The Dive Bomber: Slo-Tom's Ain't Much of Nothing But It Sure Is Something
Categories: Dive Bomber, Drink Drank Drunk
 |
Robin Wheeler writes for the blog Poppy Mom. She also has a strange attraction to drinking establishments with jars of pickled -- or possibly fossilized -- eggs. She reports on these dives for Gut Check every Friday.
If a bar has been immortalized in song by the world's greatest bar band, the Bottle Rockets, it has to be the right place for the Dive Bomber.
Slo-Tom's in Carondelet more than lived up to its musical reputation: a crappy little place at the end of the block where the people are friendly, the beer flows, the music's fine -- and you can have yourself a time for under $10.
I paid $1.75 for a can of Stag on a Monday night...an hour after Happy Hour ended.
If a bar has been immortalized in song by the world's greatest bar band, the Bottle Rockets, it has to be the right place for the Dive Bomber.
Slo-Tom's in Carondelet more than lived up to its musical reputation: a crappy little place at the end of the block where the people are friendly, the beer flows, the music's fine -- and you can have yourself a time for under $10.
I paid $1.75 for a can of Stag on a Monday night...an hour after Happy Hour ended.
 |
| Robin Wheeler |
The bar was packed. My friend Amy and I were barely in our seats when a stranger asked to sit with us. We said yes. He asked if we were spoken for.
We are.
The stranger remained at our table. A friend joined him, and they listened while Amy and I talked about hard-core bar topics. Like our dogs.
The stranger's friend politely interjected: He had an uncle who'd once kept a pet squirrel.
Monday's pool-tournament night. A hush fell each time someone entered the joint holding his own cue. This is a dive bar with manners: Women and pool-shooters are treated with respect.
Hallelujah, no Internet jukebox! Slo-Tom's has the CD version. It played all night. Lots of Johnny Cash and Tom Petty. "Freebird" twice. Sometimes the music moved packs of patrons to sing along. Loudly.
By 10:30, with the pool tournament winding down, two fellas -- one wearing a hat that said, simply, "Redneck" -- danced together to Al Green's "Love and Happiness" with a joy that wasn't mocking or mean.
Be warned: This is dive bar nirvana. You might plan to stay for an hour, but four hours later you'll be dragging yourself out the door, never wanting to leave.
We are.
The stranger remained at our table. A friend joined him, and they listened while Amy and I talked about hard-core bar topics. Like our dogs.
The stranger's friend politely interjected: He had an uncle who'd once kept a pet squirrel.
Monday's pool-tournament night. A hush fell each time someone entered the joint holding his own cue. This is a dive bar with manners: Women and pool-shooters are treated with respect.
Hallelujah, no Internet jukebox! Slo-Tom's has the CD version. It played all night. Lots of Johnny Cash and Tom Petty. "Freebird" twice. Sometimes the music moved packs of patrons to sing along. Loudly.
By 10:30, with the pool tournament winding down, two fellas -- one wearing a hat that said, simply, "Redneck" -- danced together to Al Green's "Love and Happiness" with a joy that wasn't mocking or mean.
Be warned: This is dive bar nirvana. You might plan to stay for an hour, but four hours later you'll be dragging yourself out the door, never wanting to leave.
Email to Friend
Write to Editor
Print Article
