Happy Burger

Mr. Happy Burger

3131 E. Market St.

Logansport, IN 46947

Too often, in the world of fast food burgers we are given the duopoly of choice that is McDonald's and Burger King.

Just like our two party system, we are forced to choose between the lesser of two evils, often leading to mediocrity or, even worse, complete and utter ruin. A

The tyranny of the two burger system must come to an end. No longer should people in towns across America be forced to chose between McDonald's and Burger King.

Unfortunately, though, not much room exists for smaller fast food burger joints, just as third party political groups are squeezed out. Often, smaller burger joints are a flash in the pan, like the Reform Party of the 1990s, or are forever lost in the field of giants like the Libertarian Party.

Ladies and Gentleman, I have found the Libertarian Party of the fast food burger world, and it is located in Logansport, Indiana. I am talking about Mr. Happy Burger. In a sea of McDonald's and Burger King, Mr. Happy Burger has found itself a footing in North Central Indiana.

And this place has all the flair of a third party candidate.

It has a giant cow statue out front.

There is a small train running around the ceiling of the seating area and it is completely decked out with Coca Cola collectibles.

Not to mention, it has duel drive-up windows, just like Rally's. Although, the way they had it set up seemed a little awkward, kind of like Bob Barr trying to act like a Libertarian.

Anyway, I was in Logansport in the morning for a business meeting and I asked a local where he would recommend that I go for lunch and he suggested Mr. Happy Burger, as it is unique to Logansport and is a novelty. So, I took his advice and headed right there.

I could tell as I was pulling up that I was going to like this place. It was unique. Heck, it had a giant cow out front!

I didn't spend too much time looking at the menu, as I saw something that instantly peaked my interest. It was a Bulls-Eye Bacon Cheeseburger.

To be a little healthier, I ordered salad from their salad bar. That's right, kids, a fast food burger joint with a salad bar. I should also mention, that this place serves fresh pizza!

I held off from the pizza, but it could have been a good option.

I received my plate for my salad first, as I had to wait for my burger to be cooked. It was a basic salad bar, but that is not to take away from the quality of the food. The salad was fresh, as was the potato salad. In fact, the potato salad was excellent! Yes, a fast food burger joint with good potato salad. I know, it's great.

My burger came out a couple minutes later. It smelled and looked delicious. Only one thing was missing from the burger; the toppings.

Apparently, I was supposed to order it with lettuce, tomato, etc? I don't know, oh well. I ate it just as it was; burger, bacon, cheese, BBQ Sauce.

It was pretty good!

On my way out, I grabbed a Coke for the road and said so long to Mr. Happy Burger!

Now, I'm not going to sit here and tell you that this place was off the charts, but I will say that if you are in Logansport, skip the McDonald's and Burger King, and give Mr. Happy Burger a chance.

It has a larger menu, better ambiance, and the food is better. And did I mention the giant cow statue?

Plus, it's the small guy, and in an unfair fight, you've got to root for the small guy. It's the only way we are going to end the duopoly that controls the world of fast food burgers.

Rating: Seriously thought about buying the shirt to support fast food liberty, but realized I'd rather just blog about it.

Gators in Central Indiana?

Brothers Bar & Grill

910 Broad Ripple Ave.

Indianapolis, IN 46220

Sports bars are all the same. They all have 5000 plasma screen TVs, cheap beer, and not too exciting menus.

Sure, occasionally, you will find a gem where the atmosphere is fun, the beer selection is respectable, and the food is tremendous.

Of course, most of those are not chains, and unfortunately for me, I was unaware that I was walking into a chain when I visited Brothers Bar & Grill in Broad Ripple Village.

Broad Ripple Village is a nice neighborhood of Indianapolis, filled with unique shops and restaurants. If I knew Brothers was a chain, I would not have bothered visiting this location, rather I would have gone to one of the unique restaurants.

Allow the disappointment to ensue...

Okay, it really wasn't that bad, but it wasn't that good, either. I should have listened to my instincts when I walked into the place and saw Miller Lite and Bud Light signs all over the place.

Thankfully, this chain has enough sense to serve some good beer, so I ordered a pint of Upland's Wheat Ale, a local brewery out of Bloomington, Indiana. This beer was delicious, as always. You'll come to learn reading my posts that Wheat Ales top my list of beer.

