12th Avenue Bar & Grill

Unbeknowst to me, Green Papaya morphed from a Thai-​restaurant-​near-​the-​library-​downtown to a restaurant-​of-​uncategorized-​food-​genre-​near-​the-​library-​downtown. It must be the work of wizards, or the recession, or Beau Breedlove.
It’s basically the same story. The setting still looks dusty, dank, and sort of like the spatial representation of a hangover den, especially at the start of an alarmingly sunny weekend. They season the fries with pepper and maybe paprika, and the fries are plentiful, but otherwise the Southern-​esque food isn’t going to make you rave and drag all your friends here. The happy hour drankin was cheap, as happy hour drankin should be, but my second-​to-​last drink missed the cut-​off by about half an hour and stung my pocketbook like any non-​descript watering hole downtown. Personality-​less gold-​diggers, every one of ‘em.
But the real highlight came at the end of our visit, when my friend insisted we all have this shot. The shot, which shall remain nameless until she clarifies because my memory got a lot fizzier after it happened, consisted of some whiskey, an energy drink, and peach schnapps, all sunk with a pint of beer. JT’s reaction to my details of this shot? «Peach schnapps? Gross!» Which seems like a fair reaction from anyone who has tossed back a few pulls of hard alcohol in their time, or anyone with tastebuds.
Yet the bartender, after expressing some hesitation about making the drink, poured it dutifully and even apologized for not carrying a decent energy drink in his fridge. Nobody should have to apologize for not carrying a good energy drink, in my opinion. Apologize for not possessing coffee, if you must. But after we all drowned the mysterious beverage, the bartender promised he would try it himself and sent us off to have a good time. Classy.

Gross. 7 – 11 food is probably better. I felt disgusting having actually eaten the food, but didn’t have time to go elsewhere. The pint glass was so filthy I wouldn’t even let my cat drink out of it (hypothetically speaking)! Possibly the worst dining decision I’ve made since that suspect shellfish I had in France (eeew). Zero effort goes into the place — which is immediately apparent by the fact that they kept all of the old furniture and lighting from the Green Papaya. For the happy hour price, you are much better off going elsewhere.