Inside, the room is broken into two halves, one dedicated to the stage in back where a wooden wall provides some mental separation between where to mill about around the bar and where to sit down to listen to some music. Up front, a curved bar dominates one side of the space flanked by low tables and red, cushioned chairs that conjure up the classic image of a dive bar booth. Faded tiled flooring may not be 1932 original, but it’s probably not too far off, a reminder that this is a dive bar that has resisted the flow of time that has slowly crept through gentrified downtown Minneapolis neighborhoods.
A handful of display cases line the walls in this front room, one housing an extensive collection of sometimes frightening ceramic figures and a host of other trinkets from the bar’s many decades of existence. Another display case depicts a number of model cars, another nod to the longevity of the dive bar’s history flanked by the Minneapolis-required Grain Belt mirrored display and a wide selection of bar neon.
The bar itself comes with a number of wooden trusses, for lack of a better term, that extend from the wall and provide a little visual distinction between bar and seating area. The contraption sparks a feeling akin to drinking in the hull of a ship, like the Minneapolis dive bar equivalent of a cruise ship entertainment area, complete with open mic. The area behind the bar is a tribute to dive bar signage and knick knacks, from a timeless Budweiser Clydesdale clock to a less aged piece of paper reading “Pickled Eggs, Yes We Have ‘Em!” Domestic staples like Old Style and Hamm’s can be found here, cash only of course.