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Here’s a theory, taken from the Great Book of Unrealized Ideas. If a documentary photographer or filmmaker wanted to tell the story of St. Louis’ complicated regional picture, they could start at one end of Manchester Road and slowly work their way down the block. It’s a street with pretty much everything relating to the modern human condition: churches, schools, auto repair shops, aquarium dealers, carpet cleaners, metal companies and a mix of both independent businesses and chains.
Somewhere in there, you’ve also got some bars. You wouldn’t say that Manchester is the preeminent nightlife (or day-drinking) street in all of our region. In fact, you can drive a mile between stops if you’re keeping score. But the sheer length of the block, the wild changes between the industrial sections of St. Louis City, let’s say, and the car-culture outer ‘burbs means that you’ll have some variety, if nothing else. Over the past week, we’ve stopped by a five-pack of different taverns, at different points of the day. Some will become eventual favorites, places to stop by again. Others, well, there’s something to be said for trying everything once.
And we kick off our visits with a tip of a fanciful hat to the late Tim “Grandma” Craddock, who ran a couple of landmark GLBT bars over the years, including his last version, Grandma’s. His recent passing meant our first stop had to be at one of his old Manchester haunts. So, traveling east to west...
Rehab
4054 Chouteau, 63110
314-652-3700
It’s still underway, the long-term shakeout of The Grove. Will it be a neighborhood able to mix-and-match elements, or will it tilt in a specific direction? Can late-night club-goers and dayjobbing homeowners exist in perfect harmony? Of course, long before the rebranding of “The Grove” began, the eastern stretch of Manchester was known by nightcrawlers for a small run of gay-and-lesbian clubs, existing in a funky part of midtown that sees residential homes bumping up to factories in a quirky, funky style.
Rehab was once the Rainbow’s End, one of Craddock’s joints. And it’s been a gay club for the bulk of its existence, minus a shorter run as the slightly ill-conceived rBar. These days, Rehab serves as a pretty nice place to comfortably sit on a weeknight, with conversations taking place at room volume in several, small sub-sections of the space. The bar itself is the focal point, and it segments the room into different pods of activity. No matter where you sit, you’ll be treated to a jukebox that’s eclectic enough; a three-song sequence of Drake, Madonna and Journey isn’t uncommon.
On a given night, the mood of Rehab veers from party-hearty to contemplative. Solo drinkers line the bar, parties huddle around small four-tops, smokers congregate on the wintry patio. Bartenders are professional and courteous, serving drinks from a menu that’s not exactly adventurous, but gets the job done. It’s a welcoming space, geared to a certain clientèle, but open to all. Rehab’s in the plus column for The Grove. Gone are the freewheeling days of Grandma’s, but we knew that already. Times change. That they do.
The Crow’s Nest
7336 Manchester, 63143
314-781-0989
The literal and spiritual kin of South City’s late Bleeding Deacon, the Crow’s Nest of Maplewood fits easily into what Manchester offers from Southwest to Big Bend. It’s mildly funky, but suit-and-ties can also roll in for a drink. Like nearby contemporaries, it’s a restaurant with a smarty-pants bar. Or is that reversed? In a part of town that’s seen a good number of fast-burn concepts roll through, the Crow’s Nest seems more inclined to stick around for a while, rather than being a venue that wants to run hot for a year, before the inevitable reconceptualizing. Though its space, itself, has known more than a couple lives over the past decade.
The Crow’s Nest kept a few of the design touches of the Red Lion, which predated the Nest. But additions have been made recently, too, including a large space of wall real estate given over to classic, black-and-white films, which silently run on a DVD loop. Well-remembered posters of mod and new wave bands line the walls, slightly reminiscent of the old Hi-Pointe. Bar seating’s available and spontaneous, inter-party conversations do break out barside, but there’s also a room for parties at several wooden booths along the eastern wall. On a random night, the mix of drinkers and diners seems to run right down the middle and ordering at the bar’s a nice way to enjoy the best elements of the club.
