Wrigleyville Bar Project

September 05, 2007 | Comments (0) | by The Hundley

With the name Saloon included in our moniker, one could surmise that we here at TMS like to drinky drinky. One that would make such an assumption would be correct, thereby throwing out the whole, 'when you you assume you make an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me' bullshit. We're here to profile some of the local watering holes around Wrigley, so that you aren't the poor sap who gets dragged into going to the Cubby Bear before the game, wherein you are soon left wondering how your life spiraled out of control so quickly. Tommy Buzanis has pledged to help out with this column, as he is no stranger to the bottle, but you can rest assured that those promises are as empty as his shot glass. So here it is, another sporadically timed, mildly entertaining column that you can only find here at the TMS. Actually you can probably find lots of info on Wrigley bars in a much more concise and helpful format, but that's neither here nor there.

Today's Bar: Moe's Cantina, 3518 N. Clark St.

Douchebag Factor (1-10, with 10 being this guy): 9. In fact, I'm pretty sure that guy was a bartender there.

Who You'll See Here: For the male population, assume that everyone read the same Style Pamphlet entitled, "How to look like a Frat Boy". Ironic and lewd t-shirts, crooked caps, jeans with sandals, button-up black t-shirts with the top four buttons undone, oversized sunglasses. In contrast, the female crowd is quality, quality, quality. I missed the sign at the door, but apparently there is a sign that reads ALL FEMALES MUST HAVE A TIGHT ASS AND AT LEAST A C-CUP TO ENTER. UNDERWEAR OPTIONAL.

What to order: 16oz aluminum cans of Bud or Bud Light, pitchers of Red Bull and Vodka (yes, I'm serious)

If you were to see a celebrity here, it would be: Lenny Kravitz, K-Fed, Justin Timberlake, a bevy of buxom, Hollywood armcandy/hanger's-on, Kyle Farnsworth.

Website: http://www.moescantina.com/

Summary: If you look at the website (above), it wants to project itself as a classy restaurant. True, the decor is mostly upscale with plenty of tables. That being said, it is no different than any other area establishment that serves liquor (especially on game days): people come to drink. Moe's offers plenty of plasma TVs for your viewing pleasure, whether it be from the spacious booths along the wall, or the insane amount of high tables in the center. The bartenders and doormen/bouncers are all clad in black with earpieces in, trying to convey a Steven Seagal aura. The wait staff were all very nice, very engaging, and very hot. The two overriding physical features both involved body fat. The first being the lack of it, the second being their ability to store it in all the right places. Silicone counts as body fat, right? Even in the zoo-like environment, they were johnny-on-the-spot, which is always nice.

Sitting at the table next to us was a particularly unruly group of Fratties. Shirts were inexplicably removed and put back on with an alarming frequency, shots of tequila were ordered by the half-bottle followed by the obligatory Meathead Yawp of "Ahhhhhggggrrrhhhh!! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" Being the uber-cool kids that we are, we started a chant that was clearly over their heads: "Tri-bal! Arm-band! Tri-bal! Arm-band!" Not surprisingly, two of them were later kicked out, much to their shock and amazement. Imagine that.

In summation, I have to say that it wasn't an overly pleasant experience. Sure there was plenty of eye-candy, and the drinks weren't overly pricey with all things considered, but the meathead factor was too much for me. We stayed for only an hour or so, watching the last 3 or 4 innings of Sunday's game. As we sat waiting for the odd-chance of hearing the DJ spin some Baba O'Riley, or at least Go Cubs, Go, we were instead treated with an immediate cut of the TV audio and straight into 'In Da Club'. Our table wasn't the only one groaning. At the very least, you can say that it didn't smell like piss and vinegar like the place next door, though I certainly would have rather been there.

Thunder Matt Rating: 6 empty Old Style cans out of a 12 pack*, with the other six being dropped on the pavement.

*Please note that the reviewer has had his share of the club scene and is now a crotchety old man of 29.
"Mommy! Mommy! The rhino meathead is getting too close to the car!!"