Two of my friends and I opted out of the usual Happy Hour gathering, Friday, in favor of someplace with less expensive fare. Where did we go? Adair's, a rockin' little country dive-bar in Deep Ellum.
Adair's is all about atmosphere. The walls are covered in permanent marker writings - as are portions of the ceiling (!) - executed by patrons over the years. If you ask nicely, the bartender will hand you a marker for your own personal use. Seeing as I am in the design profession, however, I always have writing utensils in my purse, and so I was not forced to beg for a felt-tip, like other patrons.
The burgers at Adair's are some of the best I've eaten. Big, greasy, wonderful concoctions, cooked just how you want them. If you order the Texas Fries, beware: they're a wee bit spicy, but still delicious. I say "wee bit" because I'm a wuss when it comes to spiciness, so for the vast majority of Texans, they're probably downright bland, but I was gulping beer after every fry. And they're big fries, too, not like sissy McDonald's fries. They put other French Fries to shame.
As for beer listings, there's not a whole lot of choice, but we didn't go for the vast encyclopedic beer knowledge, we went for the cheap beer. And boy, is it cheap. If you order Lone Star, Lone Star Light, Pearl Light, or Pabst Blue Ribbon, your beer is less than $3.00. If you're so snooty as to order something imported, the price goes up. Regardless, though, bring your coozie, because the most of the beer is served in cans. What I spent Friday night on food and drink is about what I typically spend just on beer at the normal Happy Hour haunts (of course, my PBR was about $2.50, and most places sell Guinness for $5-6 each, so...).
There's almost always a band playing at Adair's. Friday night's wasn't particularly memorable, despite the concert posters proclaiming that it would be otherwise. If you sit towards the front, where the stage is, you can count on watching a bunch of people country-western dance. If you sit in the back, where I was, you can count on 50+ year-old men making passes at you and asking to take pictures of your feet. Their requests were denied, needless to say.
Friday was awesome. Saturday morning around 6 a.m. not so much. See, I woke up at 6 with a rumbling stomach, fled to the guest bath at my friend's house, and proceeded to be violently ill.
At first, I figured it was food poisoning. We'd finished "breakfast" around 3:15 a.m. (bacon, eggs, cinnamon toast, green tea, heaven!) and I'd gone to bed feeling a bit queasy, but chalking that up to too much grease in my diet, that day. At 6 a.m., I got sick. I still felt bad Saturday evening, and so subsisted off strawberry Jell-o, 7Up, and saltine crackers, which was difficult enough to keep down. After discussing with my mother, we initially came up with the idea that the tea was what had made me ill. But when my system was still a wreck 12 hours later, we decided I must be sick. The fever and chills tended to lend evidence to this assumption.
I'm better, now, and successfully polished off a turkey meal from Boston Market a while ago with no foul repercussions thus far. Hopefully, I'll be back to my chipper old self by 9 a.m. or so; I want to drive down to look for the potential employer's offices and to scope out the parking situation before the interview Tuesday.
Getting lost + being late = no job for Ms. StrainedConsciousness.
(Creative Commons Licensed Image courtesy of Flickr User Derrick Davis. Image may be found at http://www.flickr.com/photos/ddphotography/3014143903/)
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