Being that it was a busy day and I was pretty hungry, I decided that it would be appropriate for me to have an appetizer with dinner. Like most sports bars, they have everything deep fried that you could imagine: onions, mushrooms, and chicken. And, of course, the obligatory pretzel and tortilla chips.

The menu suddenly got interesting when I saw the appetizer named "Gator Balls".

First off, I'm in Central Indiana, where in the world are the going to find the poor alligator to complete this recipe?

As it would turn out, they are not actually "Gator Balls", it is a chicken breast wedge wrapped in bacon, and stuffed with pepper jack cheese and jalapeno peppers.

Well, being that this seemed to be the most interesting item on the menu, I figured it would be appropriate to try it. I had no idea what these things were going to look like or taste like. I should have known that my appetizer would come out looking like a phallic object.

Let the sexual innuendo begin...

Now, let me just say, bacon-wrapped anything is glorious. In fact, bacon can pretty much go with anything. Bacon in chocolate chip cookies? You betcha. I had those at my Bachelor Party. Bacon in ice cream? Haven't had it yet, but it is on my list. Basically, as soon as I saw the balls, I knew I made a wise choice.

From the outside, they look pretty normal, right? Nothing to spark the imagination or gross you out. Well....that suddenly changes when you cut one open. There's a reason why they put pepper jack cheese in it.

I won't explain, I'll let the picture do the talking...

Anyway, the appetizer was pretty good.  The bacon, chicken, cheese and peppers combination dipped in a creamy ranch dressing worked out well. Like I said, bacon goes well with anything. In fact, it was probably the bacon that made this appetizer possible.

Now, on to the main event. Like I said before, sports bars usually do not have the most exciting of menus and this place was about par for the course. I tried as hard as I could to find the most unique dish on the menu.

I ended up going with the Louisiana Pork Sandwich. It sounded interesting enough. It had pork tenderloin, provolone cheese, a spinach and artichoke spread, as well as peppers, all piled on a hoagie roll.

Unfortunately, this flavor combination was not really that exciting. In fact, it was a little weird and kinda bland.

It looked delicious, but it did not taste delicious.

My overall opinion of this place was sub-par. Sure, it would be a great place to watch a ball game, drink cheap beer, and eat onion rings, but fine dining it is not. I don't expect to be visiting Brothers ever again, especially considering that I can cook my own bacon and buy Upland beer anywhere else.

Rating: Wouldn't Wear A Shirt If They Paid Me.

Mushy in Middlebury

The Village Inn
107 S. Main St.
Middlebury, IN

What do you think of when you hear “country cooking”?

I think of hearty, comfortable food. Stuff that’s good to line your stomach for a long day of combine riding and barn raising. Food far from the clutches of San Francisco nanny-state politicians who want to regulate my daily salt and transfat intake.

In other words, food that tastes good. And fills you up.

Food like mush.

Mush?

Yeah. I never heard of it either. Tells you what I know about country living.

But I found the perfect place to learn at The Village Inn in the tiny town of Middlebury. Up here among the snow covered corn fields of far Northern Indiana, just a few miles from the Michigan line, you can get your mush, soups and sandwiches – and most importantly – pie.

The Village Inn is the local small town gathering spot for families and old guys in John Deere trucker caps. “Home Town Taste with a Home Town Feel”, is the saying underneath the sign out front.

This is the kind of place where you don’t even have to ask if it is homemade.

How the heck else are you going to serve mush? It’s not like Sysco carries it frozen in the back of their delivery trucks.

Homemade soup and a sandwich appealed to me on this bitterly cold and snowy winter day.

My “stuffed pepper” soup was a hearty mishmash of finely ground beef and rice with a few flecks of green pepper thrown in. It offered up just enough spice to keep me warm and interested.

For my sandwich, I opted for the tenderloin.

Tenderloin is one of those culinary terms that can lead to confusion. It means different things depending on where you’re standing.

If you are in Texas or out West, tenderloin means fillet mignon. In the South and East, tenderloin is a nice cut of pork.

