Friday, September 18, 2009

[Bolton Hill] The Mount Royal Tavern: Where the Whole Engulfs the Sum of the Parts

It smells of stale beer and under-appreciated wood floors. It has an unashamed, throbbing red neon sign to announce its presence. Its name is not clever, or pretentious. It doesn’t have a Facebook page. It doesn’t have a web site. Yet it remains as much of an institution in Charm City as blue crabs, duckpin bowling, Natty Boh, and an inferiority complex. If one is to have a blog that makes an attempt to review Baltimore City bars, it is of paramount necessity that he or she give two crudded-up, ran-through-the-ringer cents on the Mount Royal Tavern.

Crowd:
We are all drinkers. Whether it is to celebrate, to mourn, to unwind, or to catch up, we all find ourselves in bars to rent some fun and forget about tomorrow, if even for a few moments. MRT embraces, in the truest sense of the word, the diversity of Baltimore. I do not mean this in an ACLU connotation, where the bar is sensitive to ethnic differences. It could care less about differences. This statement is to mean that no matter if you are a law student at UB, a heroin addict, the next Picasso trying to make it at MICA, or a hack writer living in South Baltimore, you have clearly walked into the MRT for some legal medicine, and that makes you okay in the MRT’s book. Black, white, brown, yellow, orange, or purple (for you Raven fans) – we are all united in our ‘quest to forget’ once we pass through the door on Mount Royal Ave. Looking around, one will notice shoulder-to-hand tatted-up daughters talk to theirs dads about the mysteries of life over Natty Bohs, and MICA guys enlighten their IBM-retired parents on the beauty of the Ween song that is playing and the merits of studying Dali.

There is no pretension here, and if you plan on showing any, do yourself a favor and do not show up. The crowd is not always pretty, and almost never flashy. The crowd will let you mind your own business, as long as you do not stick your nose in someone else’s. In the same visit, if you are so inclined, you will find yourself having a great conversation with a patron who may (or may not) be from an entirely different walk of life than your own.

Crowd: A

Atmosphere:
The intricate woodwork of the floors, steps, railings, and mirror frames has a thousand dings in it, and most of the place is in desperate need of soap, water, in some cases, polyurethane, and general TLC. At the MRT, however, the lion’s share of the TLC is administered to the pastime of drinking...like anything in life, with limited resources, if one garden is given ample attention, an adjacent garden overgrows to the point of requiring a backhoe.

Clearly the crown jewel of the MRT’s atmosphere is the "American fresco" ceiling. It is Baltimore nightlife’s version of the Sistine Chapel. The walls behind the bar are wallpapered with cheesy, but clever-to-a-person-getting-drunk bumper stickers...and lots of them, such as “if you're drinking to forget, please pay in advance". The beer company schwag from the 70’s lets you know that a Miller Lite rep didn’t just visit the place a few weeks back, or if he did, he likely ran out the way he came after being pelted with Natty Boh empties. Behind the bar, there is also 3-foot swordfish, an English mount of a buck rack (with a fake raven perched on it), a fake rhino mount (with a fake hand on it), and about a thousand other sundries that one would not notice unless he or she looked. Even if you do not notice any of the minutia, it will permeate your experience through visual osmosis, and, as the title states, it will make the whole far greater than the sum of the parts.

As dark and dingy of a bar as it can be, the MRT somehow manages to get some natural light in through the massive front bay window to remind you of the world from which you are so insulated once inside. If the weather is nice, you can make your way through the main bar room to exit the rear for a back concrete patio. This has seating for about forty people, depending on the bar’s particular level of respect for the fire marshal on any given day.

MRT spent some dough a few years back to ensure that everyone in the place could hear the badass music belting out of their Pitchfork Media-eat-your-heart-out jukebox, which, in Baltimore, is almost as legendary as the bar in which it resides. What was once the epitome of music snobbery has slightly tapered to include accessible but incredible music and frankly, pumps out more killer tunes than Brighton, UK. Walking in, one could hear anything from Nirvana Unplugged to Tom Petty’s Wildflowers to The Doves’ Last Broadcast. The hits keep on coming at the MRT, and this auditory wallpaper is an integral part of the cavernous depth of the atmosphere.

