enjoy, but most of them are limited to my neighborhood, or several other neighborhoods that I've lived in since I've moved here. I need an incentive to get in my car and go someplace new. Nothing is out of bounds here, a Van Nuys strip mall dive, or a high class hotel bar downtown. I want to see it all.

For each entry we will try to really capture a bar, not just first impressions... or a shallow once-over. I want to know this place, inside and out. What was the bartender like? Did I crash and burn when I hit on the person sitting next to me? Does the place smell weird? Is the food good? Any interesting history to the place? What are my chances of getting beat up in the parking lot? I'll also never drink more then two beers. I'm not holding the other contributors to this... because it derives from my total fear of getting a D.U.I., something which has also held me back from driving too far to get to a brand new drinking hole. Limiting myself to two beers takes away the fear.
-Evan K.