Looking for a Good Bar

Once upon a time, there was a good bar in Dallas. But there aren’t any now.

Not long after Joe Miller died in 1985, his place closed. Since then there hasn’t been a bar in Dallas that works for the city like Joe Miller’s once did. The white collars of city coun-cilmen, journalists, lawyers, and doctors convened in the saloon on the comer of Lemmon and McKinney almost every day. Advertising execs who battled each other over big accounts by day drank elbow to elbow at Joe’s at 5:30. It was a cultural exchange where everyone’s path crossed and there were lots of business deals done in the dark. (The place was so dark that it took your eyes a good two minutes to adjust before someone shouted your name or you focused on the aquarium-just about the only source of light.) No music, no TV, hardly any food-Joe’s place thrived simply on good, slightly lubricated, conversation. As a good bar should. Joe knew your drink, he knew your business, he knew your address and when to drive you there. Joe Miller’s was the last real bar in Dallas.

Why have all the good watering holes dried up?

For one thing, Dallas doesn’t nurture the idea of neighborhood bars. In fact, we have the world’s most complicated liquor laws to keep them out. Most northern areas of the city are “dry,” where drinking a glass of wine with dinner requires a Unicard. Yes, big money joints like P.F. Changs and Cool River Cafe are full of drinkers. Bui these are really elaborately concepted bars within restaurants that attract a see-and-be seen crowd. They are not, strictly speaking, bars.

Dallas bars are over-themed-everything from The Million Dollar Saloon to Champps Sports Bar substitutes for the old neighborhood pub. Does a bar need entertainment besides a glass of something and a friend?

Sure, Dallas was a smaller town in the days of Joe Miller’s, but the right bar in the right place could make it smaller again.

I scoured the city looking for a good bar, and I only found pieces of it here and there. If you put them all together you’d have a damn good bar. Again.

THE PERFECT DALLAS BAR

1. You can’t have a bar without a real bartender. By that I mean someone with a name, a real personality-not some part-time college kid or an out-of-work waiter. Joe Miller’s vet, Louis Canelakes, carries on in the right spirit at Louie’s on Henderson: If your glass is almost empty, he fills it. He remembers whether you like lemon or lime and how much ice you want in your freshen-up. They say a good bartender has to be a psychologist. I don’t know about that, but Louis turns a barroom full of strangers into his own party. He’s always up on current events and he likes to share his opinions.

2. Agood bar is as much a place for dishing as for drinking. That’s why it has to have a real bar where the single stools allow for easy talking-even if it’s only with the bartender. Chelsea Comer’s bar is too small. Zubar’s is too. well, shiny. The bar at St. Pete’s is just right-it runs the length of the room (that’s the right proportion), and there are plenty of stools for those who want-or need-to drink alone.



3. A great bar has a seat for every sot-little tables like the ones at the Library for those who want to square off and talk, sexy booths for those who want to whisper. The low-lit back room at the Inwood Lounge is furnished with four cozy booths, and if conversation lags, you can see the theater screen through the window. The Library’s warm wood walls make even a table in the middle of the room seem private and the piano music provides enough ambient buzz mat you don’t have to whisper to avoid being overheard. (Otherwise, you could just drink at home.)



4. First, you want a good drink at a good price. But beyond the basics, a good bar should showcase the artistry of the trade. I don’t want my liquor served from a gun in “cost per ounce” measured squirts, but poured, mixed, shaken, or stirred with skilled hands by a bartender who takes pride in his work and respects his materials. I’m not looking for the circus performance of Tom Cruise in Cocktail, but I found too many places where “bartending” meant popping the top off bottled beers and pouring pre-made drinks. Should I have to go to Star Canyon to get the perfect margarita? It’s not my idea of a drop-in joint. And there aren’t any pretzels.



5. This gets complicated, but in a good bar, the levels of light and sound match. Soft lights and soft music work, but a dark bar with blaring music makes it impossible to see the person you’re yelling at. The ambiance at the Mansion is perfect (as is the nut mix, heavy on the cashews), but having to wear a jacket is never good bar etiquette in my book.



6. It’s a delicate balance: A good bar should serve enough food to encourage you to linger, but not enough to make you feel like you have to buy it to drink there. You really don’t want fork food because you want to pretend it’s not dinner. (You’re supposed to be home in time for that.)

One night, I lingered too long over my glass at the Angry Dog and ordered wings after the kitchen had closed. The bartender (a good one) returned a few minutes later with a huge plate of wings. “You wanna share my dinner?” he asked. I did.

Now that’s a good bar.