The Dive Bomber: Lunch and a Bucket at the Block House Saloon

​I lived near the Block House Saloon for eight years but never set foot in it. A woman I knew from our neighborhood diner worked there, and she always scared the shit out of me. Assuming she represented the staff and clientele, I kept my distance, even though the beautifully dilapidated building called to me.

Robin Wheeler

​After writing this blog for the better part of a year, I finally got up the nerve to venture into the bar. But during daylight hours. And prepared to run if that scary diner lady was there.

Two guys sat at the bar, lamenting the approach of old age -- 40 -- and poking fun at Tiger Woods on the news. One drank coffee. The other, a can of Sprite. Next to me a woman smoked, sipped from a can of Milwaukee's Best and fidgeted with an empty shot glass.

I ordered a beer and said yes when the bartender asked if I wanted lunch. She looked surprised when I asked for a menu. For $6.50 I got a BLT on toasted white bread, flaming hot crinkle-cut fries and a bottle of Bud Light...but not much entertainment.

I did enjoy looking at the lovely green tin roof ceiling, though.