Tune Inn

Any Midwesterner living in D.C. (and there are a lot of us) would feel right at home walking into the Tune Inn. It even has the look of a bar you might have frequented on trips “Up North”. Replete with hunting trophies (even a Deer Ass hanging above the entrance to the Restroom) and some old school beer signs, the Tune Inn rounds out their Country Bar vibe by having both High Life and PBR on tap -- Oh no they did-ant! They’ll also fix you a decent sammich for not a lot of dollars.

While the smallish bar will usually be filled with regulars, there's almost always room in one of the booths in the back. On a recent visit, Bouillonnui and Rowdy ordered a pitcher of High Life and it was a little warm and flat, but we believe this to be a fluke. The bartender said “the beer is pouring funny today,” so hopefully, Tune Inn will escape Le Wrath de Bouillonnui. No one needs to see that again.

One swell bonus of the Tune Inn is that you can Break your Fast anytime. So when the cute girl you've been trying to talk to all night at the Pour House goes home with some Yahoo Serious lookin' dude instead, you can comfort yourself with a delicious omelette and some corned beef hash, and tell yourself, "Tomorrow, I'll go to the gym, really work the lats, and buy some cool tastefully scuffed-up jeans. Then they'll want me." And it's true--they will.

- Bouillonnui and Rowdy Chowder

Hurray for a child

Bouillonnui, Rowdy and 5 Wisconsians saddled up to the bar at Union Pub on a recent Saturday night for some festive imbibing. The night was going well: our bartender was friendly, PBR pitchers were 8 bucks, and Bouillonnui had even pulled out his Scott Stapp impersonation. (Arms out in front, head bowed, every muscle in your face tensed up, and belt out your favorite Creed lyric, "I see your soul, it's kind of gray." Minus 90 points if you do it unironically.)

The real fun started, however, when a male employee began flirting with and groping some of his co-workers. His name was Brad the Douchebag. It was amazing to watch; he was like a starving hyena, latching onto anyone, male or female, who moved into his vicinity. Strangely, his co-workers went along with it. Maybe Bouillonnui and Rowdy are getting old, but watching Brad the Douchebag go to work made us feel a little queasy… Or, that could've been the PBR.

A few minutes later, another girl came into the bar. Brad the Douchebag walked up to her and started to flirt with her as well. We watched in amazement as Brad persisted, even when she obviously appeared to want nothing to do with him. We were absolutely positive there was no way this woman would give into him, and for a long time she continued to deny his advances. At last, however, she relented and gave him a little peck, and he walked away. One of our Wisconsians in tow, Battlecat, wasn't havin' it. She decided to have a chat with this girl about the incident.

BC: Hi.
G: Hello.
BC: I just want you to know that that guy has been flirting with and groping all the other wait staff all night. He's creepy, really creepy, and it's kind of disgusting. I'll pay for all of your drinks the rest of the night if you go tell him off right now.
G: That guy? (points)
BC: Yeah.
G: Ummm.
BC: He's gross.
G: Um, that's my boyfriend.
BC: (unfazed) REALLY? Cause he's really, really creepy. (Tisks and walks away)

On the upside, we did get to watch the couple fight for the next half hour. With any luck, they broke up that night. And perhaps that’s the best kind of night you can expect if you go to Union Pub. At least it was entertaining. But whether or not Brad the Douchebag and Girl broke up or stayed together, we can all take solace in these words, spoken by a man greater than I...

"Well I don't know if I'm ready to be the man I have to be
I'll take a breath, I'll take her by my side
We stand in awe, we've created life." (power chord)

- Bouillonnui

Union Pub

Some bars you have to walk into with low expectations. More specifically, you have to walk into Union Pub with low expectations.

Upon entering, you'll notice that the owners have managed to somehow create an ambience that has all the coziness of some soulless bar you might find in a newly remodeled, Midwestern airport. Interesting choice.

God willing, you'll never have to set foot in this place, but if you get dragged there by some peripheral friend of some peripheral friend, the one consolation we can offer you is that they have cheap Pabst Blue Ribbon on tap. There’s also ample outdoor seating which would spare you the indignity of actually being inside the place. At least, till you have to take a wazzer.

