Lavelle’s Admiral’s Club

Nice mellow bar. Friendly service. Simple. Chill. Good prices. Free pizza. Several TV’s. Free wifi. Good crowd. For a dive bar, its a good choice.

I like this bar. It’s not perfect and it is very situational, but when the mood hits for a quiet place you can talk at this place is perfect. The main drawback is that they don’t take credit cards, which limits the times when I’m in a situation to go (not a fan of atm fees). Still, bar tenders are nice and prices are good. If they took plastic, this dive would get a five.

This place is obviously a front of some kind, but they are unwilling to let me in on the ruse. I told them I was cool and would make a great henchman, but they didn’t seem interested. The next day, I took them my «Life of Crime» resume (pretty much taken from the Sims Criminal Life Path). The bearded, shaky eye man gave me a free beer if I would just stop trying to join their crew.
I will be returning to this place often. Eventually they will come around, I know CPR and Advanced First Aid (Eagle Scout, what what) so I’m sure I’ll end up patching a Cutlass wound or removing a lead ball from someone. Or administering penicillin shots.

If you’re a middle aged white dude lookin’ to blow off some steam, have a few brews — THIS IS THE PLACE.
You can even shit your pants at the bar and no one will bother you.

When I think of the words «Admiral’s Club» I have images of deck-​ay-​danse. Not decadence, the first one, with the francophone flourish. I imagine a world where pilots toast champagne at 30,000 feet, plow stewardesses two, three — fuck — four at a time and eat steak au poivre beside a Parisian moonrise. Those where the days of Pan-​Am and unfiltered cigarettes — days that have long since receded from memory.
This bar evokes none of this. It didn’t smell so much like shit as it did like farts. Bottled, raw and without any humorous gusto. I drank my beer without moving it from my nose to avoid tasting one of the floaters. The scent of stale beer and decade old flatulence sent me heading for the exit.
Try and see for yourself. Just don’t go expecting any admirals to drop by.

My Jack n’ Coke quickly deteriorated into a scavenger hunt. The bartender poured the coke over a rock of ice, reached for the Jack and…
Jack! You there?
There was a flurry of clinking bottles and scratching heads. Finally the bartender turned to me and asked, «Do you see it?!»
Defeated, I replied, «How about I just order a Guinness?»
«Sure!» He gulped down the coke and wiped his beard.
The pint was tasty, but I wouldn’t try to order anything complicated.
We never did find Jack, but we’ll always have the Admiral’s Club!