the g-ville and the damage done

let's not pretend that we didn't become instantaneous locals in our attempt to review the Greenwich Village tavern on Lorain Ave. located right by Eco-village, wherever and whatever the fuck that is, g-villy is "the spot"... if you are a scrapper, scraper, or otherwise local degenerate. They have a menu, if they feel like it, they have cold beers and mixed drinks, if whoever on duty knows how to make it, and they have the most crucial element of a true cleveland dive bar- a jukebox loaded full of classic rock, country, r&b, and other shit to make a tear roll down your face as you watch local television with the other patrons. it also firmly lacks any infiltration whatsoever of ironic mustaches or otherwise misguided hipsters, yet another dive bar check plus.

g-ville is a winner, just dont you tell no fuckin body!

next up, beanies no-slack saloon...

Dot-n-Beanie's No Slack Saloon

If we were at all fearful of the in-house backlash awaiting us on our next trip in, we would have skipped writing this shit hole up. An article from Scene stapled to the wall has the photos of the last reviewers of Dot n' Beanies bar (on St. Clair at 62nd) all drawn up with devil horns, mustaches, and NAMBLA t-shirts.
Not to mention a pack of wild dogs roams the floor of the bar. Well, not a pack, but they really are actual dogs.

The mystique of this tavern of loneliness ends there. The jukebox is okay, the bar is always empty, and the really hot chick only works every third Tuesday. It is a good spot to hideout, but only when you really want to hide out alone as opposed to hiding away with a bunch of drunks who make you feel good about your life. You've got to go to Helen's for that.

Helen's @ W. 56th and Storer Ave.

Helen’s Café @ W. 56^th and Storer Ave.

 

Helen’s which is less of a dive than a two family house where beer and liquor are, well not exactly served, more like spilled when the lady behind the bar has finished slamming her own shot. The wait-staff consists of a couple of perpetually inebriated old-timers who have snapped on the whiskey earmuffs and get to you when they eventually make eye contact. They say you can smoke if you pay them a dollar, assuming that the money is being saved for the next citation.

This place is a staple for the neighborhood boozing community and has gone through many names over the years. The bar serves third shift at 5:30 a.m. and everyone knows each other’s names at Helen’s. At any given time you can find at least one person curling around the bar beneath their own name written on the ceiling above them.

There is a nice long solid wood bar with change someone has hot glued down to confuse the beer blind un-usuals. And it still elicits laughs when a young presumptuous pup gets his change confused with Helen’s.

If there were a lower designation than dive Helen’s would get it. It’s a belly flop.

Which leads us to our new system of comparison. These will be our ratings for dive-ability.  

bottom tier: belly flop        2nd tier: cannon ball                    

3rd tier: jackknife      4th tier: swan dive

With rigorous research as our guide we will find the perfect dive.

Greenwich Village @ W. 65th and Lorain Ave.

This dive, though not the mother of all dives is the lesser mentioned slightly soiled step-sister of dive bars. Very unimpressive from the outside; it shares a somewhat busy corner with a barber shop, short-order cafe, and a recreation center, it makes up for it on the inside. It has a nice long solid oak bar, decent selection of liquors, though mostly liqueurs and bottom-shelf variety, a pool table, dartboard (bring your own darts), and open kitchen until 2:00 p.m. The menu is nothing spectacular, but it does have a nice chicken breast on kaiser that will do until the hair of the dog has worked its talismanic wonders. The beer selection is modest and everything comes in a bottle. But G-Ville as it is known to its truly dedicated customers, those of us there the night we reviewed, does have a nice juke box, with tunes ranging from classic rock, to blues, to rap/hip-hop and r&b. There are a couple of big televisions that brought out the patriot in all of us, couldn't have been the booze, as we watched Phelps stretch for his 7th gold. The clientele is sorted and includes the perennial block booze-slut of both persuasions. There is not doubt that the bloom is off the rose for Greenwich Village, but its one truly saving grace is its back patio, especially on a nice day. It has four or five tables and is a nice hideaway if you want to get a smoke and enjoy a few out of view of the guys doing the spare change tango. It may not win our coveted "dive grand prix", but its definitely in the running.