Some quick calculations: When your body has absorbed the 0.007% of Pabst which has nutritional value and needs to empty out the excess, you'll probably find that the bathroom is about 620 degrees Kelvin and you'll walk out drenched in a sweat that's about 43% alcohol and covers 98% of your person.

Another drawback is the jukebox. We were forced to listen to the late 90's rock station that they had chosen to put on, and while it was fun for awhile to try to name the bands—Filter, Tonic, Seven Mary Three, Lifehouse—when that one Three Doors Down song came on , Rowdy let out a snarl and made for the jukebox... Within 30 seconds, he could be seen jabbing at the jukebox with his phalanges and cursing like a Chilean sailor (trust us, those are some swearing-assed marineros). The jukebox, you see, was malfunctioning and it took him the better part of 20 minutes to get anything out of it. By that time, the scowl on his face as he wandered back to the bar for more Pabst sent women and children fleeing for the exits.

After a another beer and some idle chit-chat, Rowdy calmed down and our group turned its attention to the ongoing harassment of the female employees occurring at the hands of a male co-worker. (for more on this story read Hurray for a Child). After instigating a brief altercation, we slid out the side door and walked east, still slightly awed by the out and out butt-suckiness of the place.

- Rowdy Chowder

Tunnicliff's

Tunnicliff’s is right across from Eastern Market and we’ve gotten sauced there more times than either of us care to count. One issue for us is that we tend to roll deep when we hit it up, so sometimes enough space for our entourage isn’t easy to come by.

Upon your arrival, you’ll likely be greeted by one of several waitresses with vaguely Slavonic accents. They might try to tell you they’re from Virginia, but when they say Virginia, what they mean is Belarus. (Home of the unforgettable Svetlana Boginskaya)

The vibe at Tunnicliff’s is pretty low key and the music is usually lame, but in a fairly innocuous way. The crowd is a shade older than what you find in the bars on Pennsylvania Ave—locals from their late 30s to mid-40s-- usually couples or very small groups, so not the best place to mingle, but if you take your own party there, you’ll do just fine. (Assuming you can find enough space)

In general, the food at Tunnicliff’s is pretty good. We have seen the super grilled cheese with tomato, onions, and bacon lure patrons into believing that they have finally transcended this mortal coil and been elevated to a higher plane. Upon consumption of said sandwich, Chowder is given to reminisce about his “lost years” in that Burmese opium den. The price of such illusion and nostalgia inducing taste, however, is usually a couple bucks more than it should be. They do have a late night menu that is considerably cheaper and offers some of the same tastiness.

Tunni’s has an adequate selection of beers on tap. They have most of your standard stuff, and recently added Boddington’s to the list which doesn’t hurt their cause. Service has gone slightly downhill in recent months and we have some suspicion that some of the newer bartenders may be of BORG lineage. (Shields up!) Several of them look just alike and appear to be humorless gents not at all concerned that you’ve been trying to order a Guinness for 9 minutes. They do make a damn fine Bloody Mary, though.

Late evening, from about 8 till 11 post meridian is usually the best time to Tunni some Cliff’s. You can eat and drink well here before moving on to a livelier venue.

- Rowdy Chowder

Bouillonnui Goes Down the Rabbithole

For one reason or another, at certain points in our lives, we have to go to
a bar that's not on Capitol Hill.  I know, it can be a strange and confusing
concept to deal with at times, and it can have grave consequences.  I
decided to venture off of the Hill this past Tuesday night.

I entered the Capitol City Brewing Company on 11th and H NW, and saw
that the bar was full except for one seat.

B:     Is this seat anyone's?
OO:  Yours.
B:    Thanks dude.
OO:  I love you.
B:    Sweet.
OO:  Lemme buy you a drink. (motions towards bartender)
B:    Ummm,  (I could probably take him in some sort of rape situation)
sure.  Sooo......
OO:  What's your name?  (winks)
B:    Bouillonnui
OO:  What line of work you in?
B:    I work at a bookstore.  You?
OO:  I rob banks.  USED TO.  USED TO rob banks.  Not no more.  10 years
      in the Pen.
B:    Was it awesome?
OO:  The Pen?  It was ok.  Lemme ask you somethin'; I'm testin' you.
      How many crumbs in a loaf of bread?
B:    One?
OO:  Nope.  None.  None till you break it.
B:    "None till you break it."  I see.  What's your name man?
OO:  Double O.  (winks) I looove you.
B:    That's cool.  Love's such a complicated thing....
OO:  You want another drink?
B:    I'll buy this one.

