#89: Pete's Piano Bar

The Bar

Pete's Piano Bar. 421 E 6th St, Austin, TX 78701

Visited 7/14/17 @ 10pm.

The Drink

Lucky Duck. Pinnacle tropical punch, blue curaçao, peach schnapps, lemons, lemonade. $37.

That price is not a typo - this blue goblet of crushed ice and vaguely tropical liquor-adjacent fluids acting as a mournful duck pond costs as much as a night out on the town by itself. Granted, this schooner was split among the four of us, but that still makes for about 8 oz of "a delightful, drinkable gem" per person at $9 each. Not exactly a bargain, or a go-to order. It comes off like a watered-down Hurricane (insert your own "more like a tropical depression!" jokes), with just enough booze in it to ensure that it's still technically a cocktail while still leaving enough gustatory space in each gulp to leave the "yeah, that tasted mostly like blue flavoring" impression so characteristic of ersatz tropical-themed drinks, a race between your gag reflex and your brain freeze. But there's a duck in it! Look at that little guy!

The Crew

Davis, Rome, Kyle, Aaron.

Notes

There was a time in my life when I went to Pete's, if not on the regular, at least multiple times a year. Sometimes you just really want to hear about a hundred intoxicated late 40-year-olds warble along to a sub-radio edit-length piano-only rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody about once every 45 minutes, you know? It's a very particular itch to be scratched, to be sure, but when that extremely expensive group karaoke fever hits you, the only cure is paying a $10 cover to struggle for seats with seemingly half the world's population of accountants and then fighting their moms at the bar over who's next up to order a round of $8 Bud Lights. If not a paradise, it's a bracing reminder that there is no world but this one, and that this is your life.

I make it sound awful - and certainly the bitterly jaded and cynical current version of me thinks that it is - but when I cast my mind back to those more innocent moments in my drinking past, all I really remember is the good times. The showmanship of the musicians as they trade off their instruments and work the crowd into a bloodthirsty frenzy. The fun of winning that auction-style competition to request the next song by throwing all the Hamiltons and Jacksons you have into a pile to hear Tiny Dancer. The camaraderie of singing along with your bros to that 70s AOR standard while you're all sloppy drunk on some sickeningly sweet daiquiri derivative. And yes, even those comically overpriced drinks, which would make even the most mercenary Caribbean tourist trap owner blush. I guess fun is what you make it.

In conclusion, Pete's Piano Bar is a land of many contrasts.