In my last post, I mentioned that we ducked into a dive bar in Blanchardville for a cocktail and a bite to eat. The most distinctive feature of Rachel & Ray’s was the ceiling tiles featuring historic black-and-white photos.
Yo, Ilsa Rey commented. That ain’t no dive bar, you lyin’ sack of [expletive].
OK, maybe she didn’t use those exact words. That bar doesn’t look much like a dive to me, is what she wrote. That ceiling and the chandelier…Hardly looked divy from that angle.
I get it. When I think “dive bar,” I picture something a lot grungier than that. Dim lighting, sticky tables, peeling paint. Tacky and borderline inappropriate decor. Scowling locals at the bar who probably want to murder me just for sport. The type of place where, should you ask for an olive with your drink, the bartender plunges her arm elbow-deep into the five-gallon jug to fish one out.
The type of place where olives come in five-gallon jugs, for that matter.
In other words, Bitz’s Outer Limits in Fort Atkinson. Very much a dive bar. And no, we have never been back.
But Rachel & Ray’s Pub & Grill is also a dive bar. Tara says so, and the internet backs her up. I think. Actually, according to Wikipedia, the precise definition of a dive bar is rarely agreed on, and is the subject of spirited debates.
Spirited. Ha! I hope that was pun-tentional.
In any case, a typical dive bar is small, unpretentious, and eclectic. It may feature inexpensive drinks, dated decor, dim lighting, neon beer signs, a limited food menu, local clientele, and an informal vibe. It does not advertise, provide parking, or have fancy signage.
Which pretty much sums up Rachel & Ray’s. Granted, it’s not as divey as some joints, but – ceiling that belongs on the National Register of Historic Places notwithstanding – it’s no supper club, either. Apparently, dive bar devotees (yes, they exist!) rate establishments on a sliding scale of divey-ness. The divey-est may be cash-only, with hand-written menus listing potato chips and microwaved popcorn taped to the wall, a dingy bathroom with a shower curtain instead of a door over the toilet stall, and a guy named Earl who has been parked at the same barstool since 1997.
Thankfully, Rachel & Ray’s is not that place…though I’ve gotta say, Bitz’s Outer Limits pretty much checks all those boxes.
Really, dive bars just have a certain vibe. If I’m even slightly apprehensive when I’m about to walk through the door for the first time (as I was on Saturday), then that’s my definition of a dive bar.
Honestly, Todd Dayton, author of San Francisco’s Best Dive Bars, said it best: “Dives are like pornography: hard to define but you know it when you see it.”
All I know is, I always have a blast. At dive bars, not with pornography! The best part of all? They don’t cost an arm and a leg. Unless you piss off Earl, and he decides to pull you into the back alley and break a few bones because you’re not from these here parts and he’s bored.
And since we’re on the subject, here’s a great song that metaphorically references dive bars.
Today has felt like the Longest Friday Ever.
This may be due to the fact that I was awakened at 4:30 a.m. by bright, flashing lights and a loud bass-like rumble. No, I didn’t fall asleep in a nightclub; it was Mother Nature putting on a show. And what a show it was! Multiple rounds of thunderstorms rolled through for the next three hours. Lots of lightning, heavy rain, and even a little hail. A sure sign of spring in the Midwest!
God, I love this time of year.
A few hours later, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the temperature had climbed to 76°. I’m not sure I can handle the schizophrenia, so we won’t even mention that chance of snow Sunday night.
How often do you frequent dive bars? What characteristics to you use to define them? Do you love a good thunderstorm like I do?
Mark My Words 
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