A handful of visits so far have brought food orders ranging from just okay to pretty damned good, with the house hummus (spiked heavily with peanut butter) a keeper. The drinks range is better than most bars, with a sharp set of import beers, alongside the more common; AB fans will want to wander, as the club’s opted against stocking “The Brewery’s” offerings. One more interesting twist to a bar that’ll hopefully be around for a while, growing into its own skin and offering the Maplewood strip a lasting landing pad.
The Trainwreck Saloon
9243 Manchester, 63144
314-962-8148
The original idea to for this portion of Manchester was to hit the Sports Attic, the near-west county equivalent of Soulard staples Johnny’s and DB’s. But last week’s lunchtime visit found the lights off—the bar has only evening hours—and the party moved on. So did we, shuttling a few blocks west to the Trainwreck, quickly spied thanks to the giant bison planted outside the venue.
It was noontime and the room was semi-full, with nary a woman on-site/in-sight, but with plenty of fellows enjoying the modern equivalent of the merchant’s lunch. The timing of the afternoon visit was perfect, really, as the room all but emptied a couple minutes until 1 p.m., suggesting that diners were dashing back to their middle management jobs nearby. The quiet TV screens played ESPN to those who remained, repeating and repeating and repeating Mario Manningham’s Super Bowl-defining, sideline catch, as a Y-98 soundtrack cooed the hits of yesteryear.
Didn’t enjoy a drink, though it was obvious from the back bar what kinds of drinkers you get at a place like the Trainwreck. Unlike the Crow’s Nest, all the AB products were onhand, with Kraftig strategically (and cheekily) displayed in front of the ABs. Lunch was, well, serviceable. Sometimes, your main need from a bar is that it’s open. On this afternoon, Trainwreck served the role. Nothing more, nothing less.
Chuck’s Bar and Grill
1181 Colonnade Center, 63131
314-984-0970
It was a strange sight this winter: snow was in the air! As the miles ticked by, the options grew fewer and fewer. A late night bite, maybe a glass of beer, these were our minimal requirements for the next stop, and as west county quickly rolled past, the gaps were growing larger and larger. Off to the left, in a strip mall not technically on Manchester, but fed by the great road, Chuck’s Bar and Grill was a welcome oasis.
Inside, the bar exuded the full gamut of casual-slash-sports bar elements. TVs were tuned to college basketball, a small crowd (again, all male) was huddled together mid-bar, and our sole, apparent worker was flitting from bar-to-kitchen with quickness. A large animal head, affixed to the wall, provided the requisite dose of whimsy. But Chuck’s seems to otherwise be a straight-up affair. Have a burger, a Bud, shoot the breeze with buddies, see ya next week.
This Des Peres venue got the short-term job done. But it also brought a visual impression into sight, a small, mostly-unmarked spot across Manchester.
The Village Bar
12247 Manchester, 63131
314-821-4532
Call me Ishmael! For years, I’d heard talk of a mysterious place called The Village Bar, usually with some variant of this introduction: “You like corner bars. The Village Bar is a corner bar. It’s just that their corner’s a major street and a highway in Des Peres.” The Village Bar, as it turned out, was at the end of our journey, just across the street from Chuck’s, with its exterior nearly hidden; save for some circus-colored striping and a glowing beer sign, you wouldn’t necessarily guess this place is a tavern. And the back-door entry into a snaking tunnel only adds to the appeal.
Having already enjoyed a plate of iceberg lettuce disguised as a salad at Chuck’s, we eschewed the burger-dominated menu of The Village Bar. Though if you sit at the end of the bar, you get to peek into a busy kitchen, where workers keep that grill humming. Based on the aging reviews tacked to a nearby wall, it’s the burgers that’re the calling card at the Village and those were going out at a good pace, even late in the evening.
The crowd, clad in Mizzou gear, was loud, if not boisterous, lots of fellas getting together to share a beer in a venue that’s been around since 1948. Tipping back the ABs (or the one Schlafly offering), they pretty much confirmed the claim that The Village was, in fact, a corner bar, full of chatter, the smell of fried food, the hand-written signs on the backbar. Who knew? Apparently, a whole lotta people dating back to the years just post-WW II.
See what happens if you keep driving? Burn that petrol, learn something.
