One place Eagles fans weren't welcome for Sunday's game: Big Charlie's Saloon, the curiosity that is a diehard Kansas City Chiefs bar in the heart of South Philadelphia.
If there's any place to drink eight ounces of vodka, it's Eagle Bar. After all, it adjoins Max's, a cheesesteak shop where a "half-size" sandwich is more than a foot long, and a full-size one should not be attempted without a spotter.
Stateside Urbancraft Vodka is not, the branding implies, the same foul poison I remember. It comes in a sleek bottle with a swing-top cap and a crisp, white label tattooed with tasteful type. It is blended with electrolytes. It is gluten-free.
People have been getting trashed in this space pretty much since the end of Prohibition - only, these days, it has craft beer, and Erotic Photo Hunt.
A bar that has anchored South Street for 20 years, Tattooed Mom has staked out a place as the antidote to adulting.
Sure, Evil Genius Beer Co., could have opted for the theme of "Fishtown brewpub," for its Lab space. But owners Trevor Hayward and Luke Bowen had quirkier aspirations.
Bring your preferred beer-drinking companion, whoever or whatever that may be. Dogs are welcome, as are babies. A couple days ago someone brought their lizard.
The liquor control board told certain suppliers they had until Tuesday to offer cheaper prices. Otherwise the agency will raise shelf prices to consumers on as many as 450 products by the end of August.
"Eventually, we'll have to go no smoking, because the smokers will all die off," said Sheldon Sokol, the 68-year-old co-owner. He does not smoke or drink himself: "It's bad for your innards."
It is exactly what it sounds like - if what it sounds like is a raw, concrete space with fermentation tanks, a canning line, pallets of packaged beer and, amid all that, a stylish bar serving up craft cocktails made with local spirits and Dock Street beer.
There is no more space, though. There are only more 22-year-olds, the women in minimalist rompers and backless tops, the men in whatever they wore to work that day.
The inertia is in the casino-like timelessness of the windowless room. You're in a basement. You have to overcome gravity to get out.
Lê has a record of every person who enters (and the 100 people denied entry on any given week). It's a lopsided arrangement, since Lê goes, Cher-like, by a single name, and keeps his biography a well-concealed mystery.
Mel Adelman, 83, is close to selling the bar his family ran for more than 70 years. He hopes the new owner won’t change it — but he has no guarantees.