Drunk Mustache Guy Doesn't Live Here Anymore
The bar stools are empty. Final, sad drops of beer fall from disconnected taps. Bathroom floors go unsoiled by urine. The Malt Shop has closed its doors.
If you have never had the pleasure of patronizing the fine establishment on the corner of Wisconsin and Brandywine, you have missed out on one of life's rare and smelly experiences. For years it has existed in a section of northwest DC that could easily pass for suburban Bethesda. Unspoiled by the entrenched gentrification of the surrounding neighborhood, but spoiled in so many good ways, this bar was an outpost of cheap, drunken debauchery in an area that sorely needed it.
My roommates and I tried to drop by last week for a few beers and a game of darts, only to find that the Malt Shop had moved next door. In the process they've merged with the seafood restaurant that used to be located downstairs, and apparently gone respectable. They've cleaned up their act. There are no shabby dartboards to be seen. The bar is well lighted and odor free. Men in suits walk about the smoke free room without fear of being accosted or of getting vomit on their Brooks Brother's tie.
It is a sad day for beer soaked idiots everywhere.
If you have never had the pleasure of patronizing the fine establishment on the corner of Wisconsin and Brandywine, you have missed out on one of life's rare and smelly experiences. For years it has existed in a section of northwest DC that could easily pass for suburban Bethesda. Unspoiled by the entrenched gentrification of the surrounding neighborhood, but spoiled in so many good ways, this bar was an outpost of cheap, drunken debauchery in an area that sorely needed it.
My roommates and I tried to drop by last week for a few beers and a game of darts, only to find that the Malt Shop had moved next door. In the process they've merged with the seafood restaurant that used to be located downstairs, and apparently gone respectable. They've cleaned up their act. There are no shabby dartboards to be seen. The bar is well lighted and odor free. Men in suits walk about the smoke free room without fear of being accosted or of getting vomit on their Brooks Brother's tie.
It is a sad day for beer soaked idiots everywhere.
Labels: I'm a drunkard, My 'The City'
posted by DC Viking at 10:49 AM
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