Atmosphere: A

The Drinks: Anyone who catches themselves ordering a ginger-lime infused syrup cucumber mojito at MRT should (and likely could) be thrown out of the place before you finish speaking. The bartenders can and will make a cocktail, but do not expect a perfectly balanced top-shelf gin and gourmet tonic. Likely, you will get Beefeater-in-a-Bombay bottle with a splash of beverage-gun tonic….and the bartender will probably give you some attitude about making it, as he likely has 20-30 other patrons clamoring for more ice-cold Natty Boh cans.

Speaking of ice-cold Natty Boh cans, The MRT’s beers are so cold, I can only assume that the coolers are set to some sub-arctic temperature.

Nothing fancy here, but in my opinion, the place could use a signature cocktail. Many may think this violates it’s ‘dive’ status, but I have been to many-a-dive that have something unique (see my review of Idle Hour). MRT does not, but it does not suffer tremendously.

Drinks: B-

The Service:

The bartenders all have an attitude -- not a misplaced Mick O'Sheas attitude, but one that is earned. The look that goes with the question, “what do you need brother [babe]?” says with a frustrated sarcasm, “hurry the f*ck up a**hole [wench], I’ve got about thirty thirsties thumpin’ on my bar for a drink”.

Because of the no-BS attitude, you can generally get a drink pretty quickly. Please, for the love of God, however, be ready with your order when the bartender calls on you. These folks earn their tips, so hook them up if you are able. If you sit, whether by yourself or with friends, and adhere to the rules we all learned in kindergarten, the help will likely make some small talk if they have a free minute. The help exudes the warmest components of Baltimore’s charm, while at the same time, displaying the edge that makes that charm unique.

Service: B+

The MRT does not make the attempt to serve mediocre bar food, a mistake made by so many Baltimore establishments. I have had way too many pedestrian burgers, wings, and friggin’ chicken Caesar wraps (okay I don’t order those, but I’ve seen them on too many menus) while sitting a bar and wanting something to eat.

Instead of ‘shooting for the middle’, MRT makes no feeble attempt at ‘standard bar fare’. By way of a menu that hangs behind the bar and was likely printed in 1979, MRT says to its patrons “if you are really hungry from drinking so much here, we can make a pizza”. They offer pepperoni pizza and cheese pizza, and although it’s frozen and doesn’t come with broccoli and spinach, it still somehow exceeds the patron’s expectations.

The food at MRT reminds me of the food at McSorely’s, New York City’s oldest operating bar, and a mainstay in my Top 10 Worldwide Bars. If you are hungry at McSorely’s (which takes the same attitude towards imbibing as MRT), you can order a sleeve of saltines, a shot glass of mustard, and some sliced white onions. THAT’S IT! The food is not the focal point of the MRT (nor McSorely’s). What is admirable about the bar is THAT IT HAS A FOCAL POINT!! By trying to be all things to all people at all times, so many of Charm City’s watering holes miss the mark. MRT does not make this mistake, and here’s to hoping they continue to avoid it.

Food: B-

Take Home:

If one is looking to impress his or her suburbanite visitors with a flashy place that serves infused specialty cocktails with a view of the harbor, MRT is not the place. If, however, you are looking to catch up with some old (or new) friends over some ICE cold brews and great music, or if you are looking to drown a few sorrows or simply reflect on the recession, there are few better places than the MRT.

You get trapped in the bar...but trapped in a good way. The MRT possesses the je-ne-sais-quoi of a bar that allows us to forget entirely about the world that exists on the other side of the bar’s doorway. Go there with good friends, or by yourself to celebrate life or forget about it.

Take Home: A-

Mount Royal Tavern on Urbanspoon