Last Resort

I am in a lovely mood.

Mostly because I’ve spent the last month traveling. No, not to Barcelona, though that would be pleasant. 1 This latest trip has been strung throughout the east coast. Philly. DC. Annapolis. Baltimore. Which has been refreshing; I often think Kansas City is too…mellow? Too Midwest?

Not sure that’s exactly the word I’m looking for but it’s close. And every now and then it’s refreshing to immerse oneself in attitude.

Take Baltimore. The town definitely has an attitude. I watched Game 2 of the World Series at a Dick’s there.

Dick’s serves up the usual liquids, decent bar food 2 and thoroughly, brilliantly rude and sarcastic waitresses. Trust me, it’s a no mercy joint. Which I like and need.

When I lived in The City I used to frequent the place down off Jefferson, by Fisherman’s Wharf. Same brusque, belittling attitude applied with a deftly honed razor: stand and be counted, by damn!

Sadly there isn’t anyplace like that in KC. Even my favorite KC taqueria falls short, and they’re notable for the spliff-smoking, dirty-leg crowd they attract.

Watching a baseball game in KC anywhere but Dave’s Stagecoach Inn 3 is an exercise in fey discussions about esoterica even hardcore baseball statisticians care less about, interrupted by asides about the hippest facial hair grooming products. Holy kerist its like being in your mom’s beauty shop on a Saturday morning when all the old hens get going.

Anyhow the Baltimore folks are generally pro-Royals and anti-AnythingLeftCoast, so it was fun. Raucous, dirty mouthed, anything goes fun. It was refreshing to not only not watch my mouth, to actually indulge in my baser instincts.

Anyhow, I’m back in town tonight, just in time for the game and it’s just not going to be the same.

We gotta get a Last Resort in town.


Still A Thing

Show 3 footnotes

  1. Of the numerous cities past versions of myself have dwelled, Barcelona is our second-favorite. No, not because of siesta; that is mostly apocryphal any more. Not that any of us have issues with naps. Truth be told we love naps, always have. But collectively we’re at an age now where naps arrive unbidden, heedless of social strictures or the snobbish mores of Leawood matrons. Which is to say we feel no guilt for dozing off in the middle of brunch, little Emily Too Precious’s piano “recital” be damned.
  2. I had two orders of the Shrimp-a-Palooza. I make no apologies: I’m a pig for seafood, especially when I’m visiting someplace near the water – I ate them out of scallops at Galway Bay over the previous weekend. The Bristol and The Savoy –hey; is the place okay? I read a blurb online there was a fire?– are pale, Midwestern substitutes of seafood houses. Get it while you can, that’s my belief.
  3. And here I have to admit I don’t even know if Dave’s has a TV; I don’t remember one actually playing anytime I’ve been in though I have detailed memories of the weird fare I’ve viewed there. Though, if I’m honest? It may be ’cause no one really pays attention to you on Dave’s patio, so I always tend to light up my ’70’s Temple Slug pipe and treat myself to a minor hash burn; I may just be remembering hallucinatory ball games. Great place, though, TV or no TV.

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