So this Saturday, I had the great pleasure of whiling away my hours at the Latin American Club!
What: Cutest little “dive-bar-masquerading-as-chic-venue” ever. Don’t be confused by the twinkle lights and the well-dressed thirty-somethings smoking expensive cigarettes out front. The dusty taxidermy behind the bar will remind you that yes, you are in fact home, drinking in another of the great and gritty Mish dives.
Where: 22nd and Valencia. Far enough from Mission Bar to make you feel fancy, but close enough to drunk food to keep your ‘tude in check.
That horse is about to be wicked tanked.
Why: The bartenders are hella rad. I mean, yeah, they look pissed when you order your $8 Margarita of Doom (this shit will have you passed out on Market St. in no time!) But that’s just part of the L.A. love… Nothing says “Drink More Tequila” like an aggro eye-roll as you slap down your tip!
Also, this is a great place to commune with your fellow Mish-dwellers. Everyone here is spinning a super positive vibe… as long as you don’t knock elbows in the throng. Oh, and be sure to get on the crazy-secret Waiting List for a table by the door, just to make things legit. Talk to the bearded door guy, he’ll hook you up and keep you from getting your clock cleaned by a stilleto-ed cougar with a penchant for snacking on innocent revelers.
To conclude, I urge you to watch yo’ back out front, ya’ll – There’s a moat of broken glass that grows on the sidewalk periodically, but that’s just to make you feel like you’ve earned the right to drink mad ‘ritas with the best of the best.