It was hipster Sunday Funday, ironically taking place on a Saturday, because Sunday's are too mainstream. And of course it wouldn't be a hipster Sunday without massive (literally gallons) of sweet, unadulterated irony.
"Soccer" Brian told me over the phone, "The UEFA Championship League Final, it's on today and we're watching it at Public house in Silverlake."
I furrowed my brow in a lame attempt to grasp the situation. "Soc.....cer?" I replied bewildered. "Yooo ayyyyyfuhhhh?"
After being called a random slew of things such as, "jankster" "turkey" and "honkey" Brian reluctantly agreed to pick me up. A trip to Silverlake means I can't just wear a t-shirt, jeans, and some Nike's, lest I be laughed out of the neighborhood. (Note: It is acceptable to wear a T-shirt, jeans, and Nike's if, when accused, you reply "Yeah, I'm just SO over the wannabe hipster scene." This trick is known as Pointing out the Irony of Being Ironic and should only be used in moments of true duress.)
The real foundation of Hipster-casual is your ironic T-shirt. I had the perfect weapon, a vintage, slightly too small San Francisco 49er's T shirt with football player Dwight Clark leaping over the golden gate bridge making a catch with the words "THE CATCH '82" printed across. It was true Hipster gold. It had all the ingredients: a) Too small, b) A date prior to 2000, c) a universally recognizable city or landmark, and d) it was a football shirt when going to a futbol match. Solid gold, baby.
I topped it off with my Father's Safe School Bus Driver Award jacket which he gave me because it's horribly ugly. I would normally agree, but when I go hipster, I go hard. Wait until those 1950 greaser throwbacks get a load of my sweet ass jacket which indicates I'm a safe school bus driver only to find out that *gasp!* Not only am I not a safe school bus driver, I'm not a school bus driver at all!! Suffice to say, I was ready for soccer.
Brian and I met up with a large group of friends at 1739 Public House in Silverlake. I was genuinely impressed with their ample placement of many large television sets placed unobtrusively around the entire dining area as to let every have an adequate view of the game. I sat down and was quite disappointed to see that there were minimal hipsters proliferating the premises. I was quickly reminded it was 11:00am on a weekend and I would need to wait until at least 1:30pm to being seeing the Ironic Army. Fair enough.
|These people are cooler than you.|
1739 Public House, I would soon learn, had an ironic idea of customer service that "Hey, wouldn't it be cool if the customers wait on themselves?!" I sat patiently for about 10 minutes before realizing that I needed to grab my own menu from the front, bring it back to my seat and figure out my order. Normally not a problem but the place was littered with Soccer fans so getting up and down was a real pain. After you wedged your way back to your seat, you had to wedge your way back out again and place your order at the bar. They gave me a number and was instructed to sit back at my seat and wait for my order, but not before asking for a tip.
I'm sorry, but what am I tipping you for? Entering my order into the cash register? That's literally all you did. And how do I know the food will be up to snuff? What if it was terrible and brought out over an hour after I ordered it?
Well, surprise surprise... After tipping. I returned to my seat and literally waited over an hour for 1 hamburger. It finally arrived, cold, small, and with soggy fries. I opened my mouth to complain but the server had scooted off without even offering me ketchup. I didn't see another waiter that day.
The service was TERRIBLE. Like, it wasn't bad, it was godawful. Even buying a beer was a laborious feat. Here 1739 Public House was, choked full of ready-to-drink soccer fans and they were making them all stand up and return to the bar to buy drinks. I'm no Donald Trump, but I'm business savvy enough to know that when well-to-do soccer fans are ready to shell out money on premium beers, you make every attempt to eliminate the steps between collecting money and serving a beer as humanly possible. The good news was, at this point I had my first hipster-spotting. (It was a girl with thick black frame glasses, a terrible haircut - with bangs of course, bright red lipstick, and a dress from the 1950's.)
|I wish I thought of this.|
I estimate 1739 Public House probably missed out on at least 50-75 extra beer sales by not having servers available for the event. Seems silly to me, but I suppose to irony of NOT wanting to sell beer is not lost on me. If you're a recovering overweight alcoholic who likes non-mainstream sports like soccer, rugby, Aussie Rules football, or *shudder* cycling, then 1739 Public House is the place for you. If, on the other hand, you like to get actual service and good food and beers brought to you by a waiter, then try every other restaurant in the world.
PS: I don't know who won the soccer game.
Name: 1739 Public House
Genre: Craft Beer Bar and Grill
Value: Waste of money and dignity
What You'll Need to Enjoy Your Meal: Prior experience as a waiter or waitress as you'll be serving yourself.
Rating: 2 / 5