Nothing says America like using other countries’ holidays as an excuse to get drunk. This St. Patrick’s Day, I’m using the Irish celebration as an excuse to get more familiar with the local pubs. Here’s the ol’ magically delicious results of my Sugar House bar crawl.
1.) Campfire Lounge
We started our night hungry and sober, so we went to one of the chillest bars I have ever been to. It’s a great place to kick back with your friends, eat a cheap hobo dinner with outstanding fries and listen to vintage music. Outside, there’s a patio complete with a firepit and half-a-dozen dogs. What’s cool about Campfire Lounge is that 10 percent of its sales go to the Utah Animal Adoption Center.
Someone recommended I try a sweet horse’s neck, and my darling, manly husband ordered a raspberry fruity kamikaze. After realizing what he’d done, he quickly ordered a beer on top of that. The bartender asked me if I wanted to open or close. I had no idea what she meant.
I’m recently 21 and never go to bars. I could quickly tell that this would be a night of fumbling around, not knowing what we were doing.
2.) Wasatch Brew Pub
As soon as we walked into Wasatch, we knew this wasn’t going to be quite as cozy as Campfire. The bar was stuffed with finely-dressed patrons and there didn’t seem to be a seat in the house. I was told the wait for a drink would be 45 minutes. I took a look at my group, and we moved on.
3.) Fiddler’s Elbow
Sporty and sweaty—that’s what I can say about this bar. I was deafened by the screeching of shoes on the court from the dozens of TVs blasting sports ball. It was also packed to the rim with people, and we were stuck sitting in the waiting area next to an elderly man wearing a beret.
“We sure are elbow-to-elbow in here,” said a woman in my group.
The old man cackled, “Hey! That’s the name of this place!”
We all took a shot of tequila and left.
4.) Sugar House Pub
As soon as I walked in, I knew this was exactly what I was looking for. The pub has different areas that contain different ambiances. Near the bar, dim blue lights illuminate the area, making everyone look at least two points hotter. Further down in a game area, the more accurately lit spot contained pool, darts and the like. Best of all, it wasn’t anxiety-inducing amounts of crowded.
I was told to order an AMF (Adios Mother Fucker), and we situated ourselves on some bar stools next to a pack of women with short skirts and lots of leather.
By this point, I’d become quite inebriated. I flung darts at unsafe angles and began to sing Fergie. Besides all that, I still knew I loved this place. The hosts and bartenders were friendly and chatted with you, good music thumped rhythmically and the drinks were perfect.
Then, the worse thing that could happen occurred. We went to a karaoke bar.
Except it wasn’t a karaoke bar. At least, not the night we went in. A little further from our local area, we made the trip and $5 entrance fee (yes, an entrance fee) to sing some 1980s rock ballads. No dice. There seemed to be some other live music performance happening, which resulted in the place being uncomfortably packed once again.
Shoving around, I quickly realized this was not my demographic. This is the place parents go to when Billy and Sally are having a sleepover at grandma’s.
We rushed upstairs to a deserted lounge, and I began nursing a glass of water. I was disappointed by the lack of karaoke, but it was a good place to chill and sober up for the Uber ride home.