I'LL TELL YOU WHEN I'VE HAD ENOUGH.

Featuring a semi-weekly series of bar reviews from a man who doesn't like to drink, but also other things that pop into his head when he thinks too much or not enough. -Zachary Bernstein, Los Angeles, CA

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Zachary Bernstein is a philistine wine enthusiast, but sip by sip, he's getting better, learning more and evolving--he is the accidental wino.

It’s been a while since I’ve written any bar reviews on tumblr, but now I have the Napa Valley Wine Academy for that.  Here, I review bars in Reykjavik, Iceland.

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A gentle reminder for all citizens of California.

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We strike again. Our target this time: jerks.

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BAR REVIEW: No Vacancy - Ooze of the Secrets

  Have you ever wanted to hang out in a Victorian-style house in a hard-to-stumble-upon pocket of Hollywood that's also a bar with a slammin' entrance way and a nice girl who sells grilled cheese sandwiches on the side?  If your answer is yes, then brother, I've got the place for you.

  No Vacancy (1727 N. Hudson Ave.) is mostly fantastic.  It's big thing is being a "secret," a concept that's sure to positively explode into oblivion after the bar gets enough press.  I feel it's best not to give away the secrets.  The secrets are the best part and I don't want to keep them to myself, but I'd also hate to spoil any surprises.  But if you're really curious, I'm sure there are plenty of assholes on Yelp who've already given everything away.  [I check Yelp to see if some assholes gave away the secrets.  Yep.  Plenty of assholes.  Goodbye secrets.]

  If No Vacancy plays its cards right, it could be the local nuisance and scourge of the surprisingly sleepy surrounding neighborhood, purging from its doors scores of vomiting women in heels and men with shaved heads driving into utility poles.

  I didn't take any pictures, but I think I have a photo of its Vancouver equivalent:

         Mm.  No, on second thought, that's not as close as I thought it would be.  

  See No Vacancy's website here, while it lasts.

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BAR REVIEW: Sadie Kitchen & Lounge - Ski Lodge of the Damned

  You'd have to be a masochist to want to drive to the heart of Hollywood on a weekend.  So when I went to Sadie Kitchen & Lounge (1638 N. Las Palmas Ave., Hollywood) on a Tuesday only to learn the place was closed for a private function where (and this is really what the guy told us) "people who work hard all day can go and get wild," you'd think I'd have the self-respect to not ever return.  But I didn't, so I did*, cutting it close to the weekend on a Thursday night.  I aged a whole year in those two days, but I guess I didn't get any wiser.

  Sadie was light on patrons and I shouldn't have needed to make the quip, "Who do I have to blow to get some service around here?"  That phrase should be reserved only for times when the bar is crowded and the bartender doesn't know you exist, OR for times when you find everyone around you super hot and you genuinely wanna blow everybody.

  Sadie's bar, with it's wooden paneling and tight quarters gives the vague impression of a fancy ski lodge, albeit one with a DJ thumping modern dance remixes of Nina Simone songs that I'd like to believe Ms. Simone would publicly condemn if she were still alive.  But peek into the next room and we jump from faux lumberjack cafe to posh mafia den where you could imagine a climactic shoot-out scene in a movie where the actor is up against a whole gang of goons initially pretending to be the waitstaff, but eventually the actor, likely Mark Wahlberg, gets some assistance when a second faction of goons starts unloading bullets into the first gang.  Ugh, so violent...

             If you've worked hard all day and want to go get wild, you could do better than Sadie.  Like, maybe Canoga Park.  That place is off the hook.

  Learn more about Sadie here.

  *"But I didn't, so I did" is a trademarked phrase of the Victor Isaac Estate.  Use of the phrase in this bar review was unauthorized, but appropriate and I totally had to use it.

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I'm Going to Make an Excellent Old Man One Day

  I don't find much pleasure in watching baseball, but my friend Sue got free tickets to a game and asked me if I would come along.  I didn't really know what I was getting into.  These are things that I said:

-Is this all Dodger traffic?

-I'd hate to live in that house.

-Lexus drivers get discounted parking?  That's a weird promotion.

-They give us programs?  Like at the theater?

-This parking lot reminds me of "The Birds."

-I'm pretty sure I don't like most of these people.

-Their uniforms look so baggy.  Like back in the day.

-Stop looking at the blimp.

-These ads are killing my eyes.  

-What happens if the baseball hits his knee?

-I wore the wrong shade of blue.

-Did you see that guy toss the peanuts?!

