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Grenade! Sorry, I just
felt like saying that for some reason. Maybe it's because this joint
resembles a World War One trench--so much so that I was just waiting
for some Kraut to lob a Kugelhandgranate into my lap. I'm not even
sure that was the intention here, but I seem to recall some sandbags
sitting up on a ledge, and like a stuffed French resistance dude smoking
a thin cigarette in the corner. I'm doing a crappy job at describing
this place, and really doing it a disservice, as it was more like
what Disneyland would put together for their Frogland Bar and Log
Ride. I've been to Paris a couple times and don't recall seeing anything
as nice and cool as this bar. I know it's technically a theme bar
of sorts, but theme bars on the Lower East Side of Manhattan aren't
quite the same as, say, the NASCAR
Cafe in Myrtle Beach. Despite the kitsch and the kind of falseness
of the joint, I was able to put it all aside and surrender (no, not
to the Germans) to the illusion that I was in 1920s France somewhere--although
I had to blot out the asshole in the pink Izod with the collar turned
up. We sat at the nice bar and drank our beers and reveled in the
fact that we could have a truly transforming experience mere yards
from packs of idiot kids barfing up tequila shots onto the Orchard
Street sidewalks. Maybe those Frenchies ain't so bad after all, although
I find it odd that I can't name one French beer. [MF]
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