Sadly the night ended up unrequited, and Double O never did pay for that
drink.  But it's good to think that I came out of my field trip a little wiser
to the ways of the world, mostly the bread and crumbs part.

- Bouillonnui

Sizzlin' Express

Many of you will doubt the dopeness of Sizzlin' Express, and to you dopeness doubters, we say "Backoff, asshats!" Sizzlin' Express, while lacking certain things you may look for in a bar, such as a Jukebox and low lighting, more than makes up for it with other good, simple pleasures.

Sit down in one of the comfortable high-backed padded chairs (a vastly underrated plus), and you will quickly be greeted by one of two Korean (Korean-American?) bartenders, from whom you can procure either Heineken, Coors Light, Sapporo, or Sam Adams on tap. (Speaking of Sam Adams, what the fuck? If you're at a bar with someone, and on tap they have, say.... Guinness, Stella Artois, Miller Lite, Shiner Bock and Sam Adams, and that person picks Sam Adams, doesn't your opinion of that person drop by about 40 percent? What are they thinking?
"I'll have a Sam Adams," (???) Yeah, and then let's all go join the Drama Club and go to a Goo Goo Dolls concert. Then we'll have exciting lives.. that'll be great.)

Sizzlin' Express will also give you your beer in a frosty mug (they, along with Mr. Henry's form the Frosty Mug Corridor on the Hill) which isn't shitty. While you drink your beer and soak in the Adult Contemporary music, you'd be advised to order some sushi. Try ordering the Alaskan something, we don't know if it's any good, but you'll feel cool ordering it.

The clientele: Mix 1/3 cup black, octogenarian churchgoers, 1/3 cup Cops, 1/3 cup random Hillers, and sprinkle in the occasional Japanese tourist.

All in all, nice place for an afternoon beer.

18th Amendment

18th Amendment is aesthetically confused. The shiny, silver, black and glass façade doesn’t exactly blend with the rest of the block. (Not that one really wants to blend in with Mattress Discounters, which is about 4 doors down.) On the inside, the black walls and chrome-rimmed lights hearken back to an obliquely early-mid 1900’s metropolitan noir which, at least, is in tune with the exterior of the property. The front portion of the bar has lounge chairs and low tables that may have looked very chic in the early 90s in some under-21 club in suburban Indianapolis, but here they seem completely out of place. The new, very long, hand carved bar is kind of interesting in an amateurish way, but, again, it doesn’t fit with the other décor. In fact, the eastern half of the bar is homey in a way that makes the western half feel alien. The place can’t seem to make up its mind whether or not it’s going to be a dive bar or a swanky lounge, so it ends up looking ridiculous.

Now, despite the owner’s obvious mistakes in ambience development, it can be an alright joint to hang out in. The bar is often a bit understaffed, but the bartenders are a friendly lot and drinks can be got semi-cheaply. Food-wise, the burgers and wedge-fries are good and the pizzas aren’t too bad. We’re not so down with the Stromboli, but if you’re cool with the feeling of 7 weighty musket balls in your gut, give it a try.

Weekend crowds at 18th can vary wildly. We’ve been there at 12:30 on Saturday nights when it’s been virtually empty, and then again, we’ve been there at 10:08 pm when it was SRO and there were passed-out girls strewn across the first floor pool table laying in puddles of beer and Jagermeister. (Yes, you can still see the stains.)

The highlight of 18th Amendment for us is the Key-Hole Bar located in the basement. It has a sort of cave-like vibe and comes equipped with a pool table and an internet jukebox. It’s usually not too crowded, nor too loud, and makes for a good place to take a small group of peeps on your way to drunkville. Even with the jukebox kickin, you can spin yarns and listen to other conversations wafting about in the cavernous enclave. I was there just last week with my friend Smashley, and we overheard a Senate staffer quietly spilling his broken hearted guts out to some indifferent lass who had come with another staffer on her arm. An apparently non-related scuffle broke out too, and resulted in the spilling of the better part Smashley’s Yuengling, but in a twist of fate, two replacement beers were provided by the bartender, so we came out ahead.

Overall, a solid bar to drink in for the non-aesthete.

-Rowdy Chowder