-What happened to Puig?  Did they toss him out of the game?  They tossed out the guy on the cover of the program?!!

-I wish they'd stop doing the wave.

-The peanut guy is back!

-Six dollars for peanuts?!!!!

-I feel like I'm at the Republican National Convention.

-If we leave now, we can beat the rush out of the parking lot.

-I'm enjoying myself.

  The Dodgers lost to the Rockies 0-3.

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BAR REVIEW(S): The Darkroom/3 Clubs - Switched at Birth

  There are these two bars.  One is called The Darkroom (7302 Melrose Ave., West Hollywood) and the other is called 3 Clubs (1123 Vine St., Hollywood).  Two seemingly normal bars with nothing in common.  Except one thing: They were [duh-duh-DUH!!!] switched at birth!  And their mothers are still recovering.

  According to Google Maps, Melrose Avenue in West Hollywood is its own neighborhood called "Melrose," which I find funny because neighborhoods aren't normally so long and thin (although sometimes, they do have long and thin appendages).  In this psuedo-neighborhood is The Darkroom, a bar that offers valet parking, but dudes, that's really not necessary.  Sometimes it feels like I'm reporting good places to park almost as much as reviewing the bars themselves.  This time, I won't tell you where to park, but I will tell you that if you've got brains, guts, and comfortable shoes, and you all should, you will find a reasonable parking spot near The Darkroom and you can laugh at the valet and tell them what needless human beings they are.  Even though that would be rude.

  About The Darkroom itself?  I ordered the grilled cheese with tomato soup.  I could have done with more grilled cheese and less tomato soup.  In Los Angeles, one should be able to recognize who is the support and who is the lead.

  Funny thing about The Darkroom; it's not that dark.  Which brings us to 3 Clubs.  If you ever wanted to know what it's like being blind, come down to 3 Clubs where you can share all the enjoyment of meeting up with your friends without actually being able to find them.  3 Clubs boasts of a martini-lounge past and a dance club present, featuring karaoke, burlesque, and live music in the back room.  I, of course, didn't see any of this.  I only figured it out using my sense of smell.

  My proposal?  3 Clubs should be renamed The Darkroom so when patrons walk inside, they can say, "They sure as shit weren't lyin'!"  And The Darkroom should be renamed 3 Clubs because I want to club the managers three times each for serving me an inappropriately-sized sandwich.

  A gratuitous picture of me and my nephew who I'm certain was not switched at birth:

           Check for DNA testing on the websites for both The Darkroom and 3 Clubs.

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BAR REVIEW: The Well - Worth Falling Down For

  Christ.  I didn't realize it had been so long since my last bar review.  This makes little sense, as I've visited quite a few bars since then.  And, as is my style, I haven't taken notes or pictures of any of them.  Allow me to bring you up to speed with The Well (6255 Sunset Blvd., Hollywood), a small square room that combines the chic display of an antique Persian silk dealer's urban rec room with the charm of a dolphin that wears a hat.  Now, there aren't many dolphins that wear hats, but I'm sure the ones that do prefer to drink here.

  I arrived at The Well some weeks ago with a cavalry of fellow Sacred Fools Theater company members late on a Monday night after we kicked some major ass at the LA Weekly Theater Awards.  There was a solitary bartender serving the drinks.  I forgot her name, but she may as well have been named "Perfection" thanks to her friendly and gracious demeanor, her speedy delivery, her good humor, and how clear it was she bore me no malice when I told her I just wanted some water.  She got a lot of tips for a Monday night and she deserved every one.  Makes you feel good about humanity.  Makes you feel good about life.

  While I prefer to avoid Hollywood on weekends and other times of the week, it's good to know that there's a bar there with good lighting where you can high-five the entire room and watch the carpet grow.

  I don't have any pictures from that night of merriment, but here's a picture of Lake Ontario.  It's like a well, but it's bigger and less potable.                                                              

            Learn more about The Well here.

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Three (3) San Francisco Bar Reviews

  The other week I made a brief visit to San Francisco.  There were all sorts of neat things.  They had buildings, roads, people, animals, a bridge that was a different color than the name suggests.  I had such a hard time containing my excitement, I nearly drowned in my own dry-heaves.

(This picture was actually taken during a previous visit, but it so vividly illustrates my emotions.)