But here in the Midwest, when you order a tenderloin, you’re about to be handed a giant breaded, deep-fried pig patty on a bun. Think German Weiner Schnitzel on steroids.

The Village Inn’s version certainly wasn’t the best I’ve ever had (that would be in Iowa – just between you and me), but it wasn’t bad. How bad can a tender piece of deep fried pig be?

But it was a bit dry and a bit forgettable.

Of course, there is only one real reason anyone comes to a place like the Village Inn.

Pie.

My lemon meringue was delicious. So cold and lemony it made my teeth hurt.

I felt extra proud of myself because I got the last piece of the day.

No doubt about it. I was satisfied enough to face an afternoon of stall cleaning, fence mending, corn shucking – or business meetings.

But I just couldn’t leave without trying that mush.

Mush is an ancient colonial American food that dates back almost 350 years. Hearty American colonial pioneers would mix cornmeal and water and cook it into a porridge.

And eat it.

Yeah. You couldn’t just call Dominos in 1670 when the cupboard was bare.

What is really interesting is that three and a half centuries later, some country folks still eat the stuff. Then again, I’m pretty sure there is no Dominos franchise in Middlebury, which might help explain it.

The Village Inn’s version of mush is poured into a pan, hardened and then cut into rectangular pieces and lightly fried.

It sort of reminded me of fried grits or polenta – only without any taste. A little maple syrup helped to liven the mush up a bit. But definitely not going to make my top ten list any time soon.

And what about that name? Mush?

The mush industry could use a better marketing team. Maybe they should look to hire the guys that came up with the name polenta.

Same basic food item. Much more interesting name.

But then again, the overalls-wearing farmers around Middlebury probably would never order anything called polenta. They want their mush, just like each of the twenty generations that came before them.

And that’s why they call it “comfort food”. There’s comfort in knowing that there are still places in the American countryside where some things never change.

Rating: Would Wear A Free Shirt.

Welcome To The Wiener’s Circle

Coney Island Wiener Stand
131 West Main St.
Fort Wayne, IN

Sometimes finding a cool place to eat is counter-intuitive.

If a place has a hysterically uncool sounding name, chances are, it’s a cool place to eat.

I mean, would you eat at a place called Coney Island Wiener Stand?

In all my decades on this planet I don’t think I’ve ever used the word “wiener” in a sentence. I don’t think anyone else in the last half century has either.

At least no one I hang out with.

So any place with a name like Coney Island Wiener Stand has got to have been around a while.

Try 96 years to be exact.

Packing them in for 96 years. There was barely a place to sit on this cold mid-winter Monday in Northern Indiana.

The menu board is short with a few extraneous things like burgers and fries. But no body orders those.

Everyone comes here for Coneys.

The Coney Island hot dog is one of those quirky culinary footnotes of Americana.

How does the name of an amusement park in New York City get attached to a popular Midwestern junk food delicacy?

Beats the heck out of me.


Some claim the hot dog was first introduced to America by a German immigrant at Coney Island in the 1870s. But that doesn’t explain why the distinctive Midwestern version, smothered in chili sauce, mustard and raw onions still carries the name of its distant ancestor a century and a half later.

You can find Coney Islands all over the Midwest from Chili parlors to family restaurants to specialty wiener stands like this one.


Fort Wayne’s version is delicious and satisfying. They go light on the chili, heavy on the onions, nicely complimenting the mild taste of the hot dog.

But like the inexplicable popularity of White Castle burgers, the bun here steals the show.

Fresh from the bakery and steamed to a pliable softness, these hot dog buns serve as much more than a delivery vehicle for processed meat. It’s the soft deliciousness of the buns that make these Coneys so addictive.

This is a lunch that hits the spot without hitting the wallet. After one of the best lunches I’ve had in days, the bill came to a whopping total of $2.70, including tax.

I left a 50% tip – and still felt guilty about it.

But that’s Midwesterners for you. Traditional. Frugal. And old fashioned enough after nearly a century to keep flocking to a place named Coney Island Wiener Stand.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Surviving on Chubby Trouts and Self Righteous Beers

Chubby Trout
2730B Cassopolis
Elkhart, IN

Beer selection: Best of the best!

Food: Fresh and local Great Lakes seafood.

