The first thing you may notice about the Voodoo Lounge is how hard it is to find. Its sign is overshadowed by the adjoining Greek restaurant’s sign. Once you venture down the steps into the narrow, small, darkened lounge, I guarantee the first thing you will notice is the musty, dank odor.
It became quite unpleasant for me as the evening passed, to the point I
was grateful to ascend to the fresh night air again so that I could
breathe freely. To be fair, I have seasonal allergies which make
breathing difficult in certain environments. There is a pungent smell
of damp earth, sweat and beer. Think your friend’s husband’s “man cave”,
accent on the cave. The VooDoo is painted a dark burgundy color, with
a copper colored tin ceiling that is somewhat dirty. It is dimly lit, which is a
good thing for a bar, in my opinion, but it was for my woeful
imagination that I was grateful for the lack of light. Given that we were
underground in what was at one time, a cool cellar where
the restaurants stored the beer kegs.
more positive side, this is a “man’s bar” (in the 1940s sense of the
expression) where the patrons can drink too much, be rowdy and the artist
rolls with the punches. I admit, I thought about this literally
happening at some point in the past or future. It reminded me of rough,
old neighborhood bars where the barkeeps broke up fights among patrons,
threw them out the back door, and minutes later the ousted ones entered
as friends once again through the front door. I laughed to myself
because the bartender was a woman who was clearly able to take care of
herself, and any patron who might overstep the boundaries. Though
honestly, it would be hard for me to describe what that might be. If any
fight broke out after we left, my money would be on the barmaid. I do
acknowledge the need for bars like this, but I don’t plan to return.
Parker feels comfortable there, as would many guys I can name.
bartender was overworked or understaffed, as evidenced by her apology
to us after an hour into our evening for having ignored us. By that
point, Parker had already bought us drinks at the bar and carried them
to the table. We saw no servers, so either management expects the
bartender to do it all, or they were understaffed. Other patrons seemed
to be getting their own drinks as well, and comfortable doing so.
thought many of the regulars were way past drunk, loud, and having
lots of fun. It was impossible at times to hear the artist, yet no one
seemed to mind except Parker and me. This is NOT the “Cheers” bar from
TV fame, but it certainly meets a guy’s need to let loose. Most of the
patrons appeared to be regulars, and except for me, the bartender and
one other woman, male. LGBT community members might consider options if they want a drink out with some friends. I did not
venture into the restroom.