  What was the most exciting thing about San Francisco?  Well, I really liked the cardio.  Everything in the City of Saint Francises lies at the top of a hill.  And I needed that exercise to balance out the tasty donuts I ate which were plentiful and gave me the kind of heartburn only a grandfather normally gets to enjoy.  But I also got to check out a slice of the bar scene.  To a normal bar patron, it might seem completely different from the bars in Los Angeles, but to me, it's all the same.  So here we go.  Three San Francisco bar reviews:

HARRY'S BAR

  For over thirty-five years, Harry's Bar (2020 Fillmore St., Lower Pacific Heights) has served the bro-iest clientele San Francisco could ever have.  Former fraternity brothers and sorority sisters flock in droves to Harry's mirrored, empty fish tank to pay more than they bargained for.  Even the hippie-drenched, pinko-liberal, free-lovin' city of San Francisco has their fair share of business majors and brand management specialists, and they need to unwind like everyone else.  Thanks to them, Harry's Bar should last another thirty-five years.  This bar is recommended for guys who wear their visor sideways and upside-down.  

   Set up your Beer-Pong tournament here?

THE FAT ANGEL

  The Fat Angel (1740 O'Farrell St., Western Addition) looked like a nice place, but we couldn't go in.  It was temporarily closed due to water damage.  

  Find out if they're back in action here.

DIMPLES

  Yes, there's a bar in San Francisco called Dimples (1700 Post St., Japantown).  My friends and I nearly went to a place called Ssisso, but Charlie vetoed the idea, citing that Ssisso had "too many S's."  He wasn't wrong.  So instead we chose the place named after those things on my face.  

  Dimples doesn't have any windows.  The front door leads to stairs going down to an underground bunker of a bar with derelict karaoke rooms, questionable patrons, cheap oriental decor, and a jukebox that keeps the hits-a-flowin'.  Which is to say, I didn't know what to expect.  I was certain something out of the ordinary was going to happen.  I wouldn't have been surprised if a knife-fight broke out between a Japanese pimp lord and one of his top ladies of the night as Elvis played in the background.  I was a little disappointed when nothing like that happened.  But then again, it was a Monday night, and isn't there some rule about no knife-fighting on Mondays?

  We left Dimples unscathed, happy to cleanse ourselves of the Kappa Kappa Phi-style experience we got from Harry's Bar, ignited with a new sense of wonder, a new sense of purpose, a new appreciation for the perks of taking a late-night cab home...

  Dimples does not have a website.  No kidding.

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BAR REVIEW: The Morrison - Not Your Average Tire Shop

  What can you say about plaid that hasn't already been said before?  That's one of the questions The Morrison (3179 Los Feliz Blvd., Atwater Village) raises, and I wish it wouldn't because I'm stumped for answers.  I've never before been to a bar with a plaid-decorated display case that runs the length of each interior wall showcasing bottle after bottle of drinky-drink.  I know it's a bar (or a gastropub, as they'd prefer I call it.  Good luck with that, Morrison...), but there's something unsettling, even for somebody who doesn't drink, about keeping bottles of whiskey secured behind panes of glass like rare, museum-grade, unobtainable treasures in a place where that sort of thing should be readily available.

  But that's at the very least the second thing you'll care about because the first thing you'll care about is that the room smells like tires.  Now, I know for some people, nothing is more toothsome than fresh rubber.  Tiger sharks, for example.  But when I'm on the prowl for something appetizing, Pep Boys is not the first place I go.  Luckily for the Morrison, the food isn't so great to begin with.  It's food and all.  I eat food.  I eat food when I'm not hungry.  Because I love it so much.  But if you cover your fries with gravy, I want that gravy to sink to the bottom.  So do you.

  I want to find something positive to say about the place because the bartender was very friendly and accommodating, but I can't think of a damn thing.  Hey, at least the bartender was friendly and accommodating.  

  And it wasn't crowded at all.

                                                      Damn, that picture's tiny.  Learn more about The Morrison at their website if you think I'm just being a jerkity-ass.

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BAR REVIEW: The Brickyard Pub - An Arcade For Drinking-Age Adults

  Earlier in this blog, I wrote about a place called Bow & Truss, which sits only a few doors down from The Brickyard Pub (11130 Magnolia Blvd., North Hollywood) in the heart of the NoHo Arts District.  The subtitle for my Bow & Truss review was "I Came All The Way To The Valley For This? (Part 1)," (chuckle, chuckle, snort) and I thought the review for its neighbor would be a natural choice to be subtitled "I Came All The Way To The Valley For This? (Part 2)."  And yet...a lingering feeling left me looking for another option.  Why?  Because The Brickyard Pub is a different experience from Bow & Truss.  In order to explain without using adjectives, I made this chart:

(*I actually bought some fried pie from a food truck outside.  It was appropriate for the occasion.) 