They say “Boy, you ain’t a poet -- just a drunk with a pen”
All over and over, again and again

Lord they don’t know about the places I’ve been
It gets hard out here

I know I don’t look it
I used to have heart, but the highway took it
-- Hayes Carll from his brand new song, “Hard Out Here”

Whether a poet or just a drunk with a pen, as always, Texas song writer Hayes Carll hits the nail on the head. It is “hard out here”.

But one thing I’ve learned is that surviving on the road is a lot less difficult if you follow a few rules.

Such as, you don’t order seafood when you’re in Indiana.

Common sense stuff like that.

But, of course there are exceptions to all rules. Like if you are within an hour’s drive of Lake Michigan.

Then, you definitely want seafood. Specifically perch, walleye, blue fin or trout – as long as it comes fresh out of the Great Lake, not some aquaculture farm in Thailand.

Living two blocks from the Atlantic Ocean, I get a little spoiled when it comes to good seafood. Shrimp, oysters, crab, grouper, snapper -- all fresh from the ocean.

But maybe that’s why the distinct taste of fresh water fish gets me so excited. It’s something different.

Or maybe it’s the high mercury content.

Whatever it is, it tastes good.

It’s little things like a pile of fried lake perch in the Flats that can make a trip to Cleveland tolerable. Or like how an appetizer of walleye cheeks can warm up a mid-winter trip to Minnesota.

Here in Elkhart, Indiana, in the frigid darkness of winter, the only thing that is going to cheer me up is a visit to the wonderfully named Chubby Trout.

And while you can order any of the aforementioned Great Lakes specialties here, if you are only here one time, you have to get the namesake dish – the Chubby Trout.

A generous filet of fresh caught Lake Michigan trout, lightly fried to a nice crisp flaky exterior and smothered with a lobster basil stuffing and decadent cream sauce, this dish reminded me why they call this fishy’s former home the GREAT lakes.

Trout can be known to be a bit dry and dull in the wrong hands – but not buried under all this goodness.

The Chubby Trout definitely knows how to make a Chubby Trout.

My appetizer of calamari was also delicious – and unique. No chewy rings or squidly tentacles here. This is Grade A squid. Long thick strips of the most tender, succulent seafood, breaded and fried to perfection and served with a distinct spicy thick remoulade that would make any New Orleans chef jealous.

Amid the hell of corporate chain restaurants that is Cassopolis Street in Elkhart, the Chubby Trout is a family-owned oasis of good taste and local specialties done right.

But did I mention the beer?

Oh yeah, I’m saving the best for last.

The Chubby Trout just happens to have the best beer selection in the entire state of Indiana.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s not like they hand you a six page beer menu when you sit down. Remember, this is Elkhart – not Asheville or Portland.

But the page long list is nothing but solid quality. Like a year end “Best Of” list. Or your “Highest Rated” playlist on your I-Pod.

I chose two twenty ouncers on draft – Stone Sublimely Self-Righteous Ale and Schlafly Winter ESB.

Stone Sublimely Self-Righteous Ale is brewed by the same California folks who make Arrogant Bastard Ale and a kick butt Smoked Porter.

I jumped at the chance to try this black IPA.

I like dark beers and I like hoppy beers. This is the rare beer that is both. And the 8.7% alcohol made me feel like I got my six bucks worth. Bargain!

The Schlafly Winter ESB was a much lighter copper color and thinner in taste and alcohol content. It reflects its Midwest roots. Tasty as it was with mild wintery spices like lemon and vanilla, it was a hard act to follow such a Sublimely Self-Righteous Beer.

The excellent beer selection and quality of the food reflects the good taste of the owner of this place. You can tell that a lot of care goes into the preparation of each dish. And a lot of thought and beer drinking went into the selection of high-quality, hard-to-find beers – especially for Elkhart.

This guy didn’t just say okay to whatever the local beer distributor was pushing, like too many restaurant owners do.

I can just imagine this guy’s home fridge stocked with six-packs from Portland, Maine to Portland, Oregon, in a constant search for that next cool, unique offering to put on tap at his bar.

That’s a job I want.

And this is the kind of place I want to patronize.

Local trout and good beer. I can survive on that.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Trading Hooters for Blazing Balls

Wings Etc.

