Pub on Pearl

Several members of the Institute of Drinking Studies -- all definite throwbacks -- met recently at a very manly and friendly throwback of a tavern, the Pub on Pearl (1101 South Pearl Street). This small bar is nestled on a corner near where Pearl Street meets I-25, conveniently close to the highway in case you're a Minnesota Vikings fan who feels like hurling himself into traffic after a crushing loss to Chicago. If you can control that urge, though, you'll be able to enjoy such Pub amenities as the video strip-poker game at the bar and the giant projection TV featuring the game of the night while several other TVs show different sporting events. Unfortunately, a sound system tuned to the Avalanche game while we tried to watch Monday Night Football had us ducking for cover from errant slapshots way too often. And it only became more confusing as we had more beers.

Although we didn't really approve of the Avs taking top billing -- much less being blared across the bar -- on a Monday night, we weren't surprised by the intrusion. Not from fans of hockey, a sport whose players display such lack of vision that after a lost season, they get a worse contract deal than they'd had previously and allow back a criminal cheap-shot artist like Todd Bertuzzi, who has the audacity to say he served more than a year of suspension when everyone else who has a soul or a conscience and thus doesn't deserve to be taken out and rabbit-punched pretty much went a year without playing or pay, too.

Not that we are bitter about the Avs.


Pub on Pearl

1101 South Pearl Street

No, we here at the Institute are highly trained individuals who can intelligently discuss not only hockey, but also fashion (if the San Diego Chargers are going to wear baby-blue jerseys, they'd better put a hurt on everybody they play); religion (we have determined that the root cause of the Jewish Representative's anti-Jewishness is the fact that he did not have a formal bris in the hospital when born); the naiveté of women (several female co-workers of a colleague are convinced that he never told them he was getting married because he is a reserved, timid person, but all guys know that this information is never volunteered, and is extracted only under duress after all hope of sleeping with certain women is lost); and sex and fruit (everything from watermelon to microwave-warmed bananas got votes as the most utilitarian foods around).

Nor do we allow our emotions to overcome our good manners. In fact, we demonstrated the highest standards of bar etiquette at the Pub. Whenever our waitress brought us another round of tap Guinness, we inhaled it so rapidly that on her next stop, she was able to place new beers in front of us at the same time she took away the empties, thus obviating the need for special trips. We at the Institute are all about efficiency. The only time the service slowed was at the end of the night, when we were looking for our tab. My theory is that she figured with as much good, greasy bar food as we'd inhaled that night, there was no way we'd be ready for our bill for at least another three hours. And normally she'd be right -- but we were feeling a strong urge to hit our local produce section.


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