  Parking this time wasn't a giant pain in the ass because I had already dealt with the giant pain in the ass that is parking in the NoHo Arts District earlier in the day.  Turns out it's much easier to find street parking on the opposite sides of Lankershim AND Vineland, leading me to believe that everyone in Southern California is obsessed with parking on the same block as their destination every time they go out.

  The Brickyard Pub has some wide open spaces including a front room with shuffleboard tables and dim lights and a back room with pool tables and no privacy.  I suppose you could always do lines of coke in the bathroom, but the Brickyard folk are more of a beer crowd.  Doing lines of coke in the bathroom is more of a Bow & Truss kind of thing.  But really it's more of a Hollywood, WeHo, Beverly Hills kinda thing.  Oh, who am I?  I never did coke in my life.  I never even did Coca-Cola.  I know nothing about drugs.  All I know is that they are bad for you.  Don't do drugs!  They fuck you up!

  Anyhoo, I played a dismal game of pool teamed up with Natalie Rose.  We were about as effective as pool players as we might be at negotiating peace in the Middle East ("You guys like hummus, and you guys like hummus.  Be friends.")  This was followed by a shuffleboard game teamed up with Laura Napoli, who, it must be said, was pulling all the weight.  Not her grace, nor her elegance, nor her eternal optimism could make up for my lacking shuffleboard skills to push our team over the edge to victory, even if the game itself calls for not pushing anything over the edge at all.

  Uh, so, what am I writing about?  Oh yeah.  Brickyard.  Go, I guess.  Website.

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Presenting: The "Nice" Guys of L.A.

Instead of a bar review this week, I offer you a video response to last week's unfunny but nonetheless popular youtube "hit" Women of L.A.  I wrote the music for this and I make some appearances in it.  It's filled with Sacred Fools Theater company members who are all quite entertaining.  

The next post I make, I'm totally gonna review a bar in Los Angeles.  And when I go to that bar, I ain't gonna drink shit.

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BAR REVIEW: The Hermosillo - Another Example Of The Lou Velvet Cool Crutch

  Hustle?  Bustle?  Who needs either of those when you've got Highland Park's very own Hermosillo (5125 York Blvd., Highland Park, as I just said)?  The Hermosillo (translated from Spanish, meaning literally "hermits are so silly!") is a bar for the everyman and the everywoman.  The walls are adorned with posters for old Mexican films, and they serve the kind of food that anyone could enjoy once a week.  The space is wide open, there are games to play.  It's the perfect bar for the unassuming neighborhood that is Highland Park, standing on York Blvd., surrounded by all kinds of shops that don't look like they make any money but still attract your curiosity.  Hermosillo is so accessible that even the slightest gust of wind can pull its atmosphere towards a new direction.

  So.  Lou Reed.  Velvet Underground.  I like him.  I like them.  Sometimes I even love LR/VU (hereby known as "Lou Velvet").  And ain't nobody to better represent "cool" than Lou Velvet.  A slew of filmmakers must've have caught onto this notion, using Lou Velvet's music in their film's soundtracks to add an element of cool.  It didn't matter what the subject of the film was.  It could be about divorce, teen pregnancy, crappy summer jobs, going places, light-hearted zombie apocalypse, or Joseph Gordon-Levitt getting punched in the face a lot.  I'm not shocked to hear music playing at a bar, but I never expected music to define a bar like it did in Hermosillo.  And that's what happened.  First movies, then a bar.  What's next in line to get cooled up?  Hardware stores?  Antique shops?  National parks?  National parks are already cool.  

  Anyway.  Hermosillo.  Check it out sometime.  Take it from me.  I'm pretty cool.  I mean, if I weren't cool then why would I wear this hat?

  Check out the Hermosillo's website-y thing here.

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BAR REVIEW: The Edendale - Let Me Stand Next To Your Fire Station

  Many of the bars I've been reviewing here have been located on the east side of Los Angeles.  Part of the reason for this is that I live here and why would I ever go to somewhere like Brentwood to not drink?  I would need another reason to go, like a fondue party or an intimate house concert with Crosby, Stills and Nash.  I'm not sure how I'd get myself invited to something like that, but I could always crash the party by posing undercover as a caterer.  CSN and pulled-pork sandwiches?  Can't lose with that.

  Another thing that pulls me toward the east side hot spots is the availability of [free] parking.  A fine establishment such as The Edendale (2838 Rowena Avenue, Silverlake) has valet service, but if you look at a map of the neighborhood, you'll find these nearby side streets that lack any distinctive parking restrictions.  You might have to walk (gasp!) just a block or two through a residential area to get back to the bar, but remember, that might be the most exercise you get all day.

