It's important to know your surroundings before ordering. Certain bartenders do not take kindly to being stumped — even it's a drink you consider to be commonplace. The regulars will always take the side of the bartender. Always. These thoughts coursed through my mostly sober brain when my friend decided we needed to upgrade from beer to something a bit more potent.
"Let's get some Irish Car Bombs," he said.
"Here?" I replied. "It's not exactly the kind of place — "
"What do you mean?" my friend continued. "'Elmer' is an Irish name, isn't it?"
I shook my head. "I don't think so."
We were at Elmer's Sports Café, an old neighborhood bar on South MacDill in Tampa. It was about 4 p.m. last Friday. My buddy, who works consruction, had quit work early due to the weather. I met him after he'd already put away a few pints at another bar. We drove until we found some place that looked cool and dark inside, a place that could take us away from the heat and the forest-fire smoke making the city look and feel like a war zone. Elmer's, it turns out, doesn't allow smoking inside. For once, I could honestly say I was ducking into a bar for a little fresh air.
"But look at all those empty Jägermeister bottles up there," my friend continued, pointing at the hundreds of empty Jäger bottles that lined the interior of Elmer's.
"Jägermeister is a German drink," I argued. "Not Irish."
I wasn't too keen on knocking back the heady mix of Guinness, Bailey's and Jameson that is an Irish Car Bomb that early in the day. But my friend offered to buy. A bad idea. But …
"Ma'am," he said. "Two Irish Car Bombs."
Our server was a heavy-set woman wearing a plain white T-shirt marked with hot-sauce stains. She looked confused. The people at the bar were blue-collar types — young guys in military uniforms, older fellows in jeans, greasy shirts and scuffed boots. They ordered pitchers of draft beer. Maybe at night a younger crowd downs shots of Southern Comfort or Jägermeister, or perhaps a Jäger-bomb — but nothing fancier than a Jäger-bomb, and certainly nothing like an Irish Car Bomb, not when the day-shift bartenders are working.
"Oh, this is wrong," my buddy said when Anna returned with our drinks.
"What?" she snapped. "I asked the girl back there how to make 'em and she went to bartending school."
Anna had dumped the Bailey's into the half-full pints of Guinness. It looked like curdled milk floating around in our beers. Two huge shots of Jameson sat in plastic glasses, waiting to be plunged into the beer and curdled milk. My buddy explained to Anna that the Bailey's and Jameson should go into the same shot glass, and then dropped into the beer glass for chugging.
"Fine," Anna said, as she threw our beers into the sink.
The regulars moaned. They gave us the evil eye. Who do these two think they are? I could hear their thoughts. "You gonna let that go to waste," hollered some goober in a Texas Rangers cap. The bartender returned with the ingredients in separate glasses. I combined all three, told my friend to do the same, and we choked it down.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Go ask that guy if that's his real hair," my buddy said.
"What are you talking about?" I replied.
"Look," he pointed. "His beard is white and straight but his hair is red and curly — that's just ain't natural."
I glanced across the bar. Sure enough, there sat a fellow looking just like the original Uncle Jesse from the TV show The Dukes of Hazzard. Red, Raggedy Andy curls dangled from his trucker cap, past his long, floppy ears. It looked about as natural as stripes painted on a mule.
"I'm gonna go ask him," my buddy said. But he ultimately decided to just sit there. No reason to harass the old-timer knocking back beer in the early afternoon at Elmer's. Plus, Uncle Jesse's friend was packing a full tool belt and metal construction helmet, both of which were placed on the bar counter for all to see. I was sure getting whacked over the skull with a claw hammer would hurt much worse than my typical Saturday morning hangover.
Elmer's is a big room. There are booths, tables and pool tables. Patrons also play darts and sports video games. There are old-school, big-screen televisions all over the place. Willie Nelson, Lynyrd Skynyrd and The Rolling Stones play on the jukebox. Bottles of Bud cost $2. The chicken wings are tasty. Elmer's is a fine place to watch a game or shoot some pool or enjoy cold, cheap beer in a cool, clean room when it's smoky outside. Just don't go ordering an Irish Car Bomb.
Elmer's Sports Café, 5206 S MacDill Ave., Tampa, 813-835-6900.
This article appears in May 16-22, 2007.