2815 Gateway South Drive
Goshen, IN 46526
Ph. 574-537- 9464

Ok. SuitOchoCinco was headed to a Goshen treasure to eat.

Upon arriving he was disappointed to learn that it was closed on Mondays.

Well, that didn't stop OchoCinco's stomach from growling.

So he turned his rental around and ventured into the blinding snow set on finding a treasure of his own.

I drove by nothing that tickled my proverbial fancy.  Until I saw it . . . Wings, Etc. Nuff said. 

I flipped a U-turn and slid into their parking lot.

I have to tell you, it was impressive.  It was started by a local and now has three locations. 

The service staff was amazingly polite and absofreakinglutely GORGEOUS. 

I mean breathtaking. Jaw dropping even.

I sat at the bar and was immediately greeted. I noticed the beer selection and was impressed . . . A bunch of rot gut domestics but surrounded with a few specialty beers. 

They claim in their signage to have a ton of bottles of beer available. All in all, it was a decent set up.

I had to have the wings right?

They are named Wings, Etc . . . so I had to have them. The menu boasted Jumbo Wings!!

So I order a round of their hottest and settled in.

Then I noticed a table tent that screamed to me. 

"Got Blazin' Balls?" . . . I said out loud "why yes I DO!"

I immediately summoned the gorgeous bartender and proceeded to order the Blazin' Balls as well.

Outstanding . . . Wings and Blazing Balls! How could I go wrong?

While waiting for my culinary delights to finish being fried to golden perfection, I overheard a couple of good ol' boys in the corner who were clearly electricians.

They were talking back and forth about how they liked Governor Daniels of Indiana, but both lied to their union boss controllers telling him they had voted against him fearing retribution. 

They described Daniels' last opponent as a Douche Bag.

About the same time the feminine hygiene products discussion came to a close my balls and wings came out! 

And let me tell you they were . . . . very disappointing.

The "Blazin' Balls" were your typical breaded frozen fried treat. Nothing special and no real blaze to them at all.

The wings were good. Just good.

They were not by any means jumbo but standard sized and the sauce wasn't finger licking great.

But the passing waitresses smile was enough to keep me smiling, so I dug in and kept quiet.

See there was one thing that made the wings completely bearable . . . they were not breaded.

There is nothing Suit OchoCinco hates more is when restaurants ruin wings by breading them.

The truth is, the breading is a mystical magic trick to forced lesser quality small wings down your gullet.

Restaurants coat inexpensive low-quality drummies and wings in breading so you are fooled into believing your are getting a large wing when you're not. 

Even the Wikipedia page describes wings as unbreaded.

Breading equals more money for the owners and less meat for you. 

Why don't they just fry some batter up and place .01 oz. of chicken meat on top of it as a garnish?  

Its the same thing.

Breaded wing eaters are like this people who get well done steaks. 

I want a JUMBO wing with real hot sauce cooked to perfection -- and not slick or fatty.

Upon finishing my meal, I was tempted by a table tent with "pie" on it. I ordered it. 

It was ridiculously pathetic. Seriously Pathetic. Came directly out of a box  in a three-by-three black Styrofoam container

One thing was for certain. The owners of this joint love their food company rep. because whatever frozen crap that guy comes in peddling, these guys buy it.

But the longer I sat there the more I realized what an amazing concept this place was, beautiful women . . . great beer . . . . . . wings . . . . . . . WAIT ! ! ! . . . . . it is a great idea . . . 

And it hasn't lost its luster since Hooters first came up with it in Clearwater, Florida many years ago.

Yes, Wings, Etc. is a Hooters replica. Basically a complete carbon copy.

But they didn't have breaded wings -- and that says a lot.

All in all, it would be a great place to meet the boys to watch a game.  

In a city without a Hooters it is a real gem. 

And even if there was a Hooters I would still pick this place because the wings are not breaded.

RATING: Would Wear a Free Shirt

Testing the Gag reflex in Goshen

South Side Diner

1122 South Main Street

Goshen, Indiana 46526

Suit OchoCinco is nostalgic.

Really nostalgic.

This suit does a lot of business.

And normally it is doused in attorneys, riddled with contracts and a cold sterile experience.

