Taking “self-serve” to a dangerous new level

I have recently become aware that I talk about drooling a lot. I apologize if that offends you, or if you find it disgusting. But this is a food blog damnit, and it is my main goal in life to write about drool-worthy food. And if you’re not drooling when you read it then I’m not doing my job very well.

But now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

If you have not been here, then you need to go right now. Seriously, stop reading this and go. Right now. Do it.

I was sent to Public House for my super-cool writing job. This is the reason my job is incredible. Not just because I have to go to lots of bars. No no. It’s because I get to go to places like this.

Public House is, in my book, the coolest gastropub in Chicago. I’m serious. If someone asked me “Hey, what’s the coolest bar you know of?” I would answer ‘PUBLIC HOUSE’ in no uncertain terms. And if someone said “Hey, I’m visiting Chicago for the weekend, where should I go?” I would say “Go to Public House!!!!!” with such gusto that I might frighten that person away forever. And that would be ok. Because hopefully they would be running away to Public House.

If I haven’t convinced you yet, just keep reading. It gets better.

Two words: TABLE TAPS.

Yes, it is exactly what you are imagining. A beer tap. AT YOUR TABLE. Literally built into the table. And not just beer. Each of the booths has 3 taps. 1 domestic beer, 1 import beer, and 1 LIQUOR. Yes. They have Jameson taps AT THE TABLES. IT IS SELF SERVE.

Public House now ranks as another #1 in my book alongside “Coolest Bar”. And that ranking is “#1 Most Dangerous Bar” in the world. EVER.

Fortunately for me (and my wallet…or, if we’re being honest, my boyfriend’s wallet) we did not get to sit at one of the table tap booths. I think if we had, we would have gotten so shitfaced so rapidly that my bar review would not be the sophisticated and clever review that it should be but instead would have come out something like this:

“Ohmigod dudes. This place is teh shit. Like whoa crayz shit whoooooooaaaaa. You can servrve yurself beeer. YOURSELF BY OURSELF. nd you dont even have to get up. Like duuuuuude. It was the coolset shit evar. Oh man nad the food. Holy crAp. The musssells will make you DIE. I mean like in the best way possibuel. Not actaullly die. They’r fresh, I swear. So delicious. SO GOOD. Oh man and teh beer. at the table. AND THE BEER FILGHTS. Yeha they ahve that toooo. Woooooooooo!!!!!!!”

Let’s just be thankful that I have some level of self-control. Not a lot, mind you, particularly when it comes to good beer and well-crafted cocktails. But I do have some self-control. Enough to know that I should never EVER reserve one of those tables.

And yet I absolutely can’t wait to do just that.

One thought on “Taking “self-serve” to a dangerous new level

  1. Pingback: Malaysian Meals, Montana, and Moscow Mules | Eatables 'n Potables

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