Rodeo Bar – The Best Little Drink House that Fakes Texas

Barfly likes to imagine what we would be like if we were born in the land of tumble weeds and armadillo. We’ve never seen one of these armadillo things, but we suspect it’s local speak for “illegal immigrant”.

We are certain that a delightful drawl would make our cocktail banter all the more charming (witness: all the more charming, y’all). The cowboy boots would provide a great place for hiding contraband – our luscious tuxedo T-shirt has yet to offer a comfortable place for our stainless steel swizzle. We might even be able to put down our quest for the perfect martini and reach a quiet contentment on the dusty plains.

A quiet contentment involves killing rattlesnake and shouting “giddy-up” as we pour a celebratory margarita and two-step on the snakes grave (y’all, that snake was a pussy, indeed).

We had all of the wagons packed and were ready to roll through the tunnel - off of our brilliant island and onward to distant frontiers. Of course, our plan was immediately thwarted when we rolled up to the entrance and were politely informed that “You can’t bring a goddamn Chattanooga Wagon into the Lincoln tunnel, where did you even get those horses? You must be high as shit.”

We explained to the friendly official that we certainly wouldn’t do something so crass as get high and drive a wagon – but apparently drinking two bottles of Bon Voyage champagne before hitching up is equally unacceptable. The horses? Barfly would never reveal our equine sources.

The official suggested that we “head yonder” instead – and pointed us toward a genuine Texas bar on the distant Horizon of the east ‘20’s. We turned around and headed over for some Manhattan based lasso-ing at Rodeo Bar. We also decided that we were lucky to escape with only $634 in fines -thank god he didn’t scalp us – our glorious mane was left intact.

And, although there were no actual bucking broncos – Rodeo Bar was exactly what we were looking for. Fake spittoons, oversize margaritas, and chubby cowgirls in straw hats and boots (so their sister heifers don’t break their toes on their way to the bar). And, all of this within the comfort of our delicious little island. We’re glad that we didn’t travel far - with all of that dust in our face, we might have been mistaken for an Oakie (the deepest insult that could befall any proper sophisticate).

The bar even lets you take a little bit southern charm with you. Barfly was able to smuggle out 5 pocket-fulls of peanuts (not to mention what we were able to store in our cheeks). Reveling in frontier spirit, we rationed them and feasted for days. Hee-haw!

Rodeo Bar - 3rd Avenue at 27th Street -

Jalapeno Poppers – 3 olives – We wanted a genuine tex-mex app to satisfy our need for southern sizzle. We know we shouldn’t be disappointed – in the south we’re sure that they genuinely freeze and microwave their poppers before serving them and charging $12.00.

Fake Bison Above the Bar – 4 olives – We were truly impressed by the size of the animal. Were Indians really able to use every part of it? We guess that its glass eye would make a great billiard ball and the carpet that doubled as its pelt could be sewn into a lovely duvet (in our Pocahontas themed summer home, that is). But we didn’t know what to do with the staples holding it to the wall – especially because we were already full from those peanuts. ..

Music Selection – 2 olives – We were all ready to go down to Georgia with the devil (we hear the fiddle playin’ is truly superb this time of year) but instead we were greeted with some top 40 hits and tunes by New Order. Then we remembered – when we won the Civil War we also got music dibbs.

Local Lexicon – 1 olives –Do we want to live in a place where a careful screening process at the velvet rope is replaced a bouncer saying “ya’ll can come in”? By the end of the night we decided that the southern drawl may not be so charming, especially when we realized that “ya’ll” includes fat people.

Our Valient Horses – 5 olives – The journey was long and hard and they held up remarkably well. As we set off into the sunrise, we did what any truly humanitarian Barfly would do – set them free on the traffic islands of Madison avenue.

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