Rose's Cantina

Embed from Getty Images Scott and I went out in search of a patio last night where we could socially distance and meet a new friend I found on Twitter. The Byward Market was out. It's always a carwash and I had no expectation that it would be any different on a warm and beautiful Friday night in Ottawa even in a pandemic. I suggested we find a place near my new friend's home which is close to the hotels in the northwest area of downtown. She made a reservation at the Baton Rouge on Albert Street. When she called they said it was good she made a reservation; they were turning away walk-in traffic. That sounded responsible, so we climbed in the Subaru and headed down. Scott turned onto Bank Street from Sunnyside and we were pleasantly surprised to see the Barley Mow, one of our old haunts, was full but not packed. They had added some tables in the parking lot and it seemed very safe. I know that about the Mow. They have always done a good job of keeping the place in good ...

#146516481 / gettyimages.com I saw something primo nasty this morning and I wanted to share it with two of my former colleagues on Facebook. I couldn't find them. It didn't take long before I realized that they were no longer fellow travelers on the Facebook trail. I had officially been unfriended. What was weird was that it took me three months before I even noticed, ninety days since our last meeting in a downtown bar where we traded gossip about our old bosses, made fun of singletons wearing silly costumes and nearly drank Ottawa dry. It was fun for all of us, especially when a couple of their lounge lizard buddies ambled by to hit on them, as these lizards probably had done every week for the past year. One of the guys was particularly repulsive -- one of those guys who is too old to hit on chicks, and was still using the moves he developed in 1985. I've met many of his kind over my years as a bar fly, and my bar-dar tried to warn the chickens ...

#108313942 / gettyimages.com Every once and a while, I get out of my comfort zone and navigate the shark-infested waters of the bar scene in downtown Ottawa. This happens roughly every two years when I meet up with one of my former drinking teams. Usually, I default to the team that frequents the Air Force Mess and do some day drinking, after which Scott comes and collects me to ensure I don't pee myself on the bus. Last week, I got together with the second less dangerous team, the one from my former workplace. I like these women because, unlike the geriatric team at the Mess, they are young, hip and lively. Instead of walking on canes, they still manage the high heels. Instead of cardigans, they rock sun dresses. There is one downside to participating in no good antics with the Hell Cats, as I like to call them. Going out with them makes me feel like I'm 90 years old. That's because they choose bars frequented by hipsters and posers, the kind of places that by thre...