Lone Star Saloon

My first "real" job after college was working at a tax assistance non-profit in Downtown Chicago. I had an office on the 91st floor of the Sears Tower, got paid $10 an hour, and was encouraged to overwork myself. At night, I could peer into anonymous skyscrapers and see a glimpse into what photographer Michael Wolf named the "transparent city," a glass-walled environment that invites voyeuristic peeks into silent-film scenes of people's lives. Say, a corporate manager burning the night oil, or a young couple arguing in their condo kitchen.

Around the corner, there were still vestigial remains of an older, grittier downtown. There was an OTB where construction workers with their orange vests and disheveled lawyers with their bad suits and overstuffed briefcases would yell and gesticulate while betting on horse races. Cal’s Liquors was a weird and reliable purveyor of cheap happy hour beers. Both places are now gone.

The contemporary urban landscape is always in flux. The mom-and-pop sandwich stands and blue-collar dives that dotted downtowns prior to the aughts have mostly been replaced by Panera Bread outposts or are hanging on by a thread. That's why supporting a no-nonsense downtown dive like the Lone Star Saloon is an act of downright philanthropy. While brunch spots multiply, there are fewer of these gems that can be relied upon to serve a frosty tall boy and leave you alone to it. H&M might be moving in next door any day now.

In a 1998 issue of some magazine that's hanging on the wall in the bar, Jack Stacey wrote that the Lone Star Saloon "seems to be populated by extras from 'The Deer Hunter'.” He added, "pull up a stool and join in on some of the longest stares in Houston." The clientele was a lot friendlier on my visit, but the vibe is still spot on. The beer is cold and the place looks like it could just as well be a roadside dive in Nacogdoches.

So give this old barnacle of a dive a try. Maybe it won't be your favorite dive bar. But it just might be your favorite dive bar in Downtown Houston. And that's worth something in these times.