  As the story goes, the Edendale was formerly a neighborhood fire station until fire stations went out of style in 1989 and as bars grew in popularity around 2002, this fashionable change-up happened with great force, attracting scores of patrons who love to drink socially in former fire stations.  A good thing too.  When I was there, I think I was the only person who wasn't celebrating a birthday.  Yes, it was a whole building filled with Capricorns on the cusp with Aquariuses.  Not that I follow that crap.

  This all makes sense to me.  The Edendale is a great place to bring a large crowd of people and also mingle with other large crowds of people.  I haven't seen a neighborhood bar so hoppin' since an army of kangaroos stormed the Dresden on Flag Day of '11.

          Learn more about the history of the Edendale in their own words.

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BAR REVIEW: The Red Lion - It Roars For Thee

  Hey!  Did I say this was a series of weekly bar reviews?  What I meant to say was "A series of weekly bar reviews unless I'm busy starting a new job or two, or putting up an episodic musical theater piece on Saturday nights while my mother's in town visiting from New York."  But don't worry.  I still end up going to bars, I still don't drink, and I still have plenty of nit-picky opinions about everything.  

  Up in the north-eastern reaches of Silver Lake, The Red Lion (2366 Glendale Blvd.) sits like a Hobbit hut (I haven't read any of those books) slowly crumbling down the hill onto the street.  Fortunately, it's earned the creative license to be that way since it's been around for over fifty years; long before other Silver Lake establishments claim to have brought the neighborhood to fame.

  After stepping inside, you'll feel like you left Los Angeles and entered a Renaissance Fair after-party where no one bothered to dress up.  Except the barmaids, who wear traditional German beer-lady outfits.  Like the girl on the packaging for St. Pauli Girl.  Not exactly RenFair attire, but reminiscent of the RenFair spirit? 

  Arrive at the right moment and somebody's playing live piano music.  Maybe he's receiving applause.  Reading the menu cover-to-cover may not be as rewarding as reading a book of essays by Joan Didion, but it will take just as long.  There are so many items available to order, I can't help but wonder where they have the room to store all the ingredients.  And as my friend Sue explained to me, "German food isn't good to begin with."  Well, here at The Red Lion, there's lots of German food at your disposal whether you like it or not.  Eat it downstairs in the "cellar" or upstairs in the beer garden.  Watch the magic fade away when you leave and hop back into your Toyota Corolla.  Or even sooner when you have to pay the check.

  Lesen Sie die Website hier.  

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BAR REVIEW: Bar Stella - Missing A Stack Of Old Magazines

  I don't have much to say about Bar Stella (3932 W. Sunset Blvd. Silver Lake) except that they somehow managed to find the perfect volume where the music can fill the room, but also not dominate the room.  

  Otherwise, it's more like I'm waiting in the lobby at a dentist's office and less like lounging at a bar in Sunset Junction.  Or, imagine walking through a beige hallway for half an hour.  

  Aw, but look at this cat.

              Her name is Phoebe, and she lives in Rochester, NY.

  I didn't see any cats at Bar Stella, or on their website either.

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BAR REVIEW: Akbar - Make-Out Party On Sunset

                                                                                  (This picture isn't small, it's just really far away.)

  I was told in advance that Akbar (4356 W. Sunset Blvd., Silver Lake) is a psuedo-gay bar.  Well, if Akbar's any kind of gay bar, how come nobody hit on me?  I'm handsome, I was killing it on the dance floor, I don't have any visible growths on my neck...Through my own ignorance, I was wearing a pink shirt.  I mean...?

  But enough about me, let's talk about you.  What do you have to look forward to when going to Akbar?  Standing room only, a friendly bouncer, a bartender who all but couldn't care less if someone took off with your jacket, and a dance floor that doubles as a make-out room.  For some people.  The DJ adamantly refuses song requests, as communicated by a makeshift sign protecting his artistry segueing one club hit I've never heard before to the next.

  Ultimately, you can get in with this crowd.  It's a party where everyone is invited.  It doesn't matter if you're a woman or a man, drunk or sober, gay or straight or somewhere in between, perfect vision or glasses, bearded or clean-shaven, misty-eyed or dry-eyed.  At Akbar, you're welcome.  But seriously, watch out for your jacket, especially if it defines your image as a person and also looks similar to someone else's jacket because here at Akbar, mistakes can be made.

  Read Akbar's creed here.