Suit Ochocinco thinks that sucks. Yeah. Sucks.

What happened to a handshake being stronger than a contract?

What happened to your word being your bond?

I’m sure you will agree it’s the simple things that matter.

Having a real true friend.

Hugs from your children.

When your significant other squeezes your hand a lil tighter when you’re holding hers.

Suit OchoCinco prefers simple things, nostalgic things.

That’s why when I saw the South Side Soda Shop and Diner in Goshen, Indiana I had to stop.

Now, up until this point I had to control my gag reflex continually as I drove past union shop after union shop in this otherwise beautiful state.

There was no doubt, Big Labor’s henchmen were sucking these communities dry and had been for many years.

I walked in there with preconceived notions. I wanted it to be . . . actually I needed it to be a step back in time. I was starving, overworked and tired. I needed comfort. Comfort food. Comfortable atmosphere and comfortable people.

I. Was. Not. Disappointed.

I swear opening the door to the place was like a vacuum. I felt the hustle and bustle of the world disappear instantly.

I was greeted with a huge smile and a hello by one of the hustling servers and I immediately belled up to the old style counter. (Which was soon to double as a trough very shortly)

To my left were fresh out of the oven HOMEMADE pies. To my right the owner . . . YES . . . OWNER was sweating on the flat top grill slingin homemade delicacies to his the Goshen locals.

I asked the cheerful server for her recommendations.

She said I needed a “phosphate” (I had no idea what that was -- A soda fountain drink made by blending carbonated water with flavored syrup.) It was so so good.

Moving on . . . I had heard they were famous for their Chili and I being that Suit OchoCinco is famous for eating chili I was quick to partake. And it was pure yummy goodness.

It was time for the main course.

And I had my eyes set on their house classic. Liverwurst sandwich. Yup people actually eat that stuff and it just so happens this place was famous for theirs.

I can tell you that this sandwich is made with heaping chunks of liverwurst, crispy bacon, yummy goodness, grilled onions and I believe a type of mustard all on FRESHmade bread because get this . . . this diner makes all their bread from scratch. (you had me at hello)

Every bite of this culinary masterpiece had me begging for more . . . it was truly a work of sandwich art.

Finally it was time. Time for the fireworks, the grand finale if you will. The freakin pie.

The ooey gooey beautiful pie.

Now different than the other items I had consumed. This pie only had one ingredient.

1. Awesome.

Overall this lil diner encompassed everything I described at the beginning.

It was a slice of a better, quieter, cooler time. It was “nostalgia.” And I loved every minute of it.

RATING: BOUGHT THE SHIRT

Discover the Corporate Greed of “Big Second Hand Smoke”

Fricker’s
3237 Chester Blvd.
Richmond, IN
Visited January 3, 2011

Beer selection: Dive Bar specialties like PBR on draft.

Food: Dive Bar specialties like hot “boneless wings”.

It’s a sign of the apocalypse for sure.

Is there no mom & pop enterprise left in America to be spared from the unencumbered advance of cookie cutter national chains?

First it was book stores and used car lots.

Then I thought it odd when I noticed my local dry cleaners being snapped up by national chain Martinizing. I mean, I’ve heard of Big Government, Big Labor and Big Oil, but... Big Starch??

Stranger still was seeing the local funeral home go national. Big Death? Cool.

But bizarre doesn’t begin to explain the phenomenon of Larry Flint turning the now downright ubiquitous Hustler Club into the Wal-Mart of strip joints. (So I’ve heard, anyway.)

So what would that be? Big…?

Never mind.

Oh well, at least we’ll always have the corner neighborhood dive bar.

Not so fast.

Welcome to Fricker’s. (The name Hooter’s was already taken.)

Motto: “More than a handful.” (“More than a mouthful” was already taken – see above.)

Now before you doubt my very premise that the local dive bar can be chained, let me assure you of Fricker’s divey credentials. (The fact that it is a chain is indisputable, as the front of the menu claims 18 locations in Michigan, Indiana and Ohio)

How about a wall of cigarette smoke to welcome your pull on the front door? (Apparently, Indiana is the last state in America to have yet to criminalize smoking in restaurants.)

How about a 20 year old unmarried pregnant bartender slinging drinks in the hazy atmosphere?

How about blue collar guys in paint-stained sweatshirts who have been perched precariously on their bar stools since quitting time nine hours ago?

How about a local family taking advantage of “Kids Eat Free Night” – at 11pm – to feed their couple of sweet little toddler holly terrors -- one with pierced ears and the other sporting a mullet -- while mom and dad burn through a pack of Camels and down a couple $6 Coors Light Pitchers?

Oh yeah, this place is well credentialed.

I can’t wait to visit the other 17 locations.

It was just serendipity that I stumbled across this one.

It was the night of the Orange Bowl.

And my luxurious accommodations across the street at the Comfort Inn apparently didn’t include ESPN. Something about how Comcast was supposed to come out two weeks ago to fix the cable, explained my Angelina Jolie look-alike desk clerk (Yeah, I know, I was a bit baffled by why she was working here too.)

Rather than demand a refund and check out, I decided to walk across the I-70 overpass to Fricker’s to watch the game.

Like any true dive bar, of course, even one advertising their plethora of TV’s, the entire HD thing seems to have bypassed Fricker’s.

So I watched the Virginia Tech Hokies get their asses kicked by those Silicon Valley nerds from Stanford on an old fashioned 9 inch TV with no sound.

Before you start to feel too sorry for Suit757, let’s dwell a moment on the one and only positive attribute of dive bars.

Why does ANYONE patronize these places of smoke, decay, mold, sketchy characters and tasteless décor?

One reason. And one reason only.

Because dive bars are CHEAP!

And that last most crucial of criteria cinches Fricker’s status in chain dive bar infamy.

The special of the night was “Forty Cent Boneless Wings”.

So, naturally, that’s what I ordered. Or so I thought.

What my four bucks bought me was a basket full of not chicken wings, but giant fried and breaded strips of tender white meat -- what Southerners refer to as Chicken Tenders, Zingers or Buffalo Fingerz.

Ten of them!

The same thing that would cost you $13 at a Zaxby’s drive-through.

Four bucks!

But here at Big Second Hand Smoke, they advertise them as “Boneless Wings”! These Midwestern boys could use a marketing class. Not that I’m complaining.

That was the most food I’ve bought for four bucks since Taco Bell ran their 39 cent taco deal back in 1989.

On advice of my pregnant bartendress, I went a notch above “Hot” to “Frickin’ Little Kicker”. I’m glad I didn’t go higher. Or I would have had to consume even more beer.

Which brings me to the only reason to even darken the doorway of a place like this.

The beer selection was typical dive bar – pathetic.

I have a bad beer selection theory I always try to live by. If it’s really bad, go REALLY, REALLY bad.

I mean, think about it.

Why settle for Bud or Sam Adams? You can get that crap at any hole in the wall. It takes a special kind of divyness to discover “The Champaign of Beer” or the beer “Selected as America’s best in 1893” on tap.

If you’re going to take nine months off your life by spending three hours watching the Hokies get ass-jacked in a smoke filled bar, why not go for something unique – something you can’t get at your half-way-self-respecting-neighborhood bar?

That’s why I asked for a PBR draft.

Ms. Preggers helpfully told me that they were only $2.22.

“Perfect,” I thought, calculating the per ounce cost of a typical 10 oz. dive bar pull.

Except, she didn’t bring me a 10 oz. pull of PBR. She brought me an over-flowing giant 22oz. glass of 5.0 APV frugality.

Oh yeah.

That’s a better deal than drinking a Seven Eleven 40 in the motel room. And all the extra ambiance and companionship to boot.

After three hours of football watching, enough battered and fried and hot sauced chicken fingers to feed the lunch rush at Zaxby’s, the second-hand smoke equivalent to three cartons of Marlboros and 88 ounces of Pabst Blue Ribbon, the entire bill came to $12.88.

Contemplating the future of Bartendress, Jr., I left feeling guilty as hell leaving a 25% tip.

Maybe the Wal-Martification of dive bars isn’t such a bad thing after all.

Always the low price on chicken wings, PBR and second hand smoke – always. Coming to your town soon.

Rating: Would Wear A Free Shirt.