The Phoenix

447 E 13th Street

The Phoenix, a dark and smelly place, used to be my absolute favorite gay bar in town. I would frequent the Foot Locker-scented den often with one of my great friends, who turned out to be a total jerk off bad news friend and, therefore, it’s been a while since I've been back. But braving a potential awkward run-in, we stopped by after work the other day and my, my, things have changed.

I was really excited to sit in the annex room that only my friends and I ever seemed to utilize, the room with the cock table–a table literally covered in a decoupage of cocks from various magazines. Much to my shock and dismay, I walked in and found that the table was gone!

Also no longer present: the totally sweet and weird bartender who barely ever wore pants!

Also, also missing: there was NO Stevie Nicks on the juke box!!

Sigh... Not all was lost though and certain things made up for the horrifying changes. For one, the Guinness was somehow the best Guinness I've had in ages. I don’t know how they did it, but it was creamy and the pant-wearing bartender poured it to perfection.

Also, the bathroom graffiti is still going strong. Mike took a photo and, in case you can’t read it, it says: “Beyonce shops at Strawberries”. I love it!

As they took Stevie away on the juke box (to be fair, some pages were stuck together so maybe her royal top hat and velour highness was stuck in the greasy crevaces of the juke box) but recently added choices include Grace Jones's “My Jamaican Guy” (which you’ll hear more about soon in these pages) and “Dreadlock Holiday”.

Like all bars, The Phoenix tends to get rowdy and crowded on weekends, when I'm hardly ever at bars, and my friends tell me it can be a bit too intense. But on week days it's great for a mellow, friendly drink and it’s dark enough (even when the sun is shining brightly outside) to make you feel like your enjoying your adult beverage in sin, which is the best